Grace waited, willing herself to stay awake while simultaneously feigning sleep, until the sound of Mark?s breathing slowed down and evened out. Even then, the girl waited a little longer, watching him closely for signs that he was still awake, or easily stirred. When she was convinced that the Gypsy King was out, the little dancer slipped out of his arms and shimmied down the little ladder to the floor as quietly as she could.
As was always the case when you?re trying to be particularly quiet, it was almost like Grace had forgotten the layout of the RV, like she?d suddenly grown six sizes too big for it. Papers scattered and fell to the floor. She accidentally kicked the garbage can. Barely caught a cup she?d unbalanced with her elbow before it clattered to the ground. On more than one occasion she had to clap both hands over her mouth, scarcely daring to breathe as she waited and listened to see whether the noise she?d just made would rouse him.
Her Not-King slumbered on. Grace slumped with relief.
Locating her bag, the tiny dancer riffled through it as quickly as she could, locating the manila envelope she?d put together at work earlier that day. It had his name written across the front in blue ink, a girly little heart trailing just after the W.
Just in case he had even the slightest doubt who it might be from.
Mark had a tendency to wake up earlier than Grace, which is why she?d done it this way. Though there were many commonalities between the two gypsies, this one thing was a stark contrast: Mark woke up ready to get started on his day, Grace always wanted five more minutes. Chances were good that she?d be asleep when he discovered it, which is exactly the way she wanted it. How else do you surprise the not-King who kinda hated surprises?
The girl set it on the kitchen counter directly in front of the coffee pot, where he?d be sure to see it, and then climbed back into the little cubby bed above the driver?s seat, burrowed her way back under the sheets and into his arms. Satisfied, she fell asleep with a little grin on her face.
***
Inside the envelope, there was a sheet of notebook paper with Grace?s handwriting on it, and a small black folder.
The letter:
09/09/2016
Dear Mark,
I know, I know. You hate celebrating your birthdays. I practically had to twist your arm to get the date out of you. Well, I promised I wouldn?t make a big fuss or plan any awkward parties, but I didn?t promise not to acknowledge it at all, so, here?s my little bitty fuss. :)
Happy birthday, Baby. I, for one, am glad you were born. These last seven months or so have been some of the happiest of my life, which is...really saying something when you consider everything we?ve been through. I love you so much that it...sometimes it kinda takes my breath away. You?re a good man, Mark. Maybe (definitely) the best I know. I look at you and I just can?t believe I got so lucky.
So what do you give a not-king for his birthday? I thought about a lot of things. More shirts - since you seem to be running out. A stuffed bunny. A live bunny. A Snicker?s Bar with bunny ears drawn on it (that I would then cry if you actually ate). All of my underwear. Permission not to go to the ballet. (...no such luck there, Mister Barlow. You?re still on the hook.)
And then it dawned on me. There?s only one thing you?ve ever asked me for that I just... couldn?t quite give you at the time. I?ve regretted that ever since, honestly, wished I could go back and do that moment over, unfreeze myself. You were so sweet about it, so understanding and so patient.
And you?ve never asked again.
So, I had these done for you. It?s just a few, and maybe (definitely) one of the scariest things I?ve done recently, but I couldn?t think of a better birthday present for the man I love. Well, none better except this: Ask again. The answer?s yes.
Always (and a day),
Your Little But Fierce, Grace
In the black folder behind the letter were a series of pictures, glossy with matte white borders, five in all. Predictably, at least two of them featured the tiny dancer in shirts that belonged to Mark.
http://i.imgur.com/7jQQxzA.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/5hs0AN3.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/aDCCF5v.jpg
http://i.imgur.com/GFFS4k4.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/QoUqin3.jpg
source
As was always the case when you?re trying to be particularly quiet, it was almost like Grace had forgotten the layout of the RV, like she?d suddenly grown six sizes too big for it. Papers scattered and fell to the floor. She accidentally kicked the garbage can. Barely caught a cup she?d unbalanced with her elbow before it clattered to the ground. On more than one occasion she had to clap both hands over her mouth, scarcely daring to breathe as she waited and listened to see whether the noise she?d just made would rouse him.
Her Not-King slumbered on. Grace slumped with relief.
Locating her bag, the tiny dancer riffled through it as quickly as she could, locating the manila envelope she?d put together at work earlier that day. It had his name written across the front in blue ink, a girly little heart trailing just after the W.
Just in case he had even the slightest doubt who it might be from.
Mark had a tendency to wake up earlier than Grace, which is why she?d done it this way. Though there were many commonalities between the two gypsies, this one thing was a stark contrast: Mark woke up ready to get started on his day, Grace always wanted five more minutes. Chances were good that she?d be asleep when he discovered it, which is exactly the way she wanted it. How else do you surprise the not-King who kinda hated surprises?
The girl set it on the kitchen counter directly in front of the coffee pot, where he?d be sure to see it, and then climbed back into the little cubby bed above the driver?s seat, burrowed her way back under the sheets and into his arms. Satisfied, she fell asleep with a little grin on her face.
***
Inside the envelope, there was a sheet of notebook paper with Grace?s handwriting on it, and a small black folder.
The letter:
09/09/2016
Dear Mark,
I know, I know. You hate celebrating your birthdays. I practically had to twist your arm to get the date out of you. Well, I promised I wouldn?t make a big fuss or plan any awkward parties, but I didn?t promise not to acknowledge it at all, so, here?s my little bitty fuss. :)
Happy birthday, Baby. I, for one, am glad you were born. These last seven months or so have been some of the happiest of my life, which is...really saying something when you consider everything we?ve been through. I love you so much that it...sometimes it kinda takes my breath away. You?re a good man, Mark. Maybe (definitely) the best I know. I look at you and I just can?t believe I got so lucky.
So what do you give a not-king for his birthday? I thought about a lot of things. More shirts - since you seem to be running out. A stuffed bunny. A live bunny. A Snicker?s Bar with bunny ears drawn on it (that I would then cry if you actually ate). All of my underwear. Permission not to go to the ballet. (...no such luck there, Mister Barlow. You?re still on the hook.)
And then it dawned on me. There?s only one thing you?ve ever asked me for that I just... couldn?t quite give you at the time. I?ve regretted that ever since, honestly, wished I could go back and do that moment over, unfreeze myself. You were so sweet about it, so understanding and so patient.
And you?ve never asked again.
So, I had these done for you. It?s just a few, and maybe (definitely) one of the scariest things I?ve done recently, but I couldn?t think of a better birthday present for the man I love. Well, none better except this: Ask again. The answer?s yes.
Always (and a day),
Your Little But Fierce, Grace
In the black folder behind the letter were a series of pictures, glossy with matte white borders, five in all. Predictably, at least two of them featured the tiny dancer in shirts that belonged to Mark.
http://i.imgur.com/7jQQxzA.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/5hs0AN3.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/aDCCF5v.jpg
http://i.imgur.com/GFFS4k4.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/QoUqin3.jpg
source