hands of dirt

"Thanks, it's definitely a relationship I work hard on," Orlaith said, joining in on the joke. "It's important to have a fulfilling relationship with your parents," she added, lips quirking up slightly as she rolled her eyes. "I'll take the advice on board, though given what he does I reckon there's a hundred other people they'd consider before me. Anyway, now we're married you're legally obligated to provide me with an alibi even if we weren't really together." A joke too, but maybe they should have added that into the vows as well.

Orlaith felt overly sappy to say it aloud, especially when it wasn't really anything Tristan didn't already know; she'd alluded to the feeling before and had made it clear during the argument about the motorbike how she felt about the family they were making together. So instead she said, "Well yesterday I hadn't lain on this bed and today I have. Lifechanging."

Tristan nodded. “Sure, sure,” he said. However, it was an interesting thought. If something did happen, would he lie to provide an alibi for her. He supposed there were a lot of factors to consider. However, he also thought at the end of the day, he probably would. He wasn’t exactly trusting of the police or law enforcement in general. He *did* trust Orlaith, though. “Would you provide me with an alibi? In a real world scenario?” he asked. “You’ve no idea what I did, but I need you to give me that alibi, would you?” 

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Well, good thing we couldn’t possibly get a bed this big because it wouldn’t fit in our room,” he said. He was silent for a moment. "Maybe it'll feel different the first time 've got to check the box that says 'married' instead of 'single' when 'm filling out a form." For some reason, that felt like it would be one of those moments where it would feel different. It was such a stupid thing, but at the same time, he knew he'd have to stop his impulses to remember he was no longer single, but actually married.

She subconsciously reached a hand out to help Tristan with his buttons, frowning when she realised and noticed the sheer number of layers he had on; she'd been busy getting herself ready that morning that she hadn't especially noticed. At least she'd only had one layer to put on, but then she'd had to suffer through heels. "Jesus Christ, why have you got like— fifty layers on? Anyway, I didn't say it was too far to look at houses, just that I personally don't like to so I don't see something I really want. Besides, I think it stops you liking what you have now, and sure I want a house one day but I also really like the home, the life, we have now. Whereas my dad dying couldn't happen soon enough, if we're being honest." No more strings. Orlaith couldn't wait for that day.

Did she feel different? Her snap reply might have been yes, but then she hadn't really had a second all day to think about it. She did now, also looking down at the ring on her finger that matched Tristan's. It was just a pair of rings and yet to her they meant more than anything material. They, along with vows, connected her to someone else who wasn't just a father who didn't really care and a mother who had left; they might not have wanted her, but someone else did enough to make those vows, to wear that ring. For the first time in a long time, her abandonment, her parentage— they didn't really matter. She had a family of her own now and greed or twisted obligation had nothing to do with it. "Yeah," Orlaith finally said, "I suppose I do a bit."

“I dunno, this s’what a fucking tux involves,” said Tristan. “I reckon s’why men in suits are always running warmer than most because they’ve already got fifty layers on, so of course they’re melting.” He tilted his head, there was a smile of amusement as she mentioned that her father dying would be better sooner rather than later. “Think it s’nice you’re so close to your dad,” he said to tease her. Of course, it wasn’t a surprising sentiment coming from her. However, imagining someone hearing it out of context would be rather funny. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that otherwise they’ll think you’re up to something,” he told her. He said it, once again, to joke, but it was also something of advice. He couldn’t imagine someone hearing her say that and then her father dropping dead the next day. 

“Yeah? How so?” asked Tristan. He was curious.

She shook her head. "No, I think it's a bad idea to look when you're not actually looking. What if you find your dream house but you can't actually have it?" Especially for her, having such a strong image of what would be a dream house for her; nothing fancy, she'd take a little two up two down, but with a garden and lots of light, somewhere warm and cosy to contrast the sleek sharpness of the cold house she'd grown up in. "I came up with those questions just now," Orlaith told Tristan. "I bet if I tried I could come up with way more."

