Т Нован - Exposure Season 3

"Small?" I echo.

I receive a swat on my arm for my cheeky comment. "Careful, Stud, or you’ll be on the couch tonight."

I mock shiver. Truth is, I would hate to separated from my family like that. Even though Kels and I haven’t been intimate since my accident, we have still managed to snuggle despite bulging bellies and busted arms. Some nights the only that has kept me from bolting — well, other than I couldn’t find my own way to bolt — has been the death grip Kels has had on me. Sometimes I think my wife should have been a pro wrestler. She knows how to pin me down to the mattress, that’s for sure. "Can’t have that."

"Nope, because Mama would side with me."

That’s true.

Our waitress returns with the small plate piled high with God’s gift to mankind. I can smell the powdered sugar and feel the heat radiating from the pastries. The waitress deposits my drink somewhere in front of me. Kels pays her and she disappears back into the crowd to wait on the next hungry table. The pattern here never varies.

"Coffee at nine o’clock, beignets at three."

I aim high, knowing we ordered a half dozen of the treats, and my fingers are immediately coated with powdered sugar. I lift the beignet to my lips and bite in, mindless of the mess I am making. This is one advantage to being blind.

Kels laughs at me and leans over, dabbing at my lips and chin with a napkin. "I’m glad you’re enjoying those, Tabloid."

"I plan on enjoying all of them," I announce, knowing my girl won’t touch them. A few bites and the first one is history. I lick my fingertips, making loud smacking sounds designed to get a rise out of Kels.

I am not disappointed. "Forget about holding my hand now."

"Liar," I counter, reaching out for her hand again. She gives it to me willingly. "So, babe, are you ready to talk about what we’re going to do?"

"It’s still too early, Harper. Dr. Radson says …"

"I know what she said. I was there too. God knows, I hope she’s right and I do regain my sight. But, for right now, we need to plan on it not happening." I continue on so that she doesn’t contradict me. "Obviously, I won’t be able to continue on as a producer with Exposure."

"That’s not true, Harper. Your talent is in more than your eyes. It’s in your gut, knowing when there’s a story there. In your research, in setting up the story perfectly so that it captures audiences. It’s …"

I squeeze her hand to silence her. "I don’t want to do it sightless." I shrug. "I would never feel confident. And, if I can’t be that, I can’t do the job. Fortunately, I happen to have long term disability insurance, so my income is assured, although at a discount."

"We don’t lack for money."

"I know, but I feel better knowing that I can contribute something. The main question is what do you want to do? Do you want to stay on with Exposure? I can stay home with the kids and the nanny. At least, for awhile. Or, we can move here to New Orleans. We have a house, family, but no jobs."

"Harper, where would you be more comfortable? What would make you happy? You know I’ve been questioning if I even want to renew my contract."

"You make me happy. I want to be where you are. And I want you to do whatever you want." One of us should be able to keep our career, just because I can’t.

Kels begins chuckling and I am about to protest when she explains, "Hmm, I can see this is going to be a circular argument. Do you want to come home or stay in New York? Where do you think you will have more opportunities?"

"I think we’re back to the circular argument even with those questions. Maybe we shouldn’t decide anything at the moment. You have a contract. It’s only a few more months. I can keep myself busy." It’ll probably take that long for me to learn to read Braille and use a guide dog. Kam is going to get a brother.

She leans over and kisses my cheek. "I think that’s a good plan, sweetheart. I think we’re putting the cart ahead of the horse anyhow."

My wife. The eternal optimist. At least, where I am concerned. "We’ll see."

No pun intended.

I wake up early. The stress of the prior few days finally caught up to me last night. I fell asleep on the couch downstairs, and Papa had to help me up. I hope it was Kels that undressed me.

Kels is still sound asleep, snoring softly. Good, she needs her rest. I can take care of myself. At least, I need to learn how to. I kiss her shoulder and roll over carefully. God, I want this cast off and I want it off now. How many more weeks to go? Four at a minimum, six more possible. Pain in the ass while dressing.

I find my way — very slowly and carefully — over to the dresser and open the top right drawer. I extract underwear and a bra, extremely grateful that Kels and I keep our stuff separate. I can put these on, not a problem.

I step into the underwear. See, not a problem.

I try figuring out how to put on the bra. I know how, of course, but putting on one minus one functional hand …

I go back to the dresser. I pull out a tank top and replace the bra. That’s better. I carefully thread my arm through it and then get it on. Next stop is the closet. I open the door and begin carefully feeling the clothing on the hangers. When I find a pair of jeans, I pull them off and hold them up beside me.

Hmm. It comes to my calf and has an elastic front. I’m guessing this is Kels’ preggers pants. I carefully put them back on the hanger and rehang them in the closet. The next pair I find has no elastic, so I think I hit pay dirt.

Next stop, a shirt. Just about any shirt I have goes with jeans, so I randomly reach in and pull one out. It’s the right size, so I got lucky. I slowly navigate my way over to the chair and sit down. Last thing I need is to try to put on my jeans, lose my balance and knock myself silly.

I decide to forego shoes for the moment. Kels won’t ball our socks up because she says it stretches out the elastic. So my chances of finding a matching pair are between bleak and infinitesimal. I am thrilled to be up, dressed and somewhat together.

Now if I don’t kill myself going down the stairs.

The smell of sausage cooking guides me unerringly to the kitchen.

"Well, there’s my baby girl!" Papa greets me, getting up from his seat at the table. He walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. He gently assists me to the table, holding my chair for me. "Where’s your little gal?"

"Sleeping."

He squeezes my shoulder. "Good. I have to go in to the office for awhile. We’re having a little gathering here tonight. I hope you and Kels don’t have other plans."

I laugh. "Yeah, our social calendar has been overflowing lately."

"Good." He kisses me again and then goes over and lays one on Mama. I remember being so scandalized as a kid at the affectionate exchanges between them. Hell, as a kid, try as an adult. That’s one thing I learned from my father, never be afraid to show the world who you love.

"Want breakfast?"

"Mais oui, Mama," I reply eagerly. Someone who knows how to make sausage, eggs and cream gravy is a rare find. Especially in California or New York. I asked for gravy once with my breakfast and they brought me brown gravy. Brown gravy. My God, are people insane?

"You look good, mon Coeur."

"Merci, Mama."

After kissing me, she goes back to working at the stove. "I’m glad you’re letting Kelsey get some rest. She has needed it for herself, not to mention my grandbabies."

I hang my head. This is Mama’s version of a sharp reprimand. "I know."

"How are you two doing? This is a hard thing to deal with in a new marriage."

I nod. "It is. But, fortunately, we have good examples all around us."

Mama works quietly and efficiently, finishing up breakfast. She brings over a plate which has such good-smelling stuff on it, I nearly swoon. "I am glad to see you are over the self-pity."