"...what?"
"You heard me," he said, and now he was grinning, and xe was fairly certain there was a matching delirious look on xyr own face. Xe stepped closer to him again, reaching out to slip xyr arms around his waist. He smiled and held xyr in return, bowing his head to rest his forehead against xyrs.
"So I've been thinking about you," xe said, "and you've been thinking about me...and all this time, we could've already been in bed?"
"That's about the gist of it, yeah."
Though xe wanted nothing more than for him to kiss xyr, Makana still hesitated when he started to lean closer.
"You sure?" Makana asked quickly, unable to stop xyrself from thinking of all the twenty-somethings at the premiere who'd had stars in their eyes at the sight of him. "I mean, I'm closer to your moms' ages than to yours."
"Four months younger than Mama Janine, actually," he said. "And almost a year older than Mama Marisol."
Xe squeezed xyr eyes shut. "Oh, god."
"Point being," he said, "that the only reason I care about your birthday is so I can get you something on it, and the only reason I know your birth year is because it's included in every single fanpage of yours and I may have been visiting a lot of those lately. You can check my browser history if you want. It's embarrassing."
Makana laughed, and he tilted xyr chin up. "In short," he said, "Yes. I'm very sure."
Xe kissed him then, and it was so much better now that he was actually kissing xyr back and xe wasn't half-drunk. He moved his hands from xyr waist to xyr hair, tangling his hands in xyr wig. Xe laughed into the kiss when he accidentally pulled the wig half-off xyr head.
"Okay," he said. "Found one situation where I don't approve of these."
Makana laughed again and set the wig down on the small hallway table, and then moved back into his arms.
*~*~*
"You think there's any chance they'll go with Hot Young Stud this time?" Patrick asked, giving a sarcastic little wave to the press that tried to surround them as they headed into the restaurant.
"Not a one," Makana said. In the past few months, xe'd cut the media out of xyr life completely for the sake of xyr own peace of mind. Of course, xe couldn't avoid the photographers when they went out in public, but xe could stop reading their essays or looking at the tabloid covers at the store.
Makana knew what they were saying, of course. But that was no reason to dwell on it.
"This was mom and Aunt Linh's favorite place to eat," Makana said, heading into the small, seat-yourself Mexican restaurant. The owners hadn't spent much on decorations; there were no kitschy maracas or sombreros on the walls. Just a couple of earth-toned paintings to go with the booths, which were covered with chocolate-brown vinyl. Xe smiled and nodded at the greeter, and then xe went to sit at their old table. Patrick followed. "I wish you could've met them."
"I do, too," he said, sliding into the booth next to xyr. Xe smiled, cuddling close to his side.
"They used to have play-fights about which one of them would pick up the check. After mom's ALS got bad, Aunt Linh started playing with me. The last time we were here, she started to take out her credit card and I peered at the back of it and asked if she'd been around any permanent markers, if there was supposed to be a huge black streak on the back of her card. And she asks, 'What?' and looks at her card and I shove my card at the waiter and motion for him to go."
Makana looked around, wondering if that young man was still working here or if he'd moved to another job or gone back home. Maybe he'd gotten an acting job, as so many around here dreamed of.
"He laughed and went, and you should've seen the look Aunt Linh gave me. I don't know how she managed to be so intimidating when she was barely 5 feet tall, but wow."
Patrick smiled and opened the menu, and xe began looking through the choices, too.
Tonight was their six-month anniversary. The press probably still had a field day with their relationship, but xe hadn't picked up any magazine or clicked on any articles since the one four months ago that had speculated on how long it would take for Patrick to cheat.
Then, the article had upset xyr and made xyr a little nervous. Now, all xe could do was shake xyr head at the idea.
Makana had been afraid, when the two of them had gotten involved, that his words about not caring what year xyr birthday was had been an inadvertent lie, spoken out of infatuation, something that would change upon reconsideration and with a little time.
Xe couldn't have been more wrong. The two of them lightly teased each other about the age difference, but other than that... outsiders seemed to have much more of a problem with it than either of them did.
They ate—chicken alambre for him; huaraches for xyr—and then walked back out to the car. Thankfully, the media had largely cleared out. Xe sat in the passenger seat and lazily watched the lights of the city go by, xyr hand resting on his leg.
Makana had decided not to fill in the cubbyhole. It was a part of xyr childhood, after all, a more important part of xyr life than Randy Foss could ever hope to be.
Xe did leave the small door open more often than not, though. Seeing it closed left xyr wondering what it might be hiding. That fear would fade in time, xe hoped.
"Movie tonight?" Makana asked as xe opened the door. "Or do we just want to...oh, my god." Xe stared at the costume hanging on the living room wall. "You—you didn't have to run back in to get your wallet, did you?"
"No," he said, taking xyr hand. They walked up to the outfit and xe inspected it, xyr eyes wide. It was separated straight down the middle, one half a beautiful, deep-green dress with a V-neck and an asymmetrical skirt; the other half a tuxedo with a dark green waistcoat.
"Where did you get this?" xe asked. "It's perfect."
"Mama Marisol told me that some people used to wear them in the sideshows," he said, holding out a letter. "Here."
