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 Posted: Wed Sep 18, 2013 9:00 pm
”Paris… do you think we’re boring?” Chris asked as he sat on one of the swings in the park. The sun kept peeking in and out from behind grey clouds, which made it seem as though the weather couldn’t make up its mind on if it wanted to be warm and sunny, or start to rain. For now, the ground remained dry, but who knew if that would last.
After a summer of working on their stupidly large house, school was now taking up the majority of their time, but there was still chances every now and then to get out and enjoy themselves.
Sort of… or at least he supposed they were enjoying themselves. He was certainly content just sitting around the empty park while Annabel Lee bounced and pranced around. Even at almost five years old, she was still just a puppy. Paris was nearby, probably getting their early dinner set out for them to eat, picnic style because… well, Paris was cute like that… She always liked going above and beyond with things and it sometimes made Chris feel as though he was, well, a slacker.
“I mean… I’m not bored or anything, I just feel like… we’re not acting our age… Shouldn’t we be out at parties or something?” he wondered, not bothering to swing, but rather was fine just sitting there.
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Posted: Thu Sep 19, 2013 3:53 pm
“Aren't married couples supposed to be boring?” Paris asked.
She was pretty sure such a sentiment was a common enough thought among unmarried peoples—although, being married herself, she could no longer provide an expert opinion on the thoughts and beliefs of the unmarried. She did, however, remember once thinking that it must be true. Now that she had experience to speak from, she wasn't quite sure what she thought about it—just that if they were boring, and if being married was what made them boring, she was totally alright with it.
Paris went about setting up their little picnic with the air of one who was entirely unconcerned by the current topic of discussion, pulling food items and drinks out of a cooler and a posh little picnic basket that had cost her quite a bit more than she cared to admit. Not all that long ago she would have been heartily against the idea of spending nearly $200 on something as silly as a picnic basket, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to refuse when Chris insisted that if she liked something well enough she should get over her hang-ups about money and take advantage of the Gallo credit card. The picnic basket in question had been purchased during a moment of weakness when Paris had been particularly enamored of the cute little plates and matching utensils and miniature wine glasses that made up the display, and Chris had been correspondingly sweet.
Somewhere back in years previous, a much more practical Paris cringed while a much less romantically-inclined Paris gagged.
Presently, Paris hopped up from the floral printed blanket she'd spread out on a patch of grass to hand Chris one of the small wine glasses. She kept the second for herself and showed Chris a cheeky grin as she sipped at it, knowing he didn't quite approve of her drinking (then again, he wasn't vehemently against it either). If she could get over the money and learn to live a little, he could get over her being underage and learn to do the same.
“Anyway, haven't we had a conversation like this before?” she wondered. “I'm having a flash of deja vu. If you want to go to parties then we can go to parties, no big deal. You'd have to act less like you've got a stick up your a**, though. Get down and let loose.”
She did a little dance to demonstrate, and ended with a graceful drop into Chris's lap.
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Posted: Thu Sep 19, 2013 4:26 pm
Chris shrugged and sighed, taking a moment to glance around the park and up at the trees. He wasn’t entirely sure what married couples were supposed to be, but sometimes he wondered is his lack of adventurous spirit was somehow affecting how Paris acted.
What if he was holding her back? What if she wanted to do things but decided not to mention them because her husband was too enamored by things like playing baseball and playing catch with his dog, or even just sitting around with his guitar…
He knew Paris didn’t think poorly of him for not having much of a desire to do more ‘hip’ things, like going to nightclubs or out to bars, but he couldn’t help feeling self conscious about it from time to time.
There was an unintended click of disapproval as Paris handed him the wine glass, although to make up for the noise, he took it with no further argument. When he was worried about being boring, he probably shouldn’t prove his point by not just taking things in stride.
The swing pushed back when Paris landed in his lap, although he was quick to place an arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off, and lifted his feet to let gravity bring them back to center. “I don’t really want to go to parties,” he admitted, giving her an exasperated look, clearly not appreciating the implication. Letting loose was usually saved for the pitcher’s mound.
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Posted: Fri Sep 20, 2013 2:48 pm
“You mean to tell me,” Paris began, “that you don't want to end up at some sketchy frat house with half your clothes off, drunk out of your mind and unknowingly spilling your deepest secrets to someone who, like you, probably won't remember in the morning, all the while making out with some sorority skank and being pawed at by some leery-eyed creep?”
