An Olive Branch

Orion~

The reason I stormed away from her wasn’t that I am angry with what she said, it was that I’m angry at the fact that she was right.

Back then, I was still waiting for her to catch on, for her to be the one to change, and if I thought she’d run from me, I’d have torn the world apart to find her again. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that she’d have contacted her family, and I don’t want to think about what I’d have done to get information from them.

She’d have never forgiven me, and if that was her motive for turning around, well then, she made the right choice. What sort of a partner does that make me?

I can keep trying to make amends, but is it ever going to take away all that has been said and done?

My father would be turning in his grave right about now, saying shit like how I shouldn’t be letting her walk over me, but he doesn’t know Emma. And haven’t all of the changes I’ve made since she’s been here helped the family rather than hinder it?

The women seem happier now that they know they can defend themselves and be on a more equal footing. The family in general feels more comfortable now that I’ve let up on some of my father’s rules, and rather than getting a series of challenges, people seem more content inside of their roles.

Has everything I’ve ever been taught by him been a lie? Has all that I have done for this family been a series of brutalities that I could have gone about another way?

I mean, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I regret my actions, a man can’t change that much in such a short space of time, but it makes me wonder if it has to be that way going forwards or if can we be different? If I can be different.

Sometimes I wonder if this would not all be easier if I just give up and let her reject me.

But no, I’m far too selfish for that, and when you’re gifted a gem like my Emma, you don’t let it go. I just need to learn to be content with seeing her sparkle on her own.

***

When I get back to the house, all of the lights are on and our kitchen smells like a restaurant. I can’t name any of the spices floating around in the air, but it’s enough to make me salivate instantly.

I can’t deny how much brighter the room is now that she’s been able to make some of her changes, and I even find myself hanging around here early in the morning to be able to take it all in. My office is a cave in comparison, and I didn’t realize how dark it was in here until I was shown any different.

Standing on the outskirts of the room, I have no idea how to approach her. After my outburst, I wouldn’t be surprised if she threw whatever is on the stove in my face, but instead, she keeps stirring.

“I’ve set the table and lit some candles,” she says without looking up, and I notice the table towards the back of the room.

I’m getting flashbacks to when she left me the first time, and I wonder what her motives could be this time. Poison? More guilt? Rejection?

“If you could pour us some wine? Dinner will be ready in five,” she asks while pointing towards the bottle of merlot in the center, and I do as I am told, even though the last thing I want to be doing right now is drinking.

I sit nervously and eye the placemats in front of me. I don’t like this, and if it’s going to be another trick, I’d rather she just come out with it already.

I’m about to stand to offer just that when she walks over herself with a bubbling pot filled with our dinner. Her face is flushed from the exertion, but I can’t help but eye it dubiously.

The possibilities of what’s inside keep running through my mind, along with what this might really stand for.

“It’s an olive branch, Orion, a thank you for inviting my family,” she explains after noticing the look on my face.

I stare up at her in surprise. Why does she need to thank me? I only invited them because missing them was causing her pain, and I’m the person who brought about the separation. Something she had no issues reminding me of earlier in the week.

“An olive branch?” I repeat tentatively, and she narrows her eyes.

“Take it or leave it, Orion, but you’re not the only one who is trying here.” Her lip actually wobbles slightly when saying this, and I wonder where this has all come from.

I’m the one that acted like an ass earlier; she was only being honest. Sure, she could have just not said anything, but isn’t it better to know? Better to feel secure in the fact that she won’t be running again, even if her reasons kill me?

“What is it?” I ask, to change the subject to a less painful matter, and she smiles gratefully.

“Pot roast.”

My favorite, but I don’t think I’ve ever told her that.

The lid is removed from the ceramic pot, and a huge slab of beef is released from the steamy confines, along with the juicy veg that only adds to our mini feast. My mother used to cook this for me, and when eating this, it was one of the few moments that my father actually shut his damn mouth for a minute.

Good times.

Should I tell her this? Make conversation for once without starting a fight? Or would it be too much to offload my issues with my father so soon into knowing her, I mean, she’s clearly big on family herself. She won’t understand.

Last time we did this, she managed to get a few pieces out of me, that’s true, but I think I hid my disdain well. I just wonder if I owe it to her to know where I come from.

No, better not to ruin what I think will be a nice evening. I want to make the most of being welcomed into her company, as knowing us, there’s never telling when this might happen again.