It isn’t broken. It isn’t broken because it can’t be broken. It isn’t broken because it can’t be broken because Carolina said that this damn thing had been in her family for three generations now and you can’t just break your girlfriend’s heirloom rocking chair when you only moved in a week ago. York had probably been pacing for almost ten minutes, staring at where the runner (he had actually gone online to find out the word for it) had come off of some support spindle or other that held it to the chair, fretting frantically. His teeth worried endlessly at his lip, shaking. Why did it have to be this bad? She was going to kill him. Their relationship was going to be over. Three years together and he fucked it up in the first week. The first week of the time he was trying to give himself as a trial before he proposed. Why? “York I’m... home?”The door behind him being open was the worst thing. York whirled and worked to make sure he was situated right between his girlfriend and the chair. Maybe he can throw a blanket over it. Maybe she would never notice. Maybe... “Dammit, did that runner pop out again? I swear this time I’m going to nail the thing in place rather than trying to trust wood glue. Anyway, honey, I’ve got take out. Thai. Go get the plates while I pop this back in. I’ll fix it later.”