Leaving

This is part four of my novel, "What Losing You Did to Me". To start at the beginning, click here. Right now a new section of my book posts every Tuesday and Saturday.
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Your father is more then angry. He is livid. He calls me a trollop and a whore. He calls our love a sham.

He threatens to disown you. He threatens your job.

You just stand there and take it, holding my hand until my fingers go numb.

The entire time he never once looks at me, because I am nothing to him.

Your grandfather refuses to see us. He tells you to come up to his office without me.

So, for awhile you are gone, and I sit alone among the plush furnishings of your fine home, feeling anxious. 

In the end we stumble back out to your car. It turns out I am not invited to dinner, and so you decide to leave too. I think I'm in shock. The sky is still blue but it looks fake somehow, marred by the words your father has flung at us. Your truck is still there but it looks so small next to the sprawling mansion and grounds of your grandfather's estate. Your mouth is a thin small line, and your hand is shaking as you unlock the doors.

But we get in.

And we drive away.

Your grandfather had gifted you with a small townhouse right outside of campus, for easy commute to and from class. It's in a gated community, the same community your grandfather's house is in. Apparently you are still able to use it. I am glad.

I can tell by the look in your eyes and the swirling turmoil of your mind that you need to be alone, so I busy myself dragging in our boxes and bags. Everything from our college days looks so ragged in this big house. Our wrinkled much-highlighted books, my worn thrifted clothing, your socks with holes from to much frisbee—all worn and used. The furnishings your grandfather has provided for us are made of leather and wood. I tiptoe around them afraid to touch. They look basically flawless next to our smatterings of things. Upstairs, I faintly hear you turn on the shower. I think then and there that I'm going to make a pie tonight, your favorite blueberry flavor. If only I can find the grocery store.

Halfway through my haphazard unboxing, the phone rings, and I wonder belatedly if I should get it. I decide not to. I don't want to upset your family any more then I already have. It rings and rings and rings. I suppose you can't hear it in the shower. Your mind right now is a black range of ugly squiggles and mist—I don't want to intrude upon you even there, although I know your anger is not directed at me.

A week before we came you tried to tell me that things would be different here. But all I remember is how you promised to stick by me. I know you don't want to lose you family, and I respect that. I mean, I don't even have a family. But if I did I imagine they'd see me more. I've only met your dad twice now, but I can tell that he can't see you. He only sees what he wants you to be, what he expects you to be.

But I see you.

I'm the first person that's ever seen you. Seen your laughter after a movie. Seen your glee as you completed your first glimmer-spell. Seen the tears and the rage in you after a phone call from your family. I've been allowed inside your very self. We've melded, mixed, and loved, fought and giggled and made a life together. You told me I was the only person you really trusted, the only person who you didn't have to wear a mask with.

That's why you came West, I think. To be yourself, to find yourself outside your grandfather's shadow.

When you tumble down the stairs your hair is wet but your eyes are softer.

“I'm sorry.” You say to me. I know you are sorry. I am sorry too, sorry I am nothing.

“You are everything.” You remind me, and I smile and then we are hugging. "No, you are everything." I tell you, as you roll your eyes at me.

Our choice to love is everything. And we'll protect it.

For the next few hours, together we unpack our home. The bedroom, with the muted brown bedspread. The study where I put your computer. A walk in closet, larger then our bedroom at our old place. A living room and a receiving room, and a sprawling kitchen with so many cabinets they must want you to feed an army of professors.

“Now that we are here, I can finally treat you like the princess you are.” You say. Your head is full of images of me shopping for new clothes, and thoughts of me buying my very own computer. Your father had refused to send you money or even pay for your housing since you'd absconded to a different college. I guess since you were back that had changed.

And I knew we'd only both decided to come here to save money for traveling. Two years tops, you'd told me, and then we'd be on a plane to the north, to adventure into the open, unexplored territory. We needed about one year of wages just for the pass, and another year for gear and supplies.

But right now my head is full of thoughts of teaching with you. Of securing a place at the college. I'm sure I can, with my degree and excellent grades. 

That night you tell me some of your grandfather's fears.

I am of unknown lineage. My gene pool is not known. My family tree is not known. Our childern could be born without magie, a thing that has not happened in Aainn's family for generations, he says.

I have no money. I have no special skills. I am not much better then the non-magie.

“But you are my unknown.” Aainn said to me, “And I love you. That's all that matters.”

You tell me that your family has begrudgingly said I could stay. I'm so happy I jump up and down and spin around. But I can sense there is more. Something you are not telling me.

“We compromised, Merienge. You can stay but you are not invited to any public house events. Also...they said they won't let you officially work at the college.”

I am suddenly still, and you face is closed and shut like a real mask. “My grandfather made sure of it.” You ball your hands into fits and glare at the wall. “I know it isn't fair. But it's something. This college does not have many women professors, anyway.”

But I can stay, so I'm happy.

“We'll only be here two years.” You say, before falling asleep, your head nestled close to my heart. "Just two years."

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This is part of my novel, "What losing you did to me". I post a new section every Tuesday and Saturday. Click here for part five.

All my writing can be viewed here.