As Seven and I cross the cornfield arm in arm, I find
myself thinking of my childish fancy that each corn stalk is a person, my friend.
And how it now feels like I'm walking past my old friends with the woman I love,
their stiff green leaves clacking together like hands clapping, cheering us on
as we walk down the aisle between them...
Then my mind turns to the San Miguel Mission, and how close Seven came to walking down that aisle with Chakotay, how close she was to becoming his wife--
"Seven," I say suddenly. "Do you want to be called 'Annika?'"
"No, I do not," she frowns. "Why do you ask?"
"It's just... the name on your wedding announcement. It said 'Annika Hansen.'"
"That was at the direction of Chakotay's Aunt Sephia. She said that 'no one would want to marry a person with a number for a name--'"
"I would."
She stops, looks at me. "Explain. You would... what?"
Good Lord, did I say that out loud?
"I just meant... that I prefer calling you 'Seven,'" I answer lamely. "I'd rather call you that than 'Annika.'" Especially since that name reminds me of Unimatrix Zero, that horrid pink outfit, and my Seven making moon-eyes at her old teenage crush Axum.
Seven carefully removes her arm from my waist and turns so we are face to face. "So you are not proposing marriage to me?" she asks.
"What? No!" I exclaim, then immediately realize my mistake.
"You do not want to marry me?" she demands, dropping into her Borg at-attention stance.
"No, uh, what I mean is...uh..." I'm stuttering, panicking as the ghosts of engagements past fly through my head.
"You do not wish to embark upon a committed relationship with me?"
"I do, but... it's just not that simple." I shift my weight from one foot to the other -- ow! -- and immediately switch back to lean heavily on my right leg. "Seven... don't you think it's a little early to be discussing marriage?" I hedge. "We've only just become... more than friends. You'll need a great deal of time to get used to the idea of us being together. We both will."
"Based on your admittance that you became aware of your feelings for me when Voyager acquired the Borg transwarp coil, you have been in love with me for at least 3.2 years," she points out. "Precisely how much time will you need to 'get used to the idea' of marrying me, Captain?"
Seven doesn't sound angry, just curious. But I don't know how to answer. I don't know how to make her understand that in my mind, "marriage" isn't exactly a happy concept.
Marriage means Mark.
It means Justin.
How do I tell her I've been engaged before, not once but twice, and that both engagements ended disastrously? That I let one fiancé die, and the other I left for so long he eventually abandoned me? How do I explain that I'm afraid I'll find some way of making my personal history repeat itself again? That my fears will become their own self-fulfilling prophecy, and I'll ruin things with her before we even get started? How do I admit to Seven that the idea of marriage terrifies me?
I don't. At least not directly.
"Seven," I begin, choosing my words carefully, "don't you think it's inappropriate to be discussing this today? After all, you almost married someone else just a few hours ago. You need to give yourself time to grieve. To get over the loss of that relationship. To get over Chakotay."
Seven tilts her head to the side, and quirks her optical implant upwards along with her left eyebrow. "I am already 'over' Commander Chakotay. I have told you that he is no longer worthy of my affection."
"But just a few hours ago you were going to marry the man," I protest. Don't I ever know when to stop? "Surely you're not saying your feelings for him have changed so quickly?"
"Actually, my feelings for the Commander have not changed at all."
"They haven't?" My voice is small, uncertain. What the hell does that mean?
"My feelings for Chakotay were based solely on my desire for a suitable mate," she says. At my look of confusion, Seven explains, as only she can: "After my experience in the virtual world of Unimatrix Zero, I decided to explore the reality of a romantic relationship with someone here on the physical plane. Among the Voyager collective, there seemed to be a consensus that Commander Chakotay was the most attractive and eligible male on board. I had spent time with the Commander, and he had shown me kindness in recent months, and a general concern for my well-being. He had many admirable qualities, but most importantly I thought that you would approve of him as a potential partner for me. Based on these criteria, I chose him as a logical candidate for being my mate. I then experimented with dating by first running simulations with a holographic version of the Commander. When I felt that I had achieved a modicum of success, I approached the Commander himself. At that time I found him to be responsive to my attentions. He seemed to be quite willing to become my romantic partner, in fact."
I'll bet he did. Bastard.
"Later, after your counterpart revealed that I would one day be wed to the Commander, and you yourself subsequently indicated that marrying Chakotay was an appropriate course of action, I agreed to his proposal of marriage."
