“Men always want to be a woman’s first love – women like to be a man’s last romance.”
Irish playwright, novelist, essayist, and poet.
October 16, 1854-November 30, 1900
When I arrived, a dream came true. Sunlight danced in her hair, made her skin glow, and all the world combined to make my heart beat faster.
We talked over each other in the excitement of our uniting. There were no angry glances or raised voices attempting to rise over the other. Our tones relayed the truth, words did not matter, we were ecstatic. It was euphoria; at least it was for me. Light headed, walking on a cushion of air, unable to stop smiling, you name all those cliché possibilities, and they were true. Why do you think they are so cliché? It is because they are real.
Was it love at first sight? No, but it was love at first shared thought. Now, there we were, at her doorstep, Christmas Day.
“It will be fine. I promise. They don’t like any man at first.”
I smiled. “You’ve told me that or something like that, a hundred times. I think your first choice has tainted their opinions. That or they just don’t trust your judgement.”
“Okay, perhaps. Just do not worry.” She placed her hand on my chest, leaned in, and smiled up at me.
I raised my brows in mock shock at her affections. “Nope, no kisses. You know they are watching through curtains and blinds all over the house.”
“I know. They will get over it. Now kiss me or I will pout.” She stuck her lower lip out, a fail of a pout that never worked, but I loved her attempts. She knew it. She knew I wouldn’t resist that bottom lip.
Moments of electric sensations sparking through the body later, and she opened door. That’s just the frame of mind I wanted to be in when meeting her family for the first time.
I could only shake my head at that point and avoid looking down to watch her walk in. I was being as gentlemanly as I could, but I was still a red-blooded American male in love with a beautiful mind and beautiful body.
“Glenn, these are my parents.”
“Mister Allen. Mrs. Allen.” I shook both hands. “Ma’am, this is for you.”
Cora’s mother looked surprised. “Me?” Her surprise did not stop her from taking the small gift I slipped from my pocket. Cora gave me an odd look as I shook hands with her brother, who made certain I knew he would kill me if I hurt his sister. I hoped I squeezed back hard enough to make a good impression.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Allen said. She held one hand to her chest. “It is beautiful.”
I smiled at the joy and surprise on her face. “I thought you might put a photo of each child and grandchild in the frames. There are enough for all of them. Of course, they would need tiny photos for a bracelet.”
“Buying your way in are you?” A loud voice rose broke the moment.
I thought Cora’s head would snap off she turned it so fast.
“Gary, what are you doing here?”
“How nice, I think I can visit my children on Christmas Day.”
You guessed it, Cora’s ex-husband.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Whatever, Cor. So this is the guy, is it?”
“Hello. I’m Glenn Taylor.” I extended my hand to be friendly.
“I know who you are.” He took my hand and made a feeble attempt that would have made Cora’s brother laugh.
He broke away and glared. I had never experienced a glare before. It was kind of funny and I had to smile. I don’t think he liked that. “You bring one of us a present, you must bring them for all, or you appear rude,” he said a bit too loudly.
“Sorry, they wouldn’t let me bring the coal on the plane.”
Laughs were muffled and some not. Their daughter’s giggle came out before she could bring her hand up to hold it in.
Gary’s eyes grew uglier. “Funny boy are you?”
“Only when they laugh, otherwise it’s just awkward pauses.”
“Think you’re a big man because you’re with her now, don’t you?”
I glanced down at Cora. The anger was barely contained. She was ready to unload on him at any moment. I looked back to Gary. “Actually, yes I do. I know how lucky I am.”
He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I got lucky with her first.”
I pulled Cora to me a little tighter as I felt her move. “You were luckier than you could imagine. You are also a bigger idiot than any man could ever possibly try to be.”
“Don’t.” John, Cora’s brother, stepped in front of Gary.
“You gave this up. You messed a good thing up. You never would admit what she was, how important she was, or even that she existed as a unique individual that you needed in order to be whom you became.”
Cora looked up at me. I smiled and felt her ease beneath my touch.
I looked back at Gary. “Yes, you were lucky first. The important thing is that I’m fortunate last, and will be for the rest of my life.”
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This is part of the all new Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge co-hosted by Colleen Chesebro of SilverThreading.com and ME, Ronovan. Click HERE for more links to those entering and to see how easy it is yourself. It’s not only writing a short story. That was just my choice this week. A quote, poetry, haiku, story, and more!
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