She said it all in one quick breath, with the surety of someone who spoke from experience. And, of course, she did, though most of those experiences were buried beneath at least two years worth of memories.
Paris grinned teasingly, entirely confident that she already knew the answer. Chris's idea of a party was, naturally, quite difference from her own, owing to the fact that they had completely different backgrounds and used to hang around completely different crowds of people. Chris's idea of a party was quite a bit more... bougie—although Paris was no longer certain it was appropriate to call anything related to the Gallos “bougie,” given that the Gallos couldn't even be described as middle-class. “Glamorous” and “swanky” and “ridiculously expensive” were probably better choices in wording.
“I suppose we'll just have to be boring then,” Paris concluded. “But if your only definition of 'boring' is 'doesn't go to crazy parties,' I think that's your problem right there.”
After claiming a very brief peck on the lips and taking another sip of wine, Paris hopped back onto her feet to make her way back over to the blanket.
“We are sort of predictable, though,” she said in all seriousness, settling herself down. She placed her wine glass aside temporarily and finished unpacking their food. “And I guess we're kind of gross,” she added, wrinkling her nose at the charming but tripe picture they made together—she in a short sundress, making the most of the last of summer's lingering warmth, her hair falling over her shoulders in carefully tamed curls; Chris in his khakis and a crisp button-up shirt, clean-cut, clean-shaven, the boy-next-door with a dopey smile and a pretty-boy face; and the dog gamboling around the park, the entire scene pristine and wholesome and ridiculously soppy.
Paris stuck her tongue out and pretended to gag.
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Posted: Fri Sep 20, 2013 3:05 pm
Chris’s expression adopted a sour look as Paris offered just one of the reasons he didn’t particularly enjoy going to parties, especially with people he couldn’t care less about. His idea of a party was a much tamer scene — a group of friends gathered together, playing board games or video games, or even watching a movie. Perhaps they decide to order pizza, or they all agreed to bring something to share to eat.
Either way, Chris realized that his lack of experience in such events as Paris had described made him seem like a goody-goody. But it was more to it than that. It was a matter of looking like he thought he was too good for those things, because he had such a different taste for things. And it wasn’t that he thought that at all! He just… didn’t really like the idea of not remembering the night before.
“What’s my problem?” he wondered, hoping Paris would clarify, an eyebrow arching skeptically a small sneer escaping in the form of a twitch of his upper lip. He let her get off his lap and allowed the swing to be pushed back up, resting against it more like leaning on a wall than sitting down.“And why are we gross?” he asked as well, apparently missing the somewhat cliche image they made. But it was only skin deep, and perhaps that was why he didn’t catch on. There was much more involved to their relationship than what met the eye, and he didn’t really care what other people thought of them.
He didn’t take lightly the choices he made — once Chris decided on something, the chance of changing his mind was slim. Some things, though… he was capable of adapting to as he grew. The wine in his hand, for example, despite being regarded as unnecessary, was casually sipped at, if only for Paris’s sake.
“Do you need help with anything?” he added after a few moments, feeling as though he could at least ask, even though he could probably guess the answer.
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Posted: Fri Sep 20, 2013 3:34 pm
“Hmm, I wonder,” Paris said, but didn't bother to provide an explanation for either of Chris's first two questions just yet.
The first would likely require more discussion, and the second should be obvious. Then again, Chris often didn't pick up on some of the more sappy and “romantic” aspects of their relationship. He forgot all about Valentine's Day even when it was staring him right in the face (he forgot most holidays that weren't Thanksgiving and Christmas, actually, and Paris supposed she should feel fortunate that Chris at least remembered the dates of their anniversaries); he seemed perfectly content with the obscene amount of cuddling they took part in without whining overly much when things didn't go much further beyond that (like he didn't even know what else he was missing, though Paris knew that wasn't precisely the case, Chris just knew better than to push); and he never noticed when their outfits matched.
And their outfits matched a lot. It was one of the silly “romantic” couple-y things Paris was most fond of (for reasons she couldn't even explain to herself), and as Chris was too lazy (“pampered” worked better there, Paris thought) to complain when Paris set out clothes for him in the morning, she was able to get away with it rather frequently.
Like today, for example. The pink of Paris's dress matched the stripes on Chris's shirt perfectly.