As I listen to Seven's explanation, I'm struck by a sense of déjà vu. This is the exact same way she used to describe new methods of improving efficiency in Engineering: she's matter-of-fact, methodical, and more than a little bit proud of herself. All I can do is shake my head in response -- Seven and her logic. There really is nothing quite like it in the entire universe. "But what about your feelings, Seven? What did you mean when you said they haven't changed?"
"I meant that I still consider Commander Chakotay to be a suitable mate. I simply no longer consider him to be the most suitable mate for me." She's looking at me expectantly, like I should consider this information to be very significant, but I just can't seem to get around how... emotionless she is. How Seven hasn't really revealed anything at all about what she feels. "But I assure you," she continues, "none of that is relevant now that I know of your interest in me."
"Oh, I think it's very relevant." My voice is low, betraying my sense of hurt. Is this the real reason she asked me to 'teach' her about love? Because she wanted to explore a romantic relationship with someone? With anyone? Is that all I am to her -- a test subject in her latest research project? "It sounds to me like all you want is someone to experiment with," I say sadly. "Someone who can help you with your analysis of human emotions--"
"That is incorrect. A desire to experiment may have been how I initiated my relationship with Commander Chakotay, but that is not how I relate to you. You have been my friend from the beginning, and I feel closer to you than I do anyone else. In addition, our recent physical interaction has convinced me that marriage to you would be most gratifying indeed."
I feel one of my big gooey looks coming on. Could a poet have said anything more beautiful, more lyrical, more touching--
Stop it.
Rein it in. I'm letting myself get carried away here, not thinking through any of this. I have to be rational, do what's right for Seven. "That is a nice sentiment," I say, schooling my features into the patiently indulgent version of my command mask that I've used so often with her. "But I really do think you should take the time to consider the potential problems. Our age difference, for one. Not to mention the ramifications of being married to a Starfleet officer--"
"Please, Captain," Seven interrupts, drawing herself up to her full height, "you do not need to create arguments to try and dissuade me. If you do not want to marry me, it is perfectly acceptable to say so."
"That's not it. I would love to marry you!" I hear myself protest, surprising myself. As I say the words aloud I feel the fear, the uncertainty seep out of me like air from a punctured balloon. Damn the past -- I can't change it, no matter what I do. And I've wanted Seven for so long, why shouldn't I jump at the chance to make her mine, to mark her as off-limits to the rest of the world? To Chakotay, who may reactivate his one remaining brain cell and realize she's too precious to let go over some silly argument. To the Doctor, who loves her as much as any self-absorbed, sentient hologram can. To all the Think Tanks, Ferengis, and Borg Queens out there who've ever tried to take her from me. And to anyone else in the whole damn quadrant who looks at my Borg and covets that body, that mind.
But most importantly, I realize I want to prove to Seven that I will always be there, and that I will never let her down again. I want to give her that sense of stability that Chakotay talked about -- the kind of stability that will only come from knowing she belongs somewhere, with someone who cares about her. It's something Seven obviously craves, especially now that Voyager's crew, her 'collective,' has become fragmented by our return home. But instead of saying any of that, I find myself shaking my head regretfully. "But there's a problem, Seven. You said it yourself -- I've had a long time to get used to the idea of loving you. You've only had one afternoon."
"Kathryn, did I not tell you earlier that if I had thought you were available on Voyager, you would have been my first choice as a potential romantic partner?" Seven asks. There is more than a hint of exasperation in her tone, like she's growing tired of having to repeat herself to a particularly slow, dim-witted child.
A frustrated sigh escapes my lips. She's not making this any easier. As much as I may want to, I can't allow myself to exploit this situation. Not when everything is so new to her. Not when she hasn't even had time to begin working through her own emotions yet. "I know what you said, Seven, but you need to realize that I've got a lot more experience in this area than you. And my experience tells me that you're refusing to see the reality of the situation. We're not on Voyager anymore, with only a limited number of potential romantic partners to choose from. We're in the Alpha Quadrant now. There are so many more choices for you here -- trillions more, in fact." It's tearing me up inside, but I have to say this. "Your judgment concerning me may be clouded by 'our recent physical interaction,' as you so aptly described it. There is a very real possibility that you may not feel the same way towards me a week from now. A month from now."
Seven raises her chin so she is looking down on me, the muscle in her jaw twitching as she speaks. "I may not have as much 'experience' as you," she replies, sounding vaguely insulted, "but I do know that over the past four years you have been more important to me than anyone else, and I have grown to treasure the bond we share above all others. I cannot believe that being in the Alpha Quadrant will change that. You are my Captain, my mentor and my friend. You are the one who freed me from the Collective, the one who gave me my life. And if you wished to marry me, then I could not imagine a greater honor than to share that life with you."