Orlaith rolled her eyes as she felt Tristan slide the zipper down. "You need to have a little more optimism. He could be hit by a bus next week. You never know what could happen. We actually got married today, nothing could surprise me anymore." Even as she wiggled out of the formal dress to get a little more comfortable, even with the ring on her finger, she couldn't believe they'd got married. "Do you feel different?" she asked.

Tristan had already removed the jacket he was wearing and was now working on untying the bowtie he’d worn. He got that undone and then began to unbutton his shirt. He also still had an undershirt underneath that. There were so many layers involved with getting dressed up formally, and he hated it. 

“Oh, so I need to be more optimistic ‘bout your dad dying in some unnatural circumstance, but looking at homes s’a bit too far?” asked Tristan. Though, he was mostly teasing her. “Don’t people do that shit to have something to strive for, though? Find your dream home and have something to work towards, and even if you can’t have that specific house, you can find something better?” He shrugged out of his button up shirt now, putting it to one side. 

He paused at her question. He looked down at the ring on his finger, and then back at Orlaith and shrugged. “Should I feel different?” he asked. He didn’t feel different. Not in a way where suddenly he felt like a new or different person because legally he was suddenly a husband. Besides, any residual nerves or anxiety had long since melted away since all the official, ceremonial bits were done and over with. “D’you?” he asked.

"I don't know," Orlaith said again, shrugging. "I'm not a walking estate agent you know, and there'd be a variety of factors to consider and research. Like what areas are relatively safe for this island? How long would it take for us to get to work? Will the public transport still do or would we need to think about if we'd each need a car to get to work. I've never bought a house before, so it's not something I've looked into before. But if we start saving then eventually it's something we can look into it, yeah?" Or maybe Tristan preferred the thought of staying in the city. Some people liked things a little more busy, a little noisier, and to be able to walk out your front door and have everything you needed on your doorstep.

"Better than a lot of people, I'd say." They had a roof over their heads, and a comfortable one at that, they could put food on the table, and despite the difficulties they'd experienced in their lives had managed to make a happy life for themselves. "But when he dies—" Orlaith said, one eye raised, as she let the end of the sentence finish itself.

"Well— no. You can still make the promise, or the vow, whatever you want to call it. I'll hold you to it like a court of law would anyway. More so, probably." No one took food as seriously as she did. As much as it pained her to do so, Orlaith sat up at last, instantly lamenting the loss of the bed's mattress below her back. She hoped their bed wouldn't feel uncomfortable when they went back home. "Unzip me?" she asked, bookending the day with a similar request to how they'd started it, standing in that small room a few hours ago waiting to get married. Now they were married. Yes, they certainly were doing just fine as they were, she thought.

“I dunno,” shrugged Tristan. “Obviously you’ve thought about it. Thought maybe you’d started looking at properties or something. People do that.” Tristan didn’t, but he knew people often scrolled through listings online like they did dating profiles. “See? You’ve obviously thought about it more because I never would’ve come up with a single one of those questions.” No, Tristan probably would’ve focused on price more than anything. “If that s’what you want, sure.” 

“Sure, when he dies and we’re also old,” said Tristan. “Rich people always died old. Y’know, just so we’re setting up realistic expectations where you’re father is concerned. Unless he’s somehow secretly already eighty years old or something.” 

“Yes, I know you’ll hold me to it, which s’why feels like a good thing to add onto those vows,” nodded Tristan. He sat up as she did, mostly just mimicking her motions. He nodded and went ahead and unzipped her. “Good idea,” said Tristan. He looked down at his own overly formal outfit. He could change into something more comfortable now.

"You can get houses in the city, but they're a bit more— compact. Smaller gardens. Out of the city you'd get more for the same money and bigger outside space for Cordelia. She'd like a garden, I think. Imagine just being able to open the back door for her on a warm day. Bernie could go out too and lie in the sun." Not to mention Orlaith could too— perhaps not lie, but sit, if they got some outdoor chairs. She liked being outside, especially if she'd been cooped up in the hospital for hours, with it's unnatural light and chemical smells.

