Now every day, I hate you just a little more

Her hand gently brushed the fabrics as Pippa wandered through the vintage store. Her eyes darted from rack to rack, searching for something cute yet functional. After spending the past couple of months wilting away in sweats, she wanted to start over and feel cute again for the first time in a long time. Who said you couldn’t look cute while renovating an old farmhouse that was closer to collapsing than being liveable? Pippa’s gaze landed on a pair of denim dungarees. There was a little wear and tear, but the straps were decorated with embroidered daisies and leaves. They would definitely match the blouse she’d already taken off the rack earlier, the perfect combination.

At that moment, her full attention was on the item of clothing hanging only a few feet away. So much so that Pippa didn’t realise how close she’d gotten to the complete stranger standing between her and the pair of dungarees. “I’m so sorry — are you alright?” she blurted, hoping the bump hadn’t been too painful on their end. Pippa caught a glimpse of the item the other was holding. “Were you thinking of getting that? I bet it would look wonderful on you,” she offered in an attempt to make the situation at least a little less uncomfortable.

Her eyes dropped to the shirt she was holding before she laughed softly. "And thank you. I haven't really bought myself much since moving here, so I'm a little out of practice." She glanced down at it again, considering, unsure of her decision really. "Honestly, I can't tell if it's cute or if I've just been staring at it long enough to convince myself it is." Becca admitted, wondering if she was just sleep deprived enough that anything looked cute in her mind.

Of course, things had gone from great to awful the afternoon Eleanor had texted her. She had once again felt like she was the worst sister, which she was. In her head, she was not even deserving of the title sister in most cases, having left El with their mom and the hospital bills for almost a decade, barely keeping up with her life, and when doing so having that information mostly from their mother. She wished she could take back time and change the things she did; she often thought that maybe things could have been different if she'd gone home right after graduation... for her, for Rachel, for Eleanor. But she hadn't, and she had his into her shoebox apartment in Berkeley, trying to pretend to be who she had been before she became the shameful and dirty person she had become. But things had begun slipping away from her; she had lost that spark and desire to just communicate and share and explore. If one were to talk to her now, they could never even begin to guess that she had once been a cheerleader, a tutor and constant helper, always trying to lift up the mood. Most of the time she barely managed to lift her own mood.

And now here she was, almost two years of fruitless tries to become better, then withdrawing and fucking everything up. She and her mother had spoken about the bills that needed to be taken care of, and Claire assured her she'd try her best, knowing she might need to actually use her credit card for it after spending as much as she had from her meter income on the trip. Her savings were there too, but she felt like those would be for real big emergencies. And if she lost her job or something similar. 

The conversation had drifted to Rachel's jobs, Claire's job, a few grumbled comments about Eleanor's, then they'd discussed some local gossip, the weather and now they all were finishing up their meals in silence, the only noise being Miso's patter-patter on the floor. She'd spent the last few minutes just pushing leftovers on her plate and looking up at her sister, wondering if she could finally start up a conversation with her or if she'd want to bite her head off... deservedly so. And that was solved pretty quickly by the snap she got from her.

"I'm not staring..." She started to defend herself, but then stopped and sighed, pushing another pea around. Then she reached into the bag on the back of her chair. She pushed around through the cigarettes, and for the thousandth time since coming back home, she wanted to light one more for stress rather than social company. "I've just been meaning to drop by... give you this," she said after finally finding the beautiful hand-drawn postcard she'd gotten her from Saratoga. "I got some candy too and a few other things; they're in the fridge," she pointed to where she'd put them when arriving - along with the gifts for Rachel.

Another stretch of silence followed. Eleanor could practically feel Rachel trying not to react from across the table. She let out a quiet breath through her nose and shook her head. "You always do that." Her gaze flicked up to Claire briefly before dropping again. She should've probably just kept quiet instead of reacting but Eleanor being Eleanor had trouble holding back sometimes. Her fuse was short, especailly when it came to her sister. "Bring stuff back, I mean." She shrugged one shoulder. "Postcards. Candy. Souvenirs. Whatever gift shop happened to be closest to wherever you were." The corner of her mouth twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "It's kind of your thing, isn't it?"