I can't hold it back any longer -- the soft approving smile, the look that shows how much she's touched me. Moved me. What was it Deanna said earlier? That I should give Seven a chance. At the moment, I'm not sure if I can trust my own instincts where she is concerned. But maybe I should trust hers. I owe her that at least. No, Seven isn't exactly declaring her everlasting love. And she may not fully realize the ramifications of what she's saying. But perhaps, given time, she could learn to care. She could grow to love me. The possibility is there. I see it in the way she's looking at me now, her eyes full of such tenderness, and such hope. The 'please' that is trembling unspoken on her lips.
How can I possibly deny her?
"Are you genuinely serious about this?" I ask, taking her left hand in mine. "Do you really want to get married?"
"I assure you, I am very serious," she says in her most solemn 'Captain-I-will-not-fail-you' voice. "I would not enter into marriage with you lightly."
"Then let's do this right," I say huskily. For some insane reason I decide I should go for the grand gesture, and start to go down onto one knee. Shafts of pain immediately shoot up my calf as I shift onto my sprained foot, and I feel my leg start to buckle. I cry out and try to move back onto my right foot, holding onto Seven's hand for balance, but she leans towards me at the same time and suddenly I'm falling backwards, pulling her with me...
"Unh," I moan as my backside hits the ground. And then "Ooof!" as Seven lands directly on top of me.
"Captain!" she exclaims, immediately scrambling off me. "Have I injured you? Are you damaged?" I struggle to catch my breath to answer as she leans over me, worry etched into her face. "Can you move?" Seven asks. "Perhaps I should go get your mother--"
I can't help it -- the image of Seven going up to the house and dragging my mother down here, conscientiously explaining exactly how I was hurt after an afternoon spent engaged in mutually-gratifying physical interaction -- I feel the gurgling start in my throat. Then it's spilling out in giggles that quickly build until I'm laughing uncontrollably, my shoulders and chest shaking with the force of it. Seven watches me, her expression one of stunned incredulity, until the most remarkable thing happens. Her lips part in a wide, toothy grin, and then a joyous bubble of sound erupts from her throat.
It only lasts one beautiful, ecstatic moment, then we're both gasping, staring at each other with wide eyes. When she speaks, her voice is filled with wonder. "Captain," she whispers, "did I... laugh?"
"Yes," I say softly. "You did."
"I believe that is the first time I have ever laughed," she marvels.
I'm so happy that I'm able to share this moment with her, I feel my eyes well with tears. "Oh, Seven..." I reach up and kiss her, just one quick peck before I tear my lips away from hers again. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh like that," I murmur. "Please let me, Seven of Nine. Say you'll marry me."
"I will," she whispers with no hesitation whatsoever.
Then Seven's hands are on my cheeks, sliding up until her palms are pressing in just below my ears, holding my head still. I'm fully aware of how strong she is, but she is nothing but gentle as she tenderly kisses me, her tongue like quicksilver in my mouth, making my desire rise in an instant. I wind my arms around her back and hold on tight as she kisses me senseless.
All around us the corn stalks sway and rustle in the breeze, tittering like the people I once thought them to be, standing guard, protecting us -- offering themselves as witnesses to this moment.
Minutes pass before we finally break apart, and when we do, I press my forehead to Seven's. "I only wish that I had a ring to give you," I breathe. Then a thought crosses my mind, and I start to chuckle. "I know..." I reach for my collar and remove one of my pips, holding it between my thumb and forefinger so she can see. "A symbol of our engagement," I explain. "At least until we can get something more appropriate." Seven smiles her acceptance, and I carefully attach the pip to the neckline of her gown, above her heart.
"Does this mean we are officially engaged?" she asks as she reaches up to fiddle with her new pip.
"I believe that it does," I smile.
"And we can begin telling people?"
"How else would we invite them to the wedding?" I say, beaming at her. God, this is ridiculous. I'm actually giddy. Like this is all new to me, when I should be an expert at it. After all, I spent most of my thirties being engaged to Mark -- my dear old 'Hobbes' -- the friend who offered such safety and familiarity after the wrenching shock of Justin's death. The comfortable choice, the one I thought would always be there for me, the one who stayed so patient throughout our long engagement, but who ran off and married someone else within a few years of my disappearance into the Delta Quadrant.
