Pop.

Puuuul.

Pop.

Puuuul.

Scritch scritch pop.

Puuuuuuul.

There is something about the sound of needle and floss going through fabric that seems to get me, to soothe me, especially when I’m having a bad day or too stressed out to focus. Watching a piece I’ve been working on grow into something beautiful always fills me with such peace and joy. It’s the reason I love stitching so much.

Watching Mom cross stitch when I was younger was so hypnotizing, so captivating. I loved watching the lines between her brow appear and disappear as she moved her eyes between the pattern and the project. I loved the look of calm concentration as she worked. And I loved, absolutely loved the sound of the fabric as it popped and the floss pulled. 

I didn’t fault her for being so hesitant to teach me to stitch later on in life. I’d quit everything else after getting too frustrated with it. But the moment I had that fabric and hoop in my hand, the pattern right beside me, it was like the entire world just made sense. The first thing I ever stitched was a duck. Just some stupid simple little duck. Mom still has it hanging up in her office at work. I’ve done stuff much better and more intricate than that since then, but she swears that’s her favorite because it’s the first one I ever did.

That was almost nine years ago. I started stitching about a year after my injury and I never stopped. My therapist said it’s the most productive and healing thing I can do. Plus it helps with my fine motor skills and cognitive development, two things that got wrecked. 

Whatever, I just like to stitch.

There’s a knock at the front door but I don’t get up to answer it. I know it’s Harley. 

“It’s open!” I shout.

It clicks open and he walks in, bottles clinking. “Happy birthday, Mothgirl!” he says, closing the door behind him. He comes up to me where I’m stationed on the couch and kisses me on the top of the head.

I grin up at him. “Thanks,” I say.

“What are you working on?” he asks, leaning over to inspect my work. I grab up the plastic sleeve with the image. It’s a full coverage piece from a major cross stitch design company. “Oh nice! You’ve been working on that one for a hot minute, haven’t you?”

I shrug as I get back to it. “A few years, yeah.”

“Well, hurry it the fuck up, I want to hang it up in my house.”

I snort. “I’ve got other WIPs going, dumbass.”

“No excuse!” I hear the fridge open and more clinking as he puts the beer bottles away. He comes back to the living room and plops down on the other end of the couch, kicking his leg up over mine. He’s grinning at me.

Suspicious.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says slowly, the grin not fading. His eyes are already glazed over, proof he’s started partying before the rest of us. Go figure. He better have taken an Uber to get here and not driven. I’ve been trying for two years to get him to sober up with little success. At least he doesn’t drink nearly as much rum as before.

“Liar.”

“Okay, you caught me.”

“As always.”

He sits up and pushes my legs off the couch, reaching into his pocket for his phone as he scoots over next to me. “I got us an appointment and you’re not allowed to bail.”

I sigh and set my project aside, moving to see the screen better. “A tattoo?”

“Indeed.”

“Harley, you realize you need to be sober for that, right?”

“I’m well aware, Mothgirl,” he said, pointing at his chest and left arm. He’s got a lot of tattoos as it is. I could argue against him getting another one but there’d be no point. Besides, I’m not against them. I recently dated a guy covered in them and he was sexy as hell. Too bad he was a major douche-canoe. The worst part?

It was Chase.

Yes, I dated Chase, Harley’s coworker, for over six months. It was great in the beginning, but his addiction outweighed any affection he had for me. Plus he was a belittling jerk. Harley wasn’t too thrilled to learn about that and cut off ties after hearing Chase badmouth me one day. I dumped him the very next night.

“When is this forced appointment?” I sigh.

“Two months from now.”

“That’s far!”

“It was the soonest he could get us in,” Harley said, pocketing his phone. “The guy’s a legend in this town. He’s even done a few things on me.” He rolled up his sleeve, exposing a perfect rendition of Gojo and Sukuna from Jujutsu Kaisen. To be fair, those are my favorites. His other tats are nice, but those are the best.

“Besides, it will give you plenty of time to think about what you want,” he says, leaning over closer to me. I put my arm around him and let him slide in further. “I still say you should get ‘Harley’s bitch’ on your ass.”

“Never gonna happen, big boy.”

He laughs. He’s been doing that more often, but it still sounds wrong, even to him. “Fine. It’s your tat, anyway, so make it special.”

“I don’t have the money for it, though.”

He tilts his head up, glaring at me. I realize he hasn’t shaved in a few days. “It’s a birthday present. Don’t argue,” he adds before I can. “Twenty-five is a big number, Bug. You deserve something special.”

