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sendthembackRachel is weepy. Keith has a flashback. You forgot to check the stove. Stephen draws nearer.
Words required: 28,339
Words achieved: 30,349
Words of today: 1,845
"You need to stop smashing your face into tables. You're gonna scratch your glasses one day," Keith whispers, his fingers running through Rachel's hair. She backs away a little and yanks her glasses off, dropping them on the table. Then, she presses her face into his stomach again.
It's only a few more seconds before she's turning back around in her seat. She starts to lift up her t-shirt to wipe her face, but then stops with a grimace. "Why didn't you tell me I was wearing a puke shirt?"
"I didn't notice," Keith answers.
Rachel stands up, grabbing up her glasses from the table. "I'm going to take another shower, if that's okay."
"Of course."
Keith dumps the dishes into the sink, frowning at the congealing mess of alcohol and macaroni bits in Rachel's bowl. Then, he stretches out on the couch, lying quietly until he finally turns on the television for the noise. The On Demand screen glows with previews of movies he probably doesn't want to see, but he ignores them, lying back again, trying to reorganize his thoughts.
Rachel has always been this strange point of purity to him, not some sort of schoolgirl or saint, but clear in her emotions and her intentions. She's passionate in a way that usually makes her transparent. He knows what she's saying when they're talking politics or even sports, what her opinions are and, to a lesser extent, how she's formed them. And she's clear to everyone like that, open to the world and its people and her own emotions. She cries at news stories and big events.
She hasn't been perfect at hiding things, with her work marathons, her naps, and her little (and big) breakdowns, but he's admittedly surprised at how well she's hid so many things from him. Still, he feels that he knows her. He can't believe he doesn't, that she's all that different from how she ever was, no matter her unhappiness or the things she's done.
Or maybe he's just deluding himself. Maybe he never knew her.
When the trailer for "Land of the Lost" comes on for the third time, he finally switches the channel, stopping at the first football game he finds, Miami vs. Virginia. He doesn't really care about the teams, and that's good enough.
He remembers one time, a month or so after Rachel started her show. It was mid-October and Rachel had invited a bunch of MSNBC types up to her home in Northampton as a combination new show celebration and "coming of fall" party.
It was a bit of a trek and, in the end, it was just him and Kent and a few producer types who came from the network, but her local friends and colleagues were all there, radio hosts, council members, neighbors, people off the street, and, of course, the Illustrious John Hodgman. Jon and Stephen had tagged along, too, because, though they were just really getting to know Rachel, they liked her, and they liked free food and booze, both of which she'd assured them would be in great abundance.
Everyone milled around, inside and out. It was warm in the house, and comfortably cool in the backyard, where Keith could see his breath if he exhaled hard enough, though it was more from the damp than anything else. The next door neighbor, whose house Keith could barely make out when Rachel pointed to it through the surrounding trees, grilled hamburgers and some sort of terrible vegan patties, and people brought weird sides and plates of brownies and giant cakes.
Stephen felt guilty for crashing without a gift--Jon had shamed all of the other New Yorkers with his two bottles of wine--so, he had befriended the grill master and was shouting things at Keith as he drank beers and gave the beleaguered neighbor unsolicited tips.
Kent drank bourbon over ice until he was rolling around on the ground with the dog and Jon superglued himself to John's side, leaving Keith to wander aimlessly among the strangers. He knew some of their stories from Rachel, or knew stories about them, anyway, random anecdotes, most of them strange. Maureen was the city councilwoman had made her name through a strange combination of landfills and porn stores. Bill was the loud-mouthed video store clerk/radio host Rachel talked about like everyone in the world had known him for years. He'd brought his kids, though they'd disappeared into the woods almost an hour ago with some other children Keith couldn't identify.
Finally, Keith had wandered inside, looking for the bathroom, or, at the very least, someone else from the studio or some stranger whose piecemeal backstory interested him. Instead, he discovered Rachel and Susan, sitting on the couch, talking very quietly.
"I don't think so," Susan was saying.
Keith stopped, standing in the little open entryway that led from the kitchen to the living room. He would have immediately announced his appearance if it weren't for the quiet breathlessness of Susan's voice. He wanted to turn around or make a quick dive into the bathroom, but instead, he just hung quietly in the entrance.
He hadn't had as much to drink as Kent had, but he'd drank enough to feel it between his ears. The slight buzz was pleasant, and it slipped down, out of his head and into his body, pulsing a little as he heard Rachel's voice.
"I'm not saying for sure or anything. It's just an option, something to think about."
"I'm not sure I want to think about it," Susan answered. She sighed and Keith could hear her shifting around on the couch. "It's not something I particularly want to think about, not right now."
More shifting. Keith turned on his heels and tiptoed back into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to give him something to have been doing.
