The Secret Unveiled

We’re sitting across from each other, the fireplace lit, our laptops sitting on our knees. The only light is the glow of the fire and the shine from the laptops.

There’s hardly any light from the windows due to the heavy rain outside, and for an early afternoon, it feels like it’s dusk out.

Both of us have been silent since the early morning. The simplest of words is used to pick up the mail, wash the breakfast dishes.

Looking up from my laptop I gaze at my partner across the way. He's tapping away at those keys with a vengeance. But then, he never does anything light or easy.

All of a sudden, he looks up, places his laptop on the floor and leans forward, hands on the arms of the chair. Studying me. What does he want now?

Jerking up from my chair, all rattled, “do you want some tea? I could certainly use something. Maybe some biscuits?”

He only acknowledges me with a nod of his curly head, and then leans back to continue with his typing.

Instead of walking directly into the kitchen I turn, head to his chair and I reach out to give a brush to those locks. Why did I do that?

That's too intimate a gesture. I went out of my way to reach out and touch him, to show I'm part of him, I care.

“Do you know we haven’t talked in hours?” saying anything to break the tension I feel. Maybe it's only me, but I have to do something to get out of his sight.

Into the kitchen, I set up the kettle to boil the water and find the Earl Grey tea, taking teacups and chocolate biscuits from the top shelf. How many times have I asked him not to place items on that darn shelf! It's too high up for me. Our height difference can drive me nuts!

Our landlady is always making us cakes and cookies and they are always soft, sweet and easy on the mouth.

“Oh, do we need to ‘small talk’?” he calls in from the living room.

I don’t answer, but continue brewing the tea.

We’ve been living together now for two years and this is our life. I’m happy and content, as it is, but—

Bringing in the tea with cups and saucers I set them on the table and sit back down.

That stare. His hazel eyes bore into me, assessing my every thought.

I nervously stand again, quickly realizing my avenue of escape is not available, the rain and wind too heavy. When his focus on me has been this intense in past times, I take my coat and head for the pub.

“Why do you always rush from me when I try to analyze what's running through that brain of yours? Sit, and don’t walk to your bedroom. I’ll follow you this time.”

With a sigh I sit down, head back, eyes closed. He’s going to know. Know what I’ve had hidden these past two years. Might as well pack my stuff and find someplace else to live. He won't tolerate me once he knows.

The heat in the flat is stifling, or maybe it’s just me, as my heart rate stutters upwards. How to escape the inevitable?

“John,” a whisper in that baritone voice, “John, yes, yes I do. We agree on this totally. I do."

My head snaps up, my eyes wide open, gaping. He's not upset, not full of disgust. His tone is one of understanding, emotion.

“You do?” every part of my body, every pore throwing out my feelings to him.

“For a long time John. Since the day we met. That day two years ago."