As to the offer for assistance, Paris shook her head and said, “If you really wanted to help, you would have done it without asking,” but she didn't sound too put out by it. It wasn't as if she required much help anyway, and she probably would have shooed Chris away if he'd tried.
Pampered, indeed.
“I'm done anyway,” she said, and patted the blanket. “Come eat.”
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Posted: Fri Sep 20, 2013 4:00 pm
The patting of the blanket caught Annabel’s attention as well, and she bounded over to them to see what they were going to give her to eat, or if they were going to give her a tummy rub. Probably both. In preparation, she flopped onto her back and wiggled around on the ground beside Paris, clearly ready for such things.
Chris on the other hand, didn’t bound over to the blanket when he was summoned, but he did slowly get off the swing and made his way over, taking a seat next to his better half. He was close enough to be able to casually rest with his arm somewhat behind her, but hopefully not close enough to be obnoxious.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he huffed, playfully leaning closer to butt his forehead against the side of her head, only to quickly kiss the bed of blonde curls in the same spot. Okay, so maybe he answered one of his own questions as to why they were gross. He certainly didn’t think it was gross in the way others behaved in public, falling all over each other to the point where he felt somewhat uncomfortable, but being alone in a park seemed like an okay time to be a little affectionate.
As much as he was curious as to what they were going to be eating, Chris knew better than to pester Paris with such pointless questions. She would show him soon enough after all, and what was the point in ruining the surprise. In retrospect, he probably should have at least helped her pack the basket, rather than waiting for her, sitting at the foot of the stairs in the foyer, playing games on his phone… But it wasn’t as though she ever fussed at him for not being helpful, right??
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Posted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 10:02 am
Rather than letting Chris serve himself (and thereby learn a bit of self-sufficiency), Paris piled food onto one of the plates and passed it to him. Then she took a second plate and served herself.
Lemon and herb roasted chicken, asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto, sun-dried tomato, parmesan and basil pinwheels, pasta salad with spinach, tomatoes, cucumbers, and olives, and watermelon salad with feta and mint—not quite the usual picnic fair, but it better suited Paris's tastes. In any case, most of it was left-overs from dinner earlier in the week, with the exception of the watermelon salad (freshly prepared before leaving the house) and the pasta salad (which Paris usually had a ready supply of in the refrigerator anyway, for a quick snack or a side dish with dinner when she wanted to save time). Dessert, too, had been prepared that morning, but Paris left it packed away for the time being.
She took a few bites of her food before momentarily turning her attention to Anna and giving the dog exactly what she wanted—a loving tummy rub followed by a few pieces of chicken.
“Which question?” Paris said upon returning to her meal. “The one about your faulty definition of boring or the one about us being gross?”
She smiled sweetly and paused for a sip of wine, and then answered the second question even though she was sure Chris had meant the first, “Well, there's the absolutely adorable way you don't even realize we match. You look so cute in pink. And then there's the fact that we call each other sweet names. Or at least I call you a sweet name. You just call me what my mom's always called me, and if you weren't such a big dope you'd risk sounding like a sleaze, but because you're such a nice guy it just sounds so sweet. Then there's the dog and the cat and the house that doesn't have a white picket fence so much as a stone wall, but you get the idea. What a perfect little picture we make.”
Appearances could be deceiving, of course. Nothing was ever quite as perfect as it seemed on the surface. Paris knew that well.
“Eat, Pooh Bear, you're so skinny,” she concluded, half in jest.
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Posted: Sun Sep 22, 2013 8:43 am
”We don’t mat--...” he paused, actually taking the time to look from Paris’s dress to his own shirt, making a face that seemed half disgusted and half amused. Okay, so maybe they did match, but that wasn’t his fault! Paris usually picked out what she wanted him to wear that day, and that was just one less thing he needed to worry about when he was busy getting ready to go to class.
Yes, he knew he was rather spoiled, but… it wasn’t as though she was fussing about him not doing things, right? Maybe…? Or was he really that helpless?
Chris made a face at her insistence that he ate, and that he was skinny. “Please…” he groaned with a shake of his head. “Don’t even joke…” He wasn’t at all skinny, and especially not like Paris. Chris made sure to be well fit and ready for baseball season. Sure, he might be trim, but not skinny.