"Oh, hey, Keith," Rachel laughed, startling a little when she found him stooping into the refrigerator.
"Hi, Rach." He looked up and saw them both standing where he had been not a minute earlier. "Hello, Susan. Rachel said something about wheat-free beer?"
"Oh yeah!" Rachel moved quickly, crossing the kitchen floor and pulling the refrigerator door open a little wider. She leaned over the door, peeking in, her head ducking down next to his. "Toward the back, the Japanese ones. I know it's a little weird, but it was one of the better liked gluten-free beers, according to the Googles."
He reached in and snatched one up. Susan passed him the bottle opener, then, they all moved out back again.
Outside, they all stuffed themselves until it hurt. When it started getting dark, Rachel plugged her iPod into some fancy speaker thing and everyone milled around, the conversation growing much more interesting now that the majority of the partygoers were pleasantly intoxicated. There was much more consumption of booze, and deserts Keith couldn't believe he was eating. Kent passed out in a corner using Poppy as a pillow, and the guests began to say their goodbyes. Rachel and Susan set up Keith on the couch with blankets and a glass of water. Jon and Stephen may or may not have had drunken sex in the guest room.
Keith closes his eyes when he thinks about the next morning, the light through the window in his eyes, waking him up, his slight headache, more annoying than anything else. Susan wandered around picking up glasses while Rachel tossed bags of trash into the back of her truck. Kent was a beast, moping around, getting sick in the bathroom. He remembers Stephen's misguided attempt at making omelets. He must be dreaming, because he can almost smell the burning. He doesn't remember Rachel's alarm clock, though, but that's what he's hearing now, until Rachel is shaking him awake.
"Wake up, you dork!"
Keith opens his eyes and realizes the fire alarm is going off. Or it is until he notices it.
"Seriously, Keith, you left the fucking burner on! I knew it was a bad idea to let you try to cook."
Keith jumps up, almost knocking Rachel over as he runs into the kitchen. Everything is fine except for the charred dishtowel in the sink and a bit of smoke that still hangs in the air.
"If you didn't live on the 40th floor where the windows are locked down against wind and suicide, I'd be airing the place out right now, but, as it is..."
Keith looks over at her, standing by the kitchen table. Her hair is wet and she's wearing the previous day's t-shirt, with a towel around her waist.
"Sorry," he says.
Rachel shrugs. "I'm going to put on some pants, then, well, we might as well call Stephen, because I don't want to stay here if it's gonna be like this."
"Like..."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "The smoke. Put on a jacket and some shoes while I finish getting dressed."
They take the elevator down, and Keith is glad Rachel got the fire under control before the complex alarms started going off. Not only would the embarrassment be horrific, the idea of taking 40 flights of stairs, even if it was all down, makes his knees hurt.
When they hit the street, Rachel pulls her Blackberry out of her bag and texts Stephen a Call me.
Five seconds later, her phone is blaring Metallica. She's quick to answer it, though not until after Keith smirks at her.
"Shut up."
"What kind of phone etiquette is that?"
"I was talking to Keith."
"Ah, that explains everything. So, you were unable to resist the Colbert gravitational pull any longer and felt you needed to hear the dulcet tones of my voice before our romantic dinner this evening, I suppose?"
Rachel snorts then sighs. "Actually, Keith just tried to burn down Trump Place and we're escaping from the fumes."
"The horror! What did Trump ever do to him?"
"Lots of things, I'm sure," Rachel laughs. "But, so, we were wondering what you were doing..."
"Well, I've got some errands to run, actually, but they're fun errands, if you'd like to join me. Then, we could get some dunch."
Rachel looks over at Keith, giving him her best I'm talking to a crazy person look. "'Dunch'? I'm pretty sure I know what that means, but I don't like it."
"It's dinner and lunch, all smooshed together, like brunch, but without the eggs... Or the mimosas, though I say one should really feel free to consume mimosas at any time."
"And I agree, even though the word 'dunch' makes my stomach turn."
"I've got some Dramamine in my bag. Keith can even come, if he has to."
She looks at Keith once more. "I think he does."
Keith cocks his head. "I do what?" Rachel raises her hand to him with a smirk.
"Excellent. Meet me at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 49th in half an hour. But don't tell anyone, not even Keith. It's a top secret mission."
Words required: 28,339
Words achieved: 30,349
Words of today: 1,845
"You need to stop smashing your face into tables. You're gonna scratch your glasses one day," Keith whispers, his fingers running through Rachel's hair. She backs away a little and yanks her glasses off, dropping them on the table. Then, she presses her face into his stomach again.
It's only a few more seconds before she's turning back around in her seat. She starts to lift up her t-shirt to wipe her face, but then stops with a grimace. "Why didn't you tell me I was wearing a puke shirt?"
