THE ANGEL THAT IS SUNSHINE (@soughtserenity): Sadie did you ever want kids before everything happened or were you and your Jake happy with things just as they were ?
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the shot glass from earlier lies empty, long abandoned now. she's started helping herself to some generous sips from the bottle instead- one. then, another. ❛ we thought about it. talked about it. we tried our fair share o' times. but... it wa'n't on the cards for us. ❜ lighting a cig with a small, faltering, faraway smile (one of the few she knows now). ❛ i know he woulda loved bein' a daddy, my jakey. he never did say all that much about it. he always said i was all the world he was ever gonna want or need. that our little world, this life of ours we was buildin' together... that was big enough, more than enough, for him. but, he thought about it. i know he did. i knew what he was thinkin', what was on his mind... without him sayin' nothin'. always did. ❜ she can remember fretting something fierce about it. 'cause they'd have this other mouth or mouths to feed and care for on their hands. and how would any kid of hers, with her having this cold stone for a heart, who'd come from a woman like her momma, who'd come from a momma like hers before her be any different? how could she or they be anything other than cold- hard? then, feeling some relief. a little sadness somewhere, too. for him. maybe some for herself. she did get to wondering. thinking if maybe she, if they, couldn't do it different. so, maybe she wasn't the mothering kind. but, in a warm, loving house, a home, with a man who's all love and heart? it could be different. they could do it different. so, she'd started thinking and they'd started talking about a stubborn-hearted, wild thing of a girl running 'round, one with unruly blonde hair. just like her. playing to her and teaching silly old nursery rhymes on the harmonica. or maybe a boy, with his kind eyes and heart. them reading to him and him always with his head stuck in some book. how different it'd be. she lost track of the tries, eventually. stopped counting, talking or wanting about it. got a little angry. a little sad maybe, too. she never did like having nothing taken from her, taken out of her hands. she always wanted to not want something. or to want to. then, she came across that little lopsided donkey-horse again, tucked away someplace, a little dusty now. the one he'd been trying to carve for what seemed like forever (she'd picked splinter after splinter out of his hands- he never was all that handy or practical, her jake). she was always saying how it looked more like an ass. he always laughed at that. but, he was determined, all right. he told her he was gonna make a whole ranch, even if it killed him (and his damn hands). how they'd learn their girl or boy all about theirs. how she could teach them to ride someday. one night, when they was doing the washing up, she wanted to tell him how she loved that stupid little horse. and him. about everything and all the nothing. then, a plate slipped from her hands. and then, she wanted nothing more than to break, to shatter them one after the other. so, she did, sobbing or screaming or something in between the two. he didn't say a word, her jake. just tended gently to her bloodied hands, all ridden with cuts. wiped carefully at the tears. held her in his warm, loving arms. he didn't say nothing when she replaced the plates a day or so later. just held her a little tighter at night, in the dark and quiet. ❛ he woulda made a great daddy, ma jake. the best. ❜