"There's not really much I don't think he's capable up," she shrugged, "but I think he'd make a demand if he had one whether I'd taken the money or not. Still, it's never felt really right to take it. Sure, I could use it to buy a house or anything else I wanted but it wouldn't feel like mine. It would feel unearned. There are some things I don't want him to be a part of, as much as possible." If she bought a house with Tristan one day, she wanted it to be theirs, nothing to do with her father at all. It wouldn't feel like home otherwise.

"You know we already did the vows, don't you?" Orlaith rolled her eyes.

“So, where would we go to get this house?” asked Tristan curiously. Given that he had never considered it, he had also never thought about living anywhere outside of the city. Tristan never allowed himself to dream or think beyond what he knew or thought to be possible, so he hadn’t bothered to entertain the idea. And, unlike him, Orlaith clearly had given this thought, already picturing the animals with more place to move around and roam. It was a nice idea. 

“Then don’t take it,” said Tristan. “We don’t need him or his money. I know his presence in your life s’inevitable, but you’ve been doing alright so far, yeah?” he asked. “So, s’fine, don’t touch the money and we’re doing just fine as we are, aren’t we?” At least they had made it this far. 

He snorted. “I know that, but what? I can’t add on to them after the fact? Do I really need to have my modified vows to be witnessed in a court of law?”

Orlaith shrugged. "I don't know, although my gut says no. If he wanted more from me he'd take it whether I used the money or not. And he still sort of controls me whether I do or not. If he tells me to do something, I have to do it. The money isn't really the hook. Never has been. I just never used it out of— principle, I guess. But sometimes in this city that feels stupid. Pointless." Everyone else was doing whatever they could to get ahead, morals be dammed. If you can't beat them, join them, right? If they used the money they could have a house in no time.

"Subject yourself to me?" Orlaith repeated, indignant. "I wasn't that fucking bad. But," she added, "I think I can let the wasted food go, if it never happens again. 'Cause I think that's grounds for divorce. Irreconcilable differences, I think they call it."

Tristan shrugged. “‘Ve just never thought about having more, I s’ppose,” he muttered. He looked over at her. “Where would this house be?” he asked. “Probably not here in the city.” 

Tristan understood. He also thought that if she ever did dip into the money, some mysterious strings might suddenly appear. Not that he knew her father well, but surely he’d find a way to hold it over her head if he really wanted to. “S’up to you. You really don’t think that if you try and touch it, that he won’t suddenly materialize in front of you with some demand that you can’t back out of because suddenly you’re tied to it because of the money?” 

Tristan gave her a look. “Have I ever wasted food since then?” he asked. “Just make it part of the vows. For as long as we’re married ‘ll never waste food ever again.” He rolled his eyes.

Orlaith's eyes narrowed in thought. Surely she had mentioned the money her dad deposited into a bank account every month and had since she'd moved out. Bar the cost of getting herself set up and school, she'd never touched it. Instead it had accrued month upon month, the interest getting more and more too and was now quite a substantial amount. But perhaps she really hadn't mentioned it, a testament to the fact she never talked about John willingly rather than her holding something back. "Uh, money, yeah. My dad puts it into an account every month. Haven't touched it in years. There's a few hundred thousand in there now," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. Almost five hundred thousand or thereabouts by now, she thought. "It always felt like being bought, so I never touched it, but sometimes I wonder if that's silly given I'm bought anyway. Have to go to those stupid dinners whether I use it or not."

She scoffed. "Oh crap. Alright, I did not like you, I won't suggest otherwise on that count, but it was always you storming away. You wasted a whole breakfast once. Which makes it a wonder we got here, really." If there was one thing Orlaith hated, it was wasted food.

