5. Lurielle

Lurielle

The tick of an invisible clock seemed to follow whatever she went. Morning, noon, and night. It was always there.

When she arose each morning, stumbling out of bed and hastily dressing, leaving her driveway with a breakfast bar held between her teeth and scant minutes to get to work on time, she heard the ticking. She could busy herself at work — they were in the midst of a project that had the whole team involved, necessitating some longer hours and her absolute focus, but there were quiet moments at her desk — checking her email, grabbing a cheap machine-generated coffee from the break room, when she would sit and eat lunch with one of her friends — when the ticking would find her.

Evenings were the worst of it.

She would be alone in her house, making a sad dinner for one or else distracting herself with the gym, or therapy, or pestering Rourke, before climbing into her big, empty bed, staring up at the ceiling as the sound reverberated through the empty hallways. It was a wonder Junie wasn't bothered by it. The little terrier would sleep through the noise, oblivious to her mistress's ticking-induced insomnia.

The worst nights, ironically enough, occurred when he was there, ordering rich take-out and telling her about his day, holding her hand at the garden center that had become their second home, kissing his way down her body until the heat of his tongue became one with the heat between her thighs, hot and solid as a stone beside her as he slept. On those days, the ticking was nearly too much to bear. A heavy reverberation in her skull, vibrating against the back of her eyes and on her tongue, matching the cadence of her heartbeat until she felt as if she were one big moon-faced clock.

Lurielle didn't know how to stop the title wave of despair overtaking her on those nights. She would curl up beside him in their bed, pressing as tightly to his form as she was able, until the warmth of him seemed to seep into her bones. She had begun keeping a pillow, specific for crying, on her side of the bed, small and squishy and utterly worthless as far as performing the actual task of worthwhile lumbar or cervical support, but it absorbed the sound of her sobs brilliantly. She would fold the formless thing in half, burying her face into its soft side and let out all the ticking-induced emotions that had built up within her.

When she was wrung-out enough to sleep, she would slip out of bed as soundlessly as she was able, tiptoeing to the bathroom to splash her face in cold water and blowing her stuffed up nose hard enough that her ears popped. She was exhausted. Lurielle knew the routine was unsustainable, but she didn't know what else to do, didn't know how to escape it, and she wondered if this was what Ris had meant when she'd said some nonsense about grains of sand, several months earlier. She felt as if she were trapped in her head, screaming inside of her skull, and there was no one on earth who could hear her.

For the first time since she had begun therapy, Despina was of no help.

"I'm not typically a fan of doing this, because it's not always helpful to think of things as a net positive or negative, that sort of black and white thinking is something we usually try to avoid, but let's indulge for just a moment."

She slumped back on the sofa as the sphinx across from her began to enumerate on her long, manicured nails all of the things in Lurielle's life she should have been celebrating. She's right. This is the happiest you've ever been. Ever! Why are you trying to make yourself miserable?

"You've already discussed marriage, you seem to be on the same page, even if his timeline is a little laggy for you. You've already discussed your living arrangements. You're keeping your house; you don't need to start from scratch somewhere new. You don't need to figure out how to make his home your home. You've met the family. You've discussed kids. All of this is a sign of a very healthy relationship with good communication. You and Khash are on the same page. You have the same goals; you're working for the same future. Right? You said you both want to get married this year?"

Lurielle nodded, sitting up so that she didn't completely resemble a petulant child.

"Um, yes, I hope so. I don't want a long engagement, and he's fine with that. Planning something is a bit of a problem . . . or at least it will be. Especially this quickly. Most elves . . . well, wedding planning usually starts in infancy. I'm not even kidding!"

Despina had begun to laugh, shaking her head and jotting down a note on the tablet she held.

"That's something your parents start planning before you can walk," Lurielle went on. "By the time most girls are secondary school-aged, we have the whole wedding planned and paid for. All that's missing at that point is the groom." She slumped back once more, uncaring if she was regressing into her morose teenage self. She didn't have a wedding binder either. "I don't have any of that. I don't even know where to start with planning. I'm counting on my friends to help me throw something together this year."

"Okay, well," Despina went on with a chuckle, "wedding planning can be its own category of stress, so just keep that in mind as you get started. Start journaling your feelings if you get overwhelmed during the planning phase and we can talk about it. Actually, I'm assigning that as homework. But—" she raised her stylus at Lurielle, peering out from beneath her blunt cut bangs, "flower arrangements and seating charts are not what's keeping you up at night, Lurielle. At least, not yet. Let's try and figure out where this feeling of despair is coming from, okay?"

"I don't need to do any thought exercises or journaling," Lurielle blurted out. Her face felt hot, her throat thick, as if her heart had climbed up into it and was wedged there, filling the space as she struggled to swallow around it. She wondered if Despina could hear it, the reverberation of that ticking. It was so loud that Lurielle could not believe it existed only within herself. "I already know what it is."

She watched as the sphinx leaned forward in her chair, dark eyebrows drawn together in concern at the obvious change in her patient's demeanor.

