"So long as someone calls him. If you change your mind on that, Bax, I'll do it myself."
Sometimes, the old exasperations come back with a vengeance: he wishes Quinn wouldn't be so bloody taciturn. That he would smile, stop being such a prick on general principle. He wishes Woody would say what he's thinking -- he can see the processing going on, but the words are few and far between, although he's good-natured -- and he wishes Bax wouldn't be so accommodating. But he has to chalk that up to parenting teen daughters, something he's never been brave enough to so much as contemplate. Even though he's absent at the moment, he wishes Rick wouldn't stick in their craws the way he does, but the group wouldn't be the same without him. It wouldn't. It takes the lot of them to make whatever sort of whole... um... entity they are.
There's only one thing to say, now he's made the offer. It'll be a chunk of cash out of his bank account, not theirs: a holiday should be fun. It shouldn't present any sort of hardship.
"All right, then. It's about time you" -- he lifts his glass to each of them in turn -- "got a taste of my corner of the world."
In every sense of the word. He's well aware this holiday could take years to plan, people being who they are, schedules being what they are. As long as he knows it's going to take place eventually, he has something to focus on beyond the everyday business of pretending to love every fucking thing about Spain, beyond keeping up appearances, beyond the hollowness of the life he's carved out for himself. Whether he plays host to his friends in five weeks or five months or five years, he has that to look forward to.
Without being maudlin, he would say he loves them all very much. It's something he wouldn't ever give voice to, though.
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Sometimes, the old exasperations come back with a vengeance: he wishes Quinn wouldn't be so bloody taciturn. That he would smile, stop being such a prick on general principle. He wishes Woody would say what he's thinking -- he can see the processing going on, but the words are few and far between, although he's good-natured -- and he wishes Bax wouldn't be so accommodating. But he has to chalk that up to parenting teen daughters, something he's never been brave enough to so much as contemplate. Even though he's absent at the moment, he wishes Rick wouldn't stick in their craws the way he does, but the group wouldn't be the same without him. It wouldn't. It takes the lot of them to make whatever sort of whole... um... entity they are.
There's only one thing to say, now he's made the offer. It'll be a chunk of cash out of his bank account, not theirs: a holiday should be fun. It shouldn't present any sort of hardship.
"All right, then. It's about time you" -- he lifts his glass to each of them in turn -- "got a taste of my corner of the world."
In every sense of the word. He's well aware this holiday could take years to plan, people being who they are, schedules being what they are. As long as he knows it's going to take place eventually, he has something to focus on beyond the everyday business of pretending to love every fucking thing about Spain, beyond keeping up appearances, beyond the hollowness of the life he's carved out for himself. Whether he plays host to his friends in five weeks or five months or five years, he has that to look forward to.
Without being maudlin, he would say he loves them all very much. It's something he wouldn't ever give voice to, though.