Tristan stared at her as she explained that it was a few hundred thousand that she had stashed away. He couldn’t even begin to picture that amount of money. Not all in one place and not all at once. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. He could barely wrap his head around the initial idea. “You don’t think he’d ask for more if you did touch it?” 

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t want to subject myself to you any longer, of course I was storming away. I was the one being smart about it,” he grunted, crossing his arms. He really felt like he was never going to live down the discarded breakfast food. “You’ve got to let that go,” he sighed. “‘Ll never let another meal go to waste as long as we’re married, alright?”

Her lips twitched. "Okay, deal," she agreed. "Though I don't know about the shooting. Probably just steal a load of morphine from the hospital and give you that. It's a much nicer way to die. More peaceful, for us both." She wasn't sure she had the stones to end Tristan's life as violently as with a gun. "I wonder what give it away that my brain had been eaten by worms."

Orlaith shrugged. "Quicker now, I think. Hard to sit with something when you're with others. It was a nice day, though," she thought to add, lest it seemed like she hadn't enjoyed it. She had. And she was grateful for the friends and family who had showed up for them. But it had been tiring too and she was happy for it to be just the two of them now, quiet. Though it wasn't quiet for long as she let out a laugh. "Hey, remember when you couldn't be in a room with me for more than, like, ten minutes and now you're my husband. It's bonkers, if you think about it."

He sat up straight suddenly. “Hang on, money?” he asked. He tried to think if this was the first time hearing about it or if she’d ever mentioned and Tristan had just chosen to tune it out. Perhaps, he was supposed to assume considering the fact that her father had money, she was an only child and that it only made sense she might have some funds lying around. 

Tristan nodded. “Yes, well, probably much less messy to let me just overdose, anyway. “M sure it’d be nice to get high as the last thing I did before I died.” He gave her a wry smile at the morbid topic, and all on their wedding day. He rolled his eyes, though as she moved on. “‘M sure stranger things’ve happened. ‘Sides, you couldn’t be in a room with me either for too long, so, goes both ways.”

"Well that's the hope, anyway. You could one day get a shot at a second wedding, if you did something really stupid. Like shaving your beard off!" That example was a fair illustration of how serious she was about the second marriage thing. It certainly felt impossible to imagine ever wanting to not be married to Tristan, even if it was only a few hours she herself had been married to him.

Orlaith looked at Tristan's ring as he held his hand up. She had a matching band on her finger that felt brand new and comfortable all at once. "I mean of the celebration, the wedding bit, y'know? Just being on our own, no one else, in this nice room— it's the nicest part of the celebrating. Though I do think it's still sinking in a bit that we really did get married. First time since we did that we can just be alone to digest it a bit."

Tristan gave her a wry smile. “If I ever talk about shaving it off, just assume some worms’ve eaten my brain and you’ll have to take me out back at that point because ‘m too far gone, so you may as well shoot me.” 

Tristan looked at her. “How long d’you think it’ll take to sink in?” he asked. He still wasn’t sure he’d digested it himself yet. After all, everything up until this point, it had been theoretical. It had been words, but nothing official. Now, it was official, but it still felt like it hadn’t settled. Tristan had a wife. He wasn’t sure when it would feel real. Though, he still felt calm about it all. It had been a hasty decision, but the right one.

"Kind of weird how tiring talking and eating can be when it's something people do every day. Multiple times." Orlaith especially was well trained but she too felt like she'd sleep well tonight. Tristan likely just meant he'd sleep well because of how nice the bed was, but for her it was both. "But I might have to try out the bath before I think about sleep." It was enormous; one of the ones with jets. A far cry from the shower at their apartment. "With a beer." Minibars might be overpriced, but you only got married once. Hopefully. "I love this room. This might be my favourite part of the day."

It had all been nice; the ceremony, the food, the drinks, celebrating with the people closest to them— but here alone, just the two of them like was usual, in a nice room that topped the day off was nicest of all.

