‘i desire and i crave’

Saturday morning approaches quietly, accompanied by a dusting of November snow on the front lawn. 

Breakfast is quiet, but at noon, Nicky is bounding down the stairs with his backpack and coloring supplies. Soon, you’re waving at him from the porch as Rio pulls out of the driveway, off to wherever the three of you bribed him with when he ate his broccoli last night.

“So,” Agatha begins as you both sit down at the kitchen table, “I was thinking that tonight we could go pick up food from your favorite restaurant, maybe get some wine, and we can start watching Game of Thrones.”

“Really?”

Agatha shrugs. “Yeah, why not? Rio took Nicky this weekend for this purpose.”

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. You mostly spend it at the kitchen table with Agatha, shopping online for Nicky’s Christmas presents while she works on her clients’ cases. At five, she puts in a pick-up order at what she calls your favorite restaurant, and when you get there, you can see why.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall Italian place, nothing too fancy, but there’s plenty of seating and a decent sized bar towards the back where the bartenders are clearly close with their regulars.

“Table for two?” the hostess asks.

“No,” Agatha says politely. “We’re here to pick up an order–should be under Harkness.”

The host smiles. “Okay! The kitchen’s a bit backed up, so it should be about half an hour. If you want to, feel free to wait at the bar!”

So that’s what you do. Agatha orders you a glass of red and you drink it relatively quickly.

“So, what’s it about, again?” you ask, taking a sip of your second glass.

“Game of Thrones?” she clarifies, and you nod. Agatha thinks momentarily. “Well, it was a book series first, but you never read it–said you didn’t have the attention span for it. But basically, there are seven kingdoms, nine noble families, and seasons can last for years. And they’re all trying to claim the Iron Throne to rule over Westeros. Lotta violence, lotta sex.”

You’re halfway through your third glass and Agatha’s barely halfway through her first when your food is ready. As soon as you stand, you can feel the fuzziness in your head, but it disappears quickly and you pick up the food.

At home, you sit on the floor with Agatha, food on the coffee table as she scrolls through the TV.

“Eight seasons?” you gawk. “How long are the episodes?”

“About an hour each,” Agatha shrugs. “Season seven and eight were pretty disappointing.”

When Agatha settles back beside you, you begin setting out the food. “Wow, we got a lot. Okay, whose is whose?”

“I got enough to freeze for the next few weeks,” Agatha says, rifling through the bags and taking out boxes. “Let’s see, we have tiramisu, the calabrian dip, bread, bruschetta, lasagna, stuffed shells, baked pasta. Usually we just share everything, and then you have a few glasses of wine and hog one of the pastas.”

You snicker. “Well, I’ve already had three, and I’m eyeing that baked pasta, so you better be quick.”

__________

“Oh, my God!” You’re on glass number who–knows-what of wine and have just finished the first episode of Game of Thrones. Your eyes are wide and your mouth hangs open. “They’re brother and sister! And he just pushed the kid out of the window!” You round on Agatha. “Why do I like this show?”

Agatha, who’s also lost count of how many glasses she’s had, giggles. “I don’t know, but you went to Comic Con in 2018.”

“I did?” you grimace.

Agatha smirks into her glass of wine. “Mhm…And you showed me quite the picture of you in a Daenerys Targaryen costume.”

Your expression changes entirely and heat rises in your cheeks. “I did?”

She inhales sharply and you can see the look in her eyes darken. “Oh, yeah.”

By episode three, you’re no longer paying attention. Bottle two of wine has been opened and you sit on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table as you giggle together. 

"I wanna know more about you," you say. "You've told me so much about myself, but I wanna know you."

Agatha's chest tightens and she's visibly holding back tears.

"What's wrong?" you ask, face falling. "Did I say something?"

She swipes at the corner of her eye and sniffles. "No, you're okay. It's just—you said almost the exact same thing on our first date."

Your voice is quiet. "Oh…where did we go?"

"The same place we just ate—believe it or not," she chuckles. "You had only been in Westview for a few months and didn't know any good spots, so I decided to take you there. It's been your favorite ever since, so clearly I made the right choice."

You pick up your wine glass and smile, "Clearly, I did too." You can feel the heat rush to your cheeks at your boldness and you clear your throat. "Um—so, where were you born?"

"Salem, Massachusetts," Agatha says. "Born and raised."

"And your birthday is the day before Halloween?" you ask, and she nods. "I think I married a witch. Do you have a familiar?"

Agatha chuckles. "No. Nicky has been begging to get a pet, though."

"Well, Christmas is coming up…" you shrug, eyeing her with a grin. Agatha pauses, "That is true."

You giggle as you watch her reach for her laptop and open it immediately. And it's almost like an instinct the way you practically glue yourself to her side, looking down at her screen as she types. "A bunny?" you gawk.

"Yeah," she says. "He's been begging us for one since the summer. I've been doing research here and there, and I'm not opposed to it, honestly. They're able to be litter box trained, so that aspect wouldn't be much different than having a cat. I think giving him the responsibility to feed it would be a good lesson…" She trails off as she scrolls. "Oh, look! They have some available to adopt at the animal shelter!"

