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He kissed the top of her head. "Okay."
A few moments later, they sat in the park where they'd waved at each other every year before meeting for the first time.
There weren't many people there. A man in his thirties sat on the farthest bench with a cup in his hand from which the steam rose, either enjoying the weather or trying to wear off his worries. An elderly couple held hands as they took a walk around the park. Even with crouched backs and gray hair, they still managed to make each other smile. It was proof that love could last forever.
She felt Xavier's eyes on her while she played with the grass, pulling it out, throwing it away, and repeating it. She looked up at him but his eyes were fixated on the grass she was pulling.
"Xav," called Giselle, her voice hoarse.
He didn't move, lost in his own world. He was frowning as if re-living a crippling memory that could turn a twenty-five-year-old soul like him into a sixty-year-old one. Was that why he had a hard time smiling or communicating? Had he lost someone, too?
She asked, "Are you okay?" He didn't reply, so she called him louder, "Xavier."
He blinked twice and looked at her. "Sorry, did you say something?"
"I asked if you were okay." She licked her dry lips.
He sighed, reached toward her, and held her hand. "I should be the one asking you that."
She managed a smile. "I'm fine."
He stared at her. "Are you really?"
She nodded and looked down.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked
"About mom?"
He squeezed her hand, his skin rough against her soft one. "Yeah."
She inhaled deeply, then let it out in shudders. She shook her head and looked up at him again. "Talk about yours."
"My what?" His throat bobbed as he gulped.
She smiled at him warmly. "Your family, of course. Your mother..."
He clenched his jaw and let her hand slip out of his. Giselle's eyebrows knitted.
"What?" she asked. "Did I say something wrong?"
He shook his head but stayed silent. It was another topic, she realized, he wasn't ready to discuss. Not having the strength to plead, she looked down again.
"My mother was," he began, and Giselle's eyes snapped up to meet his. Pausing, he took a breath, then continued, "She was beautiful. Loving. Sacrificing. Sometimes, I wonder how she did it all... That kind of patience is possessed by mothers only."
His gaze dropped to the ground as he gulped. She stared at him, startled by the pain in his voice.
He said, "She'd knitted our misbalanced family so well. She had the most beautiful blonde hair, you know. And she loved to paint. Sometimes she'd save up a little money to buy a single color so she could continue the canvas she was working on. Sometimes she'd paint the walls if inspired. We were happy." He hissed as if hurt and fell silent.
She waited for a few moments before saying, "What happened?"
His eyes met hers and she saw fire in them. "She died."
She whispered, "How?"
He stared at her, blood starting to slowly branch out in the corners of his eyes.
When he said nothing, she called, "Xavier?"
