(This post is a part of a series I have been writing. For those who would like to read the first three sections can check out The purple man page)
She was 4 days from the due date the doctor had given her. The morning began with the sun shining brightly inside from the blinds. She managed to get up slowly, struggling her way to the kitchen.
“Honey, are you there? ….. ”
A huge bunch of white lillies were arranged beautifully with a purple note on it. She smiled as she opened it almost knowing what it would say. Before she opened it, she held it in her hand almost reading the words inside in her head. “… I think voilet is better for the walls, I known mauve seems right to you but, It’s much more intense!”
She opened the note finally, it read, “…I agree mauve is better and but I disagree that I will be a good father”
(There were glass pieces all over the floor when I found her with the note and the purple flowers in her hand sitting on the floor, She did not have tears in her eyes. 6 years back today Zia was born. It was a day that made us strong, bold and once again made me realise that I had a wonderful friend who could stand by anything)
As she threw some cloves in the olive oil, while untying the towel wrapped around her wet hair, she looked at the coffee pot steaming. It was filling up the room like the indulgent bath balls fill the aroma in the bath. A door bell broke the rythym in the room and her head felt a little uneasy waking up from the intense aroma in her head and around. She opened the door and I flung my arm around trying to balance the huge bumblee bee cake in the other hand.
I said, “Where is the big girl! ?”
In her room trying to talk to pepper about how she wishes to become the queen of Paris one day. I could see she dint look happy. I got really mad at her for being such a spoil sport on this day. In 6 years I had never seen her so down. I looked at her as she pointed to the computer screen. Gulping down the shot of coffee down my throat I moved the mouse to read an email:
“I think it is better to be an irressponsible father than to be an invisible one….,
can I come and see what color you finally painted the walls?”