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Tuesdays were ironing days. They were better than washing days when Molly began morning wound up tight as a rope and ended the night frayed at the edges. By the time she got to ironing she seemed to have made her peace with the weekly ritual, perhaps because the previous day’s scrubbing helped her work out some aggression. Lovino hardly envied her. Even from the doorway, he noticed sweat forming on her forehead. It was no wonder with the stove blazing and steam leaving the room in a balmy haze. It was already making her hair frizz up, though it was never perfectly kept anyway. He’d always thought her baby hairs endearing.
“Amore, make it any hotter in here and the candles will pity you,” he said, fanning away the fog as he walked in. It was the middle of autumn and she’d made it humid as August. She looked up from her work for a moment, half in a fog herself. Her smile shined through the mist, the briefest of assurances that she wanted his company, before she returned to the shirt she’d been occupied with. It was too big to be one of his. He walked over to inspect it, and more importantly, her. Old ink stains on the cuff- Tolys’ no doubt. He was always falling asleep at his desk and smudging his arm in the stuff. He always handed his clothing off to Molly with a flurry of apologies and assurances he’d be fine if she couldn’t get them out. Most of the time she did, but this once the blot had been stubborn enough to rival her. The crinkle in her brow when she inspected it herself said as much. She dragged the iron over the sleeve.
“If I could get the creases out of the feckers with a cool breeze I would. Maybe then it wouldn’t take me an eternity,” she muttered as she finished off the shirt and laid it out on the table. Lovino frowned at that. She always worked herself too hard, insisting all the way that she was fine. It wasn’t a surprise- she wasn’t used to someone looking after her. Even with him it had been hard for her to allow it. He clicked his tongue and leaned over her shoulder.
“You need someone to iron out your creases,” he said, rubbing circles into her shoulders. Molly sighed, letting a little bit of her tension escape. “A nickelodeon opened up a few blocks away, we wouldn’t have to take the trolley all the way to Brooklyn.”
“Haven’t you noticed the mountain sitting behind me?” she replied lightly, nodding her head toward the offending hamper. It sat like an old grande dame, hoping its fresh smell would hide its wrinkles and the way it bulged against its confines. He sniffed and shook his head.
“You’ve been at it for ages, you deserve a break,” he said. He’d been at his own chores, much as he hated them. Sweeping and dusting had never been something he enjoyed, and his disdain for it made it drag on. Antonio’s villa had been a pain, but at least it had been airy. Alfred’s house was stuffed in the middle of Manhattan, and it only made the dust pile up faster.
“I have to get the laundry done, Al’s off to DC in two days and you know he’s going to put off packing until the last second-” Molly insisted, looking at him over her shoulder.
“And so it won’t hurt for you to take your own time. If you care so much I’ll help you finish it,” Lovino scoffed. He’d be suffering the boredom of waiting anyway, and she clearly needed it, even if he didn’t like the idea of doing laundry any more than dusting.
“Really?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d turned her body toward him now, one hand on her hip and the other resting on the table.
“Really. Come on, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Funny, I thought that was your job,” she said, unable to keep a smile from sneaking onto her face. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye like a green eyed Mona Lisa, playfully daring him to challenge the notion. It had no trouble bringing a smile back to his own face. He couldn’t help stealing a quick kiss from her. Or three. Who was counting?
“You’re charming as a wee devil when you want something. I suppose I should be thankful it’s me,” she laughed, cupping his face with her hand. She leaned in as if she was making to kiss him again, but swerved to hover by his ear. “Help me finish this and I’ll give you another one later.”
She pulled away to dig through the hamper for another garment, and he was left holding naught but air. It wasn’t a second later that instead of kisses it was a pair of drawers hitting his face. Well, at least it was something of her's he was familiar with. And clean.
“I trust I don’t need to show you how to use an iron. If you scorch these you’ll put me out a pair,” she said, laying out another shirt and flicking droplets of water across it.
“I don’t think I’d be opposed to that,” he said. A smack on his arm was the swift reply.
“Che cazzo! Come off it woman! I know how, thank you!” he rubbed his arm, though in truth she’d barely swiped at him. She was a cat batting without claws.
“Good. The faster we both work, the faster we can catch the show,” she said, nudging him with her arm, gently this time. He nudged her back in quiet acknowledgement before he scattered water over the drawers and set to his own work. It was hard to complain about it when she was with him. Cliched as it was, it made the toil go faster when he could talk to her. Happy as it made him, dread snuck its way in as it usually did. How much longer could they have this?
