I woke up with Ben’s arm slung over my stomach and Molly curled up at my feet. It was too early for either of them to be awake on a Saturday, so I let them sleep in. just because I was crazy enough to be awake at seven-thirty didn’t meant the rest of the world needed to up, as well besides, I could always take the quiet. So, I sat up and gently pushed my fiancé’s arm off, so I could rise from the bed.

Despite the time, the sun was always beginning to wash over the open apartment. I stepped into my expensive blue silk robe, a thoughtful splurge from my best friend, and tip toed from the room. As I gripped the knob, I heard a muffled stirring from the bed. I twisted around slowly and grinned as I saw Molly, an ear flopped over one eye, glancing at me, as if she was considering leaving her comfortable position. Opting not to, she closed her eye and returned to her REM cycle.

Starbucks called to me as I wandered into the kitchen and I heeded it, pouring some Hazelnut coffee beans into the coffee maker and turning the machine on, in thirsty anticipation. I wasn’t hungry, so I awaited my morning pick up in my favorite recliner, a steal from my parents’ house in Candlewick. The chair was stained from years of usage, but it always served as comfort when I came home from high school after a day of strenuous honors classes and eventually college, where a break from school was rare and treasured.

A war at home at erupted over the chair, as my father made claims to it upon my demand of taking it with me after I moved in with Benjamin during my senior year. In the end, I appeased my stubborn father by replacing the chair with a brand new leather recliner. It was a dirty trick, the old man told me, but it worked, nonetheless. The blood splashed chair found a new home in my living room. Also in the living room rested other pieces of furniture we didn’t have the heart to part with; our futon, where we had spent hours stretched out watching movies and television, had made the move. Also, we had brought over a couple of hunter stained lamps we had used at school. Our apartment was a small off campus apartment, above a local bookstore. Upon graduation, we moved from Oneonta to the city since we were both offered jobs.

Once we moved into our current place, we realized we needed more furniture, so we had to borrow some from my parents, how my chair came to be my new chair, and his parents, our "new" coffee table came about. I would never say so to Ben, who hates the table, but I love it. Her mother worked as an interior designer and had designed it especially for her house. Sadly for her, her husband hated it. Sad for Ben, I loved it, so I offered to take it off her hands. The table was dark wood and had a leopard print on top.

We had no room for an entertainment center but we set a small plasma screen television on a tiny stand. Underneath it, we stored the three hundred some odd movies we had collected over the years.

I hadn’t even graduated when I got the call from the editor of a magazine I had interned for the previous summer. They were in need of a staff writer ASAP. I considered it but took it when Ben announced he would be working in Greenwich Village and wanted me to move in with him. He took a job working at his father’s law firm. When we searched for apartments, we found this apartment on a whim and I almost demanded we buy it. Although it was at the top of our price range, I insisted we splurge on it. Our apartment had a balcony, two bedrooms and a nice sized living area. We also had hardwood floors and a doorman. It was something out of a fairy tale.

Our apartment towered over a small but popular park, complete with a playground for small children and a dirt track encircling it. In lieu of joining a gym, requiring me to spend money I didn’t have, I chose to take a walk around the park once a walk, just to get outside. I was inside for the large majority of my time inside, whether it was typing up articles on my laptop or cleaning up Ben and Molly’s messes. Real Magazine, one of the most read magazines in the area, focused on people and their commutative difficulties. We had experts who had studied the subject and there were those, who talked out of our asses or went by our own experiences. I try to do my best at all times, but sometimes I know it’s not true healthy advice. The subjects that kept our magazine alive were plentiful. However many people listen to my articles, it was a huge boast to my already inflated ego that it was read.

I heard my coffee finishing and stood up to find a mug. I searched through the bare cabinet and shook my head at the dishwasher. I opened it, having turned it on for the first time all week, and pulled out my favorite mug. The freshly clean fog brushed against my cheek and I had to stand up so I could see again.

My mug featured Garfield, chilling in a hammock, and his companion Odie struggling to serve him. A quote extending from Garfield’s mouth read, "It’s not a pretty life, but someone’s gotta live it."

