My dear readers and followers,
To be quite honest, I have no idea how to properly begin this blog post.
After much pondering and deep contemplation, I've decided to go on a hiatus from the blogging world.
I'm not sure if this break will be a few months or several years long.
After 25 months, 445 posts, and 42,828 page views, I have decided to say goodbye to Leggings Love.
For the past six months or so, I haven't felt like my heart has been in this blog. I never wanted blogging to feel like a chore. It was always something I truly loved and enjoyed doing, and unfortunately, I've reached a point in my life where this isn't the case anymore.
Another major factor in my decision is that I'd like to use the time I normally spend blogging on my novel instead.
I keep imagining Annabelle twiddling her thumbs in "Bingley Books" while John Rodriguez journeys closer to becoming a priest.
And I can't let that happen...or can I?
Anyways.
I will always be thankful for the wonderful friendships I've made through Blogger.
Claire- I hope we continue to Gmail about the royals, wedding registries, and my tumultuous love life (among many other things). I love no one else's cat as much as yours, and I am eternally amazed at how similarly our minds work!
Ivana- Do you know how often I wonder if we were separated at birth? You are my European soul sister, and I don't know what I would do without your kind words and perpetually wise (and thoughtful) advice. I know we will meet up someday- whether it's getting a cup of tea in New York or eating crepes together in Paris, I am sure it will be lovely!
Jenn, Faith, EAS, Meghan- You four women have given me such amazing advice over the years! Thank you for always leaving me such sweet comments and coaching me along through my early twenties.
Leah- Thank you for being such an amazing friend and pen pal to me from the very start (two whole years ago!). I feel like we actually know one another, and it always mind-boggles me that we've never actually met before.
Fais- I'll never forget how you totally hooked me up with that fantastic Kate Spade paint brush clutch! ;) I could not get over how much trouble you went through to get that clutch in my possession- merci, merci, dear friend!
Caitlin- Someday, we really must meet up and go get our Harry Potter tattoos together :) It was so awesome having another English major friend to confide in and (very occasionally of course!) commiserate with!
Thank you all, my wonderful followers and readers, for faithfully keeping up with my little blog and pretending that my writing was actually good or even occasionally clever. I'll always cherish your sweet words and comments, and I am so glad that the last two years of my life will forever be chronicled on Legging's Love.
It's been a total blast, and I know I'll miss it.
I'm going to leave you with one last excerpt from my novel. I hope you enjoy it!*
Love,
Jenna
*It's a somewhat steamy scene. So seriously- enjoy it. Sorry Mum. Also- ignore any weird formatting or weird errors. Blogger can be difficult sometimes, and as for the writing errors...I am just going to plead first draft woes.
-*-
“You are not being creepy.
You are not being creepy.” I mumbled to myself as I walked towards St. Rita’s
that late September evening. I looked down at the Tupperware container full of homemade
chocolate chip scones I was holding and sighed. “Oh my God. I am such a creep.”
I
stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took a deep, rich breath of the
autumn air. Looking up at the yellow, orange, and red leaves above, I couldn’t
help but smile.
Fall
was such a magical time of year.
I
continued on my way to the church, continuously telling myself that the scones
were a lovely gesture of friendship, and how I would feel completely normal
bestowing baked goods upon any close acquaintance of mine. It was not flirty or
romantic. It was friendly.
Just
a few weeks earlier, Margot had baked me blueberry muffins, and I certainly had
not accused her of harboring a lesbian crush on me.
Friends
made each other baked goods. That was simply a fact.
When
I arrived at the rectory, I confidently pressed the doorbell and waited
patiently on the doorstep. The welcome mat beneath me was worn but appeared to
have once bore the image of a resurrected Christ. The blazing sun behind him
now simply appeared as a faint, orange glow.
“Annabelle,
dear! Hello!”
“Mrs.
Richards. Hi.” I replied, inexplicably shocked that the parish secretary had
dared to answer the rectory’s door. “Would you happen to know if, uh, John is
here?”
This
was worse than calling a boy’s home phone in junior high and having to speak to
his parents first.
Mrs.
Richards, nosy as ever, planted a freshly manicured hand on her hip and took a
closer look at me. She began at my feet, which were outfitted in a pair of
gorgeous, brown leather boots (boots she was probably currently deeming too
sexual), skimmed past my worn jeans, and stopped her stare at the scones.
Those
damn scones.
“And
what have you brought in that container there?” She asked bluntly.
“Scones.”
I murmured, heat creeping into my cheeks.
“Like
those British pastries?” She licked her dry, cracked lips.
Maybe
she wasn’t trying to pry into my business. Perhaps she was simply hungry.
“Well,
they’re more like cookies. Biscuits, even.”
“Why
are you bringing them here, my dear?” Mrs. Richards believed that she could be
as frank and rude as she wanted as long as she added ‘my dear’ to whatever she
was saying.
Now
annoyed, I sighed in exasperation, “Because John told me he has never tried
scones, and I wanted to make him some. Okay?”