Lurielle attempted to remind herself that she was an ugly crier. There would be no dainty Silva-like sniffles. Once the waterworks opened, it was like releasing a floodgate. She would splotch red like a tomato, her nose would run, she would be unable to control her sobs, and would be turned out of the therapy office a snotty, drooly, tear-streaked mess, her eyes swollen and her head pounding, left to stagger the streets of Cambric Creek like some sort of poxstricken forest witch, just finding her way to civilization for the first time. C'mon, you need to go to the pharmacy after this!

"What is it, Lurielle?"

She could not keep the tears from falling then. A year's worth of appointments in this office, and it all seemed so silly now, so trivial. Her weight, her mother, all of it. None of it mattered, not a bit. Not when it was measured up against this.

"He's going to die," she choked out, squeezing her eyes tight against the pain of even speaking the words. "He's going to die and I'm going to have to live without him, and I don't think I'm strong enough for that."

She was overtaken by her tears, speaking this terrible thing out loud for the very first time. She hunched in on herself against the pain — it was an inevitability, not even something abstract that she could tell herself might never come to pass. Even if he remained as hale and healthy as he was at that moment, his lifespan was less than half of her own. It was a simple fact, and not something she could simply wish away.

From the other side of the low coffee table, Despina's sympathetic hum provided a counterpoint to her ragged inhalation, as she attempted to get a hold of herself. Get it under control!

"Lurielle? Khash isn't sick, is he? Is there something that you need to—"

"No," she interrupted quickly. "No, it's nothing like that. I-I don't mean right now. I just mean . . . someday."

Even though the sphinx gave no outward sign of laughter, Lurielle decided Despina was trying mightily to hold in a snort of laughter at her patient's ridiculousness. Because you are being ridiculous. You need to get a grip and start taking melatonin so you can sleep. Instead, the therapist said something that brought her up short.

"Well, you can look at it this way. Marriages tend to end in two different ways. Death or divorce. They both have a tendency to be extremely painful. Sometimes they're a relief, even if your heart is heavy. But it's everything that comes before that influences our path to one destination or the other that makes the difference, don't you think?"

She forced herself to breathe, capturing her lip between her teeth as she did so, digesting the sphinx's words.

"I'm not going to patronize you by reminding you that we are all going to die—"

"That's not it," she blurted again, once more cutting off Despina's words. "I mean — yes, of course. We're all going to die, I know that. That-that's not what I mean. That's not what . . . I've barely slept for the past month. It's not some intangible concept of death that has me up at night. I'm going to live a full common lifetime and then some without him. That's . . . that's what I'm having trouble with. He's going to die, and I'm still going to be here for another hundred years, maybe more. Half my life without him. And I don't know how I'm supposed to do that."

The tears began to fall again. This wasn't as simple as confronting the universal reality that someday she and everyone else she knew would be gone and forgotten. It was specifically that he would be gone and she would live on — that was the terrible future for which she had absolutely no point of reference or anyone in whom she could confide.

The consequence of an upbringing like hers meant Lurielle didn't know any Elvish women of a considerable age who'd had partners of a different species. Most of their Elvish husbands were gone as it was, and that was taking into consideration that their species lived longer than the common in general.

Time stole all things. One could wander the cemetery in Oldetowne to see the proof of that in crumbling stone. She had visited the graveyard with Ris, who wanted to see the final resting places of several notable names in Cambric Creek history, and she'd not been back since that singular visit. The historic graves were there — obelisks and statuary on marble plinths, marking the graves of werewolves and shifters whose names graced the downtown landscape, several victims of the famous fire — but there was an older section of graves that had made her so impossibly sad that she'd felt the need to put distance between herself and the wrought iron gate to get some air, despite being outside in the sunshine. Age-worn etchings were barely decipherable on the forgotten, sunbleached stones in that oldest section, where the earliest settlers to the area were laid to rest, long before Cambric Creek was even incorporated. Not even their names remained. Lost to time.

Would time steal her memories as well? Would the day come when she was as tiny and aged as her own great-grandmother, when the contours of his face and the warmth of his melted chocolate eyes were lost to her? Would she forget that first weekend entirely, their first kiss, the first night they spent together beneath a sky exploding with color? Would every anniversary and milestone they'd celebrated be gone? Would she outlive her own children? Would they inherit her Elvish lifespan, or the common lifespan of their father? Would her heart be broken time and time again until there was nothing left of her but grief and misery and a yawning expanse of years to spend alone?

That was what kept her up at night.

"Oh, Lurielle."

Despina's voice was full of compassion, and Lurielle realized with a jolt that she had been giving voice to the collection of suppositions that robbed her of her sleep each night. The sphinx set her tablet aside, coming around the table to sit next to her on the loveseat, her wide, leonine paws pressing into the plush carpeting, and handed her a box of tissues.

"That's a whole lot to deal with. No wonder you're not sleeping! That's a heavy load to carry alone. Have you talked to Khash about the way you're feeling?"

She shook her head vehemently. She didn't want to burden him with her histrionics, anymore than she wanted to admit that she'd never considered the reality of their differing species until her great-grandmother's party.

"I haven't. I . . . what am I supposed to say? ‘I'm sad you're going to die before me?' Why would I even want to speak it into reality?! I probably just jinxed us by saying it here!"