That usually was the one thing to get me through the day.

I settled in comfortably and pulled my laptop to me. Positioning it on my stomach, I checked my email for new gossip from friends and family, the company website for new material and my Myspace, which I started as a joke, but became a strange and unexplainable attraction. I could spend hours sprucing up my profile page and even longer adding new info about myself, none of it true, of course. I knew better than that.

I signed onto AIM, only to find no one available for chat. I signed off and glanced up at the clock it had taken months to convince Ben to permit in the apartment. Its former home was a classroom SUNY Oneonta, where we met during a semester of studying Greek Mythology. We were friends for a year before we dated and two more years before we moved in together.

It was already nine-fifteen. How the time flew by when one was updating her Myspace?

I heard rustling from the bedroom and knew that Ben was up. A small yelp confirmed that Molly had risen with him. I gently set aside my computer, knowing that she would be waiting for her morning treat. Ben came in first and hard laughter rang out in my head as I saw him in his low rise black boxers. I always reminded him that he looked like a plumber in the morning. I crossed my fingers, praying that he remembered to brush his teeth. He had a huge morning breath problem. I usually refused a kiss from him if it was.

Today, my prayers were not answered as his breath reeked of odorous feet.

He yawned and pushed down and dark brown mop on his head. He smiled at me and leaned in for a kiss, but I wrinkled my nose and turned away, pointing him toward the bathroom. He growled at me and headed in there.

He turned back once to glare at me and as he ran the water, I heard him yell to me, "The things I do for you… I must really freaking love you."

I snorted and retorted. "Well I can’t blame you. I am easy to love." I bent down to present Molly with her treat and I heard him snort, a gesture that simply made me beam.

I walked over to the counter and filled up my coffee then returned to my chair, where Molly flew to my lap, inadvertently pinning me to the chair.

"Don’t worry," I told her, "you don’t need to worry about crushing me or anything." My year old beagle glanced up at me, in anticipation of a belly rub, ear scratch or anything of the kind. I caved in and scratched her furry head until Ben returned.

He had combed his hair and I could see the parallel lines of silver on either side of his oval shaped head, which was freshly scrubbed I could tell because of its fresh scent. I pulled him to me and nestled my face in his neck, moving up for a long kiss.

"Better, queen?" he asked, sarcastically.

I ignored his attitude and smiled.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." I nudged Molly, who only moved as Ben leaned in to push her. She sighed as she landed on the ground, forced to find a new comfortable position. She lay down next to us and closed her eyes.

"Meanwhile, in the chair, I rested my head on Ben’s shoulder and we talked about what we would do that day. We came up with a ton of ideas and settled for taking Molly out later to the park for a long walk, then heading to the video store to rent a movie after our weekly take-out. I was thinking Italian. He was thinking Chinese. We decided to finish it later.

I soon became anxious for my walk, so I waited a minute or so before escaping from Ben’s firm hold and headed for the bedroom.

It was a nice sized room, not too big but not cramped. Our furniture, which I had picked out due to a lack of interest from Ben, had been arranged nicely in the room. When I went for the bedspread, I selected an orange and purple comforter and matching sheets with no objections from Ben.

As usual, there was a pile of clothing left on the floor in a wrinkled heap on the floor. I picked it up and threw it in the hamper. The laundry would not be done until Tuesday, which meant it would pile up quickly.

I stood before my giant dresser, a privilege I had only known since my dorm days in Oneonta, and mentally selected an outfit. Then, I pulled out the drawers and picked out my favorite jeans from Abercrombie and Fitch, where I could rarely afford to shop, but did once in a while. To match, I lifted out a pink tank top from Aeropostale, another of my favorite shopping places, and finally undergarments to match, a lifelong habit which mattered to no one but myself.

The small closet, the only drawback of the room, held my six pairs of shoes, including my only pair of Steve Madden sneakers, another splurge from my best friend. They were black and white, so I knew they matched my outfit.

