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the first few attempts were difficult.
emil had voiced many times that the letters just didn't make sense to him. he knew they related to words—as always, he hadn't needed to be told that words are made of letters and can be written on paper, for he's a lot more coherent than the doctors had ever made it seem—he just couldn't make them fit in the ways they were supposed to. non-phonetic pronunciation frustrates him, and truly, ada sympathizes. she takes his lessons as slow as she is able lto manage, teaching him gently, and they take breaks when he becomes too frustrated.
"learning to read is essential, darling," ada tells him, soothing his frustration with a hand passing through his hair, as gently and slowly as ever, "you want to find work, right?"
emil sighs, burying his head further against her chest and curling his arms tighter around her abdomen. after a pause, he laments, "yes, ada ... i don't like being alone in the house when you're gone. i miss you."
"my poor emil," she coos, kissing the top of his head, warmed as always by his sentiment, "well, you ought to come to town and work with me, then. mr. wilson offered you part-time work at his bakery, yes? it's right beside the library. i would be happy to come visit you."
"he said i seemed like a 'nice boy'," emil laughs a little, low in his throat and breathy, "and that i was tall and strong and could lift heavy bags."
"well, he's right," ada assures, humming with a soft, endeared smile, "you're very tall. and rather strong, too. picking up an entire woman is no easy feat."
"you're not that heavy," he pouts, "and you're small ... much smaller than i am. you're all the way down there—"
emil makes a little display of their heights with his hands. ada's is a bit lower, and he raises it with an almost mischievous little smile, "—and i'm all the way up here."
ada laughs, thoroughly amused by his not-so-subtle mock of her height. she often wonders where he's picked up his sudden sardonic streak, until she remembers her own humor, and asserts that it's almost certainly from her. emil is laughing, too, but it's quieter, for his eyes are wide and far more focused on admiring her.
"you're pretty," he mutters, "when you laugh, ada."
emil takes her hands, and fits them in his own, snuggling further against her while she watches him with a quiet astonishment. flushed, a response doesn't come to her immediately, blindsided by the sudden compliment—though he fills the silence for her.
"you're pretty all the time, obviously, but it's different when you laugh," he leans up and kisses her cheek with a small, adoring smile, "i want you to laugh all the time..."
ada smiles, wide enough that it hurts just a bit. she squeezes emil's hand and tilts her head to kiss him warmly, soft and tender. emil responds with the same gentle joy he always does, leaning into it, taking in the scent of her perfume—his favorite.
"you're lovely, emi," she presses their foreheads together, and they close their eyes, serene, "so very lovely."
after such a conversation, emil finds himself newly invigorated. ada goes out the next day and returns to hand him a leatherback journal and a pen. pressing it gently into his hands, she leans onto her toes to kiss his cheek, "practice your writing here, emil. make a diary. whenever you feel like you've had an especially noteworthy day, write it down."
she hopes that such an incentive will give him more opportunities to practice, and thus more opportunities to learn. now that they've gotten out of 'spell it like it sounds', he's begun to properly grasp non-phonetic spellings, even if he still struggles with it. ada is deeply proud of him. the progress he's made is no easy feat, especially with all the wear and damage done to the most important pieces of his mind. she is regularly amazed by how strong and capable he is, and she wonders often how she ever found such an amazing, gentle man.
emil writes often. she often finds him scribbling away on the pages, typically once or twice a day. his handwriting is certainly not perfect, but it's legible, a huge improvement from what it was when they first began. his hands jerk a bit and he struggles to hold onto the pen, but he always gets it out, and she always praises him for a job well done when she sees that he has finished.
"do you want to read it?" emil tilts his head, offering the closed book to her, "to see my progress?"
"that's alright," she shakes her head and dusts her hands off on her apron, the smell of a warm, dense soup filling the house from the kitchen, "it's your journal, emi. those things are private, a place for you to spill all of your thoughts, even ones you don't want me to know about."
emil frowns a bit, and considers her words, clearly attempting to work something out in his head. she waits, though doesn't stare, purely out of habitual politeness—as much as her eyes are drawn to watch him always, admire his beauty, and memorize every line of his face.
"i tell you everything," he simply shrugs, reaching some conclusion, "so if you ever want to look, i can just give it to you. what are you cooking?"
"potato soup," she smiles, endeared by his openness, "your favorite."
emil brightens up wildly, clearly newly excited for dinner, "oh—that's great! can i help, ada?"
"of course, beloved. you can make more lemonaid. i've already cut the lemons." ada holds out her hand, and he takes it eagerly, standing up on wobbly legs. with smiles shared only between lovers, she leads him away from the den and into the kitchen, the dense moonlit forest visible from their back windows.
his writing improves, and improves, and improves. on their birthday—ada picked his day, and made it the same as hers, so they could celebrate together—they spend the morning in the forest, picking flowers on the cliffside to fill the vase on their dining room table yet again.
they go into town to make their own celebration. they need a cake, perhaps wax candles if she can find the small ones, and emil told her he wants to split up a bit in the stores so he can look for gifts to get her with his own wages. she's touched, truly, and she's pleased that he wants to go on his own. while out, she makes a note to get more fabric, for they need new curtains and she prefers to cut them herself. medicine, for emil's head, and of course, food for the coming week.
when they meet back up, emil has hidden his gifts in a bag he carries on his wrist, and he takes ada's bags from her arms with a little smile. they greet their friends on the street, and when they enter the bakery, mr. wilson greets them with a pleased smile and a boisterous wave.
"the mesmers!" he greets, smoothing out the greying hair on his head, "emil tells me you're celebrating your birthdays, hm?"
ada nods, smiling politely, "we are, yes. we'd like to purchase one of your cakes to take home."
"of course, of course," he nods, guiding them over to the section of the display case wherein 6 cakes sit, "take your pick. do you want the entire cake, or slices?"
"the entire cake, if you would. which one do you want, emil?"
emil takes stock of the cakes, eyeing them carefully. she doesn't think she's ever seen him scrutinize something this hard in the entire time she's known him. she supposes that now that he's worked here for quite a number of months, he must know something or other about the cakes made, and the quality of them. she wonders if he ever tastes any of them before they go out for sale.
after a quiet deliberation, emil points to the pretty white cake decorated with equally white fringing. he turns to ada to tell her, "this one is chocolate."
ada smiles, "perfect. thank you, mr. wilson."
and when they get home, they light the candles on the cake and sing together, and then present their gifts. ada bought emil a plush bear, a fine new coat, and a dense scarf for the coming winter. emil had thanked her with a smile wide enough to break his face and hugged her tight enough to crush her ribs, and ada swears that she has never felt so loved as when emil looks at her and touches her and holds her.
emil bought for her a beautiful pair of fine fabric gloves, a velvety brown, and she had put them on immediately in wonderment of their comfort and warmth. accompanying it was a silver necklace, fashioned with a heart-shaped locket with "A + E" engraved on the face.
"you have to put a picture inside," he explains, fumbling a little in an attempt to latch it around the back of her neck, "but you could put one of us, maybe..."
the old, clunky camera they've stashed in the corner of the den is more alluring than ever. she turns and takes his face in her hands, pulling him down for a kiss.
"that sounds lovely, my darling. thank you so much."
as they settle in for the night, filled by leftover soup and a teeth-rottingly sweet cake, ada finds him writing once again in his journal. she rests her chin on his shoulder, this time watching him write.
October 10
A birthday is like a new beginning...