hollow woman.

He ought to treat Holly like any of his clients — stoic and emotionally detached, yet because the woman was still considered as family, the change of demeanour would only give himself away. The true intention of why Matthias was really here. His mother would only barge into this room with all guns blazing, which, as he learnt after forty years of being a Carlson, would hardly resolve anything.

“What can I say, she likes to blame anyone but herself. You just seem to be her favourite target nowadays.” Matthias answered with a shrug. While he didn’t harbour the same kind of hatred as he did for his own father, he found himself trying to put as much distance between him and his mother anyway. Every conversation only resulted in a blaring headache on his end, especially if the topic revolved the woman standing before her. Even now, the Carlson matriarch seemed to be under the impression that Holly married Walt not for love, but rather his fortune.

Granted, he did want to see how his nephew was doing after all this time, but bringing Florence along was partly a ploy for distraction while Matthias could finally get to work. “Sure. We have plenty of time today anyway. We can wait.” He shot another cursory glance out of the window, mindful that his daughter needed to be kinder with her own body, especially her illness could come unprecedented at any minute. 

Keeping a careful eye on Holly as she manoeuvred around the kitchen, Matthias was taken slightly by surprise when she dropped the nicety and addressed the reasoning his visit instead. He didn’t really blame her for inquiring, not when he was the one who showed up without a warning in the first place. Still, he tried to gauge her reaction, and he wondered if his presence unnerved her. The thought of it only merely cause the corner of his lip to twitch, before his gaze met her own again. “My mother wanted me to pick up a few things for her — said she left a box or two and some old coats, or something.” Which was a complete lie, but one believable enough to cover his actual purpose of being here. “I think I’m doing you both a favour that I showed up instead. Unless you wanted to host her here.” He gave her a pointed look, but not before adding. “Why, do you want to kick me out already?”

♪

For all that she dislikes her brother-in-law, the Carlson matriarch is a worse fate still. Walt’s death had, believe it or not, pinched her face and grace even more than Holly remembered. The man (boy, in his mother’s eyes) had been her first-born, the child she’d weighed with her love and expectation. 

They say that the more one loved, the more they had to give — but the way she loved Walt, it’d most likely meant the less she had for her other children. (Teddy, of course, is hardly factored into the equation.) 

He wouldn’t answer her question. No, wait; the things she’d wanted, but even Holly knew that was a petty lie. Even if it wasn’t, sending her remaining son (remember, Teddy isn’t in their equation) halfway across the country to California to pick up some of her belongings — god, Holly knows she is an odious creature to the sensibilities of Mrs. Carlson, but a text or an email required nothing personal. Words could be pinched straight from the air and arranged in a semi-pleasing manner, and nobody would be the wiser to her intent. 

That was the answer to his appearance at the estate. The appearance to her, however — that remained the mystery. Of course, the man had been denied all his life. It was only natural that he’d deny her too of what she wanted. Holly understood that game; relished in it, even. The rules of the game were this: the more she harped on it, the less likely she’d get an answer. He’d delight in dangling the piece of information in front of Holly’s eyes like bulge-eyed fish ready to be caught. And hook, line, sinker, he’d get what he’d wanted like he always did. 

Knowing more about Holly is somewhat fascinating. Lydia always thought of the woman as this mysterious being who just happened to have saved her life in more ways than she could count. She had never told Holly about the happenings that led her to need the job and most of all stick to it. Lydia remembered touching briefly on her father’s subject, but never delving deeper into their relationship or what led the man to be in the hospital. She deeply disliked the idea of lying and not having to make up an excuse every time she needed to go to the hospital was better than the alternative. Still, while she knew everything about Declan, there wasn’t much she knew about Holly.

Lydia smiled gently as the story was being told. “Sounds like one hell of a cat,” she observed, concurring with Holly, knowing that she definitely wouldn’t care for cats after having such a troublesome pet. There wasn’t much she could say on parents, though, both of hers were and had been, for the lack of a better word, non-existent throughout her whole life, the only family Lydia missed dearly were her sisters, and even then, she wasn’t sure they remembered her at all. “What about dogs?” The blonde asked curiously. “Most dog owners will vouch for having one as a pet,” she shrugged. “It is nice that you’re letting Declan keep the cat, though, even if it’s staying in Teddy’s house, I’m sure he’ll be excited about it.”

Raising her eyes as Holly was suddenly on her side, Lydia nodded. “Draining the pasta wouldn’t be a bad idea now, the sauce will be done soon,” the blonde noted, turning off the heat beneath the pot of boiling water and almost cooked-to-perfection pasta. She remembered cooking for her family most nights, but the act never really lost it’s meaning for her. “How was work today, by the way?” Lydia deeply hated silence and was quite a master at making small talk when needed.