I roll my eyes, conceding defeat. Like I was going to argue anyway. I’d mentioned wanting a tattoo way back but we never really got deep into it for me to think he’d even remember. He’s drunk most of the time, how was I supposed to know he’d file that one away? I poke him in the nose.

“Your birthday is coming up.”

“Nothing.”

I sigh. He said the same thing last year, too. I still got him something, small as it was. He even let me take him to one of his and Robin’s old haunts, a park outside of town where they would go jogging. We did not jog, only walked around and talked. 

Still, I have my ways of getting the information I need in order to satisfy my desire to please him. He is my best friend, after all.

My phone buzzes on my side table and I reach for it. He sees the text when I open it and frowns up at me. “You said you were done with her.”

“I am,” I mutter. 

Nikki Halsey was messaging me a happy birthday wish. I didn’t respond. I had made it a point not to interact with her as much as possible, especially over the last year. Still, she does her best to get me back in her life using every tactic she can think of. I admit to having fallen for her games a few times, only to get burned each time. Thank god for Harley Cox and his reassuring and loving hugs. 

And rum. 

He takes my phone from me and turns the ringer and vibration off, leaving it on total silence. “Chevy’s bringing the family over,” he says. “They’re the only ones you need to worry about today. Actually, just worry about yourself. Let us spoil you today, yeah?”

I grin down at him. “Fine,” I say. Usually I don’t like being spoiled but it is my birthday, after all. I almost didn’t make it this far.

Not that Harley would ever know. Even for those few days I went dark, he didn’t question it. I know he was worried though. That look he gave me when I finally video called him was enough to know I should never put him through that again. He didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. 

And it happened more than once. Still…he never asked.

“Are Carol Jean and Ford coming?”

“Is that question meant to be redundant?”

I snorted. “Apparently.”

He sits up with a grunt and tosses my legs back up on the couch as he stands. “Beer?” he asks, walking back to the kitchen.

“May as well,” I shrug. I put my stitching away, knowing once I start drinking, all hopes of making any progress are out the door. He grabs two and returns, handing me one. “Outside, Bug,” he says. He wants to smoke and can’t do so in my house. Mom’s rules.

It’s a warm evening, not a surprise for mid-June. He takes a seat at the end of the porch and I lean against the railing, sipping my beer. We aren’t out there for five minutes before I hear the door slide open and close. Dad appears with his own beer, cigarette in hand.

He smiles at us. “Ah, the dynamic duo,” he says.

Harley raises his beer and I smile. 

“How was work?” I ask, giving him a kiss on the cheek when he comes to give me a hug.

“Same as ever,” he shrugs, his typical response. “They make money and I move it around, making sure all the bills get paid.” He’s an accountant for a major company. He nods to Harley. “How ‘bout you?”

Harley grins. “I got three new dogs adopted this month,” he says with pride. 

“Nice!” Daddy responds, clinking their bottles together. “Were those the former fighting dogs?”

He nods. “Two pits and a terrier used for baiting. Jackson, the former bait dog, was a hard one to rehabilitate due to his high fear and anxiety of literally everything, but he came out great. It was a family with two little kids that took him in.”

“What about the pitties?” I ask.

Harley grinned, his teeth showing. It’s such a gorgeous smile. Too bad it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “They work for the police department now.”

Both me and my dad let out exclamations of both disbelief and excitement. I can’t help but hug him which makes him chuckle. Mom comes out about that time, followed by Sharpie, Heather’s husky she got from the rescue for her birthday a couple years ago. He’s a dork and runs to Harley without a second thought. Not surprising, Heather and the rest of the family are right behind him.

“Happy birthday, Windy!” Heather says. I stoop down so she can give me a hug.

“Thank you,” I say just as Ivan toddles over. I scoop him up and give him a face-full of kisses. He giggles and squirms, trying to kiss me back. Abigail laughs and Chevy grins. They all wish me happy birthday and I’m once more inundated with physical affection. There’s so much activity going on, I almost don’t notice the new arrivals. 

Carol Jean and Ford Cox.

And Chase.

I stare at him a minute before turning to Harley who winces. “He asked,” he mutters.

I sigh. Chase walks up to me, a small present in his hands. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I respond, probably a bit colder than I mean.

“Happy birthday, Windy,” he says, handing me the gift. “Can I talk to you right quick?”

I glance at Harley who nods, his eyes letting me know he won’t be too far away in case I need him.

“Sure,” I say. We walk away to the edge of the yard, leaving everyone to talk and mingle among themselves.