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Jonathan Brisby had started to hate wearing suits.
Previously it had been nothing more than a rare annoyance. A few times a year his family would swan about at social events and as the youngest son – and the only one who was unmarried at the time – Jonathan had long had to cope with his mother spending far too much time focused on his appearance, like he was still a young child and couldn’t dress himself. She had always been overbearing, and she had managed to drill it into all her sons’ heads, especially now with their father gone. Jonathan didn’t understand how his brothers had just accepted the rigidity of high society. He didn’t understand how they enjoyed it.
Well, he hadn’t until he married Lucy. She had made it all the slightest bit better. He had become less afraid of gatherings, partially because she caused enough of a scene to take the attention off him every time they were with his “friends” – or just the people he had gone to school with who would continue to stay in their same insular group of longwinded, wealthy halfwits. She made most things better, he had found. She had managed to help him unlearn the strict rules he had forced himself to abide by.
But there were still some things she couldn’t fix. Hence, the aforementioned suit problem. While most things had gotten better, he still had his apprehensions surrounding public appearances. He still had his rules to cling to, the ones his mother enforced to protect her own image as well.
So, there he now was. In some parklands, sitting with his back against a tree, watching his wife collecting cuttings of various plants nearby. He was also wearing a full suit, hence being stuck in place, he wasn’t going to risk doing much more than sitting still and watching. It was that same rigidity again. He was good at covering how much he hated it, it was easier when there was some positive emotion there. He could cover his discomfort with the soft smile that came naturally when he was around Lucy. She was his closest friend. He valued that more than her being his wife. He adored her, he loved her more than life itself, but, to a greater extent, he trusted her. She stood up for him when he couldn’t stand up for himself. She was patient with him when it took him more time to admit he loved her than it took her. She was confident and full of life and different from anyone he had ever known. Jonathan found himself enamoured by her. He hoped that he was close to any of that for her.
He watched her, matching his same overly formal attire with a floral dress falling just below her knees. She looked free and happy in a way he rarely saw. They were so often holed up in their house, or being trotted out to social events they didn’t quite want to go to. Lucy had to force him to go to any gatherings with his brothers, Jonathan often loudly proclaimed how he’d rather jump out a second story window than have another dinner with them where they went on and on about how he needed his family to arrange a marriage for him because he couldn’t find a wife himself. He hated them. Lucy did too, but she said it to their faces, she was bolder than he was.
He had zoned out again. He didn’t realise that he had let the dreamy smile take over again until the rain started pouring. A drop hit his hand and his head snapped up. He pushed himself back toward the tree, pulling himself to his feet, and trying to save himself from the indignity of getting soaked by a sun shower.
He looked back out to his wife, expecting her to be running to find shelter or for her to suddenly be beside him.
Instead, she was standing there. Her arms were open, looking up to the heavens above and grinning as her hair became plastered to her head. The rain caught her off guard but she seemed to not care less. Unfortunately, Jonathan’s uncertainty and discomfort won out. This was hardly presentable, and he could hear his family’s grating voices in the back of his head.
‘Lucy!’ He called out to her, tone indignant, harsher than he meant it to be. He could hear the insulting jeers. The loud reminders that his image was always on the line. They had worn almost full formalwear to a park, they had to uphold their public-facing persona.
He called her name again, she didn’t answer.
Instead, Lucy began spinning in the rain, grin wide. She was almost ethereal in the rain, the one good, bright thing in a world that had gone grey. He fought internally with himself. A look on his face comparable to that of a complete mental breakdown, fighting between watching his wife in awe and being concerned for the conversation he was going to have with his mother later.
The choice was made for him when Lucy grabbed his hand.
‘Come on!’ She grinned; voice raised above the downpour. She looked so joyful, despite the running makeup. ‘Run with me.’ She insisted, trying to drag her husband away from his place resting by the tree.
‘It’s raining!’ His voice raised in a slight panic, trying to pull away from her hold.
‘I know.’ She shrugged simply, pulling at his arm again. She tried it a few times until she realised, he wasn’t moving. She pouted at him, and he sighed.
‘You know my mother will be furious.’ He insisted, waiting until she dropped his arm and stepped away.
‘Fine.’ She seemed upset for a moment, and he almost panicked before she reached down and grabbed his bag – the small leather bag he often carried with a book in it. He had always liked laying on the picnic blanket and reading, with his wife laying against him. She seemed to not think twice about it, grabbing the bag and dashing out into the rain without a second thought.
‘Lucy!’ He shouted again, genuinely surprised by her behaviour. He didn’t know why he should be; she was always like this; it was one of the many things he loved about her. She was vibrant and… well, different. A welcome kind of different, one he loved so dearly.
‘Come get it.’ She taunted simply. She stood still in the rain. Her shoes sunk into the soft earth as the rain continued. She held her arm out beside her, dangling the bag by the shoulder strap, letting it sway as the rain battered it about. She watched him, letting the dare hang in the air. She wasn’t fully confident that he would take the bait but was hopeful.
‘I’m not going out in the rain!’
‘Then you don’t get your bag back. If you want it, come get it.’
She almost gave in, then he ran forward.
So, she ran too.
The rain pelted down as the young couple ran through the parklands. Wet grass was torn up by their shoes. Puddles sent water flying onto their clothes, which couldn’t possibly get any closer to soaked through. Jonathan reached for his wife, trying to pull the bag free from her grip but she twisted her way away from him. Jonathan couldn’t turn fast enough, ankle rolling as he tumbled to the ground, landing flat in the grass, winded. He looked up, his wife stood over him, dangling the bag over his face.
‘Trying to get this?’ It was smug, even though she knew it was more likely than not he was going to be furious.
Then he reached and grabbed her arm, pulling her down with him.
Lucy landed on top of him with a surprised laugh, bracing herself against her husband as he smiled right back at her. The smile was not the dreamy one from earlier. Neither was it a look of disgust and self-consciousness. It was joy, a sudden change in his demeanour. Despite the rain bearing down upon them, Jonathan Stockworth-Brisby didn’t care.
He was happy, his Lucy was happy.
She leant down to kiss him as the rain stopped.