12. Ris

Ris

"Shu'la, you would not be lieve that the month I have had."

Ris was laughing as she followed him through the door, unsurprised he was already off and running before he'd even stepped over the threshold.

On the other side of the kitchen, his mother was shaking her head with a grin. "Something tells me I'm about to hear every last detail about it, including the ones you should probably keep to yourself."

Ainsley dropped the shopping bags he carried on the counter with a thunk before turning. "Oh, you'd better believe it. Don't worry, I brought a notebook so that I don't forget anything. You'll be relieved to know I've recorded both my bowel movements and how many hours of sleep I'm getting for you."

She didn't know a single male elf who had the type of relationship with their mother that Ainsley had with his. She didn't know if their closeness was common in Orcish families either, for that matter. Just an incorrigible mama's boy.

"And by the way, I'm fucking starving." Reaching his mother at last, he wrapped her in a hug from behind, kissing her on the cheek. "Whatever that is, it smells amazing."

"You really can't take him anywhere, can you?" The question was directed at her, and Ris beamed, crossing the kitchen in a few strides.

"He's a menace, no matter where we go," she agreed, laughing. "It's nice to see you again, Shu'la." His mother enfolded her in a hug, one that became an even tighter squeeze when Ainsley wrapped his arms around the two of them.

"Yay, family fun times. Really though, I'm starving. I hope we're eating soon."

Ris grinned as his mother completely ignored him. "What can I help you do?"

"Nothing at all! Have a seat and tell me what you've been up to. You are a guest. Ainsley, get her something to drink."

On the other side of the kitchen, he already had three glasses lined up on the counter and was filling them with ice. "Oh yeah, yuck it up, you two. You're a day late and a dollar short, lady. Now come sit down and visit with us. I'll put the bread in."

The first time she'd gone with him to visit his mother, Ris had been a nervous wreck. She didn't know anything about Orcish culture or Orcish cuisine and had worried over saying something offensive, but her fears had gone unfounded.

The Orcish woman who had opened the door for them that first Sunday afternoon had been exactly what she should have been expecting for his mother, considering everything she knew about him at that point. Short hair, buzzed close to her scalp at the back and sides, what Ris assumed was likely salt and pepper in color, but dyed bright purple, blunt, loud and unapologetic. She had the typical heavy Orcish piercings in her ear's lobes and curving up their long, tapered lengths, but so too did she have three rings in her brow, one in her nose, and one at the corner of her lip.

Yup. This is absolutely his mom, and she's perfect. Ris had smiled hugely upon that first introduction, thinking back to the etiquette instructor she'd had in secondary school, who had told the group of impressionable Elvish girls if they did not follow a strict skin and hair care regimen and strive to ensure a pleasing, delicate appearance, someday their future mothers-in-law would turn them out the door. Not that you want to get married. Or even have a serious relationship. But still. The point still stands.

"They have had me going back and forth, back and forth again, just like last time. Does anyone listen to me? No, of course not. We'll just rely on you to clean up the mess thanks, Ains. If I didn't have a beautiful bunkmate for a week long sleepover party? I would have already started a brawl in the cafeteria."

She let her attention wander to the upright piano on the far wall. The pictures of him growing up through the frames never failed to amuse her. Infant Ainsley, his tiny green face screwed up in a yowl, wrapped in what looked like a receiving blanket. Ris already knew that upon closer inspection, the blanket revealed itself to be a work cloth bearing the insignia of a motorcycle club.

A gummy, smiling baby Ainsley in the arms of an orc with thick tusks and a mirror of the bright, brilliant smile she knew so well. He looked like his father, she'd thought with a sad smile, inspecting the photos that first visit. His dad had died just a few months after the photo had been taken, his mom had confided, on Ris's second visit to the apartment. She knew Ainsley didn't remember his father at all, a fact that made her inexorably sad for him. She was close with her own parents, couldn't imagine not having them in her life for support. She and her own mother would probably still be thrifting for designer handbags together well after Ainsely was gone, another thought that seemed to make her chest cave in on itself, trapping her heart at the center.

There was preschool-aged Ainsley waving from the back of a pony, Ainsley on a bicycle, Ainsley with his first guitar. He and his mom posing beside an Egyptian sarcophagus, on the beach, and in front of this very same piano.

She loved the collection of pictures, loved the vibrancy and laughter she could almost feel radiating out of them. Such a small vial of sand, but so much life contained therein. When his mom died, he would inherit all this, she realized. And when he dies, they'll be yours. If you're still together at that point. The thought made her stomach twist and her eyes burn, and she forced her concentration back to the conversation taking place around her.

