Page 187 of Mountain Grump
Starlight,
Happy 30thbirthday.
From, Husband Ranger
I like when she teases me with her Ranger names. And I wanted to writeloveinstead offrombecausefromlooks so formal. Butlove…
I wanted to make her birthday special, not freak her out. But instead I think I made it weird.
“It’s—” I stop as a tear slides down Tilda’s cheek. “Fuck.”
I stand and round the end of the counter.
She quickly brushes at her cheek. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s dumb.” I pluck the card from her hands and hold it above my head. “I’ll get you a better one.”
Tilda… laughs. And she smiles up at me as she wipes more tears from her cheeks. “Stop it. Give it back.”
Self-loathing and confusion battle for dominance as I stare at her.
She blinks another tear off her lashes and pokes me in the ribs. “Husband Ranger, give me my birthday card back.” She pokes me again. “Right now.”
“Matilda—”
“Ethan, it’s perfect. Give it back.”
I lower my arm. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”
Tilda huffs. “I’m not.” Then she snatches the card out of my hand and carefully slides it back into the blank envelope.
I want to ask why that card made her cry. But she’s not crying anymore. And I might be a moron, but I’m not acompletemoron, so I don’t bring it up.
Staying where I am, I stand beside Tilda as she turns back to the gift bag.
She sets the card on the counter, then gently takes out the second piece of extra tissue paper, smoothing it out over the other one.
Slower than I thought possible, Tilda finally unwraps the first item.
The fuzzy tan fabric unfurls to reveal the pair of slipper socks. The toe part is white, with gray stitching to designate the toe lines, and the soles have gray rubber paw prints to prevent slipping.
They’re cat feet.
And they’re soft. So they’ll be comfortable on her abused toes, even if I can’t see any marks on her bare feet.
“Closest I could find to a mountain lion.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glittering. “I love them,” she whispers. And these socks are just as dumb as the card. But I know she means it.
Tilda unties the piece of string holding them together, then bends over and pulls one sock on, then the other.
When she stands straight, she wiggles her toes, then smiles up at me. “Cozy.” Her voice is stronger this time.
I let out a breath and nod to the gift bag. “Keep going.”
Tilda purses her lips, but it’s hard to look stern in a pink princess dress and cat feet socks.
I lift my hand and use my pointer finger to boop her on the nose.