I stood in front of the full length mirror, a present to me from me, which I had gotten for the sake of my own vanity. I ran my brush through my straight dirty blonde hair which reached my shoulders. I smiled as the morning sun spilled through the pale white curtains and glittered my natural highlights, light and dark. Next, I made a quick trip to the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and scrubbed my face, finishing with citrus flavored mouthwash, a must have for me.

After I was content with myself, I stepped out and headed into the living area, where Ben was still in the chair, whispering to Molly, as if she were our baby, rather than our puppy. I remembered the times we had been with his family for the holidays, when all his family was there. He was good with his three nephews and niece, who were young and rambunctious. He would dart through the house, chasing them or playing a game of hide and seek. He told me multiple times how he couldn’t wait to be a father. He had been blessed with a good father growing up and he wanted to pass that on.

He glanced up at me as I broke out laughing and shook his head. I heard his stomach growl as he walked into the kitchen and stood in front of the cabinet. His tongue shot from his mouth and smoothly washed over his lower lip and he decided what cereal he would be eating that morning. Eating cereal was a childhood habit that he had never grown out of. Finally, he selected the Fruity Pebbles, his favorite, and pulled them out. Reaching into the adjacent cabinet, he carefully picked out a white bowl, which my mother warned us would be our deaths if we broke them. I couldn’t blame her considering the price she paid for them. When it came to her children, she would only deal with the very best.

I watched them pour the cereal and top it off with our skim milk he stipulated as our only choice. He dug in with a spoon and crunched down on the huge pile he had scooped up. He seemed to sense me watching him and he beamed up at me.

"I will never learn," he told me, with a mouthful of Pebbles.

I didn’t doubt him and I strolled over to the counter.

"I think I will be hungry when I get back from the walk," I said, seductively, hoping he’d take the hint.

"So you can make yourself something."

I sighed, biting my lower lip. He was never a genius.

"If there is lunch waiting for me, then its maker will be… rewarded."

He perked up at that and swallowed.

"Rewarded you say?’

"That’s right?"

"Hmm. Rewarded is what way? Like Monday Night Football rewarded?"

"Better than that," I laughed, wondering how long it would take him.

"Like sex?"

"Better?"

He tilted his head, confused.

"Better than sex, you say? What could possibly be better than sex?"

Molly whined at the sight of someone with food and he tossed her some Pebbles.

"Don’t feed the dog," I scolded him, hearing my mother’s nagging voice in my own. A shiver went through my spine and I had to shake the concept that I was becoming my mother away from my thoughts.

He sat there, still confused, and I eventually gave up. I stepped back and opened the closet door, where we hung our coats and outdoorsy things. I ripped my Oneonta State College sweatshirt, a hot pink with the letters in purple calligraphy. I slipped it over my head and blew a kiss to my fiancé, ignoring Molly who had just caught sight of me getting ready to go out. Her tail wagged furiously and Ben didn’t even glance down at her as he shook his head, telling her no, silly dog, she was not going out until later. She paused in her wagging to consider his response before bounding over to the futon and leaping up to settle herself for yet another nap.

"So, I will be back in a few hours. Don’t forget to think over what I said," I said to him, blowing a kiss, which he caught and returned. I laughed as I headed out the door, only to hear him yell back in a loud and boisterous voice, "I love you!!"

I closed the door but I didn’t lock it as I walked down the freshly cleaned hallway, as I turned a corner, I had to bypass a maid pushing a heavily loaded cart and I helped her turn it around the bend. I walked down the maze of the floor to arrive at the elevator at the very end of it as I thought over my situation. I made a fairly nice wage as a staff writer but Ben made way more than I did, which was probably why we could afford this nice apartment, complete with hardwood floor apartments and a doorman.

My house in Candlewick had been nothing like this. We lived in a ranch style home with only seven rooms, including a cramped kitchen and living room, three tiny bedrooms and a bathroom not nearly big enough for five people and a giant golden retriever named Fergus. I shared a room with my younger sister for sixteen years before I went away to school. Our house lay in the heart of the town, where little happened without the rest of us knowing. When I had a concussion in the sixth grade, it ended up on the news. That’s how dull our town was.

