WHO: Rodeo Williams and Rory Everett WHAT: A fair trade WHERE: Hall outside her room WHEN: Early am, February 14 RATING: Medium? STATUS: In Progress
It was one of those rare, blissful nights that Rory's son decided to be merciful and go down easily. One off-tune lullaby as she held him close, and A.J. was asleep in her arms, gripping neckline of her top with one tiny, beautiful hand. Rory usually had to do a great deal more pacing before he fell asleep, and on most nights, it was a wonder nobody complained about her attempts at singing quietly to her kid. She certainly wouldn't have cut any record deals had the zombie apocalypse failed to occur, that much Rory knew.
He was just tired for a change, and Rory decided to hold him a few more minutes before gently prying his hand from the skewed front of her shirt and settling him down in his crib. It was hard not to feel appreciative when she had something so perfect to look at every day, but her son wasn't all Rory needed in the world, sadly. Close, but there were just some things the boy couldn't provide.
And, in that moment, alcohol was the most notable thing on that list.
With a nightlight left on for him, Rory slipped back into worn Converse and an old button-up over her tank top, stopping on her way out to make sure she had both what she'd offered Rodeo and her baby monitor so she could hear if A.J. woke up. Wasn't like she planned on going far; just down the hall, she leaned her back against the wall and slid down to sit comfortably on the floor. It seemed like the happy middle ground between staying close in case her kid needed her, and getting away for some well-earned adult time. When she eventually heard footsteps, she looked up and met Rodeo with a jokingly impatient expression.