That time, Despina did laugh, moving back to her own chair.

"I don't think that's the way it works. This is probably a bit unprofessional to disclose, but I have a feeling you'll forgive me. My partner is not of my species. There aren't many of my kind in this area. As a matter of fact, I only know of one other sphinx in Cambric Creek and I've only met maybe half a dozen in Bridgeton in all the years I've lived here. Now, we don't live quite as long as elves, but, you know, we're no slouches. Sphinxes live longer than the common lifespan, by a fair bit. So . . . I know I am going to outlive my partner. And I recognize that's not the same scenario you're dealing with, but I do understand. I can't tell you what to do, Lurielle. I can't give you a step-by-step set of instructions on how to come to terms with this and make peace with yourself. Only you can do that. But I'll tell you what helps me."

She leaned forward in her seat, hoping against hope that whatever Despina was about to say was, in fact, a step-by-step set of instructions she could follow.

"The journey we're on together is more important than that final destination. The memories we make, the love we surround ourselves with. Love someone hard enough that the life you share is worth the pain of losing them. And then when they're gone, let the memories of that love and the life you built together keep you warm. But right now, you can't get so wrapped up in worrying about that future that you forget to make those memories."

Dammit. There was no checklist in sight. That was the opposite of helpful.

"Memories fade," she mumbled. "That's what I'm worried about. Thank you for telling me that, though. That helps. Like, a lot." She choked out a laugh. "I don't know anyone else who's going through this, so . . . it's pretty isolating."

"Didn't you tell me that one of your friends is also involved with an orc?"

Lurielle paused. She supposed technically Despina was right. Ris and Ainsley and Tate and Silva were all Elvish-Orcish couples, like her and Khash. Neither her friends were in the same type of relationship, though. Ris had emphasized on more than one occasion that she and Ainsley were just having fun, while it didn't seem as if Silva was capable of getting through a month without some sort of interpersonal catastrophe with her family, mostly centered around and stemming from her relationship with the enigmatic owner of the Plundered Pixie.

"Two of them, actually. It's not the same, though. Neither of them are in serious relationships. And I'm already asking them to help plan my wedding. I don't want to burden them with this, too."

The sphinx shrugged her shoulders. "Who are we supposed to burden with our innermost thoughts and fears if not our friends?"

"Yeah, well . . . that's why I see you once a week."

"Don't think you're off the hook with no homework. Start building memories big enough that they outlast your mind, my dear girl. Surround yourself in that love. And don't forget all you accomplished on your own in the past few years. You've proven to yourself and everyone else in your life that there's nothing you can't do, Lurielle. I have no doubt you will attack this with the same sort of dedication to results."

"How am I supposed to show my work for that?!"

Despina gave her a sharp-edged smile as Lurielle stepped through the office door, pausing in the hallway.

"That's what pictures are for. Souvenirs. A memento from every event and vacation and milestone. Something you can hold. Your homework is to give it a label. Write down what you did, where you went, how he made you laugh. The arguments you had over directions, the make-up sex you had someplace inappropriate. Birthdays, children, vacations . . . everything. Write it all down."

"So what I'm getting from this is that you're still giving me journaling homework."

There was a troll coming down the hallway, tall and reedy, looking as if the weight of his curled tusks might topple him over. There was nowhere else he could be heading to, other than Despina's office.

"I'm still giving you journaling homework," the sphinx confirmed with another laugh. "A journal entry to correspond with every one of those photos and mementos. It's homework right now because I know you need something to focus on. But someday, Lurielle, it'll be your favorite book."

The full weight of Despina's words didn't fully register until the elevator doors glided shut, leaving her alone at last. Lurielle's eyes welled with tears once more. She had never been a cryer. Growing up, there hadn't been a point to tears. Crying never convinced her mother to allow her to stay home from dance class or swim class or etiquette class. Her young life had been jam packed with extracurriculars of her mother's choosing, none of them things Lurielle actually wanted to do, all of them held at the club, all of them excruciating. Tears had never gotten her out of a single one. It was a sign of how out-of-control her emotions were now, she thought, as the elevator car arrived at the ground level, and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

They would need to become more like Ris and Ainsley, she thought, crossing to her car. Despite the tears, she grinned at the thought of telling Khash that one. It had been more than a week since their ill-fated dinner with the pair, and he'd not stopped mumbling and grumbling about it since.

Still. Lurielle knew from recent stories that she and Ainsley were never home. Ris did yoga and had recently started ballet. Ainsley played in several different bands. They went to museums and concerts and art exhibits, cultural festivals and open lectures at the college. A memento from every vacation, outing, milestone. Someday, it will be your favorite book.

Khash was home waiting for her, she knew. He texted her that afternoon a couple hours before she had left work, letting her know he'd have dinner ready by the time she got home from therapy. They would tell each other about their respective days, she would complain about work and he would likely still be grousing about Ainsley and his audacity, they would walk the dogs together, put away the dishes together, and go to bed together. Despina hadn't said anything about journaling every minute of every day, but she didn't want to forget any of it. How will you remember all of the small in-between moments?

