March Laurel Carter; the Boy Next Door //self-indulgent musings, Poppy Court -> in town -> Poppy Court: Morning to afternoon.

Winters in California were nothing like Virginia. Although the temperature sometimes dipped in the low thirties and forties, March Carter missed the snow. He missed the Blue Ridge Mountains and the green, green, green. But he had made his choice to move Carroll, and he had to live with the consequences. 

As he watched the sunrise from his back patio, the retired Olympic rider took a sip from his mug before pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. The steaming liquid was bitter and delicious. He had to admit that the coffee was, in fact, better here. During the quiet of the morning when he was all alone, March wondered if he'd been too hasty in quitting. It'd been nearly a year since his accident, and he still remembered it vividly. A cracked helmet split in two, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, a shattered shoulder, and worst of all—he couldn't finish that, though. Remembering the hill where he buried his best friend was too much even now.

His neighborhood was silent in the early hours of the morning. Several of his neighbors had made their way to work, but other than that, he was alone with his first cup of coffee. During his morning routine, March liked to mentally check through what he had planned for the day. As an Olympic coach, March split his time training locally and traveling to the LA Equestrian Center. His weekends were usually filled with back-to-back horse shows and clinics that only slowed down slightly during the winter months. That was the good thing about winters in California. Mild temperatures and rare snowfall meant consistent time in the tack. 

On today's agenda, March wasn't needed anywhere. That was rare. He planned to catch up on the chores that had gotten away from him. Not one, not two, but three loads of laundry waited for him, and he needed to pick up groceries. He was running low on essentials and couldn't justify ordering takeout for a third day in a row. Now that he wasn't on a strict Olympic diet, March was on an adventurous streak. He still ate healthy, well-balanced meals, but he wasn't terrified of making a mistake anymore.

The last thing on March’s to-do list was to drop clean blankets off for Joy at the barn. He tried to venture out to see his mare at least four days a week and ride because seeing her always lifted his mood. He felt like an overprotective mom the way he doted on her and constantly posted pictures of her on his Instagram. But he didn't care. Everyone already knew he was a crazy horse boy.

When March finished with his coffee, he dropped his dish off in the sink and made himself a quick breakfast. He tuned into the local radio station for some background noise while he cooked. Although a fried egg was simple, it was such a versatile protein. This morning, he decided to use it as a topper for leftover vegetable fried rice because he was a fiend for roasted sesame seeds and soy sauce.

After breakfast, March begrudgingly tackled his laundry. His three loads devoured his morning, leaving him his entire afternoon for visiting Joy and grocery shopping. He spent a few leisure hours at the barn grooming and riding Joy before bundling her up in a waterproof blanket. Despite him always telling his students no treats, he offered his mare an apple core and a few peppermints before turning her out in the pasture. 

On his way home from the barn, he stopped at the grocery store to stock up on the essentials. He was desperately craving a big pot of chili and cornbread. The thought of warm spices made his mouth water.

As he was leaving the store, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Dumping the bags in the backseat, March withdrew his phone and read the message. 

MOM: Can you pick up my crock-pot from Lucy Forbes and drop it by my house?  March struggled to conjure an image of Lucy Forbes in his mind. She was an older woman, he thought, maybe in her seventies? He recalled she went to church with his (also an atheist like her son) mother. 

MARCH: Sure, where? He quickly typed a reply. Just as he was about to put his phone away so he could leave the parking lot, he saw three white dots appear on his screen indicating his mother was typing. MOM: She'll be at the station.*Stadium. Home game tonight!

March grimaced. He hadn't planned on going out tonight. He had a date with his soup pot and fifty dollars worth of chili ingredients. For a moment, he contemplated rescinding his offer of being his mother's delivery boy but ultimately decided against it.