❝ KELEBEK TURAN —

location: the docks out on the saugatuck harbor

It's only been a month since Max has settled down into the quiet and sometimes quaint, town of Westport. And that's been long enough for him to realize what little it has to offer in terms of excitement. Outside of some good seafood and the occasional sunset that drips over the Long Island Sound, he's not sure he even likes it.

Although today he's distracted on behalf of the fact that, he's been out fishing. Trying not to piss off his new boss which really just consists of an old widowed man, just trying to make a decent living before returning home to his dog and empty nest.

As Max unloads the catch of the day from the boat onto the dock, he notices someone approaching a dead plank a few feet away that at any moment was going to give out and send someone's foot sliding right through it. "Hey!" He attempts to catch them before that happens. "Watch out!" When it appears they don't hear him, he offers a grunt and intervenes by practically shoving them out of the way. "Unless you feel like going for a swim today, I wouldn't cross here. This dock isn't very sturdy. The old man is giving me trouble every time I offer to fix it." Which, he'd done shockingly, for free. Or at the very least, in exchange for a hot meal.

But, convincing old man Jack to do anything was like pulling his teeth. He reminded Max a lot of his little brother. Stubborn, pigheaded and at often times, hard to reason with.

"Also you're welcome for the save."

Dinner with mom and dad Tuesday night at seven. Focused shockwave therapy seminar Wednesday morning at nine. Gavin Porter— A rough pair of hands suddenly shoved Bek out of place and, like ashes lost in the wind, the list of obligations she'd been meticulously repeating scattered.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Was Gavin's new appointment Wednesday afternoon or Thursday morning? Or was he Wednesday morning, Sandra that afternoon, and the seminar on Thursday at ten? Already she'd forgotten and tendrils of panic began to snake through her chest.

Without even tuning into whatever the mountain of a man was saying Bek shot him a scathing glare from where she was all but pasted against a vacant bait shop on the opposite side of the docks. "If physical assault is your concept of chivalry, sir, your parents really need to be fired from the job."

Chances were he had an excuse (hopefully) for the not so gentle push but, again, she hadn't listened. After straightening and dusting her hands off the thighs of her scrubs she fixed him with another look, this time scrutinizing his unfamiliar face. "What the hell was that for anyway?"

Coming back a few minutes later she set Bek's coffee and two muffins down in front of her. "Shut up about the two muffins and eat before you drop from hunger too."

Again a playful glare got sent the older woman's way, grin coming out. "Yeah yeah. You don't have a cruel bone in your body. You were lucky and you got to see the rare non-chaotic child I was. Not everyone has had that privilege."

That was...did she count the times she got dragged out as showcasing? "Open mic nights no. I have been known to take my guitar and attempt to serenade Stevie just to be a little asshole to the point Mrs. Anderson and the little group she hangs out with get disappointed when I don't show up guitar in hand. The porch and the tree in the backyard is the one who's gotten the most of a show outta me and even then it's just me sitting there with my laptop trying to figure out chords to a song." She shrugged.

"I feel like I need to ask why."

With Ramadan right around the corner it wouldn't be long before she'd have to fast from sun up to sun down.

"Have I ever told you that you're my favorite twin?"

No shade to Keegan, but she'd never once spoiled her with free coffee and warm muffins— And everyone knew when it came to Bek through her stomach was the surest way to her heart.

It was a few moments later, after a sip of the latte and no less than three bites, that she explained, "The hospital charity gala is coming up soon." Considering this year it was her department - the physical therapy department - who benefited from all proceeds she'd offered herself up to be on the planning committee.

"I just remember wherever you went your guitar and a sketchbook were never far behind. Wasn't sure if you'd maybe be interested in donating a piece for the silent auction, or getting up on stage to play."

Handing her the better magazine, he knew his recommendation would save her some of the headaches he'd endured during his early days of trial and error. He remembered all too well the countless hours spent puzzling over unclear diagrams and vague instructions as a novice.

"That one has some great tutorials and diagrams that really break things down in a clear way," he continued. The visuals and step-by-step walkthroughs had been invaluable when he was first starting out. He hoped they would help shorten her learning curve.