I had chosen to go away to college, a short distance away for the sake of being excited on weekends. Since my departure, Candlewick grew into a more sufficient town. We had our own hospital, police force, a couple more bars and we had become a college town, with kids flocking to our nationally accredited music industry program.

My parents were still residents of the small rural town, even though their three children had all moved away. My brother had run off to Vegas with his girlfriend and eloped. Now, he was the co-owner of Candlewick Casino. My sister had followed me to Oneonta, where she majored in Education and now taught at the college.

The workers were friendly this morning as I stood with them in the elevator. They were on their way to the basement to fix a leak, which I assured me my apartment was not another one they needed to look at for. I waved adieu as I stepped off the elevator and walked out the door, held open by Mac, our doorman. He asked where I was going on this fine morning and I smiled back and replied that I was going out for my weekly stroll. He laughed and tipped his hat as I walked away.

The streets were unusually dormant for a Saturday morning and I sauntered along, in no hurry, until I reached the park across the pothole splattered road, light smashing against the pavement as the sun ascended higher into the sky.

It was breezy this morning and I drank it in as it swished through the dark oaks guarding the lush grass, mud stained from the previous evening’s rain and the kids found no harm in combining the two. It lifted my hair I had carelessly left down around my face, bare from my haste to leave the apartment and continued on its way.

I walked around aimlessly on the dirt path, moving slowly and thoughtfully, as my brain began to empty itself of the countless concerns that drifted in and out each day, some of which held on for dear life. I meditated on my ex home life, the one I had so willingly escaped from when I moved out for college. I thought about my friends who shared the same belief that venturing outside their small hometown of Candlewick was completely unnecessary. With my chaotic style of living, I found little time to attempt a reconnection and I suppose they were too busy to consider a day or trip to the city.

Unlike the majority of those who got out, I was willing to go back for a visit once in a while, my brother and sister among the majority. I wondered about what adulthood in Candlewick would consist of, disregarding the typical life which included weekdays spent working and weekends spent at community gatherings at a local tavern or school. Despite that fact, I often found myself with the desire to retreat to the town’s quiet and dull atmosphere as an alternative to the chaotic reality I called my life.

The small town of Candlewick had been founded only a hundred or so years before I was even born, populating only a few hundred people. It was a college town, somewhat crazy on weekends with the five bars packed to the maximum, but otherwise pretty mind-numbing. The few topics worth gossip were always ones that went on for weeks at a time, with the entire town eventually confusing the real facts. Everyone, including my family, fell victim to the hideous "telephone game" syndrome once in a while.

As of late, there wasn’t anything to gossip about, but it had been a week since I’d spoken to my mother, the scandal queen. So I figured it would only be a matter of time before the rumors would come flying from Candlewick to my ears. Until then, I had my own problems which needed my full attention.

Jane was out on vacation this week and unwilling to entrust editing an article, including mine, in her assistant, Tiffany Marshall, not my biggest fan to say the least. A young twenty something, Tiffany has been vying for my position ever since I walked in the door, but landed an assistant editing job, acceptable for anyone but her. Her dream has always been to see her own writing in print, but her boss simply didn’t feel that she met the expectations of a staff writer for Real Magazine. As is agreed upon by myself and my colleagues, Tiffany’s many other skills are the reason she is currently employed with Janet. I find myself jealous at her typing, quick and errorless. Her ideas have seen the front cover of our magazine, but not in her own words.

Her ostentatious outlook frequently gets her rolls of eyes and smirks behind her back, but still she clings to the belief that she will make it as a writer and her colleagues would soon be regretful of her mistreatment.

No one else possesses her opinion.

So, whatever would be decided this week, I thought it best to have a back up idea, just in case. I paused and rested on a bench to ponder some ideas.

As I sat there, the sun brightened up the sky and I had to shield my eyes for the sake of seeing. I squinted across the grass and caught side of some kids tossing a baseball back and forth. Instantly recalling my childhood fear of flying objects, I stared at the kids, willing the ball to keep clear of me, fearing what I would do to the ball, and maybe to the kids.

