Post by Samantha on May 31, 2013 1:42:40 GMT
{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}"Oh," Russell said. He was unsure what else to say. He hadn't expected Marina to so suddenly excuse herself: he still had an entire cupcake and half a glass of milk left in front of him. He wondered if she was frustrated with him for turning down the vacation. Part of him wished that he could give spontaneity a go: that he could say to hell with it, throw all caution to the wind, and run off to God only knew where with some girl that he'd known for some twelve hours now—who really cared where he went and who he went with? Who was to stop him?
He was, himself. He was a creature of habit, knew how difficult it was to change that which was so comfortable. He'd stay in Lake Owensway, just as he'd always had: wake up and go to work, stop in at the package store, read a book. Eat dinner with his grandfather, sleep. Wake up and do it all over again.
"I guess I'll head out then," he said, angling his thumb in the general direction of the door. "If you need me for anything..." He leaned over the arm of the sofa to reach for the pen on the end table. On a piece of scrap paper he wrote down Russell McBride—underlining "McBride," just to be good-humored—and beneath that his phone number. He handed the slip to Marina, then rose from the couch.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and leaned down. "Try not to think about your parents too much. Better to worry about it tomorrow, when the time comes. That's my philosophy in life." He kissed her gently on the forehead, then straightened back up and turned toward the door. "But who, really, am I to be giving out advice?"
He was, himself. He was a creature of habit, knew how difficult it was to change that which was so comfortable. He'd stay in Lake Owensway, just as he'd always had: wake up and go to work, stop in at the package store, read a book. Eat dinner with his grandfather, sleep. Wake up and do it all over again.
"I guess I'll head out then," he said, angling his thumb in the general direction of the door. "If you need me for anything..." He leaned over the arm of the sofa to reach for the pen on the end table. On a piece of scrap paper he wrote down Russell McBride—underlining "McBride," just to be good-humored—and beneath that his phone number. He handed the slip to Marina, then rose from the couch.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and leaned down. "Try not to think about your parents too much. Better to worry about it tomorrow, when the time comes. That's my philosophy in life." He kissed her gently on the forehead, then straightened back up and turned toward the door. "But who, really, am I to be giving out advice?"