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My days at the hospital seem like a distant memory, not that I am particularly far away from that world now and I still spend two days there a week assisting as part of my research agreement. But the rest of the time I am out of the center, out of the hustle and bustle of the downtown city, and tucked away in the research facility.
I work in a new world, or at least that’s what it feels like. The campus is just a subway ride away from the center of the city but the other side of town from our apartment and years later I still haven’t mastered the commute and actually getting anywhere on time.
Luckily my wife is very understanding. I grin as I think it. It still feels strange to me to call Arya that. My wife. I have been a wife for two-thirds of my life but I never expected to have one of my own. And how lucky I am to have her.
Our wedding had been much more of a holiday than anything. I didn’t feel the need to invite a load of people. Everyone knew how I felt about her, it was clear as day. My family held no objections to my new sexuality. Only a quiet assurance that I was happy and that this is what I wanted was all that was required.
We flew to the Caribbean. Maybe it was a cliché to have a beach wedding out there, but it was perfect. We took 4 weeks’ vacation, something I have never done in my life and I savored every single second. The wedding itself was short and the witnesses were just random guests who happened to be at the right place at the right time.
We chose dresses for each other. For Arya, I picked a light floating dress that was made of the softest blue, sprinkled with silvery streams of glittery thread so she shimmered as she spun in the setting Caribbean sun. Her hair was so blonde, her skin flushed with a kiss of bronze and a smile was permanently on her lips. I had never seen anyone look so beautiful.
For me she chose red. Not a color I would have picked for my wedding. But the moment I saw myself in the mirror I knew she had been right. My skin was three shades darker for lounging pool days. My hair was thicker and darker too so the red looked so sensual against my complexion. The red was rich and dark like a good red wine and the skirt was long to the floor. It was romantic, soft and caressing. I felt good in it and that confidence showed in the photo which was now framed on my desk.
I sigh, reaching forwards to stroke her lovely face in the photograph, what I would give to be back on that beach sipping margaritas. We are due a holiday, I resolved to start having a look and see what I could arrange; Maybe a surprise would be just what Arya needed.
I glance around my lab, the research facility has been the cherry on top of our suddenly perfect yet slightly complicated relationship. Jim, my almost ex-boss, had been very supportive if not worried of the HR migraine that was about to descend.
I had already thought of that though and it was important to me that Arya felt like she could continue in her position and develop and grow her own career. Which is what brought me out here to the Research Facility. At first, I had figured I would take a job at the university and get on with research that way but Jim had nudged me into the private sector. It was not somewhere I ever thought I would end up.
It had come with a lot of conditions on my end. I didn’t want to be some corporate sell out and I needed to feel like I was doing something more than lining big pharma’s pockets. On the plus side, I had something they wanted. The knowledge and experience to advance their research and so I could negotiate myself a pretty good deal.
That deal involved too much money and a research floor that looked like it was something from the future. I was given a team, a budget and state of the art equipment that made my job so much easier, and two days at the hospital. I needed that. I needed to keep connected to my patients, to the job, to beating hearts, to life. It is what drove my research further and further.
And now I wasn’t employed by the hospital, rather rented out, so Jim didn’t need to worry about his HR issues. Instead, he could focus on my replacement as head of the department and leave Arya and me to the hidden whispers and surprised looks as word got out about our relationship.
She took it better than me in the beginning although now it is completely normal. I assume it was more of a scandal because I had previously been married to a man and many of them knew Matt so it was easy for them to assume my heterosexuality.
Matt. It had definitely been a kick to his bruised ego. Was it me? Was it the sex? Didn’t I do it how you liked it? Did I hurt you? Obviously, it was hard to get him to look outside of himself and see that it was not any of those things. In fact, it was nothing to do with him at all.
I hadn’t thought a friendship with my ex-husband would ever be possible but it had somehow manifested. Matt was a good guy, sure he had slept with someone else while we were still married. But there was no doubt now in my mind that our marriage was gone before that point.
That didn’t make him a monster though. The pain I had felt had subsided, the hurt I worked through and time gave me the chance to forgive him and love him again for the qualities I had always loved him for.
Many partners would not be so understanding of an ex husband friendship, and Arya definitely had strong opinions on Matt before she met him … but she hadn’t factored in the famous Matt Sansus charm. He had her hooked from the first hello. I watched it happen in slow motion and I gave him a knowing smile as he charmed the pants off her before he whispered to me with a grin “How am I doing?” Which I reciprocated with a dig of my elbow in his ribs.
Matt became the serial dater. I tried to tell him it wasn’t a sustainable way of life but the women came in a steady stream. Hooked by the charm, the dashing grey, the Dr prefix, and his sexy smile … they knew he was not the settle down type, he was honest about what he was looking for and they still wanted to date him, so who was I to have any complaints. Plus, he was happy and that meant a lot to me.
I work late so I could miss the rush and then I pull on my coat and make my way out of the Facility. I needn’t have bothered with my coat; it is a gorgeous late spring evening where the air is warm and full of promise for the summer to come.
It is the last day of the month and therefore the ritual of dinner. It is supposed to be at ours and I know Arya will have been to the market already and planned it out to perfection. I also know she won’t have batted an eye that I changed the plans because I do most last days of the month.
I head to our favorite place opting to walk rather than getting the bus. In the rain, I don’t risk it but in this kind of weather, it is a pleasure rather than a chore. We will all take the subway back to the other side of the city together later so I will get my unwanted time of public transport in then.
Koda is a tiny little bistro restaurant that you would be forgiven for missing the first hundred times you walked past it. But Arya has an eye for places like that and whilst I could honestly say that it would never have crossed my mind to call Japanese food my favorite cuisine, this place is indescribably delicious.
We have ordered everything on the menu at least five times over and I have never tasted one thing I didn’t love. In fact, every time we would say “Oh my god, this is the best! We have to order it next time.” This has happened with every single thing on the menu.
I am first there and I get the warm VIP welcome and taken to my favorite seat by the window so I can watch the world go by unobserved.
Arya and I have not had it easy. Like any relationship we had to find what worked for us, how we could be together happily. We both had stressful jobs, Arya has had a lot of therapy and she has had a lot of emotional pressures to work through that I sometimes could be insensitive to. For me, some answers seemed simple but it could take her a while to work her way through them. I like the solution as quickly as possible and for Arya, I have had to learn patience.
In return, Arya had to learn how to let me in. She had to learn how to share, not physical things, but emotional things. She had to learn to put her faith in me and us and believe that I wouldn’t run away. She needed to learn that she could trust me and rely on me. It has been a slow process but one which I have cherished. Every day my love for her only grows.
My insecurities are still there. My age still scares me. As she creeps towards her forties, I make my way to sixty. Sixty is a milestone I am in no mood to celebrate. She makes me feel beautiful every single day and the parts of myself I hated and hid, she sought out and adored. In that department, I am definitely the taker and she has always been so happy and willing to give me love and attention.
I had read that lesbian relationships tended to find a lull in their sex lives. The phrase ‘lesbian bed death’ had been tossed around and whilst I found the lack of research to back up the statement annoying, I had wondered how long we could maintain our need to tear each other’s clothes off.
The answer was at least another five years.