Dear Makana,
It's been a long time since Janine and I made Patrick his Halloween costumes (yes, we do intend to show you pictures); hopefully, our sewing skills haven't failed us now. This was a popular thing for a performer to wear in a sideshow: their hair and makeup would be done to match the two halves of the outfits. Usually it was done as a gimmick, but I can't help but believe that some of the people who wore these were like you, and that they found a place where they could express that. I hope you enjoy it, sweetheart. Patrick came to us about making it the very day he realized what he was going to ask you.
Talk to you soon,
Marisol
"What are you going to ask—" Makana began, breaking off when xe lowered the letter and saw him kneeling in front of xyr, holding up a ring.
Temporarily speechless, xe gaped at the ring. It was gorgeous: a silver base with a round, opal stone.
"Will you marry me?" he asked quietly. He'd always been so confident, seeing him look nervous now finally broke Makana out of xyr stunned trance.
"Yes. Yes, of course I will."
"I thought about doing the classic thing and asking you at the restaurant," Patrick said. "But with all the photographers..." He shook his head, and then slid the ring onto xyr finger, smiling softly up at xyr. "This is for us."
"It's perfect." Xe dropped to xyr knees and threw xyr arms around him, kissing him soundly "So. What do you think about a summer wedding?"
"Maybe sooner than that," he said with a grin. "After all, you're not getting any younger."
"Brat." Makana laughed, giving him a light punch to the side before kissing him again. "But I love you."
"Love you, too."
Of Pomegranates and Snowfall
The first time she saw him, he was arguing with Zeus.
That was enough on its own to make an impression; no one argued with Zeus. Well, save for Hera, but she had special dispensation (and also, she never won).
He was tall, and though his jaw was tightened in anger and his blue eyes were narrowed, she couldn't help but wonder what it looked like when he smiled.
Then her mothe
r grabbed her hand and pulled her out of sight of the argument.
"You do not approach the Lord of the Dead," she muttered harshly. "Even you should know that!"
"That's Hades?" she asked. From the way the other deities had spoken of him, either purely derisively or in hushed voices, she'd always imagined some awful mutated thing, like the minotaur or one of Echidna's children.
Demeter huffed out a long-suffering sigh—the sound Persephone most associated with her mother—and led her further away. "I don't like your tone."
"Sorry," she murmured. "I was just surprised, that's all."
"The worst monsters are able to disguise themselves," Demeter said sternly.
"I thought he just became God of the Underworld because he and Zeus and Poseidon drew straws," she said, though she knew it'd be easier to physically fight the Hydra than to win an argument with her mother. "Not because he was bad."
"And what do you think centuries upon centuries of being the only living thing in the realm of the dead does to you?"
"Makes you bad?" she guessed, though inside, something she would never tell her mother, was her true answer-- it makes you lonely.
*~*~*
The second time she saw him, it was at a party in the Muses' honor. Zeus and the other deities never bothered to invite him, but the Muses were nothing if not fickle and unpredictable, and this was far from the oddest request they'd made for their parties. Once they'd wanted everyone to dress up as their favorite constellation (Urania had been in a foul mood and her sisters felt that would cheer her up); and once Thalia had spent over a day telling increasingly awful jokes, looking expectantly to them for laughter after each one.
She wasn't surprised that he made an appearance—odd though they were, few deities had the heart to refuse the Muses anything. And if they did, Zeus would be sure to send a lightning bolt or ten their way.
Persephone was just sure that had nothing to do with the fact that Zeus had bedded every one of the Muses at one time or another. Honestly, it was easier to find a mortal or Goddess that Zeus hadn't taken to bed.
Recently, she'd caught him giving her considering looks. It made her skin crawl.
Hades didn't interact much with anyone—the Muses fluttered around him for a few moments, thanking him for coming, telling him that it was good for him to be among 'the normal gods' for a while, and then they got distracted by Dionysus's wine display. Hades leaned against one of the white stone columns, watching the festivities, and Persephone watched him.
Her delusions of being stealthy were shattered when he looked right back at her.
In that instant, she considered the idea that her mother was right—not that he was a monster, necessarily, but certainly that he was dangerous. He only held her gaze for a few seconds, but it was enough to set her heart racing.
Definitely dangerous.
*~*~*
The third time she saw him, he was doing his job. He was the Lord of the Underworld, yes, but at times he still gathered souls.
She'd just never expected him to personally show up to escort a soul she was comforting.
Her mother always encouraged her to keep a good distance from the mortals. They were like mayflies, Demeter said, spending their brief time on earth racing from one place to another, desperate to rut. Strange, worthless little creatures, but humans were their responsibility.
For the most part, she'd obeyed, despite her curiosity. But then one day, as she was helping her mother bring about the start of spring, she'd seen a father and his small daughter playing in one of the nearby fields. The child had shrieked with joy and raced around, creating tiny ruts in the dirt as she turned sharply and knocking the petals off flowers. Her father had chased after her, growling and roaring as his daughter laughed.
She'd stood at the edge of the clearing, smiling softly, until her mother's impatient call had summoned her away.