"Oh yeah, I'm Nolan, by the way," he said, introducing himself with a friendly smile. "Let me know if you need any other recommendations. I'd be happy to point you toward the guides and kits I've found most useful over the years. It's a really fun hobby once you get the hang of it." 

She didn’t work in the field, so professional was out, and as far as a hobbyist went— Well, she’d never built a robot in her life. He’d caught her right in the infancy stage of a new hyperfixation that hadn’t ventured far beyond late night musings and a few searches on the internet. 

“I like to stay busy and challenge myself, so I guess you could blame the interest on that.” Was she over sharing? Probably. Did that stop her from initiating an actual conversation? Not at all. “Really though, I work in physical therapy and ever since we got some new equipment in I’ve been intrigued.”

It was then that she looked at the magazine and her stack of books again, grimacing. “Admittedly, it’s probably a little too ambitious to think I’d ever understand it on that scale but…” She tied the thought off with another faint smile and a shrug.

When he stopped in front of her Jeremy had to pull in a breath to steady himself, for more reasons than one. Blue eyes fell on her and scanned her face. It happened each time, the few times, they'd run into each other since she'd made her return to Covington. What he'd noticed was her maturity. Her face had thinned out and made her features look more carved, and devastating to a simple man like him that had wondered how a girl like Bek had ever given him a chance, much less look his way.

"It's probably best you didn't hear that," he quipped, eyes dipped to her lips as his own formed a slight smirk. They traveled around to see that she was busy, in the middle of something, and a hand of his outstretched in silent offer. "Need help?"

For two whole years they'd been so engrossed in each other's lives and now the distance between them was palpable. Of course, that was a long time ago, things were bound to change. "Ah, you know," his shoulders shrugged as a hand lifted to smooth his long hair back, "caught him pulling money out of the till and I'm the asshole for wanting him to put it back." Jeremy's head shook, everything with Derek was so troublesome and he no longer knew what he could do to fix it.

“Oh, I dunno,” she drawled, a smirk manifesting itself across her mouth to mirror his own. “I think I could’ve used a bit of comic relief after playing errand boy all day.”

Which is exactly the comment that brought her attention back to the box in her hands and those still waiting. 

Blame it on busy schedules or on a reluctance to travel too far down memory lane but in the few times they’d run into each other over the last twelve months they didn’t tend to linger. That he’d do so now, pause his pursuit to find Derek just to help her now— Bek’s bottom lip wedged between her teeth. 

“Uh, sure.” Transferring the one she’d been holding into his hands she tamped down what threatened to become a grin. “Thanks, Jer.” And for the next minute or so they worked side by side, Bek sneaking him quick, covert glances all the while. 

The strong jaw edged in scruff, the long and slightly unkempt hair— It was almost funny how thirteen years had come and gone and yet, if she thought hard enough, let herself sink deep into the memories, she could still remember the feel of both against her skin.

But she wouldn't. She absolutely would not think about that or then or them. At least not until they'd parted ways again.

No, she just kept at it and then explained, “The hospital gala is coming up soon and I volunteered to be on the planning committee,” when at last the final box of invitations, RSVP cards, signage, and the like was loaded up. “I, uh, I work there now. At Cov Gen, I mean.”

Did he already know that? Did he know she wasn’t the same lost girl he’d found in Boston, off on some masochist mission to face down MIT and all her shattered dreams? Did he know she’d eventually gone to college, or that she realized instead of computer science she wanted to pursue a doctorate in physical therapy?

Hadn't forgotten who it belonged to, or what he once meant.

It wasn't the first time they'd seen each other since Boston; it was almost impossible not to cross paths in a town like Covington. Still, like all those times before, Bek had to mentally brace herself before turning to take in Jer full force.

He was older now, a bit broader, too, and the burden of responsibility weighed heavy in his eyes, but he was— She swallowed hard, snapping herself out the inconvenient little reverie.

"I can't say whether or not he was cursing you to hell and back," the confession came with the ghost of a quiet chuckle, "but I saw him storm that way while I was putting stuff into the car."

Lee had been squatting, hastily gathering pages, but now that he was going to be doing a closer look, he dropped to the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. He paged back through his hastily assembled stack, and much as he would’ve liked to announce otherwise, didn’t find a single post-it, errant or otherwise. So he started with the pages still on the ground.

