life in technicolor.

hi all, I'm ann (she/her. 29. est). below the cut, you'll find info on Saraya.

Fudge. At the word, Matt’s dark eyes lingered on Ray, while the smirk on his lips grew by the second. He’d been having a somewhat similar issue— although Bailey was a teenager and of course had that stubborn Irish strait, it was still a parenting tactic ingrained him from his own childhood.

Children weren’t supposed to curse.

So, the first time an explicative flew from her mouth, Matt had told her not to use such colorful language. Which, Bailey promptly through back in his face— ‘well, how come he could do it?’ and ‘because he was an adult’ wasn’t an acceptable answer.

“That must have been painful,” he finally commented on her catch and correction. “But, really, fudge is what you go with?” Not that Matt was sure what he’d use instead, it just seemed to comical to him now.

“Baking soda.” Seeing her rub at the stain, his brain somehow fished out something Aileen had always used when it came to that. “Supposedly it’s the best and easiest.”

Upon a slightly closer examination, Matt righted to his full height and looked down at Ray with a crease in his brow. “What is it though?”

As soon as the edited expletive left her mouth, Ray knew that he’d make fun of her. She’d known him long enough to recognize the myriad of expressions that flashed across his face. “What can I say,” she asked with a shrug. “I’m not used to self editing in real time. Since you’re so smart, what would you have said?” She turned a quizzical look on him, fingers drumming gently on her side as she waited.

“Honestly? It could be just about anything.” Ray brought her thumb to her mouth almost absentmindedly, licking it a bit before dabbing at the spot again. She’d file the baking soda suggestion away for when she was home. Maybe she’d add it to her pre-treating routine. “It’s probably paint.” She waved her fingers in front of her face so that the dark smudges on her hands were visible. She’d sacrificed so many of her clothes to her art. Now, it was barely something she mourned for long. “Though it hasn’t been so long since it could’ve been anything from food to bodily fluids. It was the worst when I was still breastfeeding and leaking at the worse times. I can’t tell you how many shirts I ruined like that.”

“Just finished brewin’.” He lowered the paper he was only half reading to watch Ray do her sleepy beeline to the coffee pot. Owen was a morning person, often up early to go for a jog or do a set on his exercise bike in the basement. It was a routine that followed him from childhood throughout his entire life. Sports meant getting up early, though coaching them gave room to sleep in a bit more than participating in them. His internal clock still had him up before six most days regardless.

Owen set the paper down and finished off the last bit of his coffee. He got up to join Ray at the coffee maker, holding his cup out for her to fill when she was done. “Mornin’ beautiful,” he smiled and leaned in to place a quick kiss on her cheek. “My mom’s coming by to bring Bailey to day camp and Colt has a little league game at one.” He named the items on the running to do list in his head. “Then I need to mow the lawn if it doesn’t rain.” The weather was always unclear which way it would go. He lifted the cup up to his lips to take a drink. “What about you?”

“Thank goodness,” Ray mumbled under her breath. Her steps were sluggish and laborious as she shuffled throughout the kitchen assembling all she needed. In times like these, Ray felt as if she was operating on autopilot, a robot with one goal in mind -- energy. In silence, she poured creamer into her mug, giving it a few stirs before bringing the steaming cup to her lips. The first sip was like magic, so much so that Ray almost groaned in delight.

“I have a follow up meeting at Gabe’s school,” she relayed as she refilled his mug. A smile flitted across her face at the touch of his lips on her cheek. They’d been dating for a while now, but being near him still sent a thrill through her. Getting divorced in her mid thirties had been difficult, and a large part of her had never expected to feel like this again. During her marriage, she’d taken for granted how much she loved the level of comfort that came with simply having cup of coffee with the person she loved. It had only been after its loss that she’d realized how much she’d relied on those first few quiet moments of the day. “Then I have to finish a commission. But...” she turned hopeful eyes on Owen, “maybe we can have lunch together somewhere nice. Just us?”

“Ahh fu— fudge,” Saraya exclaimed, biting her lip at the near slip. She’d been working on cursing less ever since Gabriel’s teacher had heard him using an adult word. Ray rolled her eyes at the thought. Gabriel was six. Granted, she knew that so called bad words weren’t acceptable in polite society, and were even less acceptable when thrown around by children, but a part of her still thought that she would’ve praised him for using it in the correct context. Instead, she’d been reprimanded for forgetting that children are always listening. So, now, she was saying words like fudge rather than a word that truly conveyed how she felt about the stain she’d just discovered on her brand new shirt. She dabbed at the stain, rubbing her shirt between two fingers, even though she knew the action would do nothing to help. “I just got this shirt.”

"Coffee," Ray asked as she shuffled barefooted through the kitchen, sluggishly making her way to the coffee maker. She barely managed to stifle a yawn. Saraya had never been a morning person. In a perfect world, the day would begin at 10a.m. She'd spend her first hour awake sketching all the things she'd dreamed the night before, two cups in hand -- dirty paint water in one, coffee in the other (in her fantasies, and in real life, Ray was fueled by coffee.) Then she'd catch up client messages, spend the next few hour or so on the intricacies of self-marketing, before throwing herself fully into her passion -- painting. She'd end the day with her son, basking in the glory of motherhood, before finally turning in for the night, fulfilled with the perfection that was her life.

Instead, she lived in a world that required that she be awake before 6a.m. bleary eyed and all just so that she could carve out a few moments for herself before the rush of being a working mother consumed her. "So, any plans for today?"