"Will one of you two cryptic motherfu?—"
"We have to get married," Afon blurts.
A pause.
Another pause.
A third pause.
How many pauses can live in a row?
This many.
More.
And then…
"Excuse my French," I say in disbelief, "but what in the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?"
But Afon is once again riveted by the tile at his toes. He refuses to look up at me, even for a second.
So I divert my rage to Lukas. "Well? Are you gonna speak up for fucking Pinocchio over here?"
Lukas is calm and unruffled despite my brewing temper tantrum. "A wife makes you family. Family is under the umbrella. It's not symbolic, Miss Oglethorpe. Well, notonlysymbolic. It is also legal, it's practical, it changes what I can and can't do for you. As Afon's wife, you have his name, his protection, his resources. Reznik would have to come through the entire organization to get to you, and he is not strong enough to do that."
"This is insane," I state.
"It's merely a piece of paper," Lukas says. "It can be undone later, if you both choose to go that route. But for now, it's the strongest wall I can build around you, and I'd rather build it before the war starts than after I've lost you."
I look at Afon. He still hasn't said a single word by way of explanation. Zero attempt whatsoever to paper this over, to frame it in a way that makesa single iota of fucking sense.He's just standing there like a statue, taking it.
And that's what does it. That's what makes the anger come up out of the cold, hot and fast.
"You know what?" I snarl "I'm getting real fucking sick of yourStoic, Tortured Statue Act.Yeah, life is hard, and you've been dealt some bad breaks. But guess what? So has everybody elseon the goddamn planet! The universe just throws shit at you, over and over, whether or not you like it or you're ready for it. And yes, taking it all on the chin is admirable, bearing those scars proudly is admirable, standing up as a shield between hard things and the people you love is admirable. But at a certain point, you also have to actuallyact.You have to make choices. You have to walk into things with your damn eyes open. You can't just be concrete all the time. Concrete is inert and dead. Life is flowing and liquid. You can't just wait. You have tolive."
I'm huffing and puffing by the time I finish. My hair is frizzed like I'm actually steaming and my hands are clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls at my sides.
As for Afon?
He hasn't moved an inch.
Concrete, even now.
"You're not even going to say anything?" I snap at him. "You just dropped a bomb on my entire life last night, and now, I'm supposed tomarryyou? And you're standing there like a—like a fucking coatrack?"
"It's your choice," Afon intones, eyes still aimed down.
"How fuckingdareyou?!" I scream. "You've spent two weeks deciding everything for me, andnow,it's my choice? Now, when it's the worst possible thing?"
Silent. Silent as rock.
"I need to think." I whip around, furious with no outlet. "I can't decide this in five minutes."
Lukas clears his throat. "You have today. The war starts tomorrow. After that, I can't change the shape of what I'm doing." He stands with me, slow and enormous, and crosses to the door to hold it open for me. "I suggest the two of you find some time to talk." He pauses with his hand on the doorframe. "Afon, there's a car waiting. I suggest you take her to the apartment. She should understand what she'd be marrying before she decides."
We drive for hours in the back of a black SUV with a man up front who doesn't say a word. Afon doesn't say much, either. He sits on his side and I sit on mine. The space between us could swallow a planet.
"Whose apartment are we going to?" I finally ask, somewhere around the George Washington Bridge.
