#fitzleyreborn

She may have settled into her new life very peaceably had it not been for the nagging notion in the back of her brain that he was to return. She knew that he was going to return eventually, she just hadn't expected it to make her so nervous. She'd made up her mind, she'd moved all of her things out of his house. She'd pulled her money, the money she'd meticulously kept track of by keeping every pay stub, every document for the last several years. She pulled out every penny that was hers from their checking and savings accounts. She'd started her own account, at a separate bank.

She'd left her cell phone, completely reset to its factory out-of-the-box settings and left it on the entry hall table. She'd gotten her phone with a brand new number. She didn't leave it for him, but she knew, in this small town, he'd find a way to get it. While each of her preparations had been made to create another degree of separation, it also would, she knew, create another degree of anger in her husband's breast. She'd met with an attorney and the formal separation required before a divorce had begun. She had a year.

A year of separation before she could file for a no-fault divorce, something she desperately wanted. So much could happen in that amount of time. Wringing her hands, she paced the length of the kitchen in her bare feet. Her white thighs partially covered in her Soffe shorts, remnants of her dancer days. No tights covered her skin now. The tight spaghetti strapped tank top was covered with a cropped and loose sweatshirt hung off of one shoulder and her long chestnut hair was swept back in a loose braid. 

Standing on the back porch, sunshine glinting off the wooden boards and reflecting off her face, she shivered a bit against the cool breeze. Pippa wasn't exactly cold; just a bit cool in the shade. She looked his wet body up and down, wondering why he hadn't just agreed to go first or just waited until the shower was unoccupied. She let her moment, for just a second, go to the place where in an alternative universe or some distant daydream, wonder why she hadn't just offered for him to climb in with her. Sure, it might have been messy and sticky with oil to begin with but quickly soap and warm water and perhaps a few determined fingers would wash away any remnant of the mess.

His scar may have seemed huge and scary to him, but in the that moment, Pippa saw it glinting in the sun streaked with water from the hose. It was merely a tiny blip in the landscape of his chiseled chest. She had heard very few details about his surgery or his health condition; only enough to merely know that they existed. She'd never been nosy or would pry for more information than was absolutely necessary. So instead, she simply had been supportive of her friend; she'd watered the plants and brought in the mail at her friend's apartment. Fed the fish and made sure her fridge was stocked. All the things that a good friend could do. If she Alana hadn't wanted to talk about it, she didn't ask about it. So as such, she knew very little. And that, well in this situation, in this tricky situation where in each moment, she felt her affection growing millimeter by millimeter for the man by the hour, it was probably for the best. 

All the times that she had spent daydreaming and thinking, well, not recently, but a long time ago she had a very active imagination and he might have played a starring role or two. But for the moment, her buzz was acute as she threw back the rest of her second drink. On an empty stomach, it didn’t take much. Even on a regular night with a full dinner, it still wouldn’t have taken much at all. And tonight she needed that little bit of courage. It propelled her up off the stool and away from the bar, looping her arm through is in the playful way one might with a close friend. But really, she enjoyed his strength. The lingering scent of oil on his coat, likely from bring hung up in the shop.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel sad. Instead, she had only wanted to be honest. He had asked how she was and she’d felt compelled to be truthful with Christopher. Afterall, they knew each other. Not well, but close enough association that lying or fabricating were stupid. She was certain that it was better to just be honest. It was the best policy and she had nothing to hide from him. She wanted him to know the truth. Pippa couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she felt as if she really wanted to pour her soul out to him.

Just as he mentioned food, her stomach grumbled. She smiled and nodded.

It was very clear that life did not always turn out the way one might want it to. Phillippa Marjorie McKay was no exception to that rule. She'd never dreamed that she would be married at twenty; now ever so much more than just a sliver beyond unhappily at 26. Sometimes it was almost as if she lived two lives; the one she imagined for herself in her head that still just might become a reality, and the reality that was not even close to living up to the daydream. When Mick had first entered her life, he'd been mysterious and passionate and a little possessive. None of these things had really bothered her to begin with, not the way that they might have had she sat down to think about it. She didn't think about whether [i]she[/i] was happy or not. Instead, she focused her energy on others and that kept her out of the house and more than a little sane. It also kept her busy and not pondering her current life situation was further made her feel happy.

Most of her time Pippa kept busy by collecting project after project that would keep her away from the house: volunteering with the local high school's dance team, offering ballroom dance lessons at the senior center, teaching the homecoming court a choreographed waltz to surprise the student body at the pep assembly, working with the musical and the show choir, and even starting to record some simple lessons to upload on YouTube. Anything and everything she could think of, she did. She even picked up a direct sales business selling purses and totes to ladies in the community. Whatever she could think of, she did it to stay away from home.

But she worked too hard, a point that her best friend was constantly pointing out to her. She needed to go out and have fun; to become more than just a constant flurry of activity and business. She was glorifying never being home; none of it was fun, but that didn't stop her from cramming her calendar full of activities just so she didn't have to sit down and think. Thinking was dangerous, as was asking dangerous questions and her friend was good at making suppositions and helping her realize where her weaknesses may lie. She'd been pushing her off for this very reason; it was too dangerous to talk about feelings, feeling them was plenty danger enough.

So tonight wasn't really about talking, at least not serious-type conversation. Instead, they were grabbing dinner somewhere, preferably somewhere loud that discouraged serious conversation or at least somewhere quick with delicious food. And then they were going out - drinking, dancing, perhaps whatever might come to mind. It was to be the simple staple in what a stereotypical girl's night might be, but she was satisfied with just that. She rarely had a moment for quiet contemplation so when her friend disappeared to the bathroom and didn't return, and Pippa spied her chatting with a handsome blonde in the corner, the redhead stayed at the bar and continued to sip her cocktail.

It was nice to have a moment to enjoy the night. She'd check on her friend, eventually. And certainly, all would be well. For the moment, she simply stood and pondered. There were seven days until Christmas after all; there was a lot of mental shopping to be done. She refused to pull out her phone; that would truly be rude. Besides, the bartender was actually chatting tonight and he was fairly easy on the eye. It didn't matter that he was probably gay. She needed light conversation and this was definitely it. 

Word Count: 615