Trish was a hard little worker when it came to the triplets. And putting up with Claude too, I suppose.
Her various art projects kept her busy in her infrequent spurts of free time. Something told me that they were not quite enough. And by something, I mean the peanut gallery in my head.
Mom felt sorry for her. I grew accustomed to her keeping the kids quiet, and I guess I was afraid she would regret it someday and book it.
She had said that she wanted something of a relationship. Most of the time, I found it hard to even pretend to be interested in her. She was a great woman, but I had too much else on my mind.
If I wasn’t careful, someone would snap her up in an instant. Well, they could try but would probably not have my many advantages. There was always the rare possibility though.
So, every once in a while when she became too stir-crazy, I’d concede and do something nice for her.
I guess my surprise way of telling her about my promotion didn’t count as something nice, so I had to go bigger and less creative.
I’d let her get all dolled up and take her out to the bistro for lunch. Then I’d supply roses, followed by rattling off my arbitrary pet name for her. It was all formulaic, but it pleased her endlessly.
It usually put me in the position to ask for a certain mood uplifting activity before work. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t think love was necessary to enjoy a bit of action. Especially when one could see the practical side to it.
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