Page 168 of Eternal
I smile, pouring the tea into two glass mugs. “You need to try this.”
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know what I walked into.”
“Domestic bliss,” I say, lifting a mug like it’s something holy and sacred. “Obviously.”
He grins from the sofa and watches me the whole way back. I sat back and handed him one. The glass is warm between our fingers for a second before he takes it.
He looks at it, then at me. “This better be heavenly.”
“No threats in this household or I’ll pour it down on you,” I say, curling up beside him with my own cup.
He takes a sip. Pauses. Blinks. “…Okay. That’s actually amazing.”
I smirk. “Told you.”
He takes another sip, slower this time. “So, what song are we looping?”
“All I need by Radiohead.”
He nods, takes the tea slowly before putting it down on the table and just listens to the song going over and over again, but then he looks up at me and smiles. “I have a question.”
Here we go again.
“Do tell?”
His eyes scan me as I try to make the drink colder, breathing on it. “Why irises?”
Because I never had the chance to see them grow back again.
“They were my mom’s favorite flowers.”
His hand finds my arm, and crawls up until it sets around my nape, his fingers caressing the skin there and I look back at him.
“Why do you sound sad saying that? You didn’t have a good relationship with her?”
I hate how my thoughts are already showing me my life with her. Memories with a blurry face, a blurry voice and a blurrier happiness.
“She loved me, I think. But love isn’t always kind, right?”
His brows furrow like he is confused on the meaning behind it, or maybe he just can’t understand, maybe he’s really justlost.
“Thinking that she loved you isn’t enough,partner.”
Isn’t it?I used to believe that if I told myself something enough times, it would become true.
My eyes close, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself be still. Someone is here, someone who isn’t demanding or judging. He’s justhere. His hand moves against my skin, slow,like he’s memorizing the shape of me. I don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing, but I do. And I let him.
I swallow, my throat feels tight.Say it, Azra.
“When I was seven,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, “I learned that love doesn’t always feel warm like your hand does right now.”
His fingers still for half a second before continuing, tracing along my wrist, my palm. I stare at the ceiling, the words pressing against my ribs like they might break me open.
“Sometimes, it can feel like a hard slap on your cheek. Other times, it’s slamming doors and screams. It can sound like shattered glass on the floor, like a warning that she wasn’t my mother that day and I should be careful.” I take a breath. “But I know she still loved me.”
I hope she did.
The hand against mine never pulls away, never hesitate. It’s still here, warm and solid, like an anchor keeping me from drifting away in a vast ocean of sorrows and regrets. A deep and scary one.
