It’s always hard when someone’s arguing with someone they’re close with, isn’t it?
Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn’t
But you never know, sometimes those results are yours to choose.
End it or fix it.
What’s your choice? Nobody’ll ever know what’s happening in that wonderful mind of yours.
They didn’t remember how they ended up here. In the middle of their kitchen, in the house, in the city where it all started. In the middle of their ever changing lives.
How did it end up here?
It’s crazy to think that just last weekend they were laughing like idiots on the terrace of that very same home and now, just a week later they’re hostile. Cold, like the arctic peaks, showing the deepest rocky grey peaking through the white. Belligerent, adverse like two opposing sides in a war. So close physically yet so far in mind.
Nobody knew how it ended up like this, clueless, mystery cusping in the air like the lights.
Some people might talk it out, some won’t. Some might just reach out their hand and hope for the other to take it, some would keep it to themselves. Some might break down and let out their tears of anguish, of anger, or maybe disappointment, and for some others, they might scream it out. They’d scream and let the whole world know how upset they are over someone.
But for them, it’s silence. Just pure utter silence. You couldn’t even hear any sound of heavy breathing, or sighs. No groans of defeat or exasperation or even agony hoping to ease everything and fix it, or pleading for everything to just stop and it to end.
The urge of biting his nails was coming to him, wanting to do something to get his mind away from the situation. But he couldn’t.
For her, it was the urge to flee the room and just sink into that warm bed, hiding from the reality that was presented in front of her. She wanted to stay in the safe haven inside those blankets and pillows. But she couldn’t.
To all of that, they’re back into the reality of everything.
In the middle of the kitchen,
One holding a knife,
One with a pan,
They’re keeping it together. Well, at least they’re hoping that it was all kept together.
Joining him in the kitchen was a conscious choice. A conscious choice she hoped would at least help with this situation. She didn’t know what to do, and neither did he. It was just silence with a hint of onion smells because GODDAMIT THEY’RE MAKING PASTA.
They moved without words, just revolving around the other. Their spatial awareness is just too second nature to them that they know where the other is every time they’re around each other.
Onions, she’s chopping onions. Sphere-like, can make you cry like a baby, smells somewhat tolerable, tastes depend on your own. Now the sound filling the kitchen is the knife hitting the chopping board, just the thuds of it. He carefully glanced at her, probably trying to test the waters. Definitely a tornado hurling inside her. If \people have mood boards or things that just show, well hers was a big giant poster saying “Don’t Bother Me I’m Pissed” with red ink and all caps.
It was obvious. He knew she’s upset, heck, he himself was upset. But why, honestly, neither of them even remembered what made them like this.
Really, they both had forgotten what had happened. It was all distant memories that just got erased because it’s just a simple matter that they overreacted to.
He turned the stove on, letting the pan heat up. Maybe he should’ve gotten the sauce out of the freezer but God knows that some stuff’s more important. Such as, maybe rekindling your relationship with your partner.
He let the stove on slowly inching towards her.
She was chopping those poor onions like hitting mosquitoes, it was aggressive.
Circling his arms around her he held her hands and led her through the chopping. Slowly, gently, carefully letting the weight of the knife do its thing while giving force to pass through the onions.
She didn’t say anything, there was no change of expression, no tense reactions, just the way it always has been. Tessa and Scott with the graceful appearances. Tessa and Scott with the calm but sometimes rambunctious personalities. Tessa and Scott forgetting that there’s something called personal space. Tessa and Scott being all lovey-dovey. Tessa and Scott with the excessive physical touching. Tessa and Scott with the glaring bedroom eyes. What they’re missing was, Tessa and Scott, smiling and genuinely being happy.
It was odd not smiling or being happy around each other. They always had a pleasant energy when surrounded by one another. So it was off per se.
But at least they’re still interacting, they thought. It was not conventional to bond and interact over her aggressive onion chopping but sometimes, just sometimes, she thought those little things are just the biggest blessing ever.
They had a bit of progress, they were somewhat coexisting before, but now he’s slowly reconnecting to her. Even if reconnecting meant just him holding her hands and guiding her to chop onions.
Gosh, these damned onions.
