Summer Soap, Part 7: A tiff between lovers as pub debate goes on

Eric:

“No, Eric love,” Ariana insisted, and stood. “Sit back down. You came in at a bad time, let me finish.”

Her head was curved, eyes wrinkled in... something. Sympathy? Pity? I didn’t know. And the urge to learn was actively draining from my body. But, she was my wife, and the past ten years bid I sit and at least try to listen.

I took her place beside the young woman and ordered a Jameson to temper the coals growing cold in my belly. “Have at it then,” I finally said when the glass was in my hand.

Ariana was sitting behind me now, so that I was between the two. Her hands worked my shoulders while she spoke. “I was just telling our new friend here about that old story my father told me when I was...”

“I know the one,” I interjected, but fell silent afterwards. I couldn’t meet her eyes even as a sigh drew me closer. All I could feel was Alexis’ gaze boring through my temple. I wanted nothing more than to leave and find some new watering hole to drown these feelings in.

“Eric, love,” Ariana pleaded. “I was just being coy, and playing around and - and being dramatic.” She gave me a squeeze. “But I said what I said, and I meant it. In its context. It’s what we hear said all the time.

“If you and I were to divorce - god forbid - that’s what people would tell us: ‘Òoh, carry-on quick, like, and find someone new so you don’t die alone’.

“But I didn’t mean that’s all our love is. Even if I don’t particularly disagree with my father’s story, pessimism and all.”

“You’re not making any sense.” I finally turned to her, a headache brewing.

“Sorry.” A wince stitched across her face before she continued.

“I just mean... it’s a natural excuse. Both for older people, who’re exhausted from this life, and for the souls that have been searching for generations and generations.

“It’s natural to be afraid: to be afraid of death, and to be afraid to love. To be afraid to be wrong, and to be afraid to be right. People thinking like that just comes from the scream we all have inside. The one just begging to come to rest. And we find it, that rest, within another person.”

“So, would you say love comes from inside, some internalised exhaustion from reincarnating?” Alexis leaned in from the side.

“Not now,” I bristled, flinching away, having forgotten that she was there for a moment.

I returned to my wife. “So what is this? What are we?”

My voice was rising out of control and only the gathering looks from passers-by brought me back down. “What’s so depressing?”

“It’s not,” her hand slipped from my shoulder and both formed around my palm, cupping it closer to her, “depressing. Not this part. This is the ten-percent that’s enjoyable after the lifetimes of searching.

“You are my rest, Eric, my relaxation and comfort in knowing that all of the exhaustion was worth it.”

A waver broke through her voice and cracked the sheet of ice that had been curling through my innards. “It’s scary, I guess. But...”

“But,” I cut in as tears welled in the corner of her eyes, and mine as well, “but it’s us that makes that fear easier, huh?”

A smile broke its way to the surface of her face and I turned to Alexis.

“So that’s the medicine then. I’d say we’re both right.”

“Sure, if it wasn’t some hypocritical bullshit!” a voice called from around the corner.

Alexis’ eyes shot wide and a rage flickered its way up my throat. I watched a young man waltz around the corner of the bar, the source of the voice.

“But could you stop her...” he flapped his hand in Ariana’s direction, searching for the word. “... crying? I’d like to prove the two of you wrong on even ground.”

“Bran!” Alexis hissed.

“Excuse you?!” I snapped.