"This is a dangerous decision to make after the amount of wine we've had, Agatha," you giggle.

She shrugs. "He's a good kid—and I can't let Rio be the better mom."

The two of you sit side by side as you research bunny care. You look at different brands of pellets, different types of hay, the best brands of cages, how big a playpen should be. How often should leafy greens be given? How often should it be fed fruit? Hay is 80-85% of a rabbit's diet.

"Wow." Agatha lets out a heavy sigh and takes a gulp of wine. "A lot goes into taking care of a rabbit."

You shrug. "Yeah, but I think he can handle it. I think this kind of thing will teach him real responsibility—not just doing his homework on time. Obviously we'll help him, but if he wants a rabbit that badly, then he'll be more than willing to learn how to care for one. Also, I think a bunny would be a happy addition to our household with everything that's happened."

Agatha turns her head to look at you, and when she smiles, you swear her eyes glance down at your lips. "It would be a happy addition, wouldn't it?"

The laptop is discarded on the coffee table but neither of you move from your spots. You share a plate of tiramisu as Agatha tells you everything you want to know about her.

"I'm allergic to dogs," she says through a mouthful of tiramisu. "Oh, I failed math my freshman year of high school and had to go to summer school. My mom was pissed."

"Why did you fail?"

She shrugs. "I skipped class too many times."

You gasp dramatically, hand on your chest as she chuckles. "You skipped class? I cannot believe I married such a rebel!"

"Let's see," she says, thinking of something else she could tell you. "The first date I ever had was in college. It was dark out, she was driving me back to my dorm and we were blasting music with the windows down, when some guy ran in front of her car." Agatha laughs as you almost choke on your bite of tiramisu. "He was okay. It was the busiest street on campus and we were only going—like—25 miles per hour. Actually, when he got up, he said sorry and asked us if we were okay."

The clock ticks past one in the morning. The tiramisu is gone, leftovers have gone cold, and the wine from dinner has slowly faded from your head as you drink your water.

“Tell me something about us now," you ask, unable to take your eyes off of her.

"Okay…" Agatha mirrors your position and her smile is soft as the corners of her eyes crinkle. "Our wedding anniversary is March 23rd, 2024, and after that, we had our honeymoon in Cabo."

"Cabo?"

"Mhm…Right on the ocean," she says. "Swim up bars, our room had a plunge pool—we even had a butler."

You giggle. "Oh? A butler? We're gonna have to go back there."

"We were there for a week and we were at the swim up bar so much that we knew the bar tenders by name," Agatha laughs. "Let's see, what else can I tell you about us? Oh! When you first moved in, we fought over which side of the bed we wanted."

"Who won?"

Agatha sighs, but there's nothing but affection as she smiles. "You, of course. When we were planning our wedding, you got so stressed that you gave yourself a stomach ulcer."

"Seriously?" you gawk.

"You did," she laughs. "I was so worried about you that we almost eloped to avoid having an actual ceremony. Oh, my gosh! A few months into our relationship, we had a date planned and you didn't show up—"

You gasp quietly, guilt pooling in your chest at the thought of standing of her up. "Oh, my god, did I stand you up?"

"No," she says. "Well—not really. At first I was pissed, but then you called me while I was already waiting for you at the restaurant. You were high on morphine, at the hospital, waiting to get your appendix removed. You were so out of it that your poor nurse was having to talk for you because all you could do was flirt with me. Rio had Nicky that weekend, so we had our date in pre-op, but you couldn't have food, so you had a lot of ice chips. I stayed with you until they discharged you, and I drove you home."

"I'd say that was a pretty good test of our relationship in the beginning," you chuckle. The sigh that you let out is dreamy as you smile at her. "What else should I know about us?"

Agatha purses her lips as she leans closer. Her expression makes it look like she’s thinking hard, but her words come out quickly. “We're very good kissers.”

“Are we?” you chirp, and you know exactly what she's doing.

She has a smug grin as she raises her eyebrows, “Yeah."

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close together you are. You can see every detail of her face–the ring of dark blue around her irises, the freckles speckling her cheeks and nose, the crows feet and smile lines. 

How could I forget this woman?

“Do you think I’d still be a good kisser now?” you ask, voice quiet.

Agatha sighs and rests her elbow on the edge of the couch cushion, head tilted as she shrugs. “Well, there’s only one way to answer a question like that.”

You lean in closer, hand steadying on her knee as you glance down at her lips. “And do you wanna answer it?”

“Do you want me to answer it?” Agatha asks, clearly teasing you.

“I do,” you say, and your words come out through a giggle.

The kiss is soft, with Agatha’s hands moving to hold your face. She tastes like red wine and tiramisu, and you're addicted already. Your hands grasp her forearms, steadying you through the wave of emotions that courses through you. You feel the back of your throat tighten and her pulse beneath your thumb, and tears slip down your cheeks.

When she finally pulls away, you’re both smiling, and both of you have tears staining your cheeks. 

“I have no clue how I could ever forget someone like you,” you mumble.