I remember how it felt when I received the transmission in which Mark told me -- my 'Dear Janeway' letter, as I like to call it -- how it at first tore at my heart. I was crushed to realize that he had moved on with his life, that my dream of having someone to come home to would never come true. Yet even then it occurred to me that I was more upset at the implication that Mark had so little faith in my determination to get my people home than I was with his personal abandonment of me. But we'd always had a rather passionless relationship, so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that I couldn't muster much passion over its ending. I didn't realize until much later the real significance of Mark's transmission, the importance of it coming just weeks after Seven's arrival. That it freed me, allowed me to fully focus on the newest member of my crew -- this gorgeous creature who challenges me, excites me on every level. Who makes me feel anything but comfortable -- who makes me tingle, makes me feel alive. Who fills me with this intense fever that simmers and burns in me like nothing I've ever known. This gorgeous creature who just spent the afternoon making love to me. And who has now, miraculously, agreed to be my wife. Or did I agree to be hers...? It doesn't matter. Either way she's mine.
I kiss Seven once more, then sit up. "Come on, let's go to the house and tell my mother," I say. I can't seem to stop grinning, although I'm not looking forward to Mom's reaction. I can see her now, patting my shoulder and then saying in her well-meaning but blunt way, 'Good for you, honey. And such a pretty girl, too. Maybe the third time *will* be the charm!'
Seven rolls to her feet in one fluid, athletic motion -- amazing that she can do so in that dress and those heels -- then reaches down and slides one arm under my shoulders, and the other under my knees. "Wait a minute--" I protest.
But she's already standing, lifting me so easily it's like I'm a child. "I will carry you to the house," she pronounces.
A surge of excitement shoots through me, prompted by both the strength she so carelessly displays and the forceful tone of her voice. But I can't let Seven carry me across the threshold, at least not yet. "No, you won't," I say firmly. "I want to tell my Mom about us in my own good time, not announce it to her before we even walk through the door." Seven tilts her head to the side as if she is going to argue, so I throw in a command glare for emphasis. Thankfully it still works on her, though I wonder how much longer that will last. She carefully sets me on my feet, or rather, my foot -- this time I'm smart enough to stay off the injured one. I immediately turn my head, twisting to look over my shoulder to see how much damage our little tumble did to my dress whites. "Seven, could you help me with this?" I ask, brushing off as much of my jacket as I can reach. She moves behind me and pats me off, then I do the same for her. Hmm, let's just hope those are wrinkles on her dress and not grass stains. In this dim light it's so hard to tell...
"Oh, And Seven?"
"Yes, Kathryn?"
"I just got a whiff of those gloves, and they smell exactly like what we've been doing all afternoon. Take them off before we go inside to talk to my mother."
Seven pauses a moment to roll the gloves off her arms, then retrieves my boot from between two cornstalks -- she must have dropped it during our tumble -- and stuffs the gloves inside. "Is that acceptable?"
"Perfect." I smile up at her as she winds her arm around me again, and we head for the house.
* * * * * *
"Mom!" I cry, letting the screen door slam behind us as we enter the hallway.
"In the kitchen," she calls out. We follow the sound of her voice, Seven still with her arm around me. When we reach the doorway, Mom is at the stove and her back is to us. "I was about to think you two had gotten lost..." she teases. Then she turns and sees me, and immediately goes to red alert. "Kathryn! What happened to you?"
"It's nothing, really. Just a little sprained toe."
"Sprained toe? But your foot is so swollen. Are you sure it's not broken?" Mom asks, coming towards me, staring at my leg like she has every intention of crouching down and snatching my sock off so she can give her own expert opinion. "Why don't you let me take a look at it--"
"No, no -- that's not necessary," I say in a rush, my raised hand magically stopping Mom from advancing any further. The last thing I want is for my mother to come anywhere near me before I get a chance to shower. "I'll be fine once I get off of it." Seven helps me to the chair at the end of the kitchen table and I quickly sit down, tucking my foot safely out of reach beneath me.
Seven watches to make sure I'm seated comfortably, then turns her attention to my mother. "Mrs. Janeway, are you expecting someone for dinner?" she asks, nodding to the table that is already set for three.
"Just the two of you," Mom answers, her eyes still on me. "Katie, are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," I answer shortly.
"Alright. Whatever you say," Mom shrugs, returning to the stove. "Seven, come help me put this food on the table."