Tristan agreed with Orlaith on that matter of how exhausting it was to talk to people and eat. It was more the social aspect of it all, of course. “Yeah, s’fucking tiring. Thankfully, we only get married once, otherwise ‘d say that we shouldn’t do this ever again because of the socializing.” And this was with people that Tristan actually didn’t mind considering his father and Dante made up half their guests. And yet, it felt like it had run his social battery right to the brink. Though that part of the day was over. 

“Really? Your favorite part of the day? Not even the fact that we’re officially married?” he asked. He then paused as he held up his hand which now adorned a single piece of jewelry: his wedding ring. 

Tristan had chosen to collapse on the bed before he did anything else; Orlaith chose to sit on the edge of it and kick off the shoes before flopping beside him, back to the mattress. She sunk into the fluffy duvet, its covers crisp white. A nice hotel always gave itself away by its bed— this one didn't disappoint. "This bed is enormous," she said, craning her head to take it all in. "We could pick a side each to stick to and it'd be like no one else was in the bed." She rolled over to the edge, as if to illustrate the point. "Look how far away I am from you. Imagine having one of these in your house."

All that to say she was feeling okay really, other than the feet and with the shoes off now she'd soon forget they'd ever been sore. Orlaith was still herself, prattling off nonsense and making her stupid suggestions. "You?"

He looked amused, though, as she was pointing out the enormity of the bed. It was almost incredible just how big it was, he had to admit. He felt like it was nearly as big as their room in their flat. Certainly barely big enough that they’d had virtually no more space left for anything else, anyway. “My feet don’t even hang off the bed,” he said, which was the true testament to how big the bed was. “I can actually lay in it and fit.” he lay with his head on the pillow to demonstrate his point. “Is this what the bed normally feels like for you?”

Tristan nodded. “‘M good. ‘Ll definitely be having the best sleep of my life tonight, that  s’for sure.”

Although, as she headed for the door, she was glad to know Elias was waiting for her somewhere on the other side. He had always been a steadying force in her life and she didn't expect that to be any different today. And the nerves he couldn't soak up, the thought of the food they'd be having afterwards would. "Let's go and get married then," Orlaith said, opening the door.

The rest of the day went by in a similar blur. There were times when it felt like it stretched on and yet when it was over, it felt like it had gone by so quickly, that it felt like they ought to still be in that room getting ready for the wedding ceremony. 

As agreed upon, they had booked a hotel for the night. His father was staying with the animals for the evening to make sure they were taken care of. Tristan collapsed on the bed now that the day was over. By now, he was glad that it was done. That they were married and now didn’t have to worry about the preparations or organization of the whole thing. “Thank fuck,” he muttered as he looked at Orlaith now. “How’re you feeling?”

The picture surprised Orlaith, so heaven knew how it would turn out, but she didn't object to that, only rolled her eyes. "As if you're going to carry a picture around of me in your wallet." Tristan hardly seemed the type. Then again, once upon a time he hadn't seemed the type to have a girlfriend, let alone get married. She downed the remainder of her drink, suddenly hoping she hadn't made a mistake for her bladder to down a couple of drinks right before the ceremony. Thank goodness it wasn't going to be one of those long winded ones.

"Should probably get out there and do this," she said, putting her glass back down beside the empty bottle.

“Well, no,” admitted Tristan, “but s’the sentiment that counts,” he said. He looked back at the photo. “Definitely a keeper,” he nodded. He followed Orlaith’s motion of finishing off the drink in his glass before he put it down. 

“Yeah, probably should. Otherwise it’d just be stupid of us to’ve gotten all dressed up like this for no reason.” Tristan said it as a joke, but he could feel tingling in his limbs. It was probably partly due to the hasty finishing off of the champagne, but probably in part nerves. It was real. They were about to be married in a legal ceremony, tied together in a much more real way. No longer just living together, but sharing a life. Not that Tristan didn’t think they couldn’t have accomplished that while never marrying, but this still felt much more real and solid. He had no idea why that was. 

“Let s'go.”

She shook her head, snapping out of it as she took the camera from Tristan to look through the pictures the camera had been snapping. "Anyway, no, I didn't research that just for this event. I just— knew it. From a pub quiz. Maybe." As Orlaith babbled on, she flicked through the pictures; it was only when she stopped babbling and took them in properly, focusing properly on she and Tristan in their wedding outfits that her eyes widened, as though realising for the first time properly that they were about to get married. It felt surreal suddenly, to be looking at herself in a wedding dress, him in a tux; to know that in a moment they'd leave this room to stand in front of their closest family and friends - few as they may be - and say vows. And then she'd have a husband. She'd be a wife.

Another sip of her drink was necessary— steadying. Orlaith blew out hard. "It's surreal, looking at us like that." It was different to looking at themselves in the mirror; she felt more outside of it, looking at the photographs. "Not bad surreal," she was quick to clarify. "Just— surreal. We're really getting married. If you're still sure, that is," she joked, lips turning up softly at the corners as she gazed still at the photograph.

Tristan watched her as she went through the photos that had been taken. Some of them had been taken at rather inopportune moments, but he was sure there would be at least one or two they could choose for display, if Orlaith desired. 

“Oh, well, y’know, I was sure, but you asking me that just now, ‘m a bit shaky on it. How much longer do I have to decide to commit to this?” He looked at his wrist, as if checking for the time, though he didn’t wear a watch (he used his phone, like everyone else). He grinned at her, though. He took the camera from her, and held it up, so he could take another shot of her all dressed up for their wedding. "For the wallet photo."

"Illiteracy," she explained as she told herself to drink this second glass a little more slowly, lest it go to her head the way prosecco often could. "Back in Roman times most people couldn't sign a legal document, so they publicly kissed instead to seal the contract. That's where sealed with a kiss comes from." Only god knew why that fact was rattling around in her brain. Most things up there were nonesense, after all.

“Illiteracy?” he asked, his eyebrow raised looking dubious at the idea, but he let her go on. He looked rather amused by the fact. It made sense. It wasn’t all that different from the idea of consummating a marriage, except a kiss was more acceptable to do in the presence of witnesses. “You research that just for this event or is this the sort of thing rattling around the terrifying brain of yours?” he asked.

The camera had finished its round of pictures and Tristan picked it up to have a look at what had been taking as they had talked and exchanged a kiss. He clicked through some of the photos. “I think at least one of these should be good, right?” he said as he handed her the camera so she could look for herself.

“No,” said Tristan with a shake of his head as he was knocking back his own glass of prosecco. He made a face, never having been the sort of person who liked this class of drink. Too many bubbles and not even a good enough flavor to make up for it. He supposed there was a reason mimosas were a popular drink. 

“Why s’that?” he asked, looking back at Orlaith just as the camera went off again, taking another photo.

As she watched Tristan move around the room to set up the camera, Orlaith wondered about his reluctance to show any kind of affection unless it was absolutely private. She'd never thought about it much before, simply accepting people were different but now, with it rearing its head even on a day like today, the air of embarrassment at the thought of kissing her in front of others, she considered if there wasn't more to it than just simply being private. The thought of kissing him, even just for a brief moment, after they'd said their vows and put rings on, when they'd really done it, got married, felt natural to her. What else would she do? Still she said, with a small shrug, "Don't kiss me then. I don't think we have to do that. If you ask the officiant when you go in there they'll leave that line out." It would feel harder than usual to reign in her natural tendencies towards being tactile today of all days, but she could do it she supposed, even if it was that notion that seemed weird to her. A bit sad, even.

"Honestly, I was just going to say 'to wedding cake'," Orlaith said as Tristan made his way back over, holding her glass up ready to clink against his. "We could toast to anything really, as long as I get to have a drink at the end of it. Could toast to socks, or cheese, your dog," she laughed.