“I didn’t know what your mom called you,” he corrected, feeling like he wasn’t going to be given any credit, although he supposed calling her ‘baby’ was kind of… well, childish. “If you want to be called something else, I can… call you sweetheart or something… what does my brother call you? Baby doll?” he grimaced, not wanting to use a name his brother used… how creepy would that be?
“Leftovers…?” he wondered out loud, picking at the chicken and pulling the meat off of the asparagus, because gross.
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Posted: Sat Sep 28, 2013 8:03 am
“You're complaining?” Paris asked, and raised both of her eyebrows in a way that might suggest against it.
Although, in all honesty, even if Chris did complain she wouldn't be too terribly offended. It was sweet the way he whined and seemed to think Paris could work wonders with food, big spoiled baby that he was. Paris couldn't say she minded. In fact, part of it was probably her fault, given that she set out his clothes for him and made his morning coffee for him and picked up and washed his dirty laundry for him and shooed him out of the kitchen so that she could cook for him.
Well, and also because Chris would destroy the kitchen if he tried and they'd end up with a meal that was likely to see them both in the hospital with food poisoning, so at least with that last one it was for the benefit of them both that Paris handled all the food preparation.
“Listen to you,” Paris said. “You complain that we're boring and then you go on to agonize over what you and everyone else call me. Baby, Precious, Baby Doll, what does it matter? We'd still be gross. And boring, according to whatever standards you're using to base that observation on.”
She smiled sweetly and gently smacked the back of Chris's hand to get him to stop mangling his vegetables. “Stop picking at it like you're five. Keep the meat on it, it's just prosciutto. I thought you liked it.”
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Posted: Wed Oct 09, 2013 4:47 pm
”No,” Chris mumbled, although it sounded something of a whine. He wasn’t complaining about the food, he just… was surprised when Paris didn’t have something completely new for them every meal. She was kind of amazing when it came to food things… She was always trying out new recipes and presentations that it was just… normal.
He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth when she swatted at his hand, glancing up at her with a small frown, akin to a pout. “Yeah, I do like the prosciutto… That’s what I’m trying to eat,” he pointed out, although he was quick to go ahead and take a bite of the whole thing, asparagus included, although he made sure to make an exaggerated face that showed how disappointed he was. Only he wasn’t, but he was allowed to tease her, right?
“I mean, look at us,” Chris continued, clearly not willing to give up the argument that they were… weird, if not boring. “We’re having a picnic… I’m not saying I don’t like it, but… who does that these days? It’s like we’re hipsters or something… only not because I don’t think I can pull off the glasses.”
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Posted: Sat Oct 12, 2013 4:22 pm
Paris tried to look exasperated by Chris's behavior but ended up just looking amused.
Was that bad? Should she maybe force him to be more independent? Chris could hardly take care of himself without resorting to take-out every night and going to his mother for the laundry and cleaning. Paris supposed she shouldn't really be encouraging that sort of behavior in a young man of twenty-one, but it wasn't always for Chris's own comfort that she did things for him, though she often told herself it was.
Really, she liked having someone to take care of. In a lot of ways looking after Chris was something of a replacement for looking after her father.
That was probably just as bad, she thought.
Whatever. It made them both happy, so she didn't see why things should change.
“I don't see anything wrong with a picnic,” she said.
At least they were outdoors instead of cooped up in the house all the time. At least there was a chance they might run into other people and strike up a conversation and interact with someone other than each other, which had become the norm as of late. Well, alright, which had been the norm for most of the last year, but they were still in their honeymoon phase, weren't they? Somewhere there was a rule about that, wasn't there? They should be gross and always together and sickening when observed by others?
Paris would actually be pretty sickened if she had to watch other people act like she and Chris acted. That had to say something.
“Okay, so, let's do something different then,” she suggested. “We can go sky-diving, or... I don't know. Um, well, I guess we should try to do stuff around other people, except... I don't know about you, but being around other people is exhausting sometimes. But we could try. We should try. And maybe we're too... you know... cuddly and stuff. You want to make things more interesting? We can argue and have really great make-up sex if you want? I'll schedule it in my day planner,” she said, and then jokingly set her plate aside to dig said planner out of her bag, flip to a random page, and mime writing, “Argue with Chris about the dishes and all his dirty underwear on the floor.”