"I will comply." Seven offers me my boot, which I place beneath my chair, then I point to the bowl of disinfectant capsules on the table. She nods slightly in understanding and selects two capsules -- one she keeps for herself, the other she passes to me. We both break them open in our palms and work the solution into our hands, theoretically cleansing away all germs... and odors. Then Seven turns to join my mother, and I seize the opportunity to fully inspect the back of her dress in the light. No grass stains, thank God.
Seven looks on as my mother places spoons in the various dishes, that little tell-tale frown on her face. "But Mrs. Janeway--"
"Ah-a-ah," she says. "It's 'Gretchen,' remember?"
"'Gretchen,'" Seven repeats obediently. "How did you know we would return in time to share your evening meal?"
Mom laughs. "I don't care how many quadrants she crosses or how long she's been away from home, my Katie always manages to show up for dinner time. I swear, you can set a clock by that girl's stomach."
"That's an exaggeration, and you know it," I protest. "Seven, don't pay attention to a word she says."
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," Mom whispers conspiratorially as she hands Seven a clear bowl of baked macaroni and cheese.
"Indeed," she answers. Seven brings the macaroni to the table and sets it in the middle, smiling at me all the while. It's that soft smile that I love -- the one where only one corner of her mouth lifts, and her whole face seems lit from within. I smile in return, until she turns back to my mother and I notice something on the right side of her skirt that I hadn't seen before.
A wet spot, about the size of a Velocity disc.
Good Lord, which one of us did that...? I have no idea, but I pray Mom doesn't figure out what it is. Or worse yet, ask Seven. She'd probably offer up a very scientific, detailed explanation of her new understanding of the female orgasm. Now that I think about it, maybe it would be wise to wait and tell Mom about us some other time, long after Seven and I have had a chance to shower and change. Maybe on our third wedding anniversary?
"But seriously, Kathryn," Mom is saying, "You ought to let me look at that foot after dinner."
"Seven can do it," I'm quick to respond. Then as explanation I add, "There's a medi-kit in the Delta Flyer."
"That is correct." Seven places another bowl on the table -- mmm, roast and gravy with carrots and potatoes -- and starts towards the door. "I shall retrieve it immediately."
"Hold on, Seven." I reach out to touch her forearm. "Why not wait until after we eat?" I ask, sliding my hand down to lightly clasp her wrist, letting my thumb rub once across the soft skin at her pulse. "You can take care of it when we leave."
"You're leaving?" Mom asks as she sets a plate of asparagus on the table. "I thought you might stay the night since it's gotten so late."
"Really, we can't--"
"Nonsense. Of course you can. You're not going to be flying back to Mars in that ion storm, are you?" Okay, how the hell does my traditionalist mother know about an ion storm when I didn't? "Don't look so surprised, honey. Even I watch the news," Mom says, apparently reading my mind. "Besides, Phoebe told me," she confesses, her eyes twinkling. "So why don't you both just stay over tonight? I'd love the company."
I motion for Seven to sit down at the table by me. "What do you think? Do you need to get back to your alcove to regenerate?"
"I do not," Seven says, taking the seat to my left. "I had anticipated not returning to my alcove for another 4 days."
Of course -- she was supposed to be on her honeymoon.
"Then it's settled." Mom adds a plate of cornbread and a pitcher of iced tea to the table. "I've already made up your old room, Kathryn," she says, then glances at Seven before turning to the counter. "If you don't mind sharing, that is."
Alarm claxons start ringing in my head - just what does she mean by that? - but I'm distracted from my suspicions as Mom brings over the final additions to the meal. In one hand she holds a pot of her fresh-made coffee, and in the other she carries the coup de grace, a platter of caramel brownies. And suddenly 35 years fall away, and I'm a child begging my mother for a treat. "Ooo, can I have one?"
"Are you sure it won't ruin your supper?" Mom asks, which is purely a rhetorical question because she's already offering me the plate.
"I'm sure," I say, grabbing two brownies. One I offer to Seven. "You've got to try these. They were my favorites when I was a kid."
"What do you mean 'were' your favorites?" Mom asks, feigning insult.
"Okay, maybe they're still pretty high up there on the list," I admit with a smile.
"Glad to know some things never change," Mom chuckles as she sets the plate down by me and tips the coffee pot over my mug, filling it to the rim.
Seven carefully takes the brownie I offer her and turns it in her hand, examining its surface, that adorable little frown pulling her eyebrows together. "Go ahead. Try it," I say.
