Relationships for a Good Time
The flight could have been the start of a tidy romance: one plane, two seats sidebyside, a single destination. He was Arthur, a brilliant wildlife photographer whose life was a string of expeditions and gallery openings. She was Lily, an architect who built not only structures but her career with razorsharp precision.
Both were independent, selfassured, each carrying a divorce that had taught them to value personal space.
The idea popped up like a flash in a dark room: why not keep things light, without the chores and obligations?
No one thought it would last, especially Arthurs studio mates. In their workshop they even ran an unofficial betting pool on how long the latest uncatchable Tem would survive. Most bets stretched into months.
Women were often drawn to Arthur good looks, a creative job, never boring, not stingy. But his colleagues also knew his flip side. He lived on whims of inspiration, could be unbearable at home, unpredictable in mood, and liked a tipple. Yet every time he announced he had found love, everyone sighed in relief. A lovestruck Arthur worked like a man possessed, his pictures brimming with passion and life.
And then he met Lily, his true muse. A woman who asked for nothing beyond the joy of meeting. Shall we try it without the dreadful domestic grind, without where were you? and why didnt you call? Arthur suggested. Lifes hard enough as it is.
Lily smiled and agreed. First, she was sure it would be a brief fling; second, after a tough divorce she wasnt keen on settling down forever. In short, their needs matched.
Arthur could spend a week in Lilys cosy, perfectly arranged flat and then disappear for months into his cluttered studio, piles of gear and rolls of film. They flew together to Bath for a weekend, then didnt see each other for weeks. Three days in a country house turned into a threeweek separation.
A year later Lily became the star of their creative gatherings.
My dreams are coming true, she told her friends over a martini, grinning. As a kid I loved reading about Arctic explorers tough, independent, always on the move. My Arthur is like a modernday polartraveller. He heads out on an expedition behind the lens and comes back with flowers and eyes that sparkle.
Arthur was happy.
Lilys a breath of fresh air, he told a mate over a glass of whisky. My life is chaos. Sometimes I crawl home and cant even form a sentence. Other times I just need someone to listen and treat me like a kid. Most of the time I just need a weeklong leavealone. She gets that. If we lived together wed drive each other mad within a year. As it stands I always arrive with flowers and a grin, like its a first date.
He allowed himself fleeting side interests but always returned to Lily. It felt like a karmic tie, something sturdier than a dull marriage. To onlookers Lily always seemed perfectly content.
Five years slipped by. Then the gallery Arthur worked with shut its doors, his favourite photography magazine hit a slump, and the little creative collective began to crumble. Everyone set off to find new paths.
A couple of years later Lily ran into Lena, an old acquaintance, at a coffee shop. They chatted, reminisced, and inevitably the conversation drifted to Arthur.
Lily gave a wry smile as she stared at her cappuccino.
So, were still on the same old seesaw. He pops up, disappears, and pops up again. Honestly Im tired of it. The minute we hint that he should settle, he looks at me like a trapped animal and asks, Are we not happy enough? He gets jealous of his own shadow and fears losing me.
And you? Lena asked.
Honestly Id love to live together and maybe have a kid. But it feels like Im doing it alone, so Im not diving into anything serious.
Does that mean you love him? Lena probed gently.
Probably. Or its just habit, Lily sighed. Maybe its stubborn hope that hell wake up, change, become the man I imagined my man.
Lily, sorry, but people dont change that way.
My mum says the same. Everyone asks why I cling to a man who cant decide what he wants. I just cant dump him. Is this love?
Its up to you, Lena shrugged. Ive never bought into free relationships. Freedoms fine, but you only get one life, and you cant get those years back.
Months later Lily finally booked a session with a therapist. She talked about fearing solitude, burntout relationships, and unfulfilled hopes. After a session she returned home, brewed tea, and sat by the kitchen window. Her eyes landed on an old photo frame a gift from Arthur.
Inside was their joint picture: laughing, arms around each other against a sunset. Lily lifted the frame to dust it off, slipped, and the glass shattered. A tiny envelope fell out from the back.
She trembled as she tore it open.
Inside lay a candid photo: Lily asleep, wrapped in a blanket, a lamp casting a warm glow over her drawings. Arthur had snapped it while she slept. On the back hed written in his own hand, The only place my inner chaos quiets down. Sorry I never had the nerve to say it out loud. Ive always been yours; I was just scared to admit it.
A week later, as usual, Arthur rang the doorbell with a bouquet of pink peonies. Lily opened the door, but instead of a smile she handed him the old photograph.
He looked at the picture, then at Lily, and for the first time the usual sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a tired, quiet resignation.
It seems, Arthur said softly, our expeditions are ending. Time to come home.
And this time he crossed the threshold not as a visitor, but as someone finally ready to stay.
