I've never been a big fan of surprises. Call me crazy, but I like knowing what to expect in life. Even as a kid, I never handled them well; on my tenth birthday my parents threw me a surprise party, and I got so scared when everyone jumped out that I froze up like a deer in headlights and then pissed myself - yeah, that one wasn't my best moment. At fourteen, I learned the hard way that I don't do well with horror movies. All it took was one little jump scare, and before I knew it, I was running out of the theater, screaming.
Most of the time, I barely even like so-called "pleasant" surprises. I'd like to give whoever coined that term a piece of my mind - or, at the very least, write them a strongly worded letter. There are very few surprises in this world I'd even consider pleasant. In fact, if someone walked up to me right now with a beautifully wrapped present neatly tied up with a little bow, I would still find a way to stress out over it. What if I hate it, and I have to act like I don't? What if it's something I already have, and then I have to return it? What if it doesn't come with a gift receipt, and then it's a giant pain in the ass to return, and -- you know what, never mind. See? It's too much stress.
All of this is to say, I definitely go out of my way to avoid surprises, but of course, sooner or later, a surprise is bound to find you. All you can do is hope that it's a pleasant one. Sometimes, surprises can be a good thing; it's rare, but it happens. For example, the fact that I met my girlfriend Vivienne on a blind date that a couple mutual friends set up? That was a
very
pleasant surprise. We went to a nice restaurant and had an amazing time together despite the fact that I was an absolute mess, and, well, the rest is history. Fast forward almost two years, we're currently living together, and I'm finally about to ask her to marry me. I shoved my hand into my pocket to make sure the ring was there for what must have been the tenth time that afternoon.
I had been planning the proposal for weeks, and it goes without saying that my nerves were a mess. Vivienne had no idea it was coming; she didn't even know I was at home. She was over at her parents' house helping them deep-clean their floors using the vacuum from her work - she cleaned people's homes for a living. I didn't know exactly when she would be getting home, but I figured she would be home pretty soon - at least, I hoped she would be. Dinner would be ready before too long, and I was making Vivienne's favorite meal: roast with mashed potatoes and gravy.
I popped the oven open to check on the roast and was pleased to find that it was cooked perfectly. The tantalizing aroma that drifted from the oven made my mouth water. I spooned out some of the drippings and put them into a pan to start making some gravy to go with the mashed potatoes. Once that was done, I put the roast back in the oven so that it wouldn't get cold before adding some flour to the drippings in the pan. I stirred up the mixture before letting it simmer for a bit, hoping for the best; gravy was something I was never able to get quite right, no matter how many times I tried.
I turned my attention back to the mashed potatoes, which I had already started earlier. They were a bit lumpy since we didn't have a mixer, and I had to mash them by hand. Luckily, Viv never seemed to mind - she always said the lumps just added
character
to the potatoes. I added a bit of salt and pepper to the potatoes and gave them a taste. I smiled, satisfied with the results. At least if the gravy didn't turn out, the roast and mashed potatoes would still be edible.
The hazy orange sunlight of late afternoon streamed into the kitchen while I continued to work on the meal. I turned off the heat on the mashed potatoes so they wouldn't get scorched, then spooned a bit of the gravy out to test the consistency; it was still way too runny. I scowled as added more flour to the mixture and let it simmer for a bit longer.
Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the door as I heard the lock being turned. Vivienne was trying to get into the apartment, but she must have figured the door was locked since she wasn't expecting me to be home.
"It's open," I yelled, and then I heard the sound of the door opening behind me. I had my back to the door as I worked at the stove, and I heard Vivienne's voice call out in surprise.
"Noah?! What are you doing here?!" I heard her ask, clearly shocked. I smiled as I spun around dramatically and turned to face her.
"Surprise!" I yelled. Or at least, that's what I wanted to yell. What actually came out was "Supri—AAAAaaarrrggghhh!!" because I was not definitely
not
prepared for what I saw when I turned around.
Vivienne Hoover was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She had gorgeous blonde hair, blue eyes that were impossible not to get lost in, and... well, I'm not going to wax poetic about her body, so I'll just say she had a great one and leave it at that. When I first saw her on our first date all that time ago, I could barely string together a coherent sentence. I'm still not sure why she agreed to go on a second date; it was one of those elusive pleasant surprises I was talking about earlier.
The sight I saw when I turned around? It was a surprise, for sure, but it was definitely not pleasant. It looked like Vivienne had literally rolled around in the dirt before walking through the door. It was everywhere: streaked across her face, staining her blonde hair, and clinging to every bit of skin not covered up by her clothing. I don't know what the hell had happened while she was cleaning at her parents' house, but it looked like she had brought most of the mess home with her. The weird thing was, her clothes were spotless, like she had taken them off to do the aforementioned dirt-rolling, though maybe she had changed into a fresh set before coming back to the apartment. I wondered why she wouldn't have at least showered first if that was the case, though. Regardless, seeing my girlfriend covered head-to-toe in dirt and dust was the last thing I had expected to see.
Hence, my
enthusiastic
reaction.
I told you I didn't like surprises.
"I-I thought you were at work," Vivienne said, her voice wavering and her eyes wide. She gingerly stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind her. Given that it was Friday, I would have been at work if I hadn't taken the day off to get everything ready for the proposal.
I worked at our local library, and I loved the job. Every book had its proper place, it was nice and quiet, and the best part was, there were no surprises... well, except for the one time a bird had found its way into the library and started frantically flying around, looking for the exit - that was
not
a good day. Now that I thought about it, I had to leave early then, too - I couldn't handle the stress.
"I, uh, wanted to surprise you," I said, rubbing a hand through my sandy brown hair as heat blazed in my cheeks.
"Well, mission accomplished," Vivienne said, her words shaky with nerves; something seemed off.
"Um, is everything okay, Viv?" I looked her up and down, and my brows were knitted with concern. "Did something, uh... happen while you were cleaning?" Viv's face suddenly went pale; I could see it even through all the dirt smeared across her skin. She looked around the room frantically, as if the answers were hidden somewhere in our apartment. "Vivienne, what's wrong?" She was acting really weird, and I was starting to become concerned. Her gaze flicked around a little longer until it finally landed on the trash can sitting next to the stove.
"The uh... bag broke on the work vacuum... when I was trying to dump it in the trash," she hastily piped up, as her gaze finally snapped back to me. "Everything spilled out all over me. It was a huge mess, and it took
forever
to clean back up." Suddenly, she stopped and started to sniff at the air. "Heeey... is that a roast I smell? It smells