♪

HEADCANON ENDING.

Holly and Lydia make small talk about their day, but Holly is too polite to press about anything on Lydia’s past. After all, if Lydia was to talk about it, she knows she would have to too, which Holly did not want to do. Anyways, she wants to keep Lydia around; Declan likes her and changing anything else in his life was sure to be a disaster. 

It worried him when Florence’s eyes widened with amazement the moment they pulled into the driveway today; on the outside, the Carlson estate looked picture-perfect. Just like the way his father and mother maintained their images over the years, keeping the imperfections like Matthias out of sight, and rather, out of mind too. A part of him wanted to break that illusion for his daughter, but then the other kept his mouth shut, knowing this was only a temporary visit. He would take his mother’s money, return to her with nothing to report, and they would be on their merry way — at least, that was what he wished for anyway.

Especially after Walt’s death, he knew that Holly’s presence irked his mother. After all, a lot was inherited by her and their golden boy was lost — to suicide, of all matters. The news had caused a raise of his brow initially, but working in this line of profession, Matthias had seen enough that he was numb to surprises nowadays. He didn’t question much, because he was never close to his brother. The way that Walt shared the same wavelength as their father was something he would preferably stray away from — the toxicity of the pair did not need to pollute the mess of his own life already. So it was hardly sadness he felt at his own brother’s funeral. A sense of nothingness was closer to how he felt that day.

Yet, it was strange to see Holly standing in the middle of his childhood home. As the lady of the estate, no less. Why did she choose to settle here when the option to cut ties with the Carlson’s was right in front of her? Sure, there was the matter of the little one with Walt’s blood running through his veins, but nothing ever stopped Matthias from cutting ties to his family the moment he could. Her remark was enough to cause the corners of his lips to quirk up for a brief moment, before a brow arched as he watched her tentatively set foot into the room. “You might just offend her if she ever decides to visit. But I guess that’s your problem, not mine.” He shrugged.

Letting out a breath, Matthias casted his gaze over to the windows, catching flashes of his daughter’s hair as Florence continued to explore around the vast backyard, before turning back to Holly. “Well, my daughter seems to think otherwise. Where is Declan, by the way? I promised Flo that her cousin is going to be around, and I haven’t seen my nephew in a while.” He surveyed around the kitchen again, before adding. “I hope you don’t mind her running around out in the garden, by the way. She’s a little curious about the place.” The change of it all piqued his curiosity, too. “I’m surprised you stuck around here, to be honest. Isn’t it a little too spacious for just the two of you here?”

♪

Holly couldn’t mistake the air of pomp in his voice, taunting her — if she annoyed the Carlson matriarch with her presence, she is positively incensed with Matthias’s appearance, what with his smug, unbothered demeanor towards her. And of course, their mother made no secret of disliking Holly. Hating her, even.

“Your mother’s problems always seem to concern me, doesn’t it?” She starts reorganizing the kitchen counter, as spotless as it is (the one thing his mother did right was hire good house staff), if only to keep her hands busy while they spoke. She is headstrong, she knows, but even she couldn’t stand the weighty gaze of Matthias Carlson. Too similar to her dead husband’s, she supposes.

Of course, she’d almost forgotten about Florence. Darling little Flo, sick and without a mother — at least Declan was the picture of health. Some days she thought that he had too much energy. Thankfully, practice always wore him out earlier than usual. “He’s at soccer practice,” she replies. “He’ll be back with the nanny at around 5. I’m sure he’d love to play with Florence afterwards.”

And because the suspense is killing her, she finally stops her idle work, allowing her arms to wrap around her chest. Holly takes a single breath, and then two, before staring straight into his eyes with a fury she reserved for the people she hated most. “So, really, what are you doing here?” She had never been under the impression that any of the Carlson children particularly liked the estate, as sprawling and luxurious as it was. From what she could gather from Teddy, the place is nothing but a time capsule of bad memories. Even Walt, back when they’d first married, had been eager to move away, far away from the island. Like it was darkness threatening to consume him.

❛ VENTURA COFFEE ROASTING CO. @ 8:30 AM ━━ @catalinastarter​

The convenience of ​having the cafe in close proximity to her shop was a blessing in disguise, or a curse depending on how optimistic she chose to be that day. Considering she was spending a hefty amount on the expensive roast a day, it varied from time to time. 

The wooden key ring bangle she slipped over her wrist jingled with each movement she made, including the panicked shifting she was doing through her bag in search of her wallet; which unfortunately she realized she had left on the coffee table back at home. 