Khash was waiting for her. She didn't know how to come to terms with this yet, still didn't know how she was meant to . . . but he was home waiting for her, and right now that was all that mattered, Lurielle reminded herself, as she sobbed against the steering column.

"Junie, if you don't stop pulling on his leash, I'm gonna start pushing you in one of those humiliatin' little buggies. Is that what you want? You want all these other yappy little dogs to see you gettin' pushed like a baby? Because I'll do it if you don't start acting right."

Junie paid Khash's words absolutely no mind as she continued to lurch forward, pulling with all her Yorkie-might against her harness. She barked at passersby, she barked at other dogs, she barked at chipmunks. At one point, she began barking at a dog sitting in the backseat of its owner's car at an intersection, prompting the other hound to get his head wedged in the partially open window as he retaliated, before the light turned green.

"I'm not sure that would be a punishment," Lurielle mused. "More energy for being a little asshole if she doesn't have to walk. Plus, she knows you're bluffing."

She held Ordo's leash. By contrast, the big mastiff plodded along lazily, only pulling to occasionally sniff around the base of a tree and lift his leg. Every time they passed a wide enough window, Lurielle grinned at the reflection. The giant orc walking the poorly behaved little lapdog, while she led giant, sweet Ordo, his jowls swinging. She had no doubt that Junie would use the advantage of a dog stroller — higher off the ground thus able to lord over her four pawed underlings on the concrete — to bark even more aggressively.

This is one of those moments. You want to be able to look back on this and smile forever. Her internal voice was right, she decided. Despina wasn't wrong — looking back was the only way she'd be able to move forward, someday. But not for a long, long time. She got her chance as they approached the paint-your-own pottery shop, with its sidewalk-to-roof front window. Lurielle angled herself as they walked, a few paces behind Khash, capturing their reflection in the glass with her phone. See? You can do this.

"Are we stopping at the scoop truck? With these cold nights, I'm sure she's probably getting close to shutting down for the year. Then we'll be stuck waiting in line at the shop."

"Bluebell, do I look like the bully boy? Do you see me hoppin' from foot to foot like my allowance is burning a hole in my pocket? If we want ice cream, I don't think it'll kill us to wait in line at the shop."

His big hand reached out, engulfing her tiny one as her shoulders shook in laughter. He couldn't resist an opportunity to take a swing at Rourke, even if the bully boy was absent. She turned at the sidewalk, pulling him along, heading to the long, green park in the center of town. Khash scooped up Junie, trapping her beneath his arm as they neared more people on the sidewalk.

"See? You just gave her what she wanted. Now daddy's carrying her, she's high up and can see everything. Look at that, she's not even barking now. She played you like Granddaddy's fiddle and you fell for it. You're probably going to still buy her a cone, even though she's been naughty since we left."

"'Course I am. Like you said, she's not even barking. Doin' as she was asked. And besides, I'm not going to punish Ordo, and we can't let him have one in front of her if she doesn't get some. That's inequitable parenting, Bluebell. Lilypiddles is doing her best."

She continued to laugh as they entered the line, wheezing when the familiar cashier, upon recognizing Lurielle, asked Khash in a completely flat voice which line of samples he would be taking. Khash gave the college-aged dryad his most charming smile, stretching around his massive tusks, but she could tell by the way his spine straightened that he took a mortal offense to being confused with Rourke.

"Oh no, none'a that. We don't need to pretend this is our first time leaving the house. First and most importantly, we're going to have two pup cups, thank you so much. I'll have a scoop of Brownie Bite and a scoop of Caramel Ribbon Crunch in a waffle cone. Bluebell—"

"I'll have the Grape Escape Sorbet."

Khash turned back to the cashier, still beaming as he stuffed a 20-dollar bill into their tip jar, a pointed reminder that he was not the minotaur with whom she usually visited the truck. That's what he thinks, but Rourke is also an over-tipper. Junie yipped in the cashier's direction for good measure as they stepped away, earning a fresh round of laughter from her.

"That's my good girl. Impugning our honor, aren't they? Confusing us with any ole' riff raff at the window."

It was almost too cold for ice cream, but neither of the dogs minded they tucked into their miniature cups of plain vanilla soft serve, Junie earning an extra scratch behind her ears.

"This is the life, Bluebell," Khash sighed as she sank down beside him on the bench. "Look at this. A park downtown instead of a parking garage. Ice cream made from local cows' milk on demand. The most beautiful elf in the world beside me. I can see three orcs right there on the other side of Main Street, coming out of the coffee shop. You've got your basket weavin' classes and your whole cupcake-eating community right up the road. No one is giving anyone grief over the way they live."

"I can't help but guess that this whole bucolic little monologue of yours is a prelude to another round of ‘that boy's got his head on backwards and up his ass besides' about Ainsley."

Khash sputtered and she nearly choked on her sorbet in laughter. "Bluebell, am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong. That boy's about half a bubble off plumb if thinks he's gonna tell me or anyone else about the future of our heritage just because he's been to a few museum exhibits."

