| |
Friday, July 11, 2014, Seattle, Washington
It had been awhile since Mac had checked his Facebook account. Weeks. He probably should be better about it, but he didn’t like social media in spite of all of the obvious research potential it had for a journalist. But it was late at night, really late, even the evening reporters were gone. He was in the newsroom waiting for Angie to finish some photo editing. They were going to the Bohemian when she was done — if she managed to get done before the bar closed, Mac thought. From the muttered curses he heard coming from the photo department office, the editing wasn’t going well.
And there it was in his feed. Naomi Fairchild wishes to announce the engagement of her daughter Kate Fairchild to Anthony Washington. Washington was an assistant professor in mathematics at Seattle Pacific University. The wedding was set for Dec. 23, 2014, at the Christian Life Church where both were members.
He looked at the announcement for a while. There were a lot of comments wishing the couple well. Lots of those stupid little blue thumbs and red hearts.
He didn’t hear Angie come out of her office until she leaned against his shoulder to see what he was staring at. She read it. “Well that didn’t take long,” she observed.
Mac didn’t respond. He didn’t really know what he felt.
Angie tugged on his arm. “Come on, Marine,” she said. “We’ve got a table calling our name if we get there in the next 20 minutes. Of course, if we don’t get there? My apartment has a table too.”
“And roommates,” he said. “Your apartment has roommates.”
“And your house has an aunt,” she responded. “So?”
“Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s go. And you don’t know how good it feels to be able to say fuck again.”
Angie laughed. Shit, he loved her laugh.
Mac smiled down at Angie as he followed her out the back door. “Even better is fucking again,” he said. “Roommates, aunts and all.”
He might need to do something about that, he thought. Time for a place of his own?
He couldn’t help but look back one last time at the computer announcing the end of a dream. Fuck it, he thought. His reality was just fine. Better than a dream world where he couldn’t be himself.
Still. Well, just fuck.
He turned out the newsroom lights and lengthened his stride to catch up with the woman who liked him as he was. And after that weekend in the mountains? There should be no doubt in her mind exactly what kind of person he was. And she liked him anyway. Maybe even because he was the person he was.
Which was good. Because he liked her too.
A lot.