Page 78 of The Circle of Exile
He thrust the fork into her mouth — “Appetite is like a muscle. You need to work it slowly to expand it.”
“You haven’t had dinner at all,” she scolded him, half chewing, half scowling. “Eat. Now.”
Atharva forked more noodles, twirled and closed his mouth around them. Her eyes followed the path, even as their son suckled at her breast. And Atharva held her eyes, then closed his own to relish the fall of the first morsel in his mouth since this afternoon. The pasta was good, but not as good as Mama’s or Iram’s. His son made a mewling sound that made him pop his eyes open.
“He needs you to eat,” Atharva smirked, twirling another bite and holding it up to her mouth.
“He doesn’t; he is being jostled because I am eating.”
“He will manage. Aa.”
She rolled her eyes but opened her mouth, eating easily, chewing with some of that old relish he had become so used to seeing on her face. Atharva fed himself and her, eyeing her as she sat quietly, caressing Yathaarth’s hair. She didn’t move much, her body holding still for their son.
“You won’t drop him.”
“I don’t want to take a chance.”
“Is that why you are not using your rocking chair?”
“Hmm,” she ran a tender finger down their son’s cheek. His dark grey eyes opened wide in pleasure, his mouth closing tighter around her nipple. “Aye! You like it?” She pressed down and nuzzled the top of his head.
“He is smitten.” The words left his mouth.
Her head came up and wary brown eyes stared at him — “You think so? It’s just been two days of feeding. He still sleeps in Begumjaan’s room, bathes with her…”
And those words — those simple, vulnerable words from her soft mouth made the answering truth from his flow easily.
“His father has spent a lifetime smitten,” Atharva declared. “And it started with a few minutes in your company.”
Pleasure rolled across her guarded eyes. And then her lids dropped.
“What?”
Brown eyes popped open again — “You can’t still be all…”
“All what?”
“Swoony talking. I have basically burped and farted in front of you all through the pregnancy and right now I am feeding him in front of you. It’s not pretty.”
Atharva laughed. Deep and loud. He hadn’t laughed like this in eons. Like nothing was being forced out of him. His throat felt like the windpipe had cleared after ages. Bursting through sorrow and resentment and fear and grief, the sound felt alien but so his as the vibrations lightened his already lightened chest.
“Low, he is about to sleep,” Iram knocked his shoulder with her fist. He continued to vibrate, turning the volume down when Yathaarth’s head began to crane up to him. He was proud that his son had not completely forgotten him in his new milk heaven.
“Myani zuv, this is one of my life’s best views,” he pointed at their son latched onto her like she was his last meal. “The fact that I can laugh right now and am eating and enjoying the hell out of this after fighting with you downstairs doesn’t tell you that nothing has changed?”
“Nothing has?” She tested, craving reassurance. “Right?”
He sobered, blinking into her hesitant face. How had it been so easy to laugh with her and slip back into a world that was just their’s? But then, that’s exactly how it been with her. With them.
“Right,” he fed her the last bite and finished the final stuck sauce himself. In any shape or form, he would end up as the slave to her well-being. “Want more?”
“There was just one box of pasta,” she pouted apologetically. “You should have eaten it yourself! Why did you feed me? Want me to make you something? I can make you more white pasta…”
Tempting as it was, she looked exhausted. He shook his head, “I am full.”
“You are not.”
“I am.”