". . . And then they didn't even honor it! I was wroth. And mind you, this is still Wednesday. There's still a lot of week to go."

"Ris, tell me how you've been. You need to just jump in and take your shot, because he'll not take a breath otherwise."

She turned away from the piano, laughing. "Oh, don't I know it. The other night, I got up for a bathroom break, grabbed a little snack on my way back, he was still in the middle of the same story. I don't even think he'd noticed that I left."

"Is that where the popcorn came from?!"

Both women laughed as Ris crossed the room to take a seat across from the sofa. "I am doing well. Can't complain. About anything other than work," she chuckled. "I'm dealing with the same sort of frustration. People not listening when you tell them exactly what the problem is and then expecting you to clean it up after they make the mess that you warned them about. I had a meeting this week with the director from another department whose work product directly affects my team and our workload and it was like talking to a brick wall."

She had learned over the last six months or so that it was gratifying to complain to his mother about work or local governments, or anyone else in a position of authority. Unlike her own parents, who may have attempted to offer solutions, Shu'la was more than happy to rail alongside her, illustrating precisely where Ainsley got it from.

"Hey, you didn't tell me about that meeting."

"I tried!" She laughed. "That was the day I had to leave early to help you with your little problem, remember?" She turned to his mother. "Did he happen to mention his foray into Araneaen culture?"

Ainsley leaned forward, putting his head between his mother and Ris's line of sight. "To. My. Mother?"

By then, she was laughing so hard she thought she was going to start gagging. "In my defense, you tell your mom a lot of stuff she probably doesn't need to hear."

His mom threw up her hands. "If he thinks it's not something I ought to hear, I know it's gotta be really terrible. Because you're right. I've had to listen to all manner of stories no mother should know about her son."

Ainsley pushed off the sofa, stomping back to the kitchen. Ris and his mother continued to laugh as he grumbled under his breath, pulling several small plates out of a cupboard, swiping two potholders off the edge of the counter aggressively. "You know, I can't help but feel that I am being unfairly ganged up on here."

"If you tell me you're being attacked one more time, a real life Roman battalion is probably going to appear in this room."

He scowled from across the apartment, disappearing briefly as he bent to retrieve the two loaves of bread from the oven. Ris loved their tradition. He and his mother practiced the ancient ritual of bread and salt, sharing a small, crusty, squishy-soft loaf of black wheat bread, sweetened with honey with anyone who visited.

"Suffice to say, this is not a safe for work story," he huffed, crossing the room with a tray. Three small plates, the two small loaves of bread, a cellar of herbed salt, and a dish of long ribbons of scraped, salted butter.

His father had emigrated from a clan in Eastern Europe, bringing the tradition with him when he met Ainsley's mother, before she'd left her own clan and the two of them struck out alone. There was something so simple and warm about sharing a delicious, comforting piece of bread with the person sitting across from you. She was very glad he and his mother had continued the tradition, introducing it to her. You should start doing this at home. Carry on the tradition with him.

"Shu'la, did you know that Araneaens go into breeding heats? Yeah, neither did we. Lesson learned. The end."

Ris dropped back against the chair in which she was sitting, her shoulders shaking, nearly dropping the piece of bread she just cut from the loaf. His mother cocked her head, considering.

"You know, now you say that, I don't think I know anything about Araneaens."

Ainsley raised his hands, as if he was vindicated by the admission. "See? They are mysterious. How was I supposed to know I wasn't supposed to swallow a dropper of their aphrodisiac jizz?"

His mother almost choked.

"It's venom, actually," Ris wheezed out. "And you are supposed to know not to swallow a dropper full because the bottle had very easy to follow instructions. That you didn't bother reading. That's how you were supposed to know."

"Suffice to say," he cut in loudly, talking over both women's laughter in a stern voice. "Lessons were learned. Blue pill effect to the max. Like, that was ten minotaur's worth of action. Shu'la, you should just be happy we figured it out, otherwise you would've had to come to the hospital to hold my hand while I was needle dicked."

Her head was thrown back, the silver and copper bands wrapped around her tusks shining in the light from the windows as she shook in laughter.

"Absolutely not, baby boy. That's what you have a girlfriend for. The day you turned 30, I was officially absolved of all awareness of the goings-on of what happens in your pants. He's never been very good at slowing down enough to read directions for anything," she added to Ris, whose laughter at this point had transcended sound and was now just a silent huff of air from her throat, seizing her lungs.