Lurielle was glad for his warmth as she dropped against him, laughing again. "I don't remember him saying anything like that. To be honest, I don't think either of you were saying anything all that different. You were just talking around each other and not listening to what the other was actually saying."

Khash scowled, his nose wrinkling as if the mere memory of that night was some foul-smelling swamp and he could still detect a whiff.

"I don't know, darlin'. I think there must be something in the water at your office. All your friends are dumping their ducks in dirty ponds. You best make sure you're packing your lunch and bringing your water from home."

She was laughing so hard at that point, words were an impossibility. You know him so well you're even guessing his metaphors. Ris had mentioned that they'd seen Tate and Silva later that same night, and Lurielle could only imagine the tales traded between the two other orcs. Best not to give him anymore ammunition. Just eat your ice cream.

A year and a half ago, she would've berated herself for indulging in dessert, Lurielle thought, especially after stuffing herself with the vegetable lasagna he'd already removed from the oven when she came through the door from therapy. Hells, you would have given yourself shit about it six months ago.

When he'd suggested walking the dogs downtown to grab a snack, the old Lurielle would have demurred. That's what Tev would have expected from her, what her mother had drilled into her for years. A lady always skips dessert, dear. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips! Instead, she'd pulled an oversized hoodie over her leggings and slipped on her sneakers without giving it a second thought.

Just that week, she had dashed out to the farmer's market, throwing on an old T-shirt and a pair of leggings without a second thought, as soon as she saw the farm's social media post for the day. Their first harvest of flying saucer-like squashes, available at the stand while supplies lasted. Cooking was not her forte, but there was a dish on the menu at Tate's bistro that Khash always ordered on the rare occasions they dined at Clover, one he said tasted exactly like something his grandmother made when he and his brothers and sisters were very small. He would grouse about the necessity of lining the pocket of that slippery snake with every bite, but he would clean his plate each and every time. The squash at the farmer's market that week was the same type used in the recipe, and she was going to do her best to replicate it.

When she had returned home, triumphant with her bag of squash, Lurielle had caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. Her leggings didn't leave much to the imagination, including the outline of her giant panties. Her T-shirt didn't hide nearly enough of her ass, and the capped sleeves cut off at what was probably the most unflattering place on her arm . . . and she hadn't cared a bit. She hadn't inspected herself in the mirror before leaving the house, hadn't attempted to tame her hair, simply used her sunglasses as a headband and walked out the door.

It hadn't mattered, and no one on the street stopped to point and stare, no one berated her, no one paid her any mind at all. She thought about how much time she had wasted in her life, obsessing over clothes that didn't cling to her stomach, doing her best to only purchase slimming fabrics, turning and turning and turning endlessly in the mirror and only finding fault with herself, her mother's voice an ever present chatter in her head.

She hadn't heard her mother's voice in weeks, she realized, swallowing a spoonful of her sorbet. Maybe in more than a month. Not since the night of Nana's party? After all, why would she stress over something as trivial as the size of her ass when she had much bigger things to worry about?

"How was your appointment, darlin'?"

Lurielle looked up from her spoonful of sorbet, surprised. Khash never asked after her therapy appointments. She'd attempted to explain why she felt her attendance was necessary exactly once, when he had cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

"Bluebell, I don't need to know. Not unless you want to tell me. If you think it's good for you and it helps you see what a beautiful, brilliant woman you are, that's all I need to know. And you never need to feel like you have to explain. Not to me or anyone else."

Having him ask after it now brought her up short. He'd said nothing when she came into the house that evening, attempting to discreetly dump a handful of sodden tissues into the trash as Junie came charging across the kitchen, barking her little head off in greeting. The attempt had failed, as the badly behaved Yorkie instantly jumped up like a circus dog, filching the edge of one of the tissues and knocking the whole tear-and-snot soaked pile to the floor. He'd not said a peep about her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, only poured her a glass of rosé and served her plate of lasagna before plating his own helping, along with the steak he'd grilled up.

"It-it was fine. Good, I mean. It's . . . she's always good."

"I'm glad, Bluebell."

Her heart wobbled as he bent to kiss her, grape sorbet flavored the slide of their lips, the heat of his mouth searing her after the cold of her sorbet. The hand he stroked down her back was gentle, as if she were an injured animal in need of comfort, and Lurielle supposed that was likely exactly how she'd seemed for the last month. He knows you just as well as you know him. She dropped her head against him, taking a spoonful of the caramel ribbon from his own dessert. He didn't know what was wrong, but it was clear something was off with her and he was letting her know he'd noticed. And he's still not pressing you to spill your guts.

"Well, I think we should get these two home. I don't want that cute little button nose of yours to go freezing off on me."

"I love you," she blurted as he extricated his arm from around her back, his dark brows furrowing. "Thank you for putting up with my friends' terrible choices in men."

Khash snickered as he pushed to his feet. She tried not to notice the way he groaned as he did so, favoring his left knee for the space of several heartbeats before taking her hand. She was not going to hyper-analyze the breakdown of his joints, was not going to do the quick math on his height and weight and bone density, and she was absolutely not going to compare his age with the average common lifespan. You're not going to ruin every moment panicking over this.