“Shit.” She muttered, before glancing around to see a line now starting to form behind her. 

“We do Apple pay,” the barista cleverly informed, sliding the much needed cup of joe across the counter. 

What? Did he not think she already knew this, that it just somehow slipped her mind??

“Yeah, I uh, I don’t have that set up.” Always late to the party when it came to electronics.

Embarrassed, but in need of her caffeine for the day, she turned to the person behind her, let go of her pride and groveled, “Listen, I know this is odd but do you mind paying for me? I can Venmo you, or something? Or, uh. My shop is right over there ━━ ” she paused, pointing behind them, “I have cash there, if you prefer that instead?” She nodded while giving a tight lipped smile their way, “I just really need this coffee.”

♪

It’s only 8:30 in the morning, and Holly is already the most high-maintenance person in the coffee shop. Fully-dressed and done-up, there is nothing more aggressive than the large sunglasses sitting perched on her nose bridge, along with the two iPhones in hand. One for work, one for personal life.

She isn’t listening to anything around her, just playing through some demos she’d been sent from her record label when she hears somebody talking to her. Scrunching up her nose, Holly pulls out her Airpod, before vaguely recognizing the woman. Her parents, as she recalls, ran in their circles, though gossip always traveled that their daughter didn’t keep in contact. Regardless, the petite woman before her ran a boutique on the island. Holly supposed she did rather well for herself.

“Oh — for sure. Not a problem!” Holly’s perky, though most of it is always an elaborate act. “A cold brew. Oat milk,” she says to the barista. “And I’ll pay for hers, too.” She eyes the woman with a curious eye, before stepping aside for the next customer. “You don’t know me, but I know you.” It’d be ominous if she didn’t sound so saccharine saying it.

special delivery for → @hollidaycarlson​​​ location: the carlson estate / ventura time: wednesday, 2:00pm

Family was a peculiar thing for the Carlson’s; they had never been the loving kind — perhaps, with the exception of his dear late brother. But he didn’t return to this god awful island for family reunion. Catalina brought back enough bitter memories the moment he set foot on its soil, but the realisation hit when his daughter hardly knew much about his life on this island. Even with Walt’s funeral, he kept Florence out of it, as it was not a grand affair for a child to witness. But now, at the age of twelve, she was at the age filled with plethora of questions, sometimes giving him a headache especially if he lacked an answer for her. Today was partly a personal visit and the other professional, as his return to Catalina was mainly upon his mother’s request, although he masked his true intention with his daughter. How he slept so soundly using his daughter as an excuse to snoop, he had no idea.

As Matthias pulled into the familiar driveway, he’d noticed it was empty as he put his car into neutral and locking it once Florence hopped out beside him. Still, he rang the doorbell nonetheless. Even now, as he laid his eyes on the grand estate, the exterior of the building took him back to his childhood, a time in his life which he most certainly did not want to visit. Grateful for the housekeeper’s interruption, it took a few awkward moments of silence before it finally dawned on them who he was. Rolling his eyes lightly, he finally wandered inside with his daughter in tow, making themselves comfortable (or as much as they could, the Carlson estate always made him feel on edge). It was his family home, after all. Florence was off exploring the gardens when finally, the woman of the hour made her appearance. Nursing a glass of water in his hand, he nodded in greeting as he took a sip. “Holly. It’s been a while.” A while being the last they saw each other was his brother’s funeral, of course. “I like what you did with the place.”

♪

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, with hardly a moment’s peace in sight, but somehow, Holly manages to find herself a dot of quiet in an endless sea of noise. From phone calls to emails to the mound of crumpled up pages of half-scribbled sheet music, there’d been things to finish and put away, but she takes the stillness to herself. She lies on her Eames lounge, a glass of cold water in her lap. Condensation rolls down the side of the glass and onto her pants, the wet spot growing larger by the second, but she doesn’t take notice.

Declan, gratefully, was still at school. He’d be there until 2:45, and then he’d be at soccer practice from 3 to 4:30, and from there, it would be dinner and then bedtime — and in the pit of her stomach, she feels glad for it. Glad to not have to listen to her son jump on her vintage Mario Bellini and spill ketchup down his shirt.

Did this make her a bad mother?

But then, she remembers what she’d put on the line for him, what she’d done in the end, and how she no longer asks him to lock his bedroom door behind him at night — and she sighs, walking to the kitchen to dump the water out into the sink.

She almost misses him, even with his stature and imposing eyes, but at the last second, stops right in her tracks, blood running cold. She wants to yell at him for dropping