She
rolled her eyes at me and finally opened the door, “No need to get so snippy,
Annabelle. Follow me. I believe John is in the MPR. It’s Children’s Bible
School night, you know.”
I
ignored her glare and dutifully walked behind her, the noise of the parish
children growing as we drew closer to the multipurpose room.
Of
course, when we finally stepped into the room, an area that looked as though it
had been plucked directly from the 1960s, John Rodriguez was nowhere in sight.
“Hmm.
That’s strange. Petunia, do you happen to know where John is?” Mrs. Richards
called across the room to one of the Children’s Bible School helpers, Petunia Erickson.
“He
just left for the grocery! We ran out of milk and are about to have some
chocolate cake for Bella’s birthday.” Petunia rubbed a small girl’s shoulder
affectionately. “Can I help you with anything? Hey there, Annabelle!”
I
nodded kindly towards Petunia, a woman who thrived from involvement in any and
every organization. She also made it her mission to memorize every, single
parishioner’s name, which I found both endearing and obnoxious.
“Annabelle
wants him. She made him scones.” Mrs. Richards announced my business across the
entire room. I couldn’t help but notice more than a few adult heads turn
curiously in my direction.
“I
do not want him.” I mumbled,
absolutely humiliated.
“Well,
he should be back any minute now. Want to play hide and seek with us in the
meantime?” Petunia asked sweetly, pretending that this scone-baring gesture of
mine was completely normal.
I
loved Petunia Erickson in that moment, which is why I stupidly agreed to play
hide and seek in an ancient Catholic church with twelve children hyped up on
Kool-Aid.
Dominic,
a small boy with glasses and a buzz cut, graciously volunteered to be “It.” He
faced the cinderblock wall and carefully covered his eyes before beginning to
shout, “One! Two! Three…”
The
kids scattered from the room.
“This
way, Annabelle!” A darling girl whispered, motioning me to follow her up a side
staircase. She stopped for a second to politely introduce herself. “I’m Frances
McCormick, and I’m excellent at hide and seek.”
“I’m
Annabelle James,” I whispered back, “and I’m terrible at hide and seek. It
makes me nervous!”
“That’s
dumb. It’s just a game.” Frances raised her eyebrows at me before pointing to a
large, oak door. “Go hide in there. I can’t help you any longer!”
How
pathetic.
Stealthily,
I opened the door and slid inside. Strangely, I found myself in a bedroom.
There was a large, wrought iron bed in the center and two worn nightstands on
either side. A hideous lamp stood on one nightstand, a Bible lying beside it.
The
room was void of any sort of personalization. No framed photographs from last
year’s family Christmas party. No water glass sitting in a puddle on the
nightstand. No small pile of neglected laundry. There wasn’t even a phone
charger plugged into one of the outlets.
“Ready
or not, here I come!” Dominic shouted from somewhere dangerously nearby.
My
nerves shot through the roof as I flipped off the lights and dove beneath the
red comforter on the bed.
Ha!
He would never find me here.
I
felt oddly triumphant when I heard small feet pass by in the hall. Dominic had
missed me! I was the hide and seek queen!
Buried
deep in the comforter, I couldn’t help but breath in a crisp, familiar scent.
Dread filled my stomach as I realized whose bed I had hopped into.
And
then the unthinkable happened.
The
door creaked open and heavy footsteps entered the room, steps belonging to a
man.
Not
daring to move or even breath, I sent God an urgent prayer, begging him to call
his humble servant elsewhere.
As
in very, very far away from this bedroom.
He
was shuffling around the room. I tried my best to guess what various activities
he could be performing, but my total lack of eyesight made the possibilities
seem endless. Was that metallic clink
the sound of John Rodriguez taking his watch off for the day? Had he made
himself an evening cocktail?
As
my mind and heart raced, my body remained unbelievably still.
John
Rodriguez sat on the edge of his bed. I felt my legs dip down. They were unnervingly
close to his ass.
Despite
the deafening sound of my pounding heart, I was able to hear him untying his
shoes and presumably taking them off for the night. For at least twenty
seconds, he didn’t do any moving at all.
He
leaned back suddenly, his head hitting me directly in the stomach.
I
yelped. He shouted.
“What
the hell?” He threw back his comforter in a near panic.
And
there I was. Lying in his bed.
My
shirt was awkwardly raised above my stomach. My arms felt paralyzed, as they
remained completely motionless as my sides. I knew I had a fine layer of
perspiration on my forehead and assumed my face was either extremely void of,
or extremely filled with, color.
And
there he was, standing above me. His shirt off and his belt undone. He had dark
tufts of hair on his chest and a firm stomach. A rugged five o’clock shadow
covered his face, and I was relieved to see a look of curiosity in his eyes
rather than one of anger.
I
knew I should be feeling humiliated, awkward, and guilty, and I truly was
experiencing a bit of each of those sensations. But most of all, above all
else, I felt aroused. I ached for him. I wanted John Rodriguez to bend down and
take me into his strong arms. I wanted John Rodriguez to climb on top of me,
kissing my mouth and throat before moving his lips down to my exposed stomach.
I
took a deep breath and willed my mind to move elsewhere.