"They're your friends, Bluebell. You can't help that they weren't raised right. Besides, they have time to make mistakes and walk away. You Elvish ladies can make a whole bushel of bad choices and still have time to recover. So don't despair. There's hope for Silvia yet."

Her mouth dropped open and her stomach somersaulted within her. It was the closest he'd ever come to acknowledging their vastly different life expectancies, a sign that she truly was the only fool in this relationship who'd not considered it more than a year ago. Despina was right. They needed to have a conversation. But not tonight. If you cry any more today, your eyes will be swollen shut in the morning and you have a fuck-ton of work on your desk.

Lurielle gripped his hand as they walked back to the car, Ordo and Junie getting their fill of fresh air and exercise, both dogs panting as they were loaded into the back seat. She could live three hundred years, five hundred years, and never tire of evenings like this. She was wrong, Lurielle decided. They didn't need to be anything like Ris and Ainsley. She would take some notes from her friend's book, if not a full page. More outings, more memories, but she wouldn't trade in these quiet evenings together for anything. This was all she needed. The heat of his hand engulfing hers. The solid weight of him beside her. She never wanted to forget a second of these quiet moments.

When they arrived home, the lights in the house next door were dark.

"Good. He'd smell the ice cream on our breath and come sniffin' around, whining about us not bringing him one."

"Oh, he would not!"

Khash ignored her, grinning as he turned to the side of the house. "Why don't you take them in the house, Bluebell. I've got some things to take care of out here."

The Fall Festival would be coming up soon, she thought, adding fresh water to the giant jug water fountain Ordo and Junie shared. It seemed like only yesterday that she was discussing attending the festival with Ris and Silva in the break room.

Last year, she and Khash had walked through the fair hand in hand, and the only comment he'd had to make about her fried cheese on a stick had been to ask for a bite, before getting a second one for them to share. They'd eaten all the terrible fried fair food, drank a vat of lemonade between the two of them, and a glass of cider, in honor of Silva being unable to attend, she'd told Khash laughingly. Neither of them were particularly fond of rides, a huge relief, although he had been quite insistent on winning her prize from the carnival midway.

They would do it all over again this year. The terrible food, the overpriced games, the farm stands and blue ribbon-bedecked barns of livestock, and at the end she would come home with whatever stuffed animal he'd won her. A memento of every event. You're going to write down every detail this year. Every little thing, no matter how insignificant it seems now.

She had inherited a cedar chest from her great-grandmother, when Nana had moved out of her own home. It would've been for her bridal trousseau, if she and her mother had been on better terms at the time. Instead, the chest was being used as a side table in her bedroom, currently housing a lamp and her tablet. And now it has a new job. She would put all of those little mementos and souvenirs in the chest, at least, those things that would be put on display on the shelves in their home. Despina is right. Start making memories big enough to outlast the grief.

When she came back out into the living room, Lurielle realized how much time had passed since they'd arrived home. Khash was still nowhere to be found. What is he doing out there? As she crossed the kitchen, she could see movement low to the ground, leaping orange and white. A fire? Pulling her hoodie back over her head, Lurielle quickly shoved her feet into flip-flops and went out the door.

He was sitting in one of the low, orc-sized lounge chairs they had purchased for the patio. A new table, new chairs. A new sofa in the living room and a new bed for the bedroom. Bigger. Overstuffed. Heavy, solid hardwoods and steel framing. Wide enough and tall enough and long enough to fit his huge frame. To fit him into her life seamlessly.

"I was beginning to think you were never gonna join me, Bluebell. Just left me out here to freeze."

"I didn't know I was supposed to!" she exclaimed, allowing him to pull her down across his lap. A year ago, she would've braced herself on the arms of the chair, afraid of letting him support her full weight, but now she did so unthinkingly. As easy as breathing. That's what they were together. That's how it ought to be.

Her heart went all wibbly-wobbly once more as Khash leaned his face down to her hair, inhaling deeply. He had one arm stretched around her back, keeping her tilted into him, while the other had settled over her hip, the generous spread of his fingers spanning her equally generous curves. Like puzzle pieces.

"Lurielle, I love you so much."

Her lungs seemed to heave in her chest, tugging her throat as they did so, and tears burned in her eyes. No. No more tears. You don't want to look back and be crying at every single turn.

"I hope you appreciate how much you've changed my life, Bluebell. I was an orc without purpose before you found your way to that steamy little bath."

Another lurch, this one making her jump in his arms. Don't start crying. Don't ruin this. "Is it too cliché for me to say ditto?" she choked out a laugh. "Because I could say the exact same thing about you. Well, not the orc part. And wait, that bath was huge!"

Khash chuckled, the rumble of it a deep vibration against her, like an electric hum against her skin. She gripped his bicep, needing to touch him, to be closer. She wanted to flatten herself against him, press her cheek to his heartbeat and wrap her arms around his thick middle, letting the heat of his blood keep her warm.

