You can't Ignore History
Sigrid pushed against their chin with the heel of their hand, violently jerking their neck until they heard a satisfying string of crunching pops. Wyatt cringed, scrunching his face with narrowed eyes. Sigrid smiled apologetically before opening the door to a small café. There was a pride flag in the window decorated for the month. It was still too warm for October, with the temperature lingering in the low 80s. Sigrid couldn’t wait for the weather to turn.
“Is there a reason in particular you wanted us to leave out the window of an upper floor down a drain?” Wyatt laughed, pulling Sigrid’s chair out for them, making sure they had space to sprawl comfortably.
“I’m a campus crypted. Also, my students have been trying to figure out what I am, and I like hearing their guesses. Sometimes it’s nice to, what is the expression, throw money in their wrench?” Sigrid shrugged. They also wanted to see what would be added to the conspiracy board. Not that their students were aware that they were aware, but they were still curious.
“Wrench in plans. God, you are old.” Wyatt laughed.
“Then get this old person a shaken espresso.” They grinned, handing Wyatt enough cash for two drinks and a substantial tip.
“That’s, that is so bad for you. But fine, if I can get a tea, you still owe me.”
Sigrid rolled their eyes dramatically, “You do hold a grudge. I left you with one bar tab.” they attempted to leave the rest unsaid.
“And a cold bed, two dresses that I did not look good in, by the way, and a wedding ring,” Wyatt added, a chill entering his voice before he walked to the counter. Sigrid had left because they had seen the wedding band before he could ask. They hadn’t known he was immortal at the time, so they ran. They couldn’t bring themselves to outlive another spouse. Flings were one thing, but when the mortals got serious about them, they always got hurt.
When Wyatt returned with their drinks, Sigrid started pouring sugar into theirs, watching each grain hit the liquid. They could hear the sound of the espresso machine and the screaming steam of latte milk.
Wyatt twirled the tea in his cup, “I made it awkward, didn’t I?”
“No, Wyatt.” Sigrid sighed, “I did that 200 years ago. I am sorry. I just thought, well, never mind that we have time to talk about that later.” They shook their heads. So, environmentalist?”
“Heh,” Wyatt took a sip of his honey tea, “Sorta, I work with agricultural sciences.”
“You were always the better cowboy of the bunch. Remember that ranch we worked on in Texas?”
“Which one?” they laughed together before falling into an uncomfortable silence. The bell rang above the door as customers filed in and out with murmurs of orders and quiet conversations surrounding the two immortal beings.
Wyatt was the one who broke the silence, “I never stopped lookin’ for you, you know. Learned to read through the obituaries. Thought maybe if you were dead, it would explain why you left.”
“Wyatt,” Sigrid started, stopped, opened their mouth, then drank their coffee, “I” they stopped again, “I saw the ring.”
“I figured ‘s much.”
“It scared me.” They were being honest now.
“Nothin’ scares you Siggie. Specially not a little piece of metal.”
“It's not the ring; it's Wyatt, it's, " they stumbled. “I didn’t know you were, I didn’t know Wyatt.”
“I still don’t understand Sigrid. You said you'd been married before,” He reached for their hand, paused, thinking better of it, and gripped the mug in front of him with both hands.
“Wyatt, I saw both of them die; I have watched so many people I loved die, and when I saw it, it became real again, and I got scared.”
Sigrid had avoided marriage since the 15th century. They had sworn to never try again after Osmund, but Anna had been special. They’d run from her parents together, fleeing for the fae woods surrounding the village. If they remembered right, they had been turned into folklore. The woman stolen by the light of the full moon by the red-headed faerie.
Wyatt frowned, “You're thinkin’ about something. You still make that same face.”
“Sorry,” they breathed, “Wyatt, you did not deserve to be left questioning what had happened. I apologize for that. But I will not apologize for doing what I thought was going to be better for all of us. How many mortals have you loved?”
“None”
“You lie”
“No.” a few other patrons turned at his tone, “No,” he repeated, softer, “No one except you. I have never loved anyone the same way I loved you.”
“But you have loved. That is not a problem. I don’t care if you’ve loved other people. It would be concerning if you didn’t, 200 years ago, as far as you knew, I died.” They stared at Wyatt, he hadn’t aged a day since they had left. They hadn’t either, of course, but that wasn’t the point. It was looking into their past, a past they had left behind. A past they had used for research, one they had left, excavated, and reburied time and time again through students, research projects, and study. Articles had been written about their time in the South, their time with the ranch hands, and the anthropological and archaeological contexts that had created the American West. It was one thing when their past was dead; it was another when it was alive, across from them, having tea in a queer café.
“Siggie, I don’t know what you have gone through. 2100 years is a long time compared to my 200, but I want to understand, and I want you to be the one to tell me. I just found you. I won't be losing you again.”
“Shall we, start again?”
“Sigrid, you know as well as I do you can't ignore history.” Wyatt stood, carefully scooting his chair with the backs of his legs, “But I would like to learn from it.” He held out his hand. “Wyatt Smith, I'm a visiting professor of agricultural science.”
Sigrid's eyes widened. They smiled, “Sigrid.” They took his hand and shook, “Archaeology.”