"Ms. Gibbous, I apologize for stopping you so suddenly, but I was looking forward to meeting you," a deep voice says. The sounds he makes pass over my skin as smooth as silk and tastes as good as chocolate. Another shiver passes through me, but not in surprise this time. I look up into the eyes of the man with a delicious voice, and I find two stormy, grey-blue eyes looking deep into mine.
He looks to be in his mid-twenties and is tall with a strong build. He has golden blonde hair that reminds me of sunshine, but he radiates strength and power. His hair is shaved on the sides and longer on top, but pushed back away from his face. He reminds me of a viking. His overall look and demeanor is completely captivating.
"Your parents, Daniel and Sarah, were two of some of the smartest and loveliest people I have met," he tells me while giving me a smile full of charm and temptation.
"Thank you, they were. How did you know them?" I ask.
"I was a student of your dads for a semester, but he became a sort of mentor to me while I was completing my degree," he says gently, with his eyes locked onto mine. That sounds like my dad, anyone that had an available ear and was willing to hear about plants, he would latch onto and hold tight. A mutual fascination with plants is one of the reasons my parents got along so well. My dad would talk to my mom about plants for hours, and she would revel in his teachings. "I met your mom during some of her many visits to campus", he adds.
A small smile briefly touches my lips, and it almost seems like his attention is drawn to the movement. But his eyes move before I can be too sure, so I mentally shrug it off.
"She did visit him a lot, mostly because he always forgot his lunches and she couldn't stand the thought of him skipping a meal or eating from the cafeteria".
He gives a light laugh full of fondness. "I didn't know that," he muses, taking a step closer. "But that doesn't surprise me. Your dad seemed to be focused on a lot of things all at once, especially when it came to his research, and would forget some of the more obvious items because of it."
I huff out a sound that might have been a laugh in another situation, and not when I am processing their deaths. "Some might call that distracted" I respond.
His lips give into a curve of amusement as he chuckles. "Some might say that. But your dad was too multidimensional for a term so simple." He seems to know my parents well, and remembers them fondly.
"What is your name?" I ask.
"Ah - pardon my manners, I was getting ahead of myself." He bows slightly at the waist and it brings his eyes level to mine.
"Aric Eldingar". His gaze is steady as my gaze bounces back and forth between his eyes. The colors in his eyes remind me of when the edges of a dark grey stormy cloud are lit up with lightning. The type of lightning storm that makes the air charged with electricity and you can feel how dangerous it can be. It's breathtaking.
This was a good distraction for a moment, but I can feel the pressure inside of me still building and I start to worry. "It was nice to meet you Aric," I tell him distractedly. "But I must be on my way."
He stands up and puts his hands behind his back. "It was nice to meet you too, Layla" he purrs.
15 minutes later I am pulling into my driveway, rushing up to my front door, and frantically searching for the right key. I find it and open the door as quickly as I can before stepping inside. Once I do, I am assaulted with the smell of home, that smells so much of them, and my heart is gripped so tightly that I drop to my knees.
Too weak to stand, I lay down on the ground in silence and let the flood overtake me.
It's nearly two hours before I find the strength to stand.
I look ahead of me, down the entranceway. Well, I suppose, it's my entryway now. My parents left the house and their belongings to me, and since I am 18 now, there was no issue with my ownership legally speaking. The kitchen is on my left, while the living room and work room is to my right. In front of me, there is a staircase that leads to the bedrooms on the next floor.
The work room is where my dad spent a lot of his time, when he wasn't working in the garden or spending time with us, that is. He was good at knowing how to calm me down and make me laugh, and since I could use a little of his stability right now, I take a right turn to head towards his work room.
I pass through the living room and reach the metal door at the back wall. Sometimes my dad would need to regulate the temperature of the room according to whatever experiment he was working on, so the work room is insulated and protected by the metal door. Without hesitation, I open it and walk inside and down the steps that lead from the doorway.
My dad is….was...a botanist. He spent a lot of his work experience as a lab lackey, running tests and doing research that his supervisors directed him to. But in recent years, he had settled down and decided to share his appreciation and knowledge of plants within an institutional setting. The local university hired him on as an adjunct professor and lab instructor for botany, so he had spent his last few years teaching college students part time.
In his spare time, you could find him here, in his work room. It looks like a mix of his favorite things - a lab, an office and a greenhouse. He could cultivate plants of his choosing, study their characteristics and compile his research in the same room.
I walk towards the middle of the room and run my finger down the surface of the long metal desk. The metal is cool to the touch, and it helps soothe my raging tide of emotions. I reach above me and turn on the bright overhead light that gleams on the surface of the desk and provides ample lighting to be able to prepare samples and assess them under a microscope.
Instead of slicing into plant matter and discovering some of the tiniest scientific phenomenons of today's world, I think back on the times I would sit on this counter and watch him work. His compulsion to discover the unknown and his rapt scrutiny to details could look as though he was approaching madness at times. When he had his sole attention on something, it was sight to see. And when that attention was focused on you, it made you feel loved and cherished.
I continue to walk around the room and look at some of the tools that he had left lying out before the accident. A dissecting kit, pipettes, a headlamp, some slides he was preparing for the microscope and his journal where he would write down his thoughts. The sight of the well worn out journal nearly makes me collapse in grief again, so I avert my gaze and head to the kitchen to make some tea.
It's about 1 o'clock in the afternoon, so I have a few hours before I head to Javier's apartment tonight. Although I could use it, I know I won't be able to take a nap. It's been a week since my parents left this earth, and I haven't been able to sleep much since.
I have been keeping myself busy by spending time with Javier, but when he is at work I have been gardening and preparing for the funeral. Now, with free time on my hands, I need to find something to do.
The accident is too fresh and too painful, so I need to keep my focus on other things. I walk to the window while I sip on my tea. It's a nice day outside, so I decide to go for a run. Physical activity is a great way to keep my mind quiet, and hopefully, it will get me tired enough to be able to sleep tonight.
I head to my room and put on my running gear. I use the mirror to brush through my straight, dark brown hair. I tie it up in a knot securely, so I don't need to worry about it coming loose. In my reflection, I can see that my square face is pale, and my usually green and hazel eyes look lackluster and vacant. I look away from the mirror and head back downstairs to put on my shoes.
I pack myself some water to take with me, and then I hit the road. I run down the driveway and make it to the end of the street, where there is a trailhead to enter the community forest. I spend the next hour and half exercising in the fresh air before stopping at my front door. Doubling over with my hands on my knees, I try to breathe air into my starving lungs. I stand back up and raise my hands above my head to get my breathing under control and to cool down.
I look out towards the garden where our latest project is - a hydroponics vegetable garden to grow lettuce, spinach, and chard. My gaze glances down to my watch and roll my eyes when I realize I still have hours before I am meeting with Javier at his apartment. Cursing under my breath, I look back to the unfinished project and decide there's no point in leaving the work for another day when I have time now.
I put everything I am feeling into my gardening, and two hours later, I am covered in sweat, dirt and tears. But one thing that is stuck on my mind, is that I can't let this despondency control me anymore. I was raised to enjoy life, and although I wouldn't ever choose to live without my parents, I need to keep persisting and live meaningfully.
Life can be full of too many unanswered questions or unfulfilled aspirations.
If I want to make the best of what I have, and what I have been given, I need to persevere. It will be hard, but I won't make it through this until I start trying.
Acceptance envelops me, and for the first time in a week, some of the pressure is released from my chest.