Chapter One: “The Clod of Earth Awaits the Snow” — Part Three

“Mama… morning kiss? Can I?”
“Later, later.”
“But morning’s almost over~”
My husband, having made his request in the middle of the busy scramble to get ready, was already walking briskly away. He didn’t have time to be standing around either, and this was no moment for tending the flame of love. It wasn’t. And yet.
“……………Fine.”
I set down everything I was holding, left the room, went after him, found him.
Approached.
“Here.”
“Hm?”
What do you mean, hm, I thought, leaning my face toward him — and he seemed to finally understand, letting out an exaggerated ohh as he brightened.
“Before I put my makeup on. Quickly.”
“That’s the thing about you, you know.”
What thing, exactly, and how was it a thing. I traced the rough shape of it in my mind as I exchanged a light kiss with my husband. Even at our age, kissing him still felt — special, somehow. It still required a certain bracing of myself beforehand.
Or was that just what kissing was, for anyone. I had no plans to kiss anyone but my husband, so there was no way to know.
Afterward I folded my arms naturally, as if gathering myself back in.
“I’ll say this having just done it — don’t you think it’s a bit embarrassing, given how old we both are?”
“Not especially.”
“It’s a relief to hear you feel at least a little.”
He took it as a joke and laughed, warmly. It wasn’t a joke.
“You’ve always been cute when you get embarrassed, that’s all.”
“And you, watching me be embarrassed with that fond expression — not cute.”
I reproached him with a look; he paid it no attention whatsoever, and cheerfully put an arm around my shoulder.
“Wouldn’t it be sad if love lost its vigour as the years went on?”
“Part of me thinks you have a point, and part of me wonders whether that and this are really the same thing — I find both feelings coming up at once.”
The fierce urgency of wanting another person — aggressive, almost combative — had matured into something quieter. Perhaps that was one way to see it. When we were young — seventeen, eighteen years ago, to go back that far — love had been the centre of the world. I had been certain that reaching for the other person, building a bridge between us, was the best way to feel complete. Entirely without irony, I had believed this was the love of my life, and acted accordingly. Looking back now it all seems so headlong, almost reckless. Running out onto a bridge without checking the ground beneath my feet — it had worked out only because that reckless youth happened to succeed; I could just as easily have fallen into a cold river and been swept away.
To say it was nonsense to look for caution once love had already caught fire — well. I could only agree.
“That’s rather sentimental.”
“I think you’re using that word wrong.”
“I can say at least that I still very much want to kiss you. You look like a woman in her — late — twenties to me. Without makeup, no less.”
“…Late twenties is still embarrassing.”
If he was being generous and that was the verdict — then perhaps I ought to simply accept it with gratitude. If that was his bias speaking, then the reality was… I laughed faintly. I was coming to terms with ageing at its ordinary pace, but a small wistfulness lived alongside that acceptance. Very few people, I imagined, went through life picturing themselves as an old woman.
“You, though… you’ve put on a little weight since the old days.”
“Your cooking is far too good.”
“I hardly ever cook.”
“When you do, there must be about a hundred thousand kilocalories of love in it.”
“That would kill someone.”
“And a kiss must have around fifty thousand, I’d think.”
He leaned in for another one; I caught him by the chin.
“We already did that. Go use up your estimated fifty thousand kilocalories somewhere else.”
“Talking about it like it’s some kind of task to complete — that’s a little sad.”
“From now on, kisses — just the two of us, our daughter not awake, inside the house. Please.”
“So many conditions!”
“More conditions means more sense of achievement when you manage it, doesn’t it?”
“Does it… maybe it does.”
He seemed almost convinced, and I felt a small wave of relief.
But then my husband startled.
“Two of us, you say — what about Maron?”
“Maron is family, so naturally he counts.”
“It’s over!”
Our romance was put to an end by the existence of Maron, our dog, who was always following my husband around.
And Maron and roman — romance — did sound rather alike. Not that it meant anything.
For what it was worth: I was the anxious one, my husband the optimistic one. Opposites attract, people said — but was that really true? Perhaps opposites were simply placed at opposite ends precisely because they never met. I had worried about exactly that when we first started going out; but watching my husband now as he rushed around getting ready, the feeling it brought to my face softened the corners of my mouth, and I thought it had probably been a needless fear all along.
I too turned hurriedly back to the pile of things I’d pushed aside — all the getting-ready still waiting for me.
An ordinary morning, nothing more. A stretch of time when breathing came easily, and something clean filled my chest.