She didn’t realize how many onions there were. All that she realized was just him touching her, holding her, and making sure that she’s not going to amputate anybody’s finger off. When she looked, she almost cried tears of joy seeing the basket full of onions meaning that he’s probably going to spend hours holding her and chopping all ten onions. But that’s just wishful thinking, isn’t it?
They both crave each others’ presence but their ego was hindering them for some reason. They both knew it’s an easy thing to just say the magic word and go back to normal, they knew, of course, they knew. Twenty-plus years being with each other means they were very much aware of how easy it is to say the magic words and go back to normal.
She could feel his body pressed to her back, and its warmth engulfing her to serenity.
He could feel her body just there with him and it was more than enough after what seemed like an eternity of not holding her.
The mere thought of not touching each other even in the simplest things such as holding hands seemed like something so out of reach and somehow it came true and they hated it. They hated not being able to hold each other. They hated that this weird tension around them was holding them back from doing what they loved. They hated it.
His warm breath blowing on the brook of her neck, she calmed down. Their breathing regulated and she suddenly broke the tension with a little whisper, she didn’t even look away from the onions, “You know, the thing is gonna burn if you keep doing this.”
He quirked his head up to look at the pan.
“It’s better to let it burn you know,” mimicking her tender whisper. It was calm, it’s not heated, just the way you would speak to someone you love and care about so much. It was calm, it was truly just calm. And she couldn’t even remember when was the last time they’d spoken with such calmness. With such tenderness and patience. She didn’t remember at all. And something inside her broke.
It broke like a celestial band just ripped apart after eternities holding it together. It broke like how a wave would crash so hard that the walls couldn’t take it anymore and swept all that was inside. It broke like how you feel when somebody’s doing something equal to burning you alive, yet, you couldn’t do a thing because you’re hopelessly in love with them you just couldn’t.
It hurts, it truly hurts.
And she thought maybe this is the end. The end to something so wonderful, so amazing that she wouldn’t want to live if there’s nothing like it. It’s what she lives for and it might just end.
“I don’t like this,” he started again. The way his jaw moved, she could feel that. “Pasta?” she whispered back again.
“No, I-,” he tried to say it but the word just got stuck. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out letting her feel it. She could feel it, the frustration. She’s feeling it too, and now she’s back to aggressively chopping the onions.
He gave up guiding her and put his hands on her stomach hugging her entirely from behind. “I just don’t like arguing,” he said small.
And after he said that it felt like a weight had been lifted from their backs.
It was getting better.
He continued nuzzling his head to her. And it was silent, only sizzling from the pan and her aggressive chopping.
“You’re gonna cut yourself,” he sing-songed softly while sashaying away to the pan.
“Shut up, Moir,” she huffed.
He audibly gasped like it was a scandalous gossip in the Victorian era. “Tessa,” he jerked his head to look at her back that’s facing him moving ever so slightly with her arms chopping the onion.
“No name-calling, no rude stuff, no shut ups. I thought we set the rules straight from the start!” he jokingly chastised.
“Well Moir, I’m pissed. I have an abundance of stuff to do and these damned onions are mocking my inexistent cooking skills!” It all came out so quickly. Oh, so quickly and she would like to take it all back. Everything from the last days. She just wanted to make it right between them but nope, her mouth decided to go off track.
“You know Tess, it’s kinda weird that you’re using my last name while doing whatever this is,” he chuckled. She shrugged it off and continued to chop aggressively.
“Well, do you prefer Scotty Boy or Moir?” she asked her hand on her hips and the knife sticking out on one of her hands.
“I mean-, you’re basically being pissed at yourself and the whole Moir clan, you know, the Moirs,” he said matter of factly.
“God, why on earth did I marry this man?” she eventually broke out laughing.
“Maybe more like, why on earth did we decide to try this arguing stuff,” he laughed along.
“It’s awful these past few days,” Tessa walked towards his open arms and slumped there letting him envelop her.
“Yeah, never ever convince me to act like we’re arguing ever again,” he breathed in her hair.
“Blame that lady who said that sex after arguing is fun,” she smized. He laughed again remembering that idea she offered a few nights ago. It was crazy and chaotic to be fair but sometimes you can add some spice to your sex life right?
“Yeah, looking back at it that was a dumb idea,” she muttered.