I’ll Wait For You

That sounded almost like an attack, Elinor thought, drinking half of the beer. He knew he was offering her the chance of a lifetime. The cocky attitude that came with his last sentence irritated her, however. She didn’t like that, even though it scratched at the truth. She wasn’t happy with her lot in life. She had gone from nearly putting the deposit down on her first house to month by month living, all because she believed Aidan had been the one. All the promises, and bullsh*t they had exchanged together, none of it meant anything anymore. Those dreams had slipped through her fingers like metal and dust.

All she had left was a womb that had betrayed her three times, pennies, a close-knit group of friends and family – but nothing else. Nothing to fill the empty space in her heart where her unborn resided, and where Aidan once occupied.

She would be batsh*t crazy to not take up this offer. Regardless of his smarmy attitude.

“I’ll think on it,” she said, but before getting up, decided to assault him with a question. “I’ve been wondering something. What’s the meaning behind your tattoos? The blue flowers on the field, the tree with the golden leaves, and the white house?”

Kostya Vasilev tilted his head as he regarded her. Elinor figured that if someone was willing to have tattoos on full display, it meant they were also willing to share. “If you tell me what Still Dreams represents, then I’ll be happy to tell you what these tattoos symbolize.”

Considering this a moment, Elinor decided the idea to be fair. In the same way he showed something of his life on his arms, she had sung something of her life for others. Again, she admired Kostya’s peculiar light eyes. What a strange, delightful color they were. She wondered for a moment, if the room plunged into darkness, whether his irises would penetrate the dark, gleaming from the shadows.

She wondered if that would terrify her or thrill her.

“Some of it’s still quite fresh. I was in a relationship for over five years. Married. I gave up a lot of things to be with him, but… something went wrong with me. And he… didn’t think it was worth it to stay with me. I’ll explain.” She clasped her hands together, palms sweating from confessing this to a near stranger, even though she now knew the man with the tattoo’s name, and would likely be getting to know him on a closer basis.

“Make it short, so it doesn’t hurt,” he recommended, detecting some of the pain in her demeanor and voice. The icy blue eyes glimmered in concern.

“Shush, I’m gathering courage.” She took a deep breath, finished off the remaining cherry-flavored beer before saying, “I had three miscarriages. Still no children. And my husband wanted children badly. He was also a little superstitious, and believed I was cursed, so… he got someone else pregnant, and filed for divorce so he could marry them instead.”

Kostya, who had been draining the last of his beer as well, coughed and hastily put it down, but not before some of it foamed out through his nose. Coughing and wheezing, it sent Elinor into gales of laughter as he dabbed off the liquid dribbling down his chin.

“That bas*ard,” he finally managed, though it took great effort, and he wheezed again. “What a… I can’t believe that. Like, yes, I’m not exactly the pioneer of good morals myself, but that’s like kicking you when you’re down.”

He seemed so utterly indignant on her behalf, that it cheered her up more. “Pretty much. I’m not gonna lie and say I was the perfect wife, and I did sometimes resort to guilt tripping him when he was being a di*k with everything I’d done for him – but it didn’t work.”

“Any man who has respect would have never done something like that in the first place. He is scum. Lack of respect. It is the worst.”

The way Kostya emphasized the point made Elinor wonder if she was somehow seeing some kind of mafia mob boss personality channel. Respect. Scum. Fury at the lack of disrespect. He’s either a man of strong morals or someone as scary as his eyes showed. Maybe I shouldn’t show him the text that Aidan sent me. The logical thought drowned itself out of morbid curiosity to see Kostya’s reaction. She fished out her phone.

“I’m not kidding. Check this last text he sent me. I didn’t take well to it.”

She brought up the message declaring Aidan’s new born son, let Kostya read it. It fascinated her to watch the man’s brows knit together, and something that went close to loathing twitch in his muscles.

“Had that man done that to one of my friends, let’s just say he might not be walking around with all his limbs intact,” Kostya hinted ominously.

“Well, that’s that. You know what my song means. The loss of my children. The time I poured in for my husband, the lies I told myself. And, then, losing everything, fighting a sense of betrayal, but starting anew.”

It felt good to tell this to someone, to explain the meaning of her lyrics, the tangled agony in her heart that throbbed, and the emotions she struggled to even put to paper in the first place. She felt deeply flattered that he listened, that he had flared up against her ex-husband, enough to dismiss the trepidation she held from sharing such things with others.

Never mind that he happened to be the son of a wealthy man, a multi-billionaire, and was likely leaning that way himself. Never mind that out of all the places he could have been in the world, he instead chose this quaint little café, with a ragtag selection of musical talent every Friday evening.

“We could all hear it in your voice. People liked your singing, but only because it was backed by the emotion in the words. That was what made it.” He gave her a fond look, along with a faint glint of respect. “I suppose I owe you my story, now.”

“That you do,” she said, leaning forward eagerly, resting her chin on her palm as she smirked at him.

“I too, have something of loss painted on my skin. It is simple, the images. The field and the house is the dream that I shared with another. That we would live together in a beautiful house and run our own farm. A far cry from the music business, I know – but something we aimed for, when we neared retirement. The flowers, they are forget-me-nots. Partly because of the name, and partly because they were my wife’s favorite flower.”

Elinor felt one twinge of disappointment upon hearing the phrase wife, before catching herself in the reaction, and realizing with a sneaking dread that all was not well with this wife.

“The tree, it is the life that grows over the bones of the dead. And the two gold leaves – they are the dead. My wife and my stillborn child.” He said the last sentence in a monotone, face going blank for a moment.

Elinor blinked. “Oh no,” she said, a horrible sorrow kneading her bones. “Oh no, that’s awful. Forgive me for asking this, but… did she die in childbirth?”

Kostya Vasilev nodded, a melancholy weighing his soul. “Yes. So that was the end of our dream. I preserved it instead on my skin. Because it was a beautiful dream, and I like to think that I will have that farm one day, in memory of her.”

Elinor smiled, one tear pushing out of her eye and trailing down her face. “Yeah. I think you should do that. I’m sure she would love that.” She wiped the tear from her face with a sigh. “Fu*k this sh*tty life sometimes.”

“Agreed.”

“Thank you for sharing that, Kostya.” Elinor cleared her throat, before putting the card away in her handbag, along with her phone.

Kostya reached over to shake hands with her again, his palm soft and warm against hers. The hairs on the back of her wrist stood up on end, sending a jolt down her arm.

“Thank you, Elinor, for sharing yours.” He held onto her hand for longer than what Elinor considered necessary, but she didn’t complain.

She departed from the man with the tattoos with a smile, and a memory of the warmth in his touch, before returning to distribute the news to her friends.