After that day, she'd visited them when she could slip away from her duties on Olympus-- her mother was determined to groom her in her footsteps; make her Goddess of the Harvest in her stead someday. She'd watched as they visited the grave of the small girl's mother. As spring turned to fall, she watched as they took advantage of the harvest her mother made possible.
And as the cold set in, she watched as the child fell ill.
She couldn't ask the other Gods and Goddesses for help. Though they got involved in the affairs of mortals sometimes—literally, in Aphrodite's case—until one of the mortals caught their attention by committing some heroic act in their name, or caught a worse kind of attention by insulting them, most of them didn't care about ordinary individuals. In fact, some of them would relish hurrying the child's death along, simply to teach Persephone a lesson.
She wanted to show herself to the girl, wanted to speak with them and reassure them in any way she could, but she knew that would only give them undue hope. She couldn't heal, and being a Goddess, if only a young one, the father would expect it of her.
Persephone was with her mother, learning the different uses for pomegranates, when the little girl died.
When she visited the small family again, it was to find the father digging a grave, a plot of earth that was so very small.
She covered her mouth with her hands, tears springing to her own eyes at the sound of the man's sobs. After her body was buried, he collapsed to the ground, hands clutching at his heart, tears still streaming down his face.
Tradition be damned.
Persephone started to move forward, but froze when Hades appeared behind the man. As he started to reach out for the man's shoulder, she realized what would happen if he touched mortal flesh.
Before she could consider the wisdom of it, she was rushing forward. "No!"
He looked down at her, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes before his expression became guarded. "Go back home. Death is of no concern to Olympians."
"It's of concern to me."
"His soul is destined for my realm," Hades said. "His heart cannot take this grief in addition to everything else. It is his time."
She moved in between him and the mortal, chin raised obstinately, and he gave her a considering look.
"You would have him live in this condition, then?"
"Not if it will pain him this much, but..." She wasn't sure how to explain that the idea of bringing death to someone silently, unexpectedly, seemed so cold. "I would speak to him first."
Expecting an argument, she was surprised when he simply nodded and motioned to the man. Persephone closed her eyes, focusing on making herself visible in the mortal world.
Sensing a presence behind him, the man turned, gasping in fright when he caught sight of her. She felt a flare of rage then, at the cruel briefness of mortal life that made this necessary at all, but especially at the Olympians, whose actions had brought about such terror in those they were supposed to protect.
"Peace," she said quietly, as he bowed his head. "I'm not here to harm you." She started to sit down beside him, pausing in irritation to adjust her bell-like pink skirt. The way her mother insisted she dressed, she would've thought Demeter was the goddess of those particularly fluffy pastries that Aphrodite loved, not the harvest. She finally settled onto the ground, and gently took the man's hand.
"What was her name?" she asked.
"Corrine."
"And you're afraid you'll now have to spend the rest of your life without her."
"Parent should never outlive their child," he whispered. "It's wrong. Just wrong."
"Would you like to see her again?" she asked.
"Yes. Very much."
"It is your time," she told him. "Is there anything you need to take care of, before you go?"
"I would... I would like very much to place a marker on her grave. She loved the little griffins that used to nest near our house every spring. I carved a pair for her last year; she keeps them next to her bed. I..." He got to his feet, gritting his teeth, one hand pressed hard to his chest. "I wish to put them on her earth. Would that
be all right, Goddess?"
"That would be fine," she said. "I'll walk with you." Looping her arm through his to help steady him, they made the slow walk to the man's small house. The corner of the building set up for the child was as colorful as a poor man could make it; all bouquets of dried flowers pinned to the wall and lovingly polished carved ornaments. Next to Corrine's bed, in a place of honor, were two delicately detailed griffins, portrayed forever playing with each other, one pouncing at its crouched-down sibling.
Persephone found herself staring at the bed, confronting the knowledge that it would be forever empty now, and then the man picked up the griffins in a shaking hand.
She led him back outside to where Hades was waiting, and watched as he gently placed the griffins onto the freshly-turned dirt. He sat back, staring at the grave with a watery smile on his face, and then he nodded. "I think I'm ready, Goddess."
Persephone put an arm around him, holding him to her side, and he rested his head against her shoulder. Hades crouched down, in front of them, then reached out and closed the man's eyes.
He slumped against her, and Persephone bit her lip and carefully lowered him to the ground in front of his daughter's grave. She got to her feet, twisting her hands together, not knowing what she was supposed to do, say, feel.
She didn't realize she was crying until she saw the worried, unsure look on Hades's face. He started to reach out, almost touched her cheek to brush the tears away, and then drew his hand back instead. Before she could say a word, the ground opened up beneath his feet and he disappeared. She stared at the ground that had split apart-- it was nothing but cold, hard earth again, seemingly untouched. Gingerly, she tapped her foot against it.
Then she looked back up toward Olympus, her heart feeling even heavier at the thought of returning there.
First she had to calm down. If she was still visibly upset when she returned, her mother would badger her relentlessly until she got an explanation. She didn't want to know how Demeter would react to the truth; the knowledge that Ares would tease her for weeks over being upset over such a 'trivial thing' was bad enough.
Last Petal on the Rose and Other Stories Page 10