She lifts the square to her mouth and delicately sniffs it before taking a bite. As she does, some of the caramel topping comes off in a long string, dangling down the side of the brownie. Seven unselfconsciously licks at it -- her pink tongue peaking out to capture the caramel. Damn, that's cute. And so incredibly erotic. "It is very rich," she pronounces after a moment, sounding like there is a bubble in her throat, "but acceptable."
I grin back at Seven, knowing the comment for the high praise that it is. I glance up to see if I need to interpret her unique vocabulary for my mother, but Mom doesn't seem to have been listening to Seven at all. Instead she's standing over my chair, looking down at me and smiling. "What?" I ask.
"Nothing." Her smile grows bigger and she pats me on the head, then I feel a sharp tug on my hair.
"Ow! What are you doing?"
Mom pulls her hand back to show me what she's yanked from my hair. A blade of grass, which she calmly sets by my plate. And then, I swear to God, my mother winks at me. She actually winks at me! I feel heat flood my cheeks, certain my face must be turning crimson, which Seven's curious stare seems to confirm.
Mom's grin is insufferably wide as she sets the coffeepot down within arms' reach of my plate, then takes the seat at my right. "So, are you two going to tell me what you've been up to, or do I have to guess?" she asks, looking expectantly from me to Seven.
"To what are you referring?" Seven asks. Thank God she can talk, because I think I just swallowed my tongue.
"Well," Mom says, passing Seven the roast. "Either Kathryn was demoted..." she nods to me, then to Seven. "Or you've become an ensign."
Seven fingers the new pip on her dress. "Neither of those scenarios is accurate..." she begins, then glances at me, silently pleading for some cue as to how to proceed.
Looks like we'll have to find something else to talk about on our third anniversary.
"Actually, Mom..." I cough, clearing my throat. "It was the closest thing I had to a ring."
"A ring...?" Mom repeats. It takes less than a millisecond for her to figure out what that implies. "You mean you're engaged?" she exclaims in obvious delight. Funny, I thought she'd be more surprised. At my nod of confirmation, Mom beams her approval at me, then turns to Seven. "You actually agreed to marry my daughter?"
"Yes, I did."
My mother reaches across the table and takes Seven's hand in hers, but instead of the congratulations I'm expecting, she says, "Oh, you poor girl. Do you have any idea what you're getting into?"
"Mom--"
"You do know how stubborn she is, don't you? She always has to have her way."
Seven, the traitor, nods in agreement.
"Mom--!"
"And you do understand that there's nothing more important to her than her ship, and her duty to Starfleet? She's like her father that way." Seven nods again.
"Mother," I growl, my voice so low the windowpanes rattle.
"But if she loves you -- and from what I've seen I believe she does -- she'll be completely dedicated to you. She'll love you fiercely, and it will be forever. Are you ready to accept that?"
Seven looks back at her with wide, solemn eyes. "I am."
Mom smiles softly. "Good." She squeezes Seven's hand, lifting it over the table. "Then welcome to the family."
"Thank you," Seven says, smiling back shyly. I sigh in relief.
"Now then, let's eat. Everything's getting cold." Mom's voice is gruff, but the glistening sheen of her eyes gives her away.
She and Seven begin to add to their plates, while I take the time to observe two of the people I love most in the world. I'm touched by how solicitous Mom is towards Seven, filling her glass with tea and making sure she has enough of everything. She even takes a biscuit and cuts it open for Seven, spreading it with butter and homemade strawberry preserves before handing it to her.
As I watch them I take a sip of my coffee, its warmth seeping into my body, my soul. Then I hold my brownie to my nose as Seven had done, savoring the delicious scent, thinking how amazing it is that just the smell can transport me back through time. Back to when I was a little girl sitting in this very kitchen with my Mom and sister -- reliving how safe and happy I felt then, and how I knew all would be right with the world as soon as my Daddy got home from work. But as I watch Seven with my mother now, I realize that I'm no longer waiting for something to happen to make this moment perfect. It already is. I smile and finally take a large bite of my brownie, letting the flavors swirl in my mouth--
"Have you thought about when you'd like to have the wedding?" Mom asks brightly, cutting into her roast. "You'd better decide to do it soon, Seven, or Katie will make you wait forever. She's a big believer in long engagements, you know. She's been engaged before -- twice, in fact -- but no one has ever been able to get her to the altar. So don't be surprised if you have to tie her up and drag her there yourself. Not exactly the ideal way to begin a marriage, I'll admit, but it could definitely get the honeymoon off to a good start-"
"MOTHER!" I cry, and fall forward coughing, sputtering and choking on caramel, walnuts and fudge.