She stabbed at a green bean, turning it over on her plate a couple of times before speaking again. "I just think it's funny." Her voice remained casual, though only barely. "You've been back for what, nearly a week now?" Finally, she looked up properly. "And this is the first time we've actually spoken." Her jaw tightened almost immediately after saying it. "You could've just come by and said hi." A short laugh escaped her, humourless. "Probably would've been cheaper than Saratoga. Or was this supposed to make up for it?" Her eyes finally locked onto Claire's. "Because you disappeared again? Because you lied?" She had been intending to stumble around the elephant in the room for as long as possible but something about Claire presenting the postcard and attempt to play nice by saying there were treats in the fridge rubbed Eleanor the wrong way and caused her blood to bubble underneath her skin a little.

She had been trying her best to hold back her tongue and behave for at least one simple dinner. Eat, and leave. For the sake of keeping it peaceful for their mother. But the anger started brewing instead and Eleanor couldn't hold her tongue back anymore.

A sigh as she disparaged all cocktail drinkers out there by saying their umbrellas are stupid, he tilted his head and looked at her as if he wanted to say she was very much right but also, somehow, very much wrong. His smile stayed, even widened, finding her own defensiveness as if a reflection of his, which was not funny, but it somehow was? Full of contradictions, this girl, he thought. "I bet you do enjoy the umbrellas sometimes," he almost teased and then chuckled at her comment. "And here I thought I looked more like the guy fixing your flat tyre at the gas station." He didn't and he wouldn't, most likely, but the opposition continued regardless.

He took a sip before leaning back against the bar, raising a brow at her next words. "I'm very lucky when it comes to cops. Trust me, I'd have to try pretty hard to end up in jail," he said, knowing he was full of it. He had gotten booked for an evezing here and there, and almost got charges pressed once for wrecking a guy's bar along with a group of men who had been throwing things and fighting. "I don't pretend to do anything, Eleanor," he huffed, though just by tonight, one could say this was a lie in itself. He pretended to be too many things. The grumpiness was actually his most natural habitat. The teasing and the smiling and the happiness usually took more effort, too many buried emotions weighing himd own.

"But that's fine, I guess. Go ahead, blow my head off with more talking," he suggested, taking a few sips one after the other.

She took a sip of her drink, unsuccessfully hiding her smile. "And for the record, I've never once been persuaded by a tiny cocktail umbrella. Not a single time." She paused for a second before letting out a breath. "Okay, maybe once. But it was pink and I was going through something." Her grin widened before she nudged his arm lightly with her shoulder again. "Also, absolutely not. You do not look like the guy fixing my flat tyre. You look like the guy who stands there with his arms crossed while the other guy fixes my flat tyre." She paused, studying him for a second. From what she had remembered of Logan from their school days, and the short few minutes that she had standing in front of him at the bar now, she could totally picture it that way. "And then maybe helps after complaining about it the whole time because the other guy is doing it wrong." She tacked the last bit on at the end of good measure so it didn't seem like she was dogging at him the whole time.

At his invitation, Eleanor gasped dramatically. "Wow. That's a dangerous thing to say to me." She placed a hand over her chest. "Do you have any idea how much completely unnecessary information I know?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "I could tell you about the time I accidentally got banned from a community pottery class, or the fact that I once spent three hours convincing myself there was a possum living in my ceiling before discovering it was a tree branch." She lifted her drink toward him. "You've opened a very dangerous door, Logan." She wasn't sure what it was but she couldn't help but find herself amused by him.

"I can get the paint out," she offered, "If you weren't able to." Her previous experience with laundry was part of why Sofia had chosen to buy a laundromat. She knew about all about getting difficult stains out of clothing. It had been part of the many women's chores that she'd done back in the Family. She added, "Can't help with the guy though."

As far as her own week, she shrugged. "A couple of the dryers are on the fritz, so I'm trying to get a repair guy to come out." Two Out of Order signs hung on the dryers in question. "Other than that, nothing much to report," she replied. She then asked, "Is there something frightening about this town? Other than how far it is from any real city." Of course, it's distance from large cities was exactly why Sofia had picked it. But that information was private.