Which was sometimes a problem. She didn't know how many times she'd tripped over a pair of Chris's boxers on the way to the bathroom.
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2013 8:24 am
Chris snorted and shook his head at the suggestion of sky-diving, thinking she was just making up things now. He picked at some of the food she had prepared for the two of them, tossing some chicken to Annabel before taking a bite for himself.
At first he laughed about the attempt at arguing, but then he was taken a little aback by her comment of his underwear. “I do not!” he denied, wondering if he was just imagining the rise of heat in his cheeks, or if he was blushing a little. She didn’t have to call him out on it! It wasn’t like it was that big a deal, right?? “I wash the dishes!” he tried, pushing his plate to the side so he could reach out to try and take her day planner from her.
“Don’t even joke about that,” he feigned a disgruntled huff as he gently pried the book away from her, leaning over her enough to knock her down onto the blanket and shower kisses on her face. “I do not… leave my underwear… on the floor…” he said between kisses, now just trying to get her to laugh, and glad that there wasn’t anyone else around. He was usually very particular about PDA, but when they were alone, he didn’t see a problem.
“You leave your hairbands everywhere. Yeah, those headbands you wear to keep your bangs back. Yeah you do,” he tried, knowing she had a collection on various surfaces in the house, from the bathroom to the kitchen to the bedside table.
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Posted: Tue Nov 05, 2013 7:46 am
”Loading the dishwasher is only half of doing the dishes,” Paris said. “You still have to put the soap in and turn the machine on, and hand wash all the stuff that can't go into the dishwasher.”
Which Chris hardly ever did. For someone normally so intelligent he didn't seem able to figure out how the dishwasher worked (“What setting do I put it on again? Wait, where does the soap go? How much am I supposed to use? Why don't you just have those little packets you pop into the dispenser?”), nor was he patient enough for some of the messier cleaning-by-hand. But Paris was being a little unfair to him. He did, at the very least, take out the trash, and fix things when they were broken. So he wasn't entirely stupid about cleaning—just lazy and helpless.
For a moment Paris fought valiantly for her day planner, but she knew Chris didn't mean it any harm (he knew how important it had become to her) and eventually relinquished it to him with only a briefly concerned glance. Then she allowed herself to be pushed onto the blanket beneath him and enjoyed the many kisses placed upon her face, subtly turning her head when she wanted one in a certain spot, and grabbing a couple on the lips while she did so.
“Yes, but the difference between my hairbands and your underwear is that I leave my hairbands in strategically placed organizational boxes on counters and desks, or in drawers where they won't get in the way,” she said. “Trust me, it's a good plan. You never know when you'll get fed up with your hair and need one. I even have some laying around in a drawer of your desk, so one day maybe you'll stop constantly running your hand through your bangs like you expect them to defy gravity and stay out of your face when you're busy doing your homework, but I guess you'd rather develop a Bieber hair flip.”
She carded her fingers through Chris's hair as she spoke, sliding them through his bangs and pushing them back to hold them in place.
“Wow, where did this cute face come from, I hardly ever see it sometimes!” she teased.
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Posted: Mon Jan 20, 2014 5:33 pm
Chris’s eyes widened just slightly as she called him out on his shaggy hair, leaving his expression as clueless as he could manage — perhaps learned from his mother — giving Paris a forced pout when she pushed his hair back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he feigned innocence, but he didn’t pull away from her just yet.
Anna had decided whatever game they were playing seemed like it was a wonderful idea, and bounced around them, lapping at Chris’s face as Paris held his bangs back. “Ugh, Anna,” he groaned, giving his dog a gentle shove away from him as she continued to bounce and wiggle in excitement. He pushed himself back up, taking hold of Paris’s hand to help her up as well, and grabbed at his dog to pull her into his lap to keep her from jumping into their food. She seemed fine enough with this, although her tail continued to whip around, and she tried rolling onto her back to lick at his face once more.
“Let’s try going out to a club or something,” he suggested, albeit a bit awkwardly as he glanced over to Paris to see her expression. “Not right now, but… sometime. You used to go a lot, didn’t you?” he wondered, calming Anna with a small piece of chicken, and taking the time to shove something into his mouth as well.
“I can’t promise I won’t embarrass you,” he half joked, “But it might be fun.” It would be a new experience for him at the very least, and for all he knew it might be more fun than he expected it to be.
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