Acceptance
They stared at each other quietly. Alice heard her heart, thudding dully, in her ears. Her mouth felt dry. She had begun to recognise the slight shuffle in his step, but was still uneasy whenever he appeared. Adam started laying out cutlery for breakfast.
She knew he had felt it his duty to come and stay with her. Her brother had changed in the past few months and the yellow skin around his face sagged. His fingers lead a nervous dance when he chatted, which she’d never seen before. Adam was the family musician, who had argued that there was no value in monetary success and tried to be happy instead.
A smear on the table caught her attention when she noticed, again, Adam’s ring. It was one of those small details that had, over time, become a part of Adam’s perceived identity. He’d found the silver band on the floor of a flea market, and his middle finger had born it ever since. Adam liked the idea of things.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘this looks delicious.’
‘Is this how Paul would have cooked it?’ Adam asked.
Alice looked down at the watery scrambled eggs. They looked like something the dog had chewed up and spat back out.
’They're perfect,' she answered.
She knew Adam was trying to be comforting. But she was somewhat flummoxed that he would bring up her comatose husband every chance he got. He was determined to do everything for her that Paul had done. It still hurt her heart to think about Paul, as if the wind has been knocked out of her. How many times had she fallen in love with him? Over and over, and she'd have done it again.
Alice was seventy-four years old, and her husband had leukemia. It was one of those tragedies that people did not attention to. Because of their age, perhaps, because Alice, unlike Adam, had held on to a job and raised a family. Because her husband wasn’t dead yet. So she wore a mask which protected her from anyone else’s gaze, even her brother’s. One of peace, acceptance and beauty.