"I know you think that, Bluebell. I know you think you need me. I know you think all this work you've done on yourself is for me, and you're the only one who doesn't seem to realize none of that is true. You're stronger than any grown orc I've ever known, darlin'. Stronger and more capable. If something happened tomorrow that forced us to other sides of the world, you would get on just fine. You were gettin' on just fine before you met me. I was barely treadin' water, Lurielle. If someone tried to talk to me about the future, I couldn't see past a few months. I didn't know what to do with myself."

Lurielle sputtered. "That's not true at all! You're completely full of shit. I mean . . . look at you! You're smart, you're well-educated, you're successful. You're the most handsome orc in existence. You have investments and an index fund. You actually knew how to train your dog. When we met, I had a bank account, a bad little terrier, and a bunch of rotten bananas on the counter that I never even made into bread. That's it! You live in a luxury high-rise and talk to your family every week. I need a stepladder to put away my dishes."

Another deep rumble of laughter against her, like thunder brewing in the distance on a summer night, warning of a coming storm.

"None of that means I was happy, Lurielle. Money and things are only money and things. That's not livin'. Not really. I don't feel like I started livin' until the weekend you and your friends came to have yourselves an adventure."

She was no longer able to hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her face flamed, and she wheezed around what was surely her heart, wandering around her body again. "It's been the best adventure. I wouldn't trade a single minute of the last year for anything."

"And I don't want it to end, Bluebell. I can't wait to see what the next chapter of our adventure will bring. If you'd be my wife, darlin', I'll be just another dog at your feet. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me. Because I don't think I really knew what happiness was until you came into my life."

"Wait—" Lurielle struggled up, pushing off his chest so that she could look him in the eye. "Wait, what-what are you doing? Khash. Is that what this is?! But-but I thought you said you wanted to build this giant fire! That it had to be just right!" She gaped at him, mind reeling. She'd never imagined when she staggered out of bed that morning, when she'd left therapy crying in her car, that this was how the night would end. "This is a s'mores fire! Are you kidding me?!"

Khash did not let up his grip on her as he scowled down. "Bluebell, you sure know how to kick a man's balls over the fence. Here I am, bearin' my soul—"

"But you said—"

"Lurielle, all my big plans don't add up to a hill of beans if the woman I love isn't happy. It doesn't matter what I said I needed to do. I'm not letting you go to bed and cry yourself to sleep one more night. We got our fire. I've already had a good talk with my ancestors. Everything I need in the world is right here. This is for life, darlin'. We don't make fire oaths we don't intend on keeping. Will you marry me?"

Her heart was in danger of caving in on itself. He thinks you're crying every night because of him. Well, technically that was true. She was crying every night because of him. But she wasn't crying because he hadn't proposed. Who cares? This was perfect. This was everything you wanted.

"I already told you I was going to say yes."

She would never tire of the way her mouth fit so perfectly between his tusks, the way they fit so well together. His lips moved over her cheeks, kissing up the tracks of her tears, over each closed eyelid in the tip of her nose, making his way back to her mouth with a bit more heat.

This is for life. Tears choked her, the implication of his words being too great to ignore. She broke their kiss, sucking in a breath and swallowing down her sob.

"Lurielle, darlin', why are you—"

"Because this is for life!" she blurted out, gripping fist full of his shirt, unwilling to let him go. If she held on tight enough, perhaps she could circumvent fate. "What am I going to do without you? I'm going to have a lot more life left when you're gone. What am I supposed to do?"

His eyes softened as he cupped her face, thumbs smoothing over her full cheeks. "Bluebell, is that what's got you acting like a wet hen?" He chuckled at her strangled sound of outrage, seeming completely unconcerned. "Darlin', we only got the time we're given. I'm going to make you as happy as I can for as long as I've got breath. Didn't I tell you I was planning on pumpin' a strong orc son into you? And maybe a beautiful little girl with freckles like her mama? You're not going to be alone, Lurielle. And if you think I not going to come back and fuck you silly as a ghost, you're head's on as backward as your friends'. I'm gonna haunt the boots off whatever scrawny little cupcake-lickin' elf tries to have his way with you. Now that's a promise."

Suddenly, close wasn't close enough. She needed to feel him beneath her, needed to feel his skin pressed to hers. She wanted his heat to burn her, to sear into her, and she couldn't do that with her hoodie on.

Khash made a noise in his throat as she peeled the blue Cambric Creek Community Days hoodie over her head, his big hands meeting hers at the hem of her T-shirt, stripping that off as well. Then came his own clothes, his long, thick fingers unlatching her bra closure with ease. It was a good thing the hedges were still full, she reminded herself as his head bent to catch a stiffened pink nipple with his mouth, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. Lurielle pressed herself forward against him, skin-to-skin, heat-to-heat. Close would never be close enough.

He was already hard. She could feel the thick shape of him, his stiffness pressing against her. Her fingers were far nimbler and more in control than she felt as she undid his belt, drawing him out into the night air.

The crackling fire at her back warmed her skin as she gave him a slow pump from root to tip, letting her fingertips rub back and forth over his winking slit until she was sliding against his pre-cum. Pulling his balls out so that she could squeeze and stretch them was a bit more of a challenge, necessitating Khash holding himself up off the chair so that she could shift his pants down his hips until he was free.

