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I lean against the wall, arms and ankles crossed as I observe and calculate my wife’s every movement.
Oblivious to my neurotic attention, she walks around, releasing oohs and aahs about the pieces and snaps some pictures. “Have you spent a lot of time here?”
“Yes. Mostly during my childhood with my grandparents. Sometimes, with my parents.”
She grins. “I bet you have a lot of beautiful memories.”
“Possibly.”
Her bright blue eyes swing in my direction. “You’re not sure? Did something tarnish those memories?”
“Not particularly. I just don’t connect with human emotions the way everyone else does and, therefore, I fail to consider what happened here good memories. For me, it was a process that was essential to shaping my personality.”
“You sound so robotic when you talk like that. No wonder you're a Tin Man.” Her lips jut forward in a small pout. “Do you ever think of any memories as happy memories?”
“Plenty. Though most of them aren’t socially acceptable.”
“Name two happy memories.”
“When Dad sat me down and told me I was born different and I have no reason to feel ashamed of it. In fact, I should be as proud of it as he is of me.”
A wide smile touches her lips. “I love your dad.”
“He’s married.”
“And so am I. Get your head out of the gutter, bro.”
“I’m not your bro. I’m your husband.”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s your second happy memory?”
“The day we got married.”
She freezes, her full lips parting. All of a sudden, she looks like a forgotten goddess. No. More of a fallen angel with broken wings. The need to snap them to pieces so she’ll never fly away throbs beneath my skin like a sick, constant urge.
“Haha, very funny.” She laughs awkwardly.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“B-but why?” She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, then releases the red, swollen skin.
“Because I got to own you. Officially.”
“Oh.” Her face falls with resounding disappointment. “Makes sense.”
Her movements turn lethargic as she absentmindedly touches some of the sculptures and family photos scattered all over the place.
Gran, Mum, and Aunt Astrid can be dramatic with all the pictures they force us to take.
Ava clutches a picture in which Grandpa and Gran are sitting as he holds her hand on his lap. Dad and Uncle Levi are on his side while Mum and Aunt Astrid are on Gran’s side. Glyn is wrapping her arms around Grandpa’s neck from behind. Lan grins as he grabs Bran by the shoulder and I’m headlocking Creigh. This was taken about five years ago on Gran’s birthday that we spent here.
“Why did you bring me to the island?” my wife asks after a stretch of silence.
“I figured you could use a break. In Paris, you mentioned wanting a proper holiday where I’m not working.”
“Why here?”
“Because no one can disturb us. It’s where I come when I want to think in peace.”
