Author Games: Return To Seasons

Task Seven: Silent Night/SF - GhostOfTheIceberg [4]

SONG: Baby It's Cold Outside

District 10 Female - HOLLY-NOELLE GARNET [4] 

"What're you painting, Ana?"

At first, I don't even hear Lian, lost as I am as each flicker of my wrist adds a hint of colour to the canvas. At the moment, it looks like nothing in particular - just a blur of tints and shape that could only hold the most abstract of meanings - but to me, who already knows what it'll be when I'm finished, it's beautiful. Every line and every shade reminds me that I'm in the midst of creating something. Sometimes, I think I like these mid-stage canvases better than the final paintings, but that's ridiculous. How can something be art if it's incomplete?

"A few more baby's breaths. They've been coming to mind constantly, so I've been painting them every day," I tell him. Typically I'd rather paint a full nature scene than focus on a few objects, but these flowers are different. Looking at them so close to me brings me a joy I can barely understand. "Lian, I want a baby."

He presses his chin onto my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my sides. It's a nice and comfy sort of embrace; the kind that makes me feel safer than I ever have and the kind that makes me wish I never had to leave my husband's arms. I can feel Lian's every breath, not only in the way it blows against my ear but also in the way his chest rises and falls against my back. I put down the paint brush and pack up my paints. I already know I won't be doing much more work tonight. 

"We could go make one."

"I know, Lian." Pause. "Is it normal that, no matter how much I want to, I can't? I'm too scared that I'll be a horrible mother. What if our child hates me?"

He grabs my hand, leading me up the stairs to the master room. I take a few steps with him, but as soon as I feel myself start to leave the canvas behind, I plant my feet. I look Lian right in the eye, my face emphasizing my worries about the future.

"You'll make a great mother, Ana. Look at yourself. You're kind, smart, compassionate, and the damned best person I know. No child could ask for any better parent, and I hope that, if we have a daughter, she winds up just like you. Now come with me; isn't this what you want?"

"My mother never called me Ana. She said if she'd wanted to shorten my name, she'd have done it at my birth. With her, it's always been 'Why are you wasting your time with art, Anastassia?' or 'I could get you a job on the Gamemaker panel, Anastassia. You could be great!'. I was never good enough for her. I don't want my child to feel like that."

Lian's face contorts into a mask of indifference, though I know he's uncomfortable. Mother never liked him very much - I've always blamed that on the fact that I chose him for myself rather than let her choose who would further me in society; I can further myself if I desire to - and I know his father wasn't the best parental example either. Surely, he's feeling the same doubts as I am, but he trusts me not to make things go wrong. I wish I could put my faith as blindly into people as he does.

"She won't, Ana. Because you know how it feels and would never make somebody go through that." He pauses. I stare at him, anticipation and fear still evident in my eyes. "Look. At the end of the day, it's your decision. If you make up your mind, you know where you'll be able to find me."

He starts to head forward toward the stairs, but I grab his hand, turning towards me. I'm not sure whether or not Lian is annoyed by my constant need for reassurance that this will be okay - I know that I would be, but he's always been the more patient of us two. He simply smiles at me, not letting any emotion show through his eyes.

"She?"

He nods. "I just have a feeling it'll be a she," he adds.

"Can we call her Holly? It is winter, after all."

"Sure."

I take Lian's hand, and this time around in the one pulling him upstairs.

\-\

"You never paint anymore."

I clutch the pencil in my hand, focusing so hard on ignoring him that I worry the pencil may break at any minute. My sketch is nothing complex: a few eyes, hidden within a garden utopia filled with plenty of other surprises. Every now and then, there's a snake hiding in the grass. From time to time, some of the apples hanging from a tree are poisonous. Nothing there, like in life, is as pleasant as they seem. One day, I'm sure it'll come in handy, now that I've taken the job on the panel.

"I know."

"You used to paint all the time when you were pregnant, and then..."

"And then I wasn't. Thank you for the reminder, Lian."

He winces slightly, but tries his best to hide it - it doesn't work. After all this time of being married to Lian, I know when he's hurt and when he's trying to hide it because I said something stupid and he doesn't want me to feel guilty. This is very clearly one of these moments. Briefly, I remind myself that I'm not the only one who lost a daughter; though I may have been the one to carry her, Holly was as much Lian's as she was mine. Except no matter how hard I try to, I don't seem to be able to care.

"Look," I say, though my tone is flat. "I didn't mean to blame you in any way for my current state of mind. I know this is hard on you too. We've just got to stick together and pull through."

"That's what we've been doing for exactly a year now, Anastassia, and you're getting worse. You devote your every skill to death and its creation. You refuse to say out loud exactly what happened. This isn't something I think I can help you with."

I blink, taken aback by Lian's words. While it's been very clear to me for a while now that I couldn't care less about my husband's feelings, I never would've expected him to simply disregard mine. Because somehow, despite my actions and thoughts, I do care for Lian; if not, I surely need him. Outside, winter is raging, a blizzard blowing right outside our doors. This is the sort of disaster that rarely occurs to the Oppidium. Typically, the Winter districts shelter us from the storms. I can't imagine how badly they have it. 

"That's not true. You've helped me with everything, Lian. When my mother decided she was done investing in my future, you cheered me up. When my father passed, you held me," I remind him. Now my voice is shaky, tears welling at the corners of my eyes. "And I don't need to say what happened; everybody already knows. The doctor told the press as soon as he realized it'd give him a decent amount of money."

"Prove to me you can do it. Show me you've progressed."

"Alright."

Except I can't. No matter how much I try, the words get caught in my throat. From time to time, I can feel the hint of one on my tongue, but before I can get ahold of it it vanishes all the way back into nothingness. So I try again. And again. But each time, nothing comes - except for a few sobs. For the first time, it occurs to me that however much I deny it, Lian may just be right. Perhaps after a full year of mourning, not a single thing has changed, although I've managed to get over each and every other loss in my life.

Maybe I'm meant to spent my entire life mourning a daughter I never knew.

"See, Ana?" He says. I nod. "It's cold here."

"I know - the weather outside is unbelievable."

"I mean inside this house, Ana. There's not a single hint of heat in here. I can't stay."

I'm about to protest, but stop in my tracks. Not once have I noticed the cold, lost as I was in the emptiness all around me. Lian walks away, but I don't move until minutes pass and I can feel my body again. I raise my hand. He sends me a sad look.

"I had a miscarriage. That's what happened." 

But it's too late. The door has closed behind the man I once thought was mine, and suddenly my house seems even bigger - even emptier - than it ever has before.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------