Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“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, and Lex.
“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.
“Dinner is served!” Lex announces as xe walks in holding two steaming bowls with cutlery. Xe hands one to me and the other to Roos.
“This smells incredible!” Roos beams at Lex.
“Yeah, it smells great,” I mutter my agreement without looking at xem.
“Well, enjoy,” Lex nods before heading back to the kitchen for xir bowl. Xe returns and sits in the armchair to our left.
We eat in silence, which I have started to find some comfort in.
At first, moments of silence with Lex were filled with tension and awkwardness, my head busy both hating and obsessing with xem.
But nowadays, I relax into the silence and my brain doesn’t torture me about xem as much.
In fact, sometimes, I even forget that xe is there at all.
Or maybe, I forget who xe is, was, to me.
“That was so good.” Roos leans forward to put her bowl down on the coffee table in front of us. “But I’m really full already. I’m going to get a glass of water. You both want one?”
We say we do, and then Roos leaves the room.
It’s possibly only the fourth or fifth time Lex and I have been in a room alone together since we both moved in, and immediately the comfort I previously felt sharpens into an abrasive awareness of xem.
I feel the need to say something, to dull the piercing quiet.
“I remember your mum and grandma making this,” I say, keeping my eyes on my bowl. “With chicken, of course. They always cooked such great meals.”
“It’s their recipe. Minus the tofu.”
I eat another mouthful. “How are they? Your family?”
Lex’s fork stops on its way to xir mouth. It hangs suspended in front of xem. “They’re fine.”
“All your brothers? What are they up to?”
Xe takes a deep breath before replying. “Bodi is married now. Got two kids. Found himself a nice traveller wife. Grandma is very proud. Bart has his own scaffolding company and makes far too much money. Seems to spend it mostly on golfing holidays and his home gym. And Leander, he’s studying for his PhD, believe it or not. In Biochemistry. Mum is so proud.”
“I can imagine,” I say because I can. “Do your grandparents still live at home?”
Xir smile drops, and I think for a second that one of them has passed and I’ve gone and put my foot in it, but xe doesn’t tell me that. Instead, xe just says, “Yeah,” and drops eye contact.
I’m about to open my mouth and ask specifically about xir mum, but a crash from the kitchen – glass smashing on the tiled floor, a thump as something more solid also hits it – has us both looking up, panicked.
After a second of horrified eye contact, we both leap up and rush to the kitchen.
By the time I’m there, I already know what to expect, and yet it’s still a shock.
Roos is on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass and a small puddle of water, and she’s convulsing just like she did that night at QISS.
I’ve seen two of her seizures since then, but it doesn’t feel like it’s getting easier for me.
I’m still consumed with fear. The panic still makes me freeze.
I stand and stare at her shaking, tense limbs.
My body aches looking at the twist in her neck and the unnatural angle her hands bend in.
“Come on, Mari,” Lex says as xe moves past me and crouches on the floor next to Roos.
“Shit, yeah.” I snap out of my frozen state. I drop to the other side of Lex, and I shrug off my cardigan. I bundle it up and put it under Roos’ head while Lex sets about moving away the closest shards of the dropped glasses.
“Watch her head,” Lex orders calmly. “I’ll make sure the rest of her body is safe.”
Xe has found a tea towel and is mopping up the water so it doesn’t soak Roos. I look down, and Roos’ eyes are fixed straight ahead at the kitchen wall. I move so I’m in her line of sight.
“Talk to her, Mari,” Lex says, and it’s another gentle prompt, not a bark or a demand. I feel a warmth of appreciation wash over me, and then I get to talking.
“I’m here, Roos. We’re both here. Me and Lex. You’re okay, you’re okay.” I reach out and stroke the side of her head, over her silk scarf.
“Okay, 20:17,” Lex says, and I realise xe is looking at the clock on the oven. I remember then that that’s what we’re supposed to do. Note the time her seizure starts and ends. Why am I unable to remember all this clearly? Thank fuck Lex has got xir head on straight.
“It’s okay, Roos, we’re still here,” I say. “You’re doing great.”
Lex settles beside Roos, halfway down her body. Xe keeps looking up and down the length of her, fierce concentration creasing xir forehead. I’m almost overwhelmed with how much Lex cares in this moment. I can almost feel just how much xe loves Roos right now.
I open my mouth to tell Lex how much I hate this for Roos. How scared I am. How I wish this wasn’t happening. But in my head, I hear Lex’s words before mine even formulate.
Don’t let her hear your fear. Don’t let her see how scared you are. She needs you to be strong and reassuring and calm and confident.
So I don’t say it. Instead, I utter more words of comfort for Roos, stroking her cheek and keeping an eye on her breathing and her mouth, making sure she doesn’t swallow her tongue, just like the videos Lex sent me told us to do.
Lex does the same. Xe tells Roos that she’s safe, that it will be over soon, that we’re not going to leave her. I don’t know why, but my brain short circuits, and I take those words into my own heart, letting myself be comforted and soothed by them.
When Roos’ convulsions finally become less violent, less twisted, she closes her eyes completely, and her breathing begins to level out.
Lex and I look up at each other, and we hold the eye contact for a very long time.
In Lex’s dark brown eyes, I find all the things I’m feeling: relief, shock, overwhelm, hope, and the ghost of fear.
I don’t drop xir gaze for a very long time, and I feel like I’m taking a big drink of water with every second that passes. Xe also doesn’t look away.
We communicate more in that minute of eye contact than we have since we re-entered each others’ lives, and I feel forever changed by it.
It feels like a sign, or maybe more than that. An omen.
But then Roos moans, and we both look down at her. Her body is finally still, and she’s trying to move.
“No, stay on your side,” Lex says, bringing her hip up and over, putting her in the recovery position.
“It’s okay, Roos,” I say, checking her head is still in a good position. “We’re not going anywhere.”
I say it to comfort Roos, but it immediately has another meaning. Because I finally realise that Lex isn’t going anywhere. At least, not for good. If I want to have Roos in my life, then I need to learn how to have Lex there, too.
That would be shocking in of itself, but it’s not what alarms me the most.
What has me taking shallow breaths and feeling a heat in my cheeks is that I don’t immediately feel bad about it. I don’t immediately want to fight it. I don’t think I mind that that might be our reality. I have no clue what it looks like, or how we’ll make it work, but I think I might want to try.