Chapter Nine The Performer
Chapter Nine
The Performer
It wasn’t a dance, more like stumbling around each other in avoidance. Painfully sober, we both were quiet. He kept his promise, he stayed for breakfast, but I was quickly learning he wasn’t a morning person.
Good, neither am I.
I was planted firmly by the window table, chewing on a dried apricot as I watched him ready himself for work between cups of coffee.
He pretended to be bothered by my disorganized home, yet his jackets, ties, shoes, and notebooks were playing hide-and-seek with him. I suppose the living room had become his bedroom. If only he knew it didn’t have to be that way.
Absently, I chewed on my fruit, watching him as he fluttered about. Now he was looking for his satchel. It was on the floor under the coffee table, but I would let him find it himself for his own mental stimulation.
“Something amusing?”
I looked up, my smile falling once he spoke.
Arkady was staring at me with a cocked brow.
I shook my head, tearing another chewy piece from my snack.
He stalked over, leaning a palm against the table. His body cast a slight shadow as he hovered before me. “You asked me to stay around for breakfast. Will you at least share?” His voice was a little softer, a little cockier.
I picked up a new piece from the bowl, holding it up.
Arkady leaned down, grasping the piece between his teeth before I let go. He tipped his head back, chewing. His brows furrowed together, and he squinted his eyes as if he was deciding whether he liked it or not.
“What do you think?” I finally asked.
He lifted a shoulder before it slouched again. “I guess you won’t have to worry about me stealing any from your stash.”
“Well, you’re not allowed to complain about food anyway.” A tinge of defensiveness caught in my throat. “It’s not like you are here for any of the meals on any normal day.”
“I can be.”
I straightened my posture a bit, biting into my last piece. He was looking at me, I could feel it. Expecting some sort of praise perhaps? No, sir, that was the minimum.
“Would you like that?” He picked up a neat curl of my hair, twisting it between his fingers.
“Really?” I looked up at him, his expression soft. No hint of any teasing or insincerity.
“When you say it like that, I’m not sure if it’s disbelief or it was a bluff invitation.”
I nudged his hand away, but he caught my own in his.
“Noontime,” he insisted, forcing his fingers to lace with mine, forcing my attention onto him. “I’ll come home at noontime.”
“You’re not too busy? Will it affect your work?” He was right, maybe it did sound like I was making excuses.
“It can wait.” He brought my hand to his lips. “I make my own schedule, after all.”
“So are you coming home for company, or are you procrastinating?” I teased.
He shrugged again. “Maybe I just need to sneak a midday visit to save me from my boredom.”
“You say that like it’s scandalous to see me.”
“As long as you don’t tell your husband, consider the scandal managed.” He winked, finally pulling away to gather his coat. “Wait for me to eat, will you?”
I nodded, sipping my already lukewarm tea.
Even as I watched him leave and say goodbye, it was hard to settle into this new routine. A routine involving just myself took years to manage; it was much more complex with a new addition. Change isn’t so much scary, it’s laborious. Change takes effort. Effort is exhausting.
I didn’t have much energy, even if I summoned it from my core. But this type of morning, where you have someone to defrost with like spring soil, I wouldn’t mind getting used to.
Friends are, at the very least, for easing each other’s anxieties.
So why was it that every time Lorelei came to me, we both ended up more anxious than before?
“I should pinch you for hiding that tasty thing away!” Lorelei nearly hissed, leaning over her clutched teacup as we gathered around my living room’s small window table.
“He’s the one who hides,” I corrected, taking a long sip of black tea.
“I can see why. He’d be eaten alive by the tabloids if they knew that’s what he looked like!” She giggled. “It is a shame you don’t use your mother’s particular influences—you two are such a pair.”
“I don’t need any attention, as much as my mother likes to dabble in social affairs.”
“Which reminds me, will you host a dinner together? A party? Something I have an excuse to dress nicely for!”
“I’m starting to think you just want to flirt with my husband,” I teased. “No parties, I haven’t been feeling well lately. I must save my energy for the charity gala. Mother won’t let me pass on attending.”
“Is it almost time already? I swear the last one was merely a season ago.”
“Try an entire year. Though, as time goes on, they do feel closer and closer.”
“Are you excited?” Lorelei bit her lip.
I simply gave her a look that said, What do you think?
