else.”
“It's not fair to ask, but I wanted yo u — want you — to stay in my life. And to keep things the same. Or at least, same-ish.”
She can't ask him again to come closer. He’s standing at the door, his hand still on the doorknob, ready to leave at any second. She can see how vulnerable he is, exposed under her gaze. He may not remember much of her, or himself for that matter, but he never asks for help. This isn’t at all him, or at least the him she thinks of as the full-moon him.
By pulling out that box, she tore a hole in everything she knew. Some of it might turn out badly, but here, in this moment, everything is different, and she’s so tired of pretending all the time.
She walks up to him and puts her hand over his on the doorknob.
“Why do you think it's not fair to ask?”
“Isn't it obvious? That box isn't something normal, is it? If I've been doing that to myself for who knows how long, and my mother not only knows about it, but condones it, then it has to be something horrible I'm making myself forget, don't you think? If it's that bad, the safest thing for you to do is to run as fast and as far away as you can from me.”
“The smart thing would have been for me to run a long time ago.”
She's so close to him that she can feel, more than hear, his indrawn breath. As much as she wants to be wholly in this moment, it’s taken on a sense of not being real. It’s like she's outside of her own body as she moves closer still and rises to her toes. Her words are a whisper in his ear.
“Apparently, I only do very dumb things.”
She isn't sure who moves first. The plan is hers, but the move may be his, and then they’re mashed lips and crashing teeth and low groans. Their joined hands leave the doorknob, and their fingers weave together, landing at her lower back as he turns her so her shoulders are now against the door. He is hard planes and warm breath and wet lips and tongue, and she breathes in small gasps and wonders how a wish can come true in the middle of such chaos.
12: Expectation
No otherworldly skills are needed for Grace to know where her son is. From the moment he took the car, Grace knew exactly what his final destination would be. Not for the first time, she wonders if this is his lot because of how she has raised him or because he is a man.
She has nothing but time on her hands, and she entertains the thought of falling in love for a few brief moments before chuckling under her breath. She is too set in her ways, the habits and lifestyle of the sisters too ingrained for her to ever think about any other way of life. Men, and sex, are transitory things, and they always will be for her.
The only companionship she has ever missed is that of her sisters, and even her son can't make up for losing it. Trying to replace it with a committed relationship with a man, though? It’s amusing to her. Men's thoughts are so foreign to her: thoughts of dominance and rutting and control. She will never understand how women live with creatures who think such thoughts for the rest of their lives instead of living with other women.
She can remember how disharmony would creep in whenever a man spent any longer than a few hours with one of the sisters. The man would always be looking around to make sure the sister he was with was the most attractive, or strongest, or smartest, or whichever quality he most valued. His assessment of the others would cause feelings to rise up in the sister he'd already rutted with.
Occasionally, a group of sisters would kill him instead of sending him back on his way to wherever he'd come from, the disharmony would become so threatening. So, no, she couldn't understand the driving need these people have to couple and mate and attempt to stay together for life. She can, however, appreciate what makes her son happy, and she hopes the girl will be someone who does. That she will be strong enough to stay with him through what is coming.
Grace leaves
“It's not fair to ask, but I wanted yo u — want you — to stay in my life. And to keep things the same. Or at least, same-ish.”
She can't ask him again to come closer. He’s standing at the door, his hand still on the doorknob, ready to leave at any second. She can see how vulnerable he is, exposed under her gaze. He may not remember much of her, or himself for that matter, but he never asks for help. This isn’t at all him, or at least the him she thinks of as the full-moon him.
By pulling out that box, she tore a hole in everything she knew. Some of it might turn out badly, but here, in this moment, everything is different, and she’s so tired of pretending all the time.
She walks up to him and puts her hand over his on the doorknob.
“Why do you think it's not fair to ask?”
“Isn't it obvious? That box isn't something normal, is it? If I've been doing that to myself for who knows how long, and my mother not only knows about it, but condones it, then it has to be something horrible I'm making myself forget, don't you think? If it's that bad, the safest thing for you to do is to run as fast and as far away as you can from me.”
“The smart thing would have been for me to run a long time ago.”
She's so close to him that she can feel, more than hear, his indrawn breath. As much as she wants to be wholly in this moment, it’s taken on a sense of not being real. It’s like she's outside of her own body as she moves closer still and rises to her toes. Her words are a whisper in his ear.
“Apparently, I only do very dumb things.”
She isn't sure who moves first. The plan is hers, but the move may be his, and then they’re mashed lips and crashing teeth and low groans. Their joined hands leave the doorknob, and their fingers weave together, landing at her lower back as he turns her so her shoulders are now against the door. He is hard planes and warm breath and wet lips and tongue, and she breathes in small gasps and wonders how a wish can come true in the middle of such chaos.
12: Expectation
No otherworldly skills are needed for Grace to know where her son is. From the moment he took the car, Grace knew exactly what his final destination would be. Not for the first time, she wonders if this is his lot because of how she has raised him or because he is a man.
She has nothing but time on her hands, and she entertains the thought of falling in love for a few brief moments before chuckling under her breath. She is too set in her ways, the habits and lifestyle of the sisters too ingrained for her to ever think about any other way of life. Men, and sex, are transitory things, and they always will be for her.
The only companionship she has ever missed is that of her sisters, and even her son can't make up for losing it. Trying to replace it with a committed relationship with a man, though? It’s amusing to her. Men's thoughts are so foreign to her: thoughts of dominance and rutting and control. She will never understand how women live with creatures who think such thoughts for the rest of their lives instead of living with other women.
She can remember how disharmony would creep in whenever a man spent any longer than a few hours with one of the sisters. The man would always be looking around to make sure the sister he was with was the most attractive, or strongest, or smartest, or whichever quality he most valued. His assessment of the others would cause feelings to rise up in the sister he'd already rutted with.
Occasionally, a group of sisters would kill him instead of sending him back on his way to wherever he'd come from, the disharmony would become so threatening. So, no, she couldn't understand the driving need these people have to couple and mate and attempt to stay together for life. She can, however, appreciate what makes her son happy, and she hopes the girl will be someone who does. That she will be strong enough to stay with him through what is coming.
Grace leaves
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