Lucky, the ball heeded my pleas and remained in the vicinity of the kids. Having focused too much on that, I shook my head and stood up, ready to head home. I walked at a brisk pace, hearing my stomach rumble, which was not shocking since I hadn’t eaten since six-thirty the previous evening.

I reached my building and smiled at Marcus, who tipped his hat as he held the door open for me. I thanked him and decided to take the stairs, thinking it would be good exercise. As I approached my door, mouth watering smells filled the hallway and I knew he had made lunch.

My tongue could barely resist licking my lips as I walked in the door, just in time to see Ben slip a sandwich onto a paper plate. He grinned up at me and Molly yelped, as if to say, "What am I, chopped liver?"

I took off my sweatshirt and hung it in the closet before sitting at the bar.

"And what is this?" I asked, knowingly.

"Ha, this is your personal favorite, le grilled cheese and le tomato soup for yummy dipping," he told me, putting on a deliberately bad French accent.

I grinned and scrutinized the sandwich, slightly burned, just like I liked it. Then, I noticed the color of the cheese and I suddenly understood his motive.

"Provolone cheese?" I laughed. "What do you want?"

He came around and slid an arm around me.

"Oh, you know what I want," he whispered in my ear. I couldn’t help but shake my head at him.

"Well, you did go through all this trouble. You even used provolone." I thought it over. "Ok," I told him. "Go for it."

He clapped his hands in ecstasy.

"You won’t regret it," he promised.

"I never do," I replied.

He moved slowly toward the fridge and pulled it open. He squatted and yanked on the case of orange soda I had bought for when he "was good." He glanced back at her and she waved a hand at him.

"Are you sure?" He was still in denial about his reward.

He slowly ripped the box and a few cans spilled out, eager to be free at last. He put them back, choosing a can at random, and set it on the table.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Don’t go crazy," I advised him, "but once in a while will not kill you."

He scoffed with a smile at my suggestion and opened the soda. He brought it to his quaking lips, barely able to sip the smooth heavenly liquid.

I watched him and could barely contain my laughter as the soda spewed from his mouth.

"Why are you staring at me?" He wanted to know.

"You amuse me," I told him, bluntly, still in side-aching laughter.

He shook his head and sipped the soda.

"You’re something else, but I still love you."

I beamed, innocently pointing to myself.

"I get that a lot."

I eyed him for the rest of the meal. He chewed his sandwich quickly and slurped his soup, not shocking. Ben had always been a typical male, not even a girlfriend could change that. When we were finished, we retreated to the bedroom, locking the door tightly behind us. A curious puppy was not something we needed as an interruption.

I climbed into bed and he followed, like Molly would do if she was lonely and I put my arms around him. He rested his small head on my stomach and we spent the next hour talking. He asked me about my walk and I told him about the kids and the ball. He laughed and squeezed my cheek.

"You’re too cute sometimes, you know that, right?"

"Well duh."

He asked me about my articles and I sighed, explaining the situation. As I talked, his eyes drifted and I knew he had lost interest, so I threw in "and I swear they did on my desk." Suddenly, he looked back at me, confused, and I laughed at him. "You’re all about sex, aren’t you?"

"Well, duh," he replied, imitating my voice. I laughed and squeezed his cheek.

"You’re too cute sometimes," I told him, sarcastically. "Why can’t you be like all the time, instead of being a pain in the ass?"

"I thought I was still cute when I was a pain in the ass."

I pretended to glare at him and he changed the subject.

"Are you going to call your mother this afternoon?"

I looked at him, curiously.

"I didn’t think you liked my mother."

"No, your mother doesn’t like me."

"Oh," I snorted. "That’s right."

"I just wanted to know if there was any gossip in Candlewick."

I shook my head at him."

"You’re one of them, aren’t you?"

"Well, it’s not like we’re that exciting."

"Yeah, I told him. Imagine if we lived in Candlewick, the land of nothingness."

"I’m sure some interesting stuff happens."

I looked at him in doubt, but didn’t argue.

I was feeling frisky..