“If I were you, I’d enjoy getting put in the most expensive haute couture in New York for a night.” Lorelei pursed her lips, tapping her teacup impatiently.
“Well, then, I will give you a good reference, and perhaps my mother can officially adopt you.”
“If she were to do that, at least you wouldn’t be able to escape me.” She laughed, rubbing her thumb on the rim of her empty teacup.
If she wiped any more, I swore the glaze would wear.
“Petre?” she said softly.
“What is it?”
“Will you be spending less time with me now that you are married?” There was a sadness to her voice, masked as curiosity.
“Is this what has been bothering you?” I set my cup down. “You’ve been so quick to be angry with me.”
“I don’t mean it! I swear,” she said hastily, gathering herself again before she said anything further. “I can . . . spend time elsewhere. It is all right. I need more hobbies anyway. I could join a club, or make more time for tearooms and such.”
“Ma poule.” I shook my head. “Even if we may not share a hobby anymore, or there is someone new in our lives, we won’t grow apart. You won’t leave me that easily,” I teased, but I was serious. I didn’t have many friends, so I never found it hard to distribute my attention.
She nodded, and her shoulders relaxed a bit at the reassurance as she gave me an embarrassed smile.
No matter what, she would always be my oldest friend. I felt like I owed it to her, a protective urge within to keep her safe from my mistakes, to make sure we both made it out of this life like thieves.
I’d been trying to read the same page for four hours.
The short iron hand of the clock jittered impatiently past the intricate “8” on the side of the face.
Shifting my position in my chair for the third time, I crossed my legs to settle once more, losing my spot on the page for the last time before giving up.
Arkady hadn’t come home for lunch, and I didn’t know why I expected a different outcome from every other day.
The weather tonight was going south faster than my mood.
The slow, dark clouds crept across the sky and gave us one less hour of true daylight.
They seemed heavy, ready to melt into spring showers.
“Foolish,” I muttered to myself, tapping the surface of the kitchen counter as I finished a few small pieces of spiced pears and cream.
I wondered if the night before had been some lucid dream. Perhaps I’d imagined the tenderness, the familiarity. I should have changed before; I looked silly wearing nice undergarments for ghosts. It was past time I retired anyway.
The more I thought about it, the hotter my face got, and the more abuse my lip endured from chewing on it.
I snuffed the candles after I finished my meal.
The last candle guided me as my feet dragged along the newly bare hallway.
I still wasn’t used to the floor being uncovered.
There was even a pale spot of virgin wood that had never gotten to see the light until now.
Its first exposure christened by an unsightly brown stain.
The front door creaked open, a flash and the chatter of rain smacking the pavement ringing clear.
Arkady dragged himself inside, wiping his shoes on the carpet as he shook the rain off his umbrella, a satchel stretched across him under his coat.
“You’re home.” I stood straight, placing the candle carefully on the table.
He glanced up at my words as the door closed behind him, a few wet, misplaced strands of hair falling in front of his face, as if I’d interrupted a conversation in his head.
I hadn’t meant for my words to be any sort of aggression, but my frustration wasn’t unfair.
“I was going to turn in.” I crossed my arms, pulling my robe closer. “I can leave the last few candles lit—”
“Stay” is all he said, shedding his coat and tossing it over a hook, water dripping in an unpredictable tempo onto the hardwood.
I squinted at him, unsure if I’d heard him right. “I can leave you to rest, it looks like you had a rough—”
He strutted across the living room, confident in each stride, before he hastily dumped the satchel’s contents.
A collection of fruits rolled around the coffee table as they fell from the sack.
“I thought you hated fruit.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I was curious, is all.”
“I don’t need this.”
“Yes, you do.” He went to the kitchen, the clinking of silverware sounding as he rustled through the drawers, slapping them shut in triumph when he found his desired tool.
I sat down in one of the armchairs, staring at the pile with my arms crossed, one leg resting over the other.
While I didn’t understand his bizarre behavior, it was one step above ignoring me, so I decided to entertain it.
He returned with a knife.
“I thought when you said you’d cook for me, it would be something with more substance.”
“Behave, or I’ll refrain from bringing you nice things,” he warned, gesturing playfully with the knife. “Close your eyes, we are playing a game.”
“A game? Are we adolescents?”
“I can’t speak for you,” he teased. “Trust me.”
I glanced from the knife to him.
“Do you trust me?”
“Not one bit.”
“What happened to being a team?” He smirked.