He could understand the whole thing was upsetting, even if he didn’t quite know why it was so upsetting, but he didn’t like the slightly manic air to the proceedings. Hopefully, whether he was able to help or not, those post-its would turn up. But he suspected it would be easier to search, to actually see what they were looking for, with a little infusion of calm. “I’m Lee, by the way,” he said as he added to his stack. | @bekturan

The planner was her lifeline, the best method she’d found to circumvent her memory problems, but her version of shorthand was almost a language unto itself— One only she could understand. 

“This is already embarrassing enough, so I’m not sure this will help your opinion of me,” Bek chuckled self consciously, “but this is actually the planner for my planner.” 

In other words: what she carried with her everywhere so that she could write reminders and pen appointments as they were made, but only so that she could transfer it all into the real thing back home. That one was extensive… and never left her desk. 

Moments later a smile loosely graced her lips, still somewhat sheepish, but she answered, “I’m Bek. And I swear I’m not usually this much of a disaster.” Debatable… but mostly true. “I owe you a coffee, at the very least, for helping me.” | @leeabhrams

It was funny; the older she'd gotten, the quieter the house had become with her sisters gone, Dakota hadn't become any less instinctive when it came to hiding what she was up to. Any other person she wouldn't have bothered to offer the seat.

Then again she was also afraid if she didn't, Bek might just drop to the floor right there from exhaustion. That look in her eye was familiar.

She playfully glared, trying to hide the grin. "Hey now, struggling artist, not starving, thank you very much."

Dakota paused, mulling over the idea. Baking? Not really her thing. However, her oldest sister was due to make a visit soon, and baking was Olivia's thing. The drinks? She could definitely do those.

"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite of Olivia's friends. Speaking of, hang on one second." She scribbled down the suggestions before she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, firing off a text.

"Hell, I can even just take the mocha idea and run with it for both too. Throw mint or something in there for St. Patrick's Day, keep the colored sugar going for spring. You and the rest of 'em may have chosen...well okay one of them technically went into science, the other two didn't, but my point; the people like their chocolate and if there's one thing I can't escape when I go to the store; it's all the damned Easter chocolate. Bek, you're a genius."

”Well—” Bek drawled with a sly little glance at Kota’s muffin and a smirk— “I guess I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to throw one of those my way, too.” She couldn’t remember for sure but it was entirely possible she hadn’t eaten anything but a granola bar all day. 

And with that thought suddenly she was the one starving. 

“You know, if I were a cruel person I’d point out those two are only a few letters different from being the same thing.” Except twin dimples popped in her cheeks, belying the fact that she really was teasing. Bek didn’t need to have a creative bone in her body to appreciate when someone had true talent and dedication to their art.

Dismissing the ‘genius’ declaration without comment (she really didn’t think she’d suggested anything groundbreaking), she kept her thoughts on those moments, those random glimpses across the street, instead. “Do you ever play at open mic nights or share your work?”

DATE: 02/22/2024

WITH: Open to everyone

He browsed the shelves of the bookstore, his fingers trailing over the spines of books on robotics. With the weekend ahead, he was looking forward to dive into a new project. It would be something to challenge his growing skills in building robots. The shop was quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. He looked over at a fellow enthusiast who had just picked up a magazine he'd read before and found lacking. "I wouldn't recommend that one," he said and reached for a different publication. It was instrumental in his last build. "Try that one. You'll have better luck." He handed it over, hoping to steer the person away from frustration and pulling out their hair.

And, Bek being Bek, it wasn't enough to merely work side by side with some of those inventions. She needed to understand how they worked. More importantly, how current models might be built upon. Improved. Perhaps evolved into something altogether more effective and new.

Luckily for her, robots were a happy marriage of engineering and computer science— The degree she always thought she'd pursue before a car accident changed everything.

Despite that unexpected 180 she pulled with career paths, though, she never stopped coding so in that she was solid. But the engineering aspect of it all? Yeah. That was an entirely different beast.

Hence her little shopping trip.

She was elbows deep in a stack of different instructional volumes and industry related magazines when a gentle correction saved her from a guaranteed spiral over so many options. Glancing north, she eyed the man first and then his suggested alternative.