"I didn't notice," Keith answers.
Rachel stands up, grabbing up her glasses from the table. "I'm going to take another shower, if that's okay."
"Of course."
Keith dumps the dishes into the sink, frowning at the congealing mess of alcohol and macaroni bits in Rachel's bowl. Then, he stretches out on the couch, lying quietly until he finally turns on the television for the noise. The On Demand screen glows with previews of movies he probably doesn't want to see, but he ignores them, lying back again, trying to reorganize his thoughts.
Rachel has always been this strange point of purity to him, not some sort of schoolgirl or saint, but clear in her emotions and her intentions. She's passionate in a way that usually makes her transparent. He knows what she's saying when they're talking politics or even sports, what her opinions are and, to a lesser extent, how she's formed them. And she's clear to everyone like that, open to the world and its people and her own emotions. She cries at news stories and big events.
She hasn't been perfect at hiding things, with her work marathons, her naps, and her little (and big) breakdowns, but he's admittedly surprised at how well she's hid so many things from him. Still, he feels that he knows her. He can't believe he doesn't, that she's all that different from how she ever was, no matter her unhappiness or the things she's done.
Or maybe he's just deluding himself. Maybe he never knew her.
When the trailer for "Land of the Lost" comes on for the third time, he finally switches the channel, stopping at the first football game he finds, Miami vs. Virginia. He doesn't really care about the teams, and that's good enough.
He remembers one time, a month or so after Rachel started her show. It was mid-October and Rachel had invited a bunch of MSNBC types up to her home in Northampton as a combination new show celebration and "coming of fall" party.
It was a bit of a trek and, in the end, it was just him and Kent and a few producer types who came from the network, but her local friends and colleagues were all there, radio hosts, council members, neighbors, people off the street, and, of course, the Illustrious John Hodgman. Jon and Stephen had tagged along, too, because, though they were just really getting to know Rachel, they liked her, and they liked free food and booze, both of which she'd assured them would be in great abundance.
Everyone milled around, inside and out. It was warm in the house, and comfortably cool in the backyard, where Keith could see his breath if he exhaled hard enough, though it was more from the damp than anything else. The next door neighbor, whose house Keith could barely make out when Rachel pointed to it through the surrounding trees, grilled hamburgers and some sort of terrible vegan patties, and people brought weird sides and plates of brownies and giant cakes.
Stephen felt guilty for crashing without a gift--Jon had shamed all of the other New Yorkers with his two bottles of wine--so, he had befriended the grill master and was shouting things at Keith as he drank beers and gave the beleaguered neighbor unsolicited tips.
Kent drank bourbon over ice until he was rolling around on the ground with the dog and Jon superglued himself to John's side, leaving Keith to wander aimlessly among the strangers. He knew some of their stories from Rachel, or knew stories about them, anyway, random anecdotes, most of them strange. Maureen was the city councilwoman had made her name through a strange combination of landfills and porn stores. Bill was the loud-mouthed video store clerk/radio host Rachel talked about like everyone in the world had known him for years. He'd brought his kids, though they'd disappeared into the woods almost an hour ago with some other children Keith couldn't identify.
Finally, Keith had wandered inside, looking for the bathroom, or, at the very least, someone else from the studio or some stranger whose piecemeal backstory interested him. Instead, he discovered Rachel and Susan, sitting on the couch, talking very quietly.
"I don't think so," Susan was saying.
Keith stopped, standing in the little open entryway that led from the kitchen to the living room. He would have immediately announced his appearance if it weren't for the quiet breathlessness of Susan's voice. He wanted to turn around or make a quick dive into the bathroom, but instead, he just hung quietly in the entrance.
He hadn't had as much to drink as Kent had, but he'd drank enough to feel it between his ears. The slight buzz was pleasant, and it slipped down, out of his head and into his body, pulsing a little as he heard Rachel's voice.
"I'm not saying for sure or anything. It's just an option, something to think about."
"I'm not sure I want to think about it," Susan answered. She sighed and Keith could hear her shifting around on the couch. "It's not something I particularly want to think about, not right now."
More shifting. Keith turned on his heels and tiptoed back into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to give him something to have been doing.
"Oh, hey, Keith," Rachel laughed, startling a little when she found him stooping into the refrigerator.
"Hi, Rach." He looked up and saw them both standing where he had been not a minute earlier. "Hello, Susan. Rachel said something about wheat-free beer?"
"Oh yeah!" Rachel moved quickly, crossing the kitchen floor and pulling the refrigerator door open a little wider. She leaned over the door, peeking in, her head ducking down next to his. "Toward the back, the Japanese ones. I know it's a little weird, but it was one of the better liked gluten-free beers, according to the Googles."