At Sofia's question, Eleanor let out a small laugh. "No, not frightening frightening." She waved a hand dismissively. "It's just one of those towns that feels like it should have a really weird Facebook community page." Her grin widened slightly. "Like every week there's a post about somebody's escaped goat, a mysterious noise nobody can identify, or a heated argument over something completely ridiculous." She tilted her head. "But honestly, that's kind of why I like it. Places with a little personality are way more fun than places that are boring." Maybe a slight lie since Eleanor wasn't even sure if she liked Ennora anymore but the truth was, it was all that she'd really known considering she hadn't really stepped foot outside of it but admitting that to Sofia seemed all too sad.

Then she stopped herself. "Nope. No, absolutely not." She pointed at the chair accusingly. "Because the second I sit in that thing, some Victorian child ghost is going to attach itself to me, and then I'll have to explain why my apartment suddenly has cold spots and mysterious footsteps at three in the morning." A laugh escaped her as she took a cautious step back. "And what if the curse follows me home? I don't know enough about ghosts to be taking risks like this. For all I know, haunted-chair possession is permanent."

She'd stopped buying him coloring books when he was pretty young. She knew him well, and she knew he wasn't going to want someone else's pictures to color in. "There's no wrong way to make art, just preferences. Everyone's got an artist in them, though." He agreed with another nod.

She looked back up at him, her smile softening. "Blank paper always felt a lot more fun. Less pressure, I guess. So I'm glad I'm not the only one who wasn't really a coloring-book person."

"Vandalism? Please, we're doing them a favor!" Leo scoffed as he moved a few inches aside, enough so the girl could use the empty space by him while he kept filling up the flower he was working on. He didn't think about it as vandalism, and perhaps he should have asked Elio if their property included the sidewalk and not just the building itself, but he didn't think it would be too much of a crime if he was using chalk. "That looks beautiful, I love the color," Leo stared at the butterfly until it was fully sketched, admiring what had been added to the design in just a couple of minutes.

"Well, I didn't ask for your favorite song of all time, did I? I don't think I could tell you that either, but it actually says a lot about yourself and the mood you're in, like you said. I can't say I've heard much about Taylor Swift, but you bet I'm going to add that to my playlist. And hey– we all get rage moods. There's nothing better than rapping Russian hip-hop when you have no idea what the fuck you're saying," he admitted– and boy, did he know all the lyrics properly; as for the meaning of them, however? He didn't need to. "But it's the deal of the day! I made way too many loaves to give away. You'll be doing me a favor, but come on," Leo's eyes softened. "Of course I'll be your friend, silly! There's nothing that bonds two people more than art and bread."

At the mention of Russian hip-hop, she looked over at him with visible delight and laughter. "See, that's exactly the kind of chaos I respect. Just fully committing to a song while having absolutely no idea what you're saying." She pointed the piece of chalk at him. "You could be passionately rapping about tax fraud for all you know." She could already picture Leo as being the type of fun guy you'd want to drag along to karaoke with and scream out at the top of your lungs.

The grin that followed softened a little at his words. "Art and bread is actually a pretty convincing friendship pitch." She glanced down at their chalk drawings before looking back at him. "And honestly? Free bread might be the most appreciated love language there is so fiiine -- I'll do it. I'll willingly take a loaf off of yours hands. No need to twist my arm." Eleanor replied, giving off a pretend to give a dramatic little sigh but the truth was, she was appreciative. She wasn't sure what it was but there was something about Leo that just made her smile and immediately click with him. Something about him had lured her in and maybe it was the chalk on the sidewalk or his easy going ersonality.

Almost on cue, her gaze shifted toward where Mackenzie and Jack had wandered off, the younger of the two already eyeing the food stalls with far too much interest for Becca's liking. She shook her head fondly before looking back at the woman beside her. "I swear those kids can smell grilled food from a mile away. Give 'em another minute and I'll be standin' in that line whether I planned to or not."

