Page 80 of Monarch
I laugh because I’m a person of simple joys, and alarming Lex is apparently one of them. I step closer and peer into the pot.
“Ah, tofu,” I observe.
“I thought I’d give it a go.” Lex shrugs and gets back to stirring.
“It smells…great,” I settle on even though I’m salivating and my stomach is rumbling.
“It’s nearly ready so, you know, wash up or whatever.”
“How’s Roos?” I lower my voice like we always do when we discuss her while she’s at home.
“She’s good. Perky. Finished work on time. Took a quick nap when she got home. I’d say it’s been a good day.”
I yawn again. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“You, however, work too late and too much,” Lex says as xe moves to find bowls and spoons.
“We’re not all world-famous artists that can charge tens of thousands for our art,” I say, raising my voice as I return to the corridor to hang up my coat and bag.
I’m pretty sure Lex mumbles a suitably sardonic reply, but it’s muffled by a louder voice.
“Mari!” Roos calls out, and a second later, she appears, walking out of the living room. “You’re home!”
Dressed in her Japanese kimono with a vibrant floral pattern – pink cherry blossom on a turquoise background – and with a cream silk scarf wrapped around her hair, Roos opens her arms, and I rush into them. I inhale her peony and lavender scent as she envelops me.
“I missed you,” I say into her chest.
“Not as much as I missed you,” she says into my hair.
One would think it would be difficult to fall in love while one of you is being diagnosed with a life-altering chronic illness and you’re both cohabiting with your mutual ex, but that’s exactly what Roos and I have done. And honestly, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
“How was work? How are you feeling?” I ask.
She pulls back and looks down at me. “Are you fussing?”
“A little bit.”
Roos smiles, and it seems – no, feels – genuine. “I’m fine. It was a busy day with the presentation and a couple of media interviews, but I took a nap after I got home, and Lex is making our home smell amazing, so I’m fine, you know. Really.”
I resist the urge to flinch when I hear Roos say ‘our home’ because I know she’s not talking about us – her and me – as the us. She’s referring to me, her,andLex.
“You said the presentation went well. You think it will make a difference?” I ask as we walk through to the living room so we can sit on the sofa. Roos’ small fold-away table is only really big enough to seat two comfortably, so we’ve fallen into the habit of eating on the couch, sometimes with the TV on and other times without.
“I think so. I hope so. Oh, I don’t know.” She throws her hands up in the air.
Roos had a meeting with board representatives from the main Amsterdam hospitals today, and she presented on the risk to teenage and young adults’ mental health when they don’t get the gender-affirming care they seek in a timely manner. She’s hoping to encourage them to allocate more funds to their teams so waiting times can be reduced or, at the very least, more mental health support can be provided. She’d been working on the presentation for months, and today was an accumulation of all that work.
“When will you find out if it’s made a difference?”
“Not for a long time. At this stage, we’re just hoping to get invited for more meetings with more representatives, more decision makers. So let’s wait and see.” Her eyes drift away from mine, and for a moment, she looks a little spaced out, a bit vacant. Tightness seizes my chest.
“Are you okay, Roos?”
She shakes her head and looks up. “Yeah, sorry. Still just really tired.”
Relieved, I squeeze her hand. “Early night for you.”
“Yeah,” she says again and yawns.
