Here’s a taste, and check out the rest at A Vee Christmas (Part 1):
Vee’s sitting by the fire in my favorite leather chair as I come out from the bedroom. She’s stretched her feet out, getting as close to the heat as she can. After the snow the other day, she’s been miserable, complaining about soaking her feet in the slush on her way to and from work, about the crush of Christmas shoppers, and having to mop the floor every hour. Now she’s quiet, holding a cup of coffee, her eyelids drooping. I almost hate to disturb her, but I’ve had this idea in my head all day.
“Let’s go out, Vee,” I say softly, coming to run my fingers through her red and green streaked hair. She did it for the holiday, but also to piss off her boss, who always fussed about her ‘abnormal and disgusting’ hair colors. I think it’s cute, and it’s the most holiday spirit Vee’s shown all month.
Part 2 is coming soon!
While I’m away, I wanted to give you a treat to tide you over.
Vee: Past Imperfect
The latest short in my story of Vee.
Before I disappear for a couple of weeks on my trip, I wanted to put up another short story to tide you over until my return.
Vee: Birdland (I)
We haven’t been dating long, and already Vee and I are sticking too close to home. It’s too easy for me to pick her up after work when the bookstore closes, too easy for us to make dinner and drinks here, watching late night TV, or having sex. Not that I mind. But I’m already a bit of a shut-in.
“We should go out tonight,” I say to Vee when she comes over, having had the early shift at the bookstore. She flops into the cracked leather chair in front of the small fireplace, putting her feet up on the arm.
“Where to?” She sounds eager, and I’m glad. Maybe she too has been feeling the urge for change.
“Do you like jazz?” I come out from the kitchen with a glass of water, and Vee looks at me upside down, her head on the back of the chair. She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Don’t know much about it. Punk’s more my style. And indie rock.”
“That’s settled then. Put on a nice dress-” she’s in her work uniform still, and it just won’t do- “and we’ll go.”
“A nice dress?” Vee sits up straight. “Not opera gloves too, I hope.”