Episode Fifty-Three: Band of GoldJustine’s arms were crossed like the finest justice the Supreme Court never had. Quentin clapped a hand over her eyes, and guided her with his other hand at her trim waist."Let go of me Quent!" She squirmed. "I thought you were so busy- too busy to celebrate our anniversary-" "I am, but I thought about it being our first anniversary and well, your ‘I’ll hate you forever’ thing on the phone this morning made for great motivation," he said pushing through the door. "So come on, play nicely," Her melancholy voice switched instantly to an excitement that gave her enough strength to regain her sight from him. She turned, looking way up into his eyes. "Do you mean it? Are we going to dinner at L’Orange or, oh, I have been hinting at that Streetcar production, did you get tickets? "Not exactly, this is much better;" Quentin nodded confidently towards the room. Justine’s eyes judgmentally traveled through her husband’s office, it still smelled like oil, like his hand over her eyes. His desk was pushed against the wall and a red checkered tablecloth was spread on the floor. There were two lit candles in the center and an old-fashioned straw picnic basket at the side. "My mom made the barbecue chicken, her present to us," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Barbecue chicken," Justine said it like she meant turnips. "Gee, do I get to keep the ring from the Cracker Jack box too, or am I being down graded to the washer from our cruddy bathroom sink?" Quent’s arms fell to his sides. "I don’t deserve this Justine anymore than you think you deserve this," he motioned towards the makeshift picnic, and then kneeling down he blew out the candles. "And you know, nobody’s saying you have to keep that ring," |
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