“Um,
I know this looks really, really strange.” I began weakly, unable to move
myself to a sitting position much less a standing one.
“Annabelle.
This is beyond strange. Please explain.”
“I
was playing hide and seek with the kids. The Bible School ones?”
“Yes.
I’m familiar. Go on.”
Oh,
why did he have to continue to stare at me that way? And why hadn’t he gone to
put his shirt back on? Didn’t he realize how distracting this all was?
“Right.
So I was playing hide and seek, and I chose your bedroom for my hiding place. I
mean, your bed, if we’re going to be specific here…except I didn’t realize it
was your bed. Obviously if I had known, I would have never chosen it as my hiding place…”
Why
did he let me continue to babble like this? Why didn’t he just cut me off and
save me from my misery?
“I’m
sorry. I feel like such a creep.” I finally found the ability to pull my shirt
down and sit up, my short legs dangling off the edge of John Rodriguez’s bed.
He
studied me a few seconds longer before a wide grin spread across his face. He
burst into beautiful laughter, causing the knots in my stomach to loosen.
“It’s
pretty creepy,” he conceded. “Actually it is insanely creepy.”
“It
was a good hiding place!” I refuted, smiling back at him.
He
nodded, “Can’t argue with that one. It’s just…you scared the shit out of me,
Annabelle. I thought I had some sort of psycho under my covers for a second
there!”
Right
then.
“Just
a pretty girl.” I flirted before realizing whom I was speaking with. “So yeah.
Anyways. I am really sorry, John. I only came over here to bring you scones.”
“Ah,
yes. Mrs. Richards told me you brought over cookies.”
“They’re
not cookies! They’re scones!”
“She
was right- you really are awfully testy tonight.” John Rodriguez smirked as he
finally began to redress himself. Thank God.
“You
know me. I’m always testy.” I rolled my eyes, watching as John carefully
buttoned up his shirt and neatly tucked it into his black slacks.
“Well,
I’m going to be really testy if there isn’t any milk in the kitchen to enjoy
these famous scones with!” John Rodriguez motioned towards the doorway. “Come
on, creep. I think she put them in the kitchen.”
I
covered my face as I moaned, “Can we please forget this ever happened? Or at
least not mention it to any living soul?”
“Guess
I’ll be gossiping in the graveyard then.”
“That’s
morbid.”
“At
least I don’t hide in other people’s beds…” John raised his eyebrows at me
suggestively before leading the way down a set of stairs and into a
surprisingly modern kitchen.
“Wow.
Fancy.” I said, noticing the granite countertops and rich, cherry cabinets.
“Aren’t you supposed to be an advocate of a simple lifestyle?”
“Annabelle.
I am studying to be a priest in a church whose leader wears Prada.” John
rummaged through a cabinet before retrieving my container of scones. “Seriously
though, I’ve heard that this kitchen remodel was a gift to the parish a few
years ago. I guess some parishioner who used to work in the kitchen here passed
away, and she left money for a kitchen remodel in her will.”
“Shut
up. You’re lying.”
“Nope!
Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand solemnly before breaking into one of his
signature smiles. “Don’t tell me you haven’t designated money in your will for
a remodel of the restrooms back in the vestibule! The good Lord knows we need
pedestal sinks and marble floors in there.”
“You
have it all wrong. I’m leaving money for a luxury renovation of the crying
room. I’m thinking plasma screen TVs playing Dora the Explorer and a ball pit. Maybe even a stainless steel
fridge full of Juicy Juice.”
We
both laughed.
John
grabbed a gallon of 2% milk from the real stainless steel refrigerator
currently in front of us. He set a tall glass on the counter and began to pour.
“Tell me when.”
My
whole body seemed to warm at the gesture, but I couldn’t say why.
“When.”
I murmured, the glass completely full. “You can never have too much calcium.”
“Technically
you can. It’s called hypercalcemia…but I don’t think this generous helping will
hurt.” He winked, passing the cool glass over to me, our fingers brushing in
the process.
“Show-off.
I thought you were a lawyer. Did you manage to fit in some med school, too?”
“Nope.
Mom’s a nurse, remember?” I nodded at him. “Plus I may have had a love affair
with ice cream at one point in my life, and my mom may have threatened me with
this condition if I didn’t slow down on those Häagen-Dazs pints.”
I
smiled, taking a bite of one of my scones. I had put in the entire bag of
chocolate chips, and the scones had turned out unsurprisingly delicious.
John
looked at me seriously before saying, “Alright, Annabelle. Here goes my very
first bite of a scone. Ever. Should we be documenting this? Do you have a
camera?”
“Stop
being dramatic and just eat it.” I mumbled, my mouth full.
He
popped one of the smaller scones into his mouth and chewed carefully.
“Mmmm…oh
yes. These are awesome.” He grabbed
for a second before finishing his first. “What an absolute travesty to ever confuse
them with cookies.”
I
knew I had a ridiculous smile across my face, but I couldn’t contain my glow in
John’s approval.
“Thank
you.” He said, suddenly serious.
Our
eyes met, and it was all I could do to simply nod in return.
