A Different Kind of Tears
She sat in her living room chair, the bright noon sun shining in through the window. Inside, it was dark, with the window being the only source of light. Outside, there was laughter and a feeling of general happiness. Couples walked by, some holding hands, some arm in arm. On the end table next to the chair in which she sat was a calendar; it read February 14. It was Valentine's Day, and the brown-haired woman rested in her overstuffed living room chair, holding a picture of her late husband.
"Mommy!" a youthful voice called from another room. Gracia lifted her head, turning her attention away from the photograph. A young girl, eyes wide and bright, came running into the room. "Can I go next door to play?" As Elicia said this, she leaned back and forth on her toes, her mouth in a huge smile, as it almost always was these days.
A soft grin formed upon Gracia's face. "Sure, honey. Just be sure to be back by dark."
"Okay, Mommy!" Elicia exclaimed as she ran for the door. When Gracia heard the door close, she turned her attention back to the picture in her hands. Ever since the death of her husband, Gracia had had her good days and her bad days; she could tell that this was going to be one of the latter. She turned her head once more to gaze at the calendar on the table, and as she looked at it, the years seemed to recede as her memory took her back in time…
It was Valentine's Day, years ago, before Hughes's death, before Elicia, before Maes and Gracia were even married. Gracia stood in front of the small mirror that hung on her bedroom wall. She ran a brush through her hair gently, trying to make sure that every strand was in place. Satisfied, she laid down her brush in exchange for her earrings. She put the right earring in first, and then the left. Just as she was clasping her left earring, she heard a knock at her apartment door. Her eyes lit up at this sound, and she walked briskly towards the door, the heels of her shoes clicking against the hard, wooden floor. When she reached her destination, she paused, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
"You're early," Gracia stated to the man leaning against the outside wall. The man wore a suit, black over a white collared shirt. His hair was slicked back, glasses on the tip of his nose, a bouquet of red roses in his hands.
He grinned. "I know, but I couldn't stand to be away from you for one more second." He shifted his weight from the wall to his feet and handed the flowers that he held to his date.
"Oh, Maes," Gracia replied, blushing, tilting her head down to look at her feet, before she took a minute to smell the flowers. The she raised her herself up onto the tips of her toes to quickly kiss the taller man's cheek. She grabbed his hand before saying, "Come on, dinner almost ready."
She led Maes into a dim room where, in the center, there was a round table set for two. On top of the table were two, long elegant, candles. The light of the candles flickered on the back wall of the room, which gave the whole scene an air of simplistic romance. Maes sat down and Gracia went into the kitchen to check on the food, returning with a bowl of salad and a platter that carried a roasted chicken.
During the meal, the couple made small talk, which eventually eased into laughter and a more relaxed conversation. Occasionally during the conversation their hands would brush past each other, or their feet would meet under the table, causing Maes to smile and Gracia to blush. And, sometimes, they wouldn't talk at all. Sometimes, there would be long periods of time when they were silent, and just stared into each others eyes, until one of them diverted their eyes and started up the flow of conversation again.
At the end of the meal, after both had eaten until they were stuffed, Maes dropped his napkin onto the table and leaned back in his chair. "It was amazing, Gracia," he said, a tone of happy satisfaction in his voice.
"Thank you, Maes," Gracia replied softly.
Hughes repositioned himself so that he was sitting up straight in his chair again. "Listen…Gracia," he began hesitantly, "There's…something I've been meaning to tell you for a while…"
Gracia tilted her head to the side and asked curiously, "What is it, Maes?"
"Gracia…" Hughes answered, "You're the most wonderful woman that I've ever met. I don't know what I'll do if I can't spend the rest of my life with you." Maes stood and put his hand into his pocket. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, Gracia, will you marry me?" He knelt and pulled a ring from his pocket.
"Oh, Maes!" Gracia gasped, and then paused, breathless. "Yes... I will marry you!" She finally replied, and held out one delicate hand for her fiancée to put the ring on. And as Maes slipped the ring onto her finger, a tear ran down her cheek, just as one had that present-day Valentine's Day. Only, there was one difference. All of those years ago, on that Valentine's Day, those were a different kind of tears; they were tears of joy.
Back in the present, Gracia was jerked out of her daydream by a knock on the door. Slowly, she set the picture frame down on the end table. Another knock. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Time to put on your happy face," she said to herself quietly. She got up, walked over to the door, brushed off her dress, turned the knob and pulled, only to reveal Colonel Roy Mustang.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hughes," Mustang said formally.
She chuckled. "Roy, how many times have I told you to cal me Gracia?"
"Oh…right, Mrs.—er, Gracia," Roy replied, "Well, I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd stop by to check in on you, to make sure that everything is okay."
Gracia nodded and smiled assuringly, "Everything is fine. Just fine."
"I'm glad to hear that," the alchemist answered, "Unfortunately, I can't stay long. I have some business that I need to attend to."
"Of course, I understand. Thank you for stopping by," the brown-haired woman said, "It was very thoughtful."
Roy nodded before heading back to the car that was parked out front. Gracia closed the door and sighed, walking back to the end table. She picked up the picture frame one more time. And as she looked at the photograph of her late husband, she repeated to herself, "Everything is fine. Just…fine…"
Fin