We Can Laugh
My first wasn't with Ron. Unexpected, but true. It wasn't simply so because of the situation at hand but rather by my insistence. I loved him, but that hardly counts for anything.
I clutch at red hair and I could pretend that it's his if I wanted to. I never do. I stare into blue irises, could they be his as well? Not likely and I don't mind.
Sweat glistens on my back as I grope wildly at every bit of him I can reach. He could be Ron. He could be. But he isn't. I never wanted him to be so. We make love until all hours of the night sometimes in the bed that me and Ron share. I lay beside him afterwards and feel nothing but contentedness. He could be Ron. It could be Ron's shoulder that I rest my head on as I curl up against him. As we kiss and my bare breasts press against his chest, he could be Ron. But he isn't. I only have to look carefully at him to know that.
It was never necessary. Ron could be in the same room as us and it wouldn't make a difference. He wouldn't say anything and neither would we. He doesn't need to be Ron. Neither me nor Ron care whether he is or he isn't.
Or I could be in the same room when Ron is at it with his lover. They wouldn't pause in what they were doing. She would be upset if she knew but for me it doesn't make any difference. It's still red hair and blue eyes and more freckles than I could ever possibly count. The same yet different. That is fine. Ron wouldn't appreciate it. He wouldn't understand me in that way.
He understands passion and love as I do but not with me. All he knows is dark hair and eyes so bright, they could light up a room. Those eyes seem to know him well too. They always have.
I think back on this now and laugh at all that's come to be. We are married, but that is hardly more than a necessity. More like playing house. Two kids with the same red hair and blue eyes as his. But they aren't his are they? Not likely but we can pretend, now can't we?
She can't though. She was never good at pretending. So she doesn't know.
I know. I'm too clever not to. But I don't care.
I look at my children and I barely suppress a laugh when they call him dad. They run towards him with open arms and he holds them and hugs them as though they are his own. But they aren't. He knows and he looks up at me and winks. I wink back with a smile on my face.
We dance and it's so lovely to be in his arms that I get carried away. He looks concerned as he catches sight of Ron in the doorway. Ron simply smiles and nods before exiting the room. I smile too.
"It doesn't matter," I say. "He will always know and so will I. We know each other."
It's a convenience that we do. We never have to tiptoe around each other. I won't have to be her. But she does know, now doesn't she? I see the look in her brown eyes. It's dejected. She knows, I'm sure. One of them screwed up and she found out. Or perhaps she has just gotten smarter. Either way, it was inevitable that she find out.
Except unlike me, she doesn't find the situation very funny.
She is hurting. So is he. I needed to care for him. He needed my love in a way that Ron didn't. He needed someone to be there for him. He is only half but I will make him whole again. When I am with him, when we laugh, when we make love, I feel like I am truly doing so. I am making him whole. As whole as he can ever wish to be.
It's convenient. Ron can be with his love and I can be with mine. I can laugh and so can he. I can dance and be me and so can he. We can wink teasingly at each other each morning across the breakfast table. We can love and we can be happy.
But she cannot and perhaps that is what hurts the most.
Me and Ron can play pretend but she can't. In our mind, Rose and Hugo can be his children. We can be the perfect couple. Everything can be perfect. Then one of us will ever so slyly wink at the other across the table and we both will lose our cool and laugh.
She doesn't have anything to laugh about.
I try to see it from her perspective but how can I? I never loved Ron. Not in that sense. I have been with him but it's meaningless, we both know that. Shagging just doesn't have the same appeal when I'm with him. His kisses are bland and his touch is awkward. We have stopped trying years ago.
We have but she hasn't. She doesn't want him cutting in. I sometimes wish that I could find her a lover as well. She could then sit and laugh with us. Our kids could look on with wonder at our constant giddiness and we can ignore them. Just laugh and laugh.
But she would never want to. She doesn't want a new lover. But how to tell her that the one she has doesn't want her.
He pretended at first. We all did. It was easiest to. We tried to make it seem like Harry was truly in love with Ginny and Ron was truly in love with me. We pretended that Harry and Ron weren't shagging each other in the room of requirement in their spare time. We made believe I wasn't really sleeping with George on the side. We made believe that George wanted to still sleep in his flat above the shop for the hell of it, not that he was sneaking me in there. We pretend that now that Fred is gone, I am not there more frequently than I ever have been before.
But that never worked. We know that.
Ron sits across from me every morning and we laugh as his niece and nephew come into the kitchen and call him dad. We laugh when he pretends to be staying late at work so that he can go and shag Harry. We laugh when he sees how messy our bed is after George and I have made love in it.
But we never laugh at the look of heartbreak on Ginny's face.