He reached in and snatched one up. Susan passed him the bottle opener, then, they all moved out back again.
Outside, they all stuffed themselves until it hurt. When it started getting dark, Rachel plugged her iPod into some fancy speaker thing and everyone milled around, the conversation growing much more interesting now that the majority of the partygoers were pleasantly intoxicated. There was much more consumption of booze, and deserts Keith couldn't believe he was eating. Kent passed out in a corner using Poppy as a pillow, and the guests began to say their goodbyes. Rachel and Susan set up Keith on the couch with blankets and a glass of water. Jon and Stephen may or may not have had drunken sex in the guest room.
Keith closes his eyes when he thinks about the next morning, the light through the window in his eyes, waking him up, his slight headache, more annoying than anything else. Susan wandered around picking up glasses while Rachel tossed bags of trash into the back of her truck. Kent was a beast, moping around, getting sick in the bathroom. He remembers Stephen's misguided attempt at making omelets. He must be dreaming, because he can almost smell the burning. He doesn't remember Rachel's alarm clock, though, but that's what he's hearing now, until Rachel is shaking him awake.
"Wake up, you dork!"
Keith opens his eyes and realizes the fire alarm is going off. Or it is until he notices it.
"Seriously, Keith, you left the fucking burner on! I knew it was a bad idea to let you try to cook."
Keith jumps up, almost knocking Rachel over as he runs into the kitchen. Everything is fine except for the charred dishtowel in the sink and a bit of smoke that still hangs in the air.
"If you didn't live on the 40th floor where the windows are locked down against wind and suicide, I'd be airing the place out right now, but, as it is..."
Keith looks over at her, standing by the kitchen table. Her hair is wet and she's wearing the previous day's t-shirt, with a towel around her waist.
"Sorry," he says.
Rachel shrugs. "I'm going to put on some pants, then, well, we might as well call Stephen, because I don't want to stay here if it's gonna be like this."
"Like..."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "The smoke. Put on a jacket and some shoes while I finish getting dressed."
They take the elevator down, and Keith is glad Rachel got the fire under control before the complex alarms started going off. Not only would the embarrassment be horrific, the idea of taking 40 flights of stairs, even if it was all down, makes his knees hurt.
When they hit the street, Rachel pulls her Blackberry out of her bag and texts Stephen a Call me.
Five seconds later, her phone is blaring Metallica. She's quick to answer it, though not until after Keith smirks at her.
"Shut up."
"What kind of phone etiquette is that?"
"I was talking to Keith."
"Ah, that explains everything. So, you were unable to resist the Colbert gravitational pull any longer and felt you needed to hear the dulcet tones of my voice before our romantic dinner this evening, I suppose?"
Rachel snorts then sighs. "Actually, Keith just tried to burn down Trump Place and we're escaping from the fumes."
"The horror! What did Trump ever do to him?"
"Lots of things, I'm sure," Rachel laughs. "But, so, we were wondering what you were doing..."
"Well, I've got some errands to run, actually, but they're fun errands, if you'd like to join me. Then, we could get some dunch."
Rachel looks over at Keith, giving him her best I'm talking to a crazy person look. "'Dunch'? I'm pretty sure I know what that means, but I don't like it."
"It's dinner and lunch, all smooshed together, like brunch, but without the eggs... Or the mimosas, though I say one should really feel free to consume mimosas at any time."
"And I agree, even though the word 'dunch' makes my stomach turn."
"I've got some Dramamine in my bag. Keith can even come, if he has to."
She looks at Keith once more. "I think he does."
Keith cocks his head. "I do what?" Rachel raises her hand to him with a smirk.
"Excellent. Meet me at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 49th in half an hour. But don't tell anyone, not even Keith. It's a top secret mission."
no subject
Date: 2009-11-18 07:25 pm (UTC)Oh, boys. Sometimes, I wonder if you have ever grown up past college age. (Although, really, isn't that their appeal?)
I love the memory of the party, the strangeness of walking in on that scene between Rachel and Susan. And, oh, errands and dunch with Stephen? This is going to be fun. :D
no subject
Date: 2009-11-18 11:55 pm (UTC)But the boys, they make things better with their endless immaturity! :D
no subject
Date: 2009-11-19 03:25 am (UTC)but the whispering btwn the ladies made me squirm and something drop in my stomach :/ plz to be making things better boys?
still very very curious on how "dunch" with Stephen will proceed.. *waits eagerly for the next installment*
no subject
Date: 2009-11-19 04:25 am (UTC)I don't know what is up with the whispering, but I think Keith is going to find out somewhat soon. And I hope dunch is fun, or at least weird enough to be entertaining. <3