"They feel heavy. Did proposing to me make your cock hard? Or was it the strong orc son part?"

"Lurielle, you make my cock hard every single day. That's never gonna change, darlin'."

She continued to stroke him until his hips were moving, raising up to meet her hands, fucking into the ring of her fingers. Her panties were soaked. They had had sex outside at the cabin more times than she could count, but they had never done anything like this, here at home. The need to be stuffed full of him was overwhelming.

How are you going to write about this in your journal? 'He built a little backyard fire, made you cry with how sweet he was. And then you fucked in the backyard like rowdy teenagers where anyone could see.' That was the best she could possibly wish for, she decided. Her older self would read that journal entry and look back with a smile.

"I need you inside me."

Stripping off her leggings was harder to do, and she almost tumbled out of his lap ass over feet in the process, kicking her flip-flops off into the darkness and struggling out of the black lycra as he shucked off his own pants, falling back atop him in a tumble of laughter.

"Pantsless time with Bluebell," he hummed against her throat. "This has always been my favorite thing, darlin'. That's never going to change."

The first press of him would never not take her breath away. She led the domed helmet of his cock head to her slick folds, her head falling back and her mouth dropping open at that first press, her eyes fluttering shut. She sunk down on his length, feeling him stretch her open with every inch, gasping as she did so. Lurielle said a tiny prayer of thanks to her Elvish forebears, all of the Elvish women who had mated with orcs and ogres, with minotaurs and centaurs, who'd impaled themselves on huge cocks so often and for so long that it changed their biology, allowing her to take this big Orcish rod of meat with ease. When she was seated flush against him and he was balls deep inside of her, Lurielle stretched forward again, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I can't wait to be your wife. I can't wait to start this new chapter of our adventure."

"Neither can I, darlin', but first I'm going to need you to ride my cock until you go cross-eyed. You've got me so hot I'm ready to go off like a geyser, and they'll see it from space. You really want to do that to those poor folks up in the space station? They won't know if they're seein' a natural disaster or salvation, but it's going to splatter their windows. Is that what you want?"

"You think you're that wound up?" she laughed, tightening her thighs in preparation. "We'll see." The first roll of her hips made her breath hitch, and by the third, she cried out. Thank the stars the lights are off next door. If Rourke and Violet caught them fucking in the backyard, she'd never live it down.

"That's it, Bluebell. Let me feel that tight squeeze. Ride me good."

One of his giant hands dropped to her hips, helping her maintain a steady rhythm as she began to move. Every stroke made her see stars. Ghost sex. That's what you have to look forward to. That's excellent. At this angle, he was even bigger inside her than normal, which was already ‘you can feel his cock against your lungs' tight. With his other hand, Khash pressed between their bodies to play with her clit, with curled fingers that hit it just right every time she rocked against him. The press and squeeze of his cock within her — dragging over her G-spot, touching a hidden recess at the edge of her cervix that made her see stars each time he did so — coupled with the roll of his fingertips over her throbbing clit was soon too much to withstand. If they were another couple, Ris and Ainslie, maybe, perhaps they would have backed off. Changed positions to extend their pleasure, edged each other to a mutual eruption.

But that wasn't them. They were indulgers. They indulged themselves and each other. And unlike her friends, they didn't need to wait to do this again. It was more likely that she'd be back in a similar position as soon as they went back into the house. Lurielle felt the pressure within her ratcheting higher and higher, too high for her to withstand.

"I'm going to come inside you, Bluebell."

"Good," she gasped. "Fill me up. Fill me up until I'm dripping."

The sky above them was a stretch of inky blackness, all pricked through with starlight, and as his control slipped away from him, somewhere in the neighborhood, someone set off what sounded like a bottle rocket. Her back arched at the pop, her ass quivering as she tightened around him, a high keen leaving her throat.

Another bottle rocket popped and Khash groaned, the first hot gush inside her indeed making her go cross-eyed for a moment. His hips hitched as he came, and a third pop echoed from several streets away. There was no explosion of color in the sky, no incandescent spray of light, but she could see it all the same. She loved him, he loved her. They were going to spend the rest of his life together. And she had never felt more beautiful.

When they were finished, Lurielle dropped against him, blade over his hips, still impaled on his softening shaft as he brushed her hair behind her ear.

"Still just as pretty as a flower, Bluebell."

As he kissed her again, hot and slow, Lurielle made a promise to herself. She wasn't going to get so lost in her panic over the future that she was going to forget to live every moment, be present for every moment with him. Love him hard enough to make the pain of losing him worth it.

"This is how I want to die, Lurielle. Just puttin' my request in now. Flat on my back, your pussy squeezing my cock purple, with a big ole' smile on my face. I'm going to spend the rest of my days making you as happy as I can until then, but there it is. You have my final order in the kitchen."

She kept her eyes closed, pressed to his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. She didn't want to think about him dying, but him dying was all she'd been thinking about for weeks. This was a new twist she'd not considered. He's got the right idea. That'll be one hell of a memory to revisit. And if you're going to go, go with a smile.

"Yeah," she murmured, smiling against his neck, "I think I can manage that."