Marriage?!

Part 3

The old man lays on his bed, watching the rain fall. He smiles when the raindrops kiss the windowpane, before sliding downwards to the window ledge. It creates a pretty sound, something he'll always remember even when he goes. 

Even so, a worry keeps his eyebrows furrowed. He is not young, neither is his son. The sound of the door opening snaps him out of his thoughts. Ah, his wife.

"Care for some tea?" She asks softly. The old man notices the way her eyes drift to the side. Of course he notices, she always does that recently. As if to avoid looking at him like it'll curse her. But those thoughts always pass when he sees the pained look on her face. She's about to cry again. He nods. "Thank you."

She sits on the edge of his bed, pouring warm tea in a porcelain cup. It trembles as she does, clattering softly against the saucer. It reaches his hands. The old woman breathes shakily. She wonders if her feelings would reach him just as the tea had. Simply, easily. 

Don't go.

"How has James been?" His voice rumbles. Sickly and unsettling. The old woman sighs. In other words, how has the business been coming along? Any problems? But her son is competent. The proof is blatantly seen, but James is growing old and sickly as well. Just like his father. She simply nods. "Of course he's well, as is the business." Her words drip with sarcasm. "Is that all you ever care about?"

Sometimes, the old man does not understand his wife. He asked her about the well-being of the sales, yes, but he overtly made known his concern for his son as well. But it came to him that she probably thought he was still the man he was. Work and work and work. He wants to tell her that there are no longer hidden meanings behind his words of concern.

"No." He replies, taking a small sip. "But I do care about our heirs-"

"In this day and age?" She interjects sceptically. She would have agreed with him if this conversation occured fifty years ago, or more. He gives her a look, and she sighs again. "Izzy will find a man. I'm sure she will. Still, I think she deserves time for herself to travel and enjoy life before she marries and devotes her life to her husband." 

The look on the old man's face pauses her. She has gone too far by empathising with her granddaughter, Isabelle. After all, she did feel that her life became non-existent when she married. She does not want the same fate for Isabelle.

"And why can't Isabelle take over the business?" She then asks a little softer now. The old man turns his head back towards the window. He knows Isabelle. She has never been interested in pottery ever since she was a child, giving up and throwing a tantrum. He smiles anyway, enjoying the fond memory. "Do you think she'd enjoy it?" He replies with a question.

"..." Of course, silence is the only possible thing that comes next. The question was rhetorical and rhetorical questions have obvious answers. The old woman never thought about it that way. The business would only progress if its leader is passionate about it. Even so, the old woman believes that this statement is not always the case.

The old man shakes his head. "I don't want Izzy, no, I don't want to force her to spend her life doing something she isn't interested in. Moreover, she's already pursuing writing." With the tea cup barely empty, he places it down onto the bedside table. "Our business is small, our shop is little. Nonetheless, it was what kept this family alive back in the day. We shouldn't forget what brought us here." He continues.

"When I pass, I wish for pottery to remain a tradition in this family. Even if the sales aren't great... I want it to live on. As they say nowadays..." He scoffs, a little smile perking his lips. "It's our family's thing, isn't it? Pottery."

So that's what he wants. His last wish. The old woman remains silent, staring at her husbands's languid profile against the bed, just watching the rain. He wants pottery to be liked and to be treasured. He wants their tiny little shop to be managed by passion. Their son can barely keep his hands from shaking as well. 

"Indeed so." Her voice is quiet and gentle. "Rest well." She stands, clearing the tray, but a hand stops her. Even at this age, her heart races. "Stay with me for a while, love." He manages, his smile making his skin wrinkle at the corner of his eyes. And she nods, clasping his hand with her own shaking ones.