living that domestic life

So, I’m super inspired right now? And I really just wanted to write another dream sequence? Like, I’m just really happy aside from all the work I have to do for school.

I had another dream about what life could be. This time, Owen and I sat together in my bedroom at home, but the furniture had changed and instead of my messy, adolescent bedspread, we were leaning on each other on a comfortable couch. Owen was older with longer hair and his face had filled out more; he had neatly trimmed stubble that got caught on my own hair. Where there was once a wall was now a floor-to-ceiling window that gave a perfect view of the tree in my backyard where I spent most of my time as a child. The tree, now much taller than before was bare but caught what snow it could. I guess Owen had been speaking for some time before I had refocused on him.

“… and when your mother called, I was still doing the dishes, so I missed the first call and then she was relentless about trying to get through. The point is that she wants to know when we’ll be serving dinner on Friday.”

“What dinner?”

“Christmas, dummy. Are you not paying attention? Are you projecting or something?” Owen seemed like he was upset, but instead, he gently pushed on my shoulder, nudging me off him as he rose to his feet.

“Oh. Well, what did you say?”

“I told her that we were going to be working on the meal all morning, but would actually start serving once she had arrived along with the rest of the family. I was more hoping to talk to you about that though.”

Owen held his hand out to me, which I took, and he pulled me into him. “Shoot.”

“Well, from what she’s said, her facility gets kind of empty when holidays roll around and it just hasn’t been the same since your dad passed, Ezra. I was wondering if we could put a bed in here for the week and have her stay.”

A wave of sadness flooded over me as if the dream were real. “That’s fine, Owen. I’ll call her in the morning to let her know we’ll pick her up.”

Owen smirked. “What about that magic fingers, Ezra? We don’t even have to drive the car. There doesn’t even have to be a car; can’t you just wave your hand and she’ll be here?”

“You really think my mother would enjoy that? We don’t see her that often and you think that she’d want to be immediately whisked away without any warning? What if I lose her?” The last part was more of a rhetorical question.

“You’re right. Come downstairs with me and we’ll get dinner ready.”

As he began to head for the stairs, I didn’t let go of his hand, but pulled him back to me and looked up at him. Even in my dream, there was a sizeable difference in our height and as I stood on my toes in my socks, I kissed him and when he opened his eyes, we were sitting on a newly-installed kitchen island.

“I love your magic. I love you.”

“You’re still doing everything by hand,” I said with a laugh.

And as he was done with every pot, pan, and utensil, they washed, dried, and put themselves away as I watched my husband plate our dinner and it gently floated over to our small table by our kitchen window. With a snap of my fingers, the slightly burned down candles were lit and the speaker by the refrigerator came to life with soft notes of a piano. Owen watched me with a delicate look from across the table and tenderly took my hand in his own and even if we weren’t talking, I was happy.

I did not wake up in a rush this time. I did not throw my stuffed cat. I kept my eyes closed and rolled over and squeezed the cat harder.


Author: chancet1014

I'm a student. I'm a cashier. I'm a writer. I'm a rambler.

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