By the time they’d finished and set out on their way, the sun was settling into its pink bed on the horizon and turning down its lamps, making the whole city rosy. It would be dark by the time they got back, but it was no matter. Nobody would bother her as long as long as he was with her. Dangers notwithstanding, the city had its beauty in the evening. The streetlamps glowed like miniature starlight, and the Hudson glistened from them and the moon above. The scent of firewood and the street vendors still carting around made for a pleasant aroma, masking any horse dung that still sat stinking on the street. It was romantic in its own way. Cold as shit though. Lovino shivered, exhaling a pale mist that made Molly take notice.
“Love, it’s only October and you’re already on your way to catching pneumonia,” she fussed, stopping to fix his scarf. She’d knitted it for him ages ago, and he’d used it every winter since. He brushed a stray curl out of her face as she tightened it, the sunset making her hair a candle flame.
“Oh, but if I catch it I’ll get to have your stew again,” he teased. She wasn’t much of a chef, and it was all she could really make to his taste with some success, but it was enough to get anyone well and warm. It was… what was the phrase? Made with love? That was it. Love and a bouquet of potatoes. She looked at him knowingly.
“If I give you that you’ll spend an extra day in bed again,” she said, giving his scarf a playful tug before letting it be. “I’ll tie you in there next time.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“Ask nicely,” she teased, nudging him. Up the street sat their prize- an arched, burgundy-bricked building. Two dark doors flanked a glass booth and a bright white sign that still smelled of fresh paint. A halo of bulbs encircled the words “Theatre, Five Cents.” Their shine didn’t seem to bother the ticket taker one bit. A teenager, fresh-faced except for a single blemish on his forehead, was slumped over in the booth with a cock-eyed cap. Molly took the liberty of rapping on the glass. Her excitement had overruled her gentleness. The poor kid popped up like it was a stick-up, looking around frantically before his eyes focused on the two of them.
“Wha- hah- welcome to the nickelodeon! What can I do for you Miss? Well, Missus,” he stammered, tipping his cap to Lovino. It was a common assumption, but one they never bothered to correct. It was easier, and accurate in its own way.
“Two tickets for the picture show please,” she said, digging into her pocket. She’d hardly laid a finger on her coin before he whipped two nickels out of his coat and slid them over the counter.
“Lovi,” she chided him.
“You’re not spending a cent, save it for when you need it,” he insisted. “What’s showing tonight?”
“It’s new. From that French guy, what’s his name? Starts with an M… Méliès! If you’ve ever seen that show of his about the moon, you’ll be sure to like this one. Kingdom of the Fairies it’s called,” the ticket boy supplied. Lovino knew the other film well - A Trip to the Moon - and he’d admit it was art. Nevertheless, the French origins made him wrinkle his nose.
“Fairies, hm?” Molly said. He should’ve known. The woman could see the damn things, a title like that would only draw her in more. She took his arm again, committing them more than the two coins already had. “We should head along before the good seats are taken.”
Indeed, when they went inside they found the theatre more crowded than anticipated. He cursed himself for not expecting as much. A new nickelodeon and a new film? They’d been lucky to get inside. No wonder the boy had elected to nap. He needed rest where he could get it.
“Here will do,” Molly said, pointing toward a middle spot in the second row from the back. Lovino vainly glanced around for something closer, but he couldn’t contest it.
“It will this time,” he agreed, stepping from the aisle into the row to claim their meek prize. The one blessing was there was enough of a window for them to see out of. Not five minutes later, the lights dimmed and a small band began to play a fanciful score.
This film was a more engaging affair than he’d expected. It had been colored in pale pinks, antique golds, and dreamy turquoise to compliment the oceanic spectacle of crawling octopus and flitting fish. Evil fairies and good knights rushed about like bees in search of a kidnapped princess, only culled by the appearance of a dark tressed fairy godmother. Her movements were slow and measured, guiding the rambling horde about the screen to a satisfactory conclusion. He glanced over at Molly every few minutes, only to find her spellbound. Her face glowed blue in the light and her eyes were fixed. Yet, within the first few minutes, her hand had still sought out his in the darkness. He would recognize it anywhere, calloused, warm, and rarely content to be alone. It squeezed his lightly when the plot took a turn, only to relax when the resolution had come in a steady rhythm. It was familiar as the fairytale on the screen, and more comforting still.
“They can scarce walk without her to tell them how, can’t they?” she whispered as the godmother distracted the witch long enough for the knight to snatch her staff and break it over his knee. Lovino leaned over to whisper back to her.
“He got out of that burning tower on his own,” he replied. Her lips curled into a smile.
