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“An interview? You…Zayne…Mr Too Serious for nonsense, have an interview?" This new piece of information had just been told to you by your husband Zayne in casual passing after you walked in on him prepping his clothes for the next day. You had just stepped out of the shower, hair in a towel and a fresh set of pajamas worn on your body.
You hadn't found his motions unusual until you remembered he worked at a hospital, not some formal party event, so the outfit he was picking out definitely wasn't the normal.
“The hospital director personally asked me, I turned him down, he kept asking me and then offered me adequate time off as the compromise and some extra vacation time. The interview is hoping to inspire high school graduates to consider the medical field, particularly in my expertise” he explains not looking at you as he pulled a pair of slacks from out of his closet and brought them to the ironing board he had set up in one corner of your shared bedroom.
“So, you're going to be on TV?” you spoke the question into the air, not particularly aiming it at him but he nodded regardless. Suddenly you gasped with your hand over your mouth, “Oh my, is that Zayne? The Zayne?! It's such an honor to meet you, I’m a huge fan” you playfully gasped, approaching him, hands over your chest in exaggerated awe.
He set aside the slacks he just finished ironing, his eyes keeping themselves off of you as you kept your act up. “Can I have your autograph? I just think you're so cool and really good looking” your words were cut off as he swiftly removed the towel from your head and let it fall over your head, covering your face.
“Go dry your hair” he instructs, guiding you by your shoulders to your vanity’s hair dryer. You gasp dramatically again, “Oh my, The Zayne is manhandling me, I'll never wash my shoulders again”. He sighed in response, amused within but he wasn't about to show any encouragement for your silly antics.
You finished drying your hair off and climbed into bed watching from your pillow side view as Zayne meticulously hung his ironed outfit on their hangers and up onto the door.
You smiled warmly when his side of the bed was filled out by him, his hand finding yours under the covers as he joined your side for a much desired cuddle. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, taking in his scent that always relaxed you.
“Zayne?” you murmur, getting a hum in response, you could tell by the tone he was just about drifting off to sleep. “Good luck for tomorrow” is all you had to say, his chuckle rumbled within his throat and his cool lips pressed into your forehead. “Thank you, my love” he whispers softly, the two of you were soon captured by slumber, lovingly intertwined in each other’s embrace.
Predictably, you were left alone in your shared bed the next morning. His side long since left to grow cold, on his night stand he left a propped up note giving you a time and which channel to watch his interview on later.
The sound of your young daughter's voice broke your drowsy trance and forced you to get up to tend to her.
Moments later, she had her belly full of breakfast and cradled a half drank bottle of milk in the crook of her arm whilst she played in the gated off playpen set up within the living room. The TV playing an educational show approved by her daddy.
You were washing up after breakfast when your phone buzzed alerting you to a new message from your husband.
Zayne: Did you see the note? The interview will be conducted soon.
You: Yep saw it and remembered, don't worry, she's already got a front row seat.
You took and sent him a photo of your daughter, a milk bottle in one hand and her beloved seal plushie in the other, eyes glued to the TV screen.
Zayne responded with hearts and then telling you he’d let you know when he's about to go on.
Until then you wasted time playing with your daughter, giving her some screen free time and engaging with her.
Whilst you sat on the couch with her in your lap, her hands were occupied with a picture book and a bowl of chopped up strawberries held in your hand by her side. Your gaze averted from your daughter to your phone at the sound of a notification.
It was Zayne informing you to switch on the TV and go to the specific channel he had mentioned on the note from earlier. After locating the TV remote wedged between the couch seats you quickly changed the channel to the right one.
A proud soft smile quickly spread across your face, for there all neatly dressed up, freshly combed and looking as eye-catchingly gorgeous as he always looked to you was Zayne, microphone clipped to his blazer’s collar and seeming confident as the interview started.
Your daughter was more interested in her picture book and half eaten strawberries but as soon as she heard the familiar voice of her daddy, she instantly forgot about it.
She stared bewildered at seeing her father aka the man who she worshipped and adored so much sitting there and speaking words she was too young to comprehend. Glancing at her, you assumed she was just in shock to see him on TV of all places, you couldn't blame her, you were surprised too.
“Who’s that, baby?” you ask in a soft cooing tone, brushing your fingers through her short silky hair. “Papa!” she answered, turning to you with the biggest, brightest of grin as if making sure you could see him too.
It was remarkable how much she loved Zayne. She was not yet 14 months old and already recognised the sounds of him coming home. She would squeal and stomp her feet in sheer excitement when his face would make its appearance, her joy would be so overwhelming for her she would even get shy when he would be wanting to greet her.
“Papa! Papa papa!” she chirped excitedly, swinging and wiggling her legs off the edge of your lap, her hand patting your leg to get your attention. “Mama, papa ‘ook ‘ook” she pointed to the TV, ensuring you were paying attention to the man she admired most. You giggled at how amusing her excitement was, your hand cupping and gently squishing her cheek, “It's Papa, huh, Papa’s on TV, right?” you coo, your acknowledgement seemed to put a bigger smile on her face.
She suddenly slides off of your lap, using your knee as leverage before scurrying to the TV. By now, your phone was out and recording her not wanting Zayne to miss out on all this excitement.
“Sweetheart, don't stand so close to the TV, please” you gently instructed her as she had gone directly up to the TV and patted her beloved father's face. “Papa papa papa hiii” she waved and blew a kiss, her feet stomping and stamping from her sheer joy.
You giggle once more at the state of her, even though she ignored your instruction and stood close to the TV, her big baby eyes dreamily gazing at Zayne's face, her hands clasped to her chest.
You could hardly pay attention to Zayne's interview, not with the entertaining reaction she was providing.
“Papa, papa papa, hi papa!” she delightfully squealed, excitedly jumping in place and pointing at Zayne again. She kept waving and waving at him, her little form moving to different angles waving and calling to him. You weren't sure what in the world she was doing until she returned to the couch just to pick up her bowl of half eaten strawberries and her book and brought it to the TV, showing off what she had with pride.
“Papa, ‘ook baby eatin” she proudly showed off her snack to Zayne. She grabbed hold of a piece of strawberry and offered it to her daddy but received no response all he did was talk and look elsewhere but at her.
Her joy turned to worry as she kept calling “Papa papa” with each one her tone of voice shifted from hopeful to anxious. Until eventually she had worked herself up to tears and ran to you for comfort, reaching your legs with a hard thud and pathetically trying to climb back up into your lap.
“Papa bad” she whimpered, sniffling hysterically as you gently helped her into your lap, her sniffling turning into muffled wailing as she buried her sobbing face into you. From her words you connected the dots as to what her strange behaviour was all about. Your eyes darted from Zayne's interview to your baby girl sobbing hysterically in your arms. You had to stifle a laugh from erupting at her dismay instead your hand held her against the space underneath your chin and in the dip of your neck, “Oh my poor baby, you really think Daddy's here, huh” a whimper is all you were met with as you rocked her until she eventually soothed in your arms.
You took the opportunity to send Zayne the videos you had taken and warned him about how much trouble he was in when he got home.
END