Page 20 of No Bones About It

I wipe my eyes and then we get back to pumpkin carving. I explain each step to him as I do it on mine, and he then follows along on his own. We carve all the large pumpkins and then, at his insistence, even the small ones and the gourds. He’s obsessed, to put it mildly. And surprisingly good at carving pumpkins.

When we finally run out of things to carve, I get everything cleaned up while he fusses over the display, arranging and rearranging the pumpkins until he’s finally satisfied. I just sit and watch him, smiling that he seems to love Halloween just as much as I do.

I give it a once over, and honestly, I’m impressed with our work. We started with simple classic jack-o’-lantern faces but soon he was carving intricate patterns and even made one that had “BJ hearts Tori.”

He sits back on his heels, and then points at the pumpkins.

“I agree, they look great,” I say.

But he shakes his head and then doesn’t just point at them, but pokes his finger through to the inside, looking at me expectantly.

“Yeah, we took out their guts,” I reply, a little confused.

When he turns his eyes to small flames while keeping his finger inside the pumpkin, I realize what he wants.

“Oh, you want me to put candles in them,” I say, and he nods enthusiastically.

Once I have a candle in all the ones that will fit them, he crosses his arms and nods, as if now he is satisfied this is up to his standards.

By the time we are done, night is falling and my stomach growls loudly.

BJ looks at me in alarm and then points to my belly.

I can’t help but laugh, then explain, “It’s okay, I’m just hungry. I’ll be right back.”

I wolf down some random snacks and make a mental note to order groceries so I don't have to run out to the store, and then get ready for bed.

When I get back to the tent, I find BJ sitting near the blanket and pillow nest patiently waiting. I snag my laptop and a beer, then settle back between his legs so he can see my screen. We spend the next few hours searching up new outfits and accessories for him as I sip on pumpkin porter.

“You’re going to need an awesome Halloween costume. Like epic,” I say.

He taps my shoulder and tilts his head at me.

“Me? I always dress up as a photographer,” I say with a shrug.

He wags a finger at me.

“You’re right, I do love Halloween. But I’m always so busy decorating and handing out candy that I never seem to get around to dressing up.”

He points at me, then himself, then back to the computer screen.

“Yes, we’re looking for a costume for you,” I say.

He shakes his head, points back and forth between us again and then back to the screen.

“Us?” I ask.

He nods.

“Costumes for us?” I clarify.

He nods emphatically, and his LED eyes morph into his smiling look.

My eyes sting with unshed tears. I wasn’t completely honest when I said I was too busy for a costume. I used to go all out. Full make up, complete accessories. Once I picked a costume, I committed.

And then I got married, and the comments started. How I was wasting so much money on something so stupid. How I was picking costumes that were too revealing and not right for my body type. And finally, when I hit my mid-thirties, how I was getting too old to dress up. When I hit forty, my ex had finally broken me down with his assessing looks and snide comments, robbing me of any joy of dressing up—so, I stopped.

“Yeah,” I say from behind a watery smile. “I needed you, BJ. Let’s pick one together.”