"Yeah, well, the girlfriend in question came through. Gold-medal. But honestly, now I want to learn all about these spider people. What are they even doing that requires that much potency?"

The conversation shifted as he continued to complain about work, relaying stories of band practice and the museum exhibits he and Ris had visited. His mother asked her more about work, how her own family was doing, and gave him a play-by-play of the family reunion that had ended in a chair-to-the-back-of-the-head brawl in the courtyard of the building, earlier that month. Ris thanked her profusely for the vegetarian options provided on her table — soft potato dumplings stuffed with onions and mushrooms, omitting the bacon from a handful for her, followed by a curry dish laden with vegetables in a rich sauce, served over rice.

"Everything is delicious," Ris said between mouthfuls. "I think I gain ten pounds every time we come to visit."

"A tiny little elf like you could probably use the extra weight," Shu'la laughed. "Speaking of. Ainsley, how is my boyfriend? Why has the love of my life not been around recently?"

Ris raised her eyebrows as she chewed, watching Ainsley drop his head back, rolling his eyes.

"I think we had this conversation already. Because he's a workaholic. And a control freak. And clinically depressed. Also, every waking moment he is not at one of his businesses being a nuisance is spent with his girlfriend, about whom I will absolutely not say a single negative word, because she may or may not have a friend present. So please, stop asking me to expound on the details of why she is literally sort of the worst."

Ris rolled her eyes as he raised a long arm in the air, arcing it as if she might not see the way he pointed at her head.

"We actually just saw them the other night," he added. "He was acting very weird." He turned to Ris. "Wasn't he acting weird?"

"I mean, Tate is a weirdo. So was it really weirder than normal?"

At that, Shu'la began laughing again, as Ainsley rolled his eyes. "Oh, she has his number. This one doesn't miss a thing, Ains. I hope you keep him on his toes," she added conspiratorially to Ris.

She laughed in response, nodding her agreement. "Oh, I do. But no, to answer your question, babe, I thought he seemed in a really good mood. Like, it was actually a fun night, and I can't say that's always true about time spent in Tate's company. I'm sorry," she directed back to Ainsley's mother with another laugh. "I'm sorry to disparage the love of your life, but he can be really intense."

"Yeah, that's why it was weird," Ainsley cut in. "He was in a weirdly good mood."

"Did you consider it's because his girlfriend makes him happy?"

He dropped his chin to his palm, his elbow propped up on the table, his eyebrows drawn together in a ponderous expression.. "No, that can't be it. She's terrible."

Shu'la smacked the back of her son's head, getting up to refill glasses as Ris laughed in outrage.

"Seriously though," Ainsley went on "he was in a very 'last night of vacation so may as well make the most of it,' mood. And then he was extra nice right before leaving, and that was just extremely out of character. He's never that nice. I don't know, ShuShu. I personally think your boyfriend is in crisis and I'm worried about him. Stay tuned, I guess."

"I take it Tate has visited," Ris asked, once his mother was reseated.

"Oh, he has. Ainsley has been able to drag him away from work a few times to come here, let me feed him a proper meal. I've never met someone more in need of mothering than that boy."

Something about her words made Ris frown. Not someone I would ever call a boy. Teeth with a bad attitude, maybe. Evil switchblade rabbit. "How old is he? I know you just threw him a birthday party, but I have no idea how old he was turning." She turned to Shu'la. "I'm asking because he's involved with a friend of mine from work. And she's kind of young. Well, youngish. Elves . . ."

She trailed off, considering how to explain their culture of aging to a woman who would be dead before Ris hit middle age. It's not like they don't know we live a lot longer.

"You know we have a long lifespan, right? So, we're sheltered a lot longer, compared to most species. Especially if you grow up in one of the enclave communities, which Silva has. I know that probably seems silly, and it's definitely something your son doesn't seem to understand. But Silva is only 26. She's spoiled and a little naive, but she still has a very long life ahead of her. I totally get that 26 is a normal age for folks of other species to start thinking about marriage and babies, and it is for us, too, for different reasons, though. I never even thought to ask how old Tate was."

She turned back to Ainsley expectantly. For a long moment neither mother or son said anything.

"A lot older than he looks," Ainsley said at last, somewhat unwillingly. "But —"

"He's just a baby," Shula cut in. "Whether it's true or not is neither here nor there. I practically raised a dozen of my cousins and neighbors when I was just a teenager. I raised my little brothers and sisters. I raised my own baby boy, on my own, with no help to speak of. I consider myself an expert on parenting, and I can tell that boy's foundation was cut off too early. He's like a ship with no harbor in his heading. There's nothing there but the school of hard knocks. Having graduated from that institution myself, I can tell you, it doesn't teach anything but defense."

Ris and Ainsley had nothing to say to that. Ris sipped her water slowly, considering his mother's words. She used the last bit of bread at the corner of her plate to mop up the remainder of her curry sauce, eyes fluttering closed for a moment at how good it was. Another sip of her water. "He's still a weirdo."

Shu'la laughed, pulling the empty serving plates towards her to stack. "That's probably so. I've always had a fondness for weirdos." Raising from the table, she bent to kiss the side of Ainsley's head. "So, tell me, Ms. Ris. How exactly does Elvish aging work? I've always wondered about that."

The question brought her up short. She'd not been expecting it, and nearly choked on the water she'd just swallowed.

"We've already had this discussion, mom. She's gonna strap me to her head like a goPro and we're going to tour museums around the world. I'm assuming neural lacing technology will have progressed to the point that this is possible by then. So if you were wondering about my retirement plan . . ."

Both women laughed again, and Ris breathed out a sigh of relief, glad he'd broken the tension that had abruptly built within her. "We have discussed that, as a matter of fact. I am looking forward to taking you to all the places we don't manage to see before then." Another strange twist within her, heat seeping in at the edges of her face.

"We've all been talking about death at work as well," Shu'la put in, sobering Ris immediately. "I think it's just something in the air, you know, this time of year. He's moving through, so I guess it's natural."

Ris raised an eyebrow. Ainsley's mother was not wrong. She had met Lurielle for lunch a few days earlier, apologetic over having missed the florist visit. When she'd walked into the room, she was shocked to find Lurielle hunched over the table, furiously writing in a pretty, leather bound journal, wiping away tears as she did so. A memento book, she had explained, cataloging the significance of every item she was gathering up in a chest. An exercise from her therapist, Lurielle had confessed, to help her cope with the reality that she was marrying a man she would vastly outlive. Ris had chokingly shared her own vial of sand analogy, and their lunch had been far more depressing than either of them had likely counted on.

"He? Who is he in this context? And I agree with you, there definitely seems to be something in the air."

Once the dishes were cleared away, Ainsley rinsed and loaded the dishwasher as his mother retrieved a set of colorful, cut crystal cordial glasses, the three of them sat once more. The liquor his mother produced was strong, a fortified licorice-flavored spirit that was perhaps even stronger than Elvish mirúlvin.

"The dúathe ranka. That's what he was called when I was growing up. A dark shadow from the land of the dead, who brings darkness and death to our side of the veil every year. He rides through the world on a black horse, pulling the first breath of frost behind him, until he takes his seat on the throne beside the queen of the dead."

Ris straightened up in her chair. "I think we have a similar story. In our version, he pulls the night behind him until the whole world is covered in darkness. And we say he's from the land of the undying, not the dead. And then in the spring, another rider sets out to pull the sun out of the shadows and brings light back to the world."

Shu'la nodded. "This is the time of year when he's closest. The witches say the veil between our world and the Otherworld gets thin, and the death he brings infects our thoughts."

Ris swallowed hard. She thought of her own grains of sand, of Lurielle's book. Memento mori.

"We don't age the way the old ones used to," she began abruptly. "Elves used to live hundreds of years. We would still be babies at eighty years old. We were favored consorts of the high fae because of it."

"Oh, fuck me, is this going to be another turkey claw story?"

Shu'la shushed her son as Ris laughed.

"Anyway . . . then we started mating with humans and trolls and other species with short lifespans. Like orcs. So our lifespan began to shrink as well, with each successive generation. I don't know exactly where it happened in our history, because it's not something that anyone is willing to talk about, but our males started to go sterile somewhere along the line. Probably because there was a lot of consanguinity happening. Elves like to stick together in their closed communities. Just like orcs," she added pointedly for Ainsley's benefit.

He threw up his hands in what had become an extremely familiar gesture. "I know, I know. Like looking in a mirror."

"Yup. So anyway, that definitely didn't help. Birth rates began to plummet. The high fae had kicked us out of bed centuries earlier, and they had all retreated behind the veil, so it didn't make a difference anyway, by then. The babies who did manage to be born were overwhelmingly female, and that's a trend that continues to this day. Not only are our males largely shooting blanks, but they die earlier than female elves. Okay, wait . . . I forgot what the question was."

On the other side of the table, Ainsley shook his head as if he were a disappointed professor.

His mother only laughed. "That's okay, because this is all fascinating. I had no idea your menfolk were sterile."

"Neither do most young Elvish women," Ris laughed with no small amount of bitterness. "We are indoctrinated in school, like, earlier than appropriate. Way earlier. We've been told from the time we're little girls that the most important thing we can do for our community is to have an Elvish baby. Most of us don't even understand where babies come from at that point, but we're already being told that's our goal in life." She paused, considering. "Most of us figure it out eventually. But sometimes it makes me wonder . . . like, our schools are overwhelmingly run by our females. We are the ones perpetuating this myth to impressionable little girls. And I wonder if it's because we don't want to be left alone in our jubilation years. Because our menfolk die so much earlier . . . Having your own little girl is the only way to make sure you're not alone."

"The aging process." Ainsley's voice was low, getting her back on track.

Ris nodded, clearing her throat. "Right. Again, it's just not something talked about. Not nearly enough. Basically, everything starts to get . . . slow." She chuckled, shrugging a bit. "I know that's a terrible explanation, but that's what it's like. Everything just starts to slow down. Weeks go by and it feels like a handful of days. Six months can pass in the blink of an eye. Everyone around you just starts to seem so . . . I don't know, frantic. I think that's another reason why elves keep to themselves so tightly. Because it just becomes hard, you know? It's hard to relate to these time-pressed issues of your friends and coworkers. One day you're out having fun with your friends, and in the next you can't understand why they're rushing for these promotions at work and pushing to reach milestones and it all seems so small. That's one of the reasons why we're all so close with our mothers. Because we're the ones left after everyone else you know is gone. Anyway . . ."

She trailed off, her throat feeling tight. Her face still felt hot. She didn't like contemplating these things. It only ever increased her suppositions that maybe she should join the club at Cevanor?

Ainsley and his mother were both leaning forward in their chairs, listening with bated breath. Ris smiled softly, able to understand precisely where his inquisitive nature and zeal for anthropology had been learned. At least he comes by all of it honestly.

"That's fascinating," Shula murmured. "I wonder when that starts. Is it only in the later middle age that you —"

"I can already feel it," she blurted once more., silencing both orcs

Heat moved up her ears and across her face. Ris was certain they would be able to fry an egg on her forehead for as hot as she felt. "Just in the last year or two. And it's not extreme or anything, but . . . I can definitely feel it. Like I'm underwater some days, and everyone around me is just racing. You start to think of other folks in your life in terms of years. I'm not going to pretend that it's not a mindfuck."

She managed to keep her emotions completely under control, at least until they left. See, this is why it's best not to have a serious relationship. Luielle and Silva were, in her private opinion, chumps for the hoops they made themselves jump through.

Ainsley's mother hugged her tightly before they'd reached the door, gripping Ris's face in her larger hands. "Thank you for sharing some of your slowness with him. It's good for him, I can tell."

She wished she could add a hundred more grains of sand to his life, to double the size of his vial, to fill it to the brim . . . but she couldn't. Her eyes welled with tears, nodding, not trusting her voice for a moment. "Thank you for raising him to be such a good one."

When they were back in his apartment that evening, he considered her as he slipped off his shirt. "You never told me that. That that's happening to you. The slowness thing, or whatever. If I move in slow motion, does it look normal to you?" He pantomimed moving through the room with exaggerated motions, pinwheeling his arms as if he were doing a backstroke, everything at half speed. "Hiiiiiii Riiiiiiiiis," he said slowly, ridiculously, until she was obliged to throw her own shirt at his head.

"You're an idiot. I didn't say anything, because what difference does it make? It's not like it's something we can change. This is one of the reasons why I'm not interested in a big, serious, label-filled commitment with anyone. Like you said, that's just something for other people."

The rest of the evening was on auto-pilot. Plans for the next morning, clothes pulled out, something prepped for dinner. It had been a nice day. She loved his mom, understood him so much better, after seeing where he'd come from, how he was raised, what his foundation had looked like. He really is one of the good ones.

When she tucked against him in bed a short while later, pressing her cheek to his chest, right above his heartbeat, as she scratched his stomach, Ris tried to ignore the fact that since they'd arrived home, it had been the quietest evening spent in his company since the night they met.