Love Wedding Repeat (2020) | dir. Dean Craig

He had noticed her gaze on his neck earlier, so he tried to casually pull his collar up a bit more as he leaned on the bar. "Gin with berries sounds very much like a cocktail," he said, looking at her sideways. "Gin... and berry syrup, I guess that's simple enough." While talking, he made a motion with his hands as if weighing something, the option and the truth of his own words, plus the fact that he had been right. He then turned back to the guy behind the bar and ordered another beer and a gin with berries. The two exchanged a shrug at that, and then Logan turned back to Eleanor.

"Hot when I was 16, huh?" he asked, giving her the smile she wanted but teasing her about it anyway. Just like she had done earlier with his comment. He had changed so much since that age... yet it felt like he had walked back to those times over the past few weeks. "I do smile when I feel like I need to. Don't worry, I don't fight for fun anymore," he noted, as if that was supposed to make this outing better. He knew his past misgivings, and he didn't really care or feel shame for them. Maybe a tinge of regret over some of the shit he'd done, but it had been the right thing for that time.

When he repeated her drink order back at her, she immediately rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, okay, yes, technically it's a cocktail. But it's basically just fruit and gin. It's not like I ordered one of those ridiculous drinks that comes out smoking with sparklers stuck in it and a tiny umbrella." The smile he finally gave her caught her off guard a little though, causing her to pause for half a second before pointing at him. "There. See? You can do it." She lifted her drink toward him once the bartender handed it over. "You actually look way less intimidating when you smile. Slightly less like you'd threaten someone outside a gas station." Eleanor commented although she couldn't help but find that even though it was small, his smile lit up his face in an oddly nice way that she'd never noticed before...

At his comment about fighting, her expression softened just a touch. "Mm, probably for the best." she said before taking the chance to bump her shoulder lightly against his arm. "Jail would definitely put a damper on darts night." She snuck a sideways peak at him with a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips whilst taking a sip of her drink. "And besides, I don't really mind doing most of the talking. You seem like the type that likes listening more than you pretend to."

"No– I mean, I do want to eat it, but licking the spoon–" Nate shrugged, "I don't know, it feels like a reward that should only be given to the person who actually baked the cake. It feels unfair to have me do it when all I've done is... sit here and watch." Still, Nathan got up from his chair and came closer to the table. "I'll take some with my finger, then you can lick the rest, deal?"

Her expression softened a little at his explanation about the spoon, and for a second Aspen simply watched him as he stood and moved closer beside her. There was something surprisingly endearing about the fact he was genuinely concerned over who deserved to lick the batter. "Nate, you realize most people would've stolen the spoon before even asking, right?" she said softly with a slight shake of her head. "You're allowed to enjoy things even if you didn't earn them." Aspen couldn't help but remind him. In all their years of friendship, she always did feel that he never gave himself enough credit where it was due. He'd always been harder on himself than necessary.

Still, she humored him, tilting the spoon slightly toward him with a playful little nod. "Alright, deal. But only because you're being weirdly gentlemanly about cake batter." As he leaned in closer, Aspen bumped her shoulder lightly against his arm. "And for the record, sitting here with me while I bake actually is helping. Kitchens are nicer when you're not alone in them and moral support is still support." She moved to finally put the cake in the oven.

So when asked about the adult coloring books, he smiled, nodding enthusiastically before she could even finish speaking. "Yes, we love these," he said, laughing. "Some people don't know where to start, when it comes to this sort of thing. Not everyone can get what they have in their head out on paper exactly right, but coloring in a picture that's already there? It's simple, it doesn't take so much effort that it becomes a chore. I may not use these myself, but I still love them for what they can be for others," he explained, picking one up and flipping through it.

"I always ended up wanting to change things anyway, like add my own lines or scribble over parts because it felt more fun when it started looking like mine instead of staying neatly inside someone else’s idea." She glanced up at him again, still smiling as she put the book she was holding onto back onto the shelf. "But I did get why other people liked it. It was still kind of sweet, just… not really how I liked to make art."