desiderium | m. o'hara

four

Yes I know that Miguel's daughter is called Gabriella but i have elected to ignore that (and I was told by members of my server that the nickname Rosita is too cute to be replaced)

  "Here." Miguel passes me a coffee cup. I take it between gloved hands and blow the steam away.

  "Thanks," I murmur. It's the end of our interaction, the sparse words we speak to each other, and we turn our attention to the soccer pitch where Rosalina is playing attack.

  I edge sideways, using his large build to buffer the chilly winter breeze.

  Little legs fly across the muddy grass, following a ball which white patches have turned brown. The kids are at an age where they've yet to learn about spacing, so they all follow the ball like cats to a mouse. The dark clouds threaten to pour but, by some miracle, they seem to be holding out.

  "Your girl's a good little player," a parent of Rosalina's teammate comments from my right. It's a father only a few years older than I. He grins at me when I smile in thanks.

  "She's fearless," Miguel adds. I don't let my eyes drift to him, though they itch to. My gaze follows the game instead.

It's a few matches out from finals and winning is the only thing on Rosalina's mind. She's competitive (she got that nature from me) and ruthless (her dad), which makes her a prime candidate for player of the day each week... or to be benched when she gets a little too caught up in the game.

Soccer is all she can think about, all she talks about, and all she watches. Her hyperfocus is, once again, a trait inherited from her father. When the two O'Haras get stuck into something, they get stuck in.

It's even worse when they get stuck into two different things at the same time. Corralling a child is hard enough, but corralling a workaholic husband to dinner is just as difficult.

Rosalina makes a solid kick towards one of her teammates. It gets intercepted at the last minute and is sent back down the pitch, kicking up flecks of mud as it goes. My daughter bunches her face and gives chase.

I try my best to focus on the game, I really do, but it's hard to when just a few days prior I learnt that my husband had died. He's been on my mind constantly, and the tears I've wept could've filled an endless river. The pain of losing him hasn't eased a bit, and I doubt it will ease for a very, very long time.

  And, just to boot, the Miguel beside me has watched multiple versions of me die, is some kind of vampire, and is also the intimidating, downtown neighbourhood Spider-Man.

I am also the only me left alive out of all of the universes.

  So, my brain's a bit preoccupied.

But I do think my grief has been easier to handle than it would have otherwise. Rosalina's complete unawareness to the situation makes it easy to focus on keeping things normal for her than to soothe both her pain and mine. And Miguel, well... he helps out when my emotions stop me from doing anything.

I'm still unsure whether I want him around at all, really. But I can't deny that he's been helpful.

  The chilly wind bites through my coat and I shiver, holding my coffee tighter. If he was my Miguel, I'd shuffle into his side and steal his body warmth, and he would stretch around me and rub my arm. He was so big, so warm, that the way my lips threatened to turn blue wouldn't even matter. He was my own husband-shaped space heater.

  But this isn't my Miguel, so I stand apart from him and tremble.

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