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He brings me a mug of tea, and I smell it again just to inhale the fruity, earthy notes of bergamot.
“Can you tell me about your childhood? Anything about your family?” I ask, feeling both entitled to the information as his wife and totally intrusive at the same time.
He glances over at me, his eyes asking me,do you really want to know?“My childhood was very turbulent. There were seven kids, and my mother was the only parent who worked. My father had been injured during his time working at the mill, and he’d been prescribed drugs that he became addicted to very quickly. Before we knew it, he was stealing money from my mom and older siblings to buy heroin.”
My heart breaks a little at the thought of a young Adas being mistreated by an addicted parent. It feels so close to home, so much more hurtful than I imagined it would.
But why?
“What ended up happening to your parents? Are they still together?” I ask, turning my body as much as I can to meet eyes with him.
“Well, my father ended up committing suicide when I was sixteen. At that point, it was clear that my mother was too old and worn out to keep working the way she was, so I joined theBratvato earn quick cash,” he replies, the remnants of that heavy weight still resting in his voice.
I’m so frustrated that I can’t remember any of this. I’m so angry about the fact that I have no experiences to counter with his, no way at all to contrast our lives and understand our differences better. I'd give anything just for a few pieces of my past, of my childhood, just to give me some perspective.
“Can you tell me a little more about me?” I ask, some kind of bittersweet hope lingering in my voice.
He pauses for a moment, glancing at me with a somewhat worried expression. Is there something I don’t want to know?
Now I want to know more than I ever did before.
“Your silence is worrying,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s just that your childhood was complicated, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to process all of that when you’re still recovering from a head injury,” he replies cautiously.
I sip my tea, still just a bit too hot. The flavor of the tea and a bit of honey mingle beautifully in my mouth, but the slight burn that I feel on my tongue prompts me to place the tea on the coffee table for a bit.
He doesn’t want me to know about my own childhood? Could it have been that bad?
I decide to give up on the questioning. It seems to be putting him off a bit, and I’d hate to ruin this bonding moment by being too nosey.
But when will I ever have a good chance to ask?
Just as I’m about to open my book and pick back up where I left off, Adas receives a number of texts in rapid succession. He checks them and rolls his eyes, which puts a pit in my stomach. I hate seeing him get irritated. He gets so testy when he’s irritated.
“The storm is horrible where the warehouse is. I need to go out there and help them move product before it gets ruined by the water coming in through the basement,” he says, running his hand through his thick locks of hair in frustration.
I feel myself getting upset and saddened by the thought of him leaving. I really, truly want him here with me, even if all we do together is sit in silence.
“Do you really have to? The roads are going to be so bad. The wind is terrible,” I respond, trying my best to keep my emotions in control and losing by the second. I want to burst into tears.
“I do have to. We’d lose thousands of dollars in inventory if it got ruined by the storm. Nobody wants rainwater in their cocaine,” he replies.
He gets up off the couch, moving slowly as if he suddenly weighs a hundred pounds more. Clearly, he doesn’t want to leave me here, which helps me feel a little more at ease.He’d stay if he could, I think to myself.
“Can you at least kiss me before you leave?” I ask without thinking.
He turns to me, confusion and caution written on his face. “What?”
I’m shocked and embarrassed that he would ask me that.What do you meanwhat?I’m your wife. Why don’t you ever want to kiss me?
“Come here and kiss me if you’re going to go on a suicide mission like that!” I demand.
At first, he just looks at me like I’m an animal he’s never seen before. His gaze is pensive, conflicted.
Finally, he slowly walks back over to me, leaning down and taking my face into his hands. He kisses me deeply and intentionally, like it’s the only kiss he’ll ever get to have in this lifetime.
I lean into the kiss, my hand finding the back of his head as I pull him closer to me.
