“You speak about that with such… calm. Resignation. I don’t know if I’m there yet.”
“You don’t have to be. You can be as unsure as you want to be. I’ll be the calm one.”
I leaned back and found he was already looking down at me. That same intensity was in his eyes keeping me trapped in his depths unable to look away. “It seems like taking on the responsibility for other people is what you’re always doing. I’m a big girl and I can handle working through my emotions. I simply need time. The ability to work through how this will work and look for me. There’s no need for you to carry this load by yourself.”
“It’s a familiar place for me to find myself.”
“Carrying burdens?”
He corrected me quickly. “Alone.”
The look was the same between us: the desire to have to say something nice battling with the sharp retort that would tell him to stop falling for his own self-importance. What came out was something in the middle.
“I would think you bullying your way into my home and us working together would be a clear sign that the alone thing hasrun its course for you. You’re about to take a wife so… yes, Lone Ranger status gone.”
The left side of his mouth lifted his normal signal that I’d amused him but not enough to be granted a full smile. “You're saying that you’re going to be my partner.”
“I’m marrying you.”
“That’s a formality. You’re talking about carrying loads and easing burdens that sounds very… communal.”
I scoffed to ensure he didn’t think that feelings were somehow coming into play with my offer of partnership. “I’m a misandrist. Of course, I’m going to advocate for a matriarchal style of leadership.”
“Matriarchy focuses on community and specifically the children of said community. We don’t have that.”
I wasn’t about to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. “Well shared goals is something that we can always work together with. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Agreed.”
“See, there’s nothing wrong with letting me decide. Life can be easy that way.”
His stare lingered again searching and finding what he was apparently looking for, by the way the corners of his eyes relaxed. Apparently, it didn’t soothe him the way I thought it would almost like he couldn’t trust himself to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he pulled me close so that I couldn’t see his eyes any longer.
“Yeah, I’m seeing.”
GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER?
ASHA
“Absolutely not.”
I was staring at the veritable mountain made of flesh before me daring him to say anything contradictory to my answer. He had spoken to me under the guise of getting on my good side but he gave fuck all about that when it came down to it.
We’d ordered food on the way home after riding for hours and I was as relaxed as he’d promised me to be. The easy way we’d settled into eating without pretense left me feeling unsettled. Not because it felt bad it was the lack of ill feeling that had me so bothered. I felt comfortable. With Ori. In my space and in the space we were creating between the two of us. At work and at home, things were flowing. And it irritated me that I wasn’t giving as much pushback as I assumed I would in this situation. Ori asked for peace. For us to get to a place where we weren’t always combative. I understood his desire for peace even if mine had been disturbed by his moving in. But I was slowly becoming used to the idea that this was my life. I’d signed on the line so being angry about it wasn’t going to change anything.
“How is this supposed to work if you aren’t willing to compromise?”
I hated the thrill that shot down my spine and straight to my uterus every time he spoke. I was truly no better than a manbecause I constantly thought about sex whenever he was around. But it was only sex with him so I guess it wasn’t so bad.
You are marrying him.
“How is this a compromise? Do you ever allow enemies into your home? You remember that the Trojan horse was a lesson that people should’ve learned thousands of years ago.” My arms were folded, body language defensive because my entire being was on edge from his suggestion. He’d posed this question as I was getting ready for bed. As it had become his custom; he drifted into the room to observe. Face routine, hair brushing all quietly observed like a ritual he needed in order to sleep. He rarely showered in the primary bathroom instead choosing to use another so he could be here when I got done. I thought he was doing it to force his presence to be accepted but he never imposed. Just observed.
“That story isn’t real.”
It was wild that I was using this same example when I’d been the one to call bullshit on it when Nev did it only weeks ago. My stance still stood that it was a fake story probably created by some asshole who couldn’t help his wife left him, but the lesson could and still should be heeded.
I can’t believe he’s asking me this.