“Fine. One incident out of… well I haven’t been counting,” she joked. “There may be hope for them after all.”
The movie ended in a wedding tableau with nymphs surrounding the happy couple and a ringing instrumental fanfare, aided by the applause of the audience. Molly was clapping herself as the picture cut and the lights returned all too suddenly. She was quiet a moment before she turned toward him.
“You were right. I did need that,” she said, laughing a little, though he wasn’t quite sure at what.
“Say that again will you? I want it on record,” Lovino said, handing her her coat. She playfully rolled her eyes as she tugged the first sleeve onto her arm.
“Oh come on, but I was. You needed a break, and look at that, the world didn’t come to an end. Alfred’s shirts are clean, his hallway is clean, and chances are he won’t even notice dinner is late. He’s been shut up in that study all day anyway,” he continued as he stood to put on his own coat.
“I liked it,” she answered, and that was as much as she would acquiesce. He smiled to himself as they left the nickelodeon and returned to the chilly street, dark as he’d predicted. They’d use it as an excuse to huddle close to each other if anyone came tutting about impropriety.
“So, did you like it then?” she asked him.
“Well, the effects could have used a little work, the princess more character… but I know a good piece of art when I see it. We hardly get anything in color, I like to see it used well. Even if it is French,” he said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. She saw right through him, and her smile told him so.
“You love a fairytale as much as I do, don’t deny it,” she insisted. Truly he couldn’t. Fairytales and romances were one of the first things they’d connected over, except for their families of course. Both stifling and patronizing, granted in different ways. What better cause to distract themselves with such stories?
“I suppose I was too harsh on those knights. It’s true enough to life, people being the playthings of fairies,” she mused.
“Really now?” Lovino asked, raising an eyebrow. She could be funny when it came to this sort of thing, but it made him love her more. It wasn’t every day someone had such conviction about something you couldn’t see- well, maybe except God. Even then, if God were so tangible as these “wee folk” were to her everyday, he might offer him more obedience.
“More often than you think,” she insisted, but her smile faded. “Well. Here not as much. Not like across the sea.”
“Isn’t that a good thing if they’re such little shits?” he offered, trying to cheer her. Hell, that hardly cheered him. He put his arm around her, gently rubbing her arm.
“It’s funny how you come to miss it,” she said. “There are times I hate that I do, then hate myself for hating it, and it all wraps up into this mad cycle. It’s just like the damn laundry! Work aside, I’ve felt more at home here for the past fifty years than I have in the last hundred there, but then I remember that if things were only better- !”
Their stroll came to a stop on the sidewalk as she collected herself. She had to stop before she became too angry, but he understood. She’d become something he forgot he’d ever been without and couldn’t imagine her absence. It had been for that reason they ignored the dreaded prospect of return, as much as they longed for it. Her frustration at herself he didn’t always understand, but he knew well enough Arthur was a beast of his own to contend with. He’d done it only a while ago and it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a wonder she didn’t only taste ashes these days.
“You’re a home of my own. I don’t see why I have to exchange you for another I’ve yet to set right,” she finished. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
“Then don’t,” he said simply. “All this talk of fairy tales, and you think you can’t finish a quest of your own, huh? You won’t let some English fairy pull you along forever. When that day comes, you’ll be free and I’ll be there.”
“More creases for me to iron out then? With help like that, I think I can manage it,” she assured him. Her brows knit. “I know you worry about it. I can see it in your face sometimes when everything else is perfectly happy. You glance over like you’re afraid I’ll poof into thin air if you don’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, turning away and blushing. She gingerly tilted his head back toward her, only wanting to see him.
“And if I do?” he admitted sullenly.
“I won’t let you worry over things that years keep us from anyway. I love you, Lovi. There’s certainty in that,” She leaned up and kissed him tenderly. He leaned into the hand that held his face, even after she’d pulled her lips away. It was real and comforting, and he dreaded the day he’d be without it, even if it was only temporary. Her touch told him everything her mouth professed already.
“Next time we’re out it’ll be my treat then. I won’t have you thinking I’m shirking on anything,” she affirmed, taking his hand and leading him back along their route home.
“I told you, save it for when you need it! While we’re here you’ll be taken care of,” he retorted.
“Does that mean you’ll be coming to save me next laundry day?” she asked. He wrinkled his nose at the prospect of the work before he realized what she implied. Another little escape together into the city was something he’d never turn down. Another moment on a thin thread of time they could only guess at the length of.
“I think that’s something I can manage,” he replied. The smile returned to her face, and her creases were all where he thought they should be. It was the best work he’d done all day.