23. Ris

Ris

She was killing time in Bridgeton, having left directly from work.

She'd given him the space he'd asked for, gave him the chance to uproot his existence and run away from all of the hurt over Tate's disappearance that lingered in Starling Heights. He'd not be home yet, but she was going to be knocking on his door once he was.

The museum in Bridgeton was just a few blocks from his apartment, the neighborhood a twisted, snaking maze of interesting little brownstones and depression-era walk-ups. She passed a cramped, second-hand bookstore, an occultist shop with a shining display of crystals and pinned butterflies in its front window, and the sort of greasy spoon diner that always served the very best breakfasts. They were going to explore every inch of all of it.

When she came upon the museum, standing on the corner, across the intersection, Ris hesitated. What was the point, without him? She straightened her shoulders, crossing when the light turned green. The point is you're still independent. You're not going to lose yourself in this relationship. But that doesn't mean you can't let him in all the way.

It was twice the size as the private museum in Cambric Creek. The size meant they had more extensive offerings, of course, but she still enjoyed the highly curated efforts made by their own little building. She wasn't giving up her life in Cambric Creek, Ris reminded herself as she walked through the museum's display of cave art. That's where she worked. She did ballet and went to happy hour and had her favorite take-out spots. She loved the observatory and the film festival and all the little celebrations that made the town special . . . but she'd be right next door.

She had just wandered out of an exhibit featuring ogres through the ages, into something that rivaled the Selkie collection in Sterling Heights.

Living, Loving, and Dying: Marriage and Burials from the First Age

Ris walked into the exhibit with her mouth hanging open. An arrangement of glass vitrines held a collection of ancient artifacts, some of them so old, she could scarcely believe they still had a discernible shape at all. Wedding chalices, bridal torques, burial shrouds. Huge photographs of excavation sites, dated before the great veiling, showing entwined skeletons of various species — couples buried together, existing that way through eternity.

She watched a small film in one of those mini theaters Ainsley loved so much, showing the work at a dig site, several generations of the same family buried within feet of each other, practically clasping hands. There were replications of ancient brides, the Elvish garments of brilliant cerulean blue, the Minoans with their rich purple. A fae dagger and an Elvish ring, a huge stone plinth, carved with the names of an Ocish clan, all of their remains burned on the same site, across two centuries.

She was crying by the time she reached the last room of the exhibits, coming to stand beside a tall woman who was gazing up at the remains of a young couple, interred together. She wore a museum lanyard, marking herself as staff, her hand sitting lightly at the top of her pregnancy swell.

"This is amazing," Ris burbled. ""There's a museum in Cambric Creek with a Minoan exhibit . . . this is the first thing I've seen that even comes close to that. I – I have to bring my boyfriend back here this weekend. He's going to lose his mind."

The tall woman turned with a smile. Her own eyes were glossy. She was big boned, with long, honey blonde hair, towering over Ris, who was already tall for an elf. "That's seriously the best compliment you could have paid us. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. This is what it's all about, right?" Her hand landed again on the swell of her stomach. "Living and loving and dying. That's all we've done from the dawn of time. And you can find identical evidence of it in every single civilization, dating all the way back to the veiling. No matter the age, no matter the species. We never really change."

He swung open the apartment door, already prepared to give whoever was banging on the other side of it a piece of his mind.

"Who the fuck do you think you —" Ainsley's eyes widened, the curse dying on his lips. "Nanaya."

"I have some stipulations." She pushed past him, shouldering her way into the apartment, practically flattening him against the door. The apartment was the second story of a quaint brownstone, on one of those crooked little alleys. There was a small balcony and window boxes, and she could already envision the explosion of color they would plant there. We can take up gardening. "I hope this thing is at least two bedrooms. The kitchen has to be organized the way I want it. There's nothing I hate more than hunting around for the pot I want to use. I get one hour a week to myself. That's non-negotiable. You can go to the store, you can go play at the park, I don't care. Just vacate the premises so that I can hear myself think. You have an appalling habit of not rinsing your spoons before you drop them in the sink. I don't care if all you did was stir a cup of coffee, rinse the fucking thing off. I'm sure I'll think of more, but those are the ones I know off the top of my head."

When she turned, he was leaning against the counter, his eyebrow arched. "You're shooting a lot of orders already, lady."

"Yeah, well . . ." She crossed back to him slowly, relieved that he didn't pull away when she hooked her arms around his neck. "Am I going to live here, or what?"

Ainsley laughed, low and warm and entirely familiar. She wanted to sink into that sound and never climb out, at least not until she was forced to. Someday, you're going to look back on all this and wonder why you got your panties in such a fucking twist. You're no better than Silva.

"I mean, I would like you to. I would like for this to not be the end. I really love you, Ris. But I need to know that this matters," one of his long arms swept open, obliging her to step away, gesturing to the space between them. "That we matter. That I matter. If you just want the fuck buddy plus benefit plan, I respect that, but I can't be the one."

Ris sucked in a sharp breath at his words, catching them like something he'd flung. She didn't understand how he could ever think he didn't matter. Ainsley's head dropped back, the fight he'd seemed intent on picking for a moment shriveling before it had a chance to fully form. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but thought she understood. Ris closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his broad back, relieved when he slumped against her.

He navigated them to the sofa, sitting in the mostly-empty living room. The sofa wasn't as good as in his arms, but still — it was still better than standing out in the hallway, looking at his closed door.

"We're here for a minute and then we're gone. None of us matter, I guess."

His voice was heavy and defeated.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Merely held him, gratified when his long arms snaked around her, squeezing tightly. This year had exacted a terrible price.

"I'm so sorry your friend is gone," she murmured. "I know he was your family and that his absence hurts. But don't convince yourself for even a second that you didn't matter, Ainsley. You matter so much. To everyone that knows you. It's impossible not to love you." His breathing was ragged and Ris pressed herself to him, feeling the solid thump of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. "You're right, we don't," she agreed eventually. "We don't matter in the cosmic scheme of things. Not really. None of us do. What counts is loving each other when we have the chance. Loving and living while we can. Because if none of us matter in the big picture, doesn't that mean we all matter equally in the end?"

Ainsley's head lifted from where it had dropped. Cocked to the side. From her vantage below him, Ris grinned through her tears, almost able to see the wheels of that beautiful brain spinning back into motion. This year had exacted a terrible price, which made every moment of it more special, she thought.

"I love the way your mind works, Nanaya."

"Good. Now show me where the bedroom is. I'll have to notify my building. Although, they'll have it filled before I even start packing. Also, there's an exhibit that just opened at the place up on the corner that's going to blow your ever loving mind."

"I would like to be blown by you first. And then pizza. But I would like to go to the museum tomorrow, please."

His life was such a small vial of sand, she thought, as he scooped her up. Two percent was negligible when he was so perfect for her. The ninety-eight percent was well worth the compromise. He needs to start grief therapy. Otherwise, this is always going to be hanging over him and he's going to be clingy like an eel . . . but you can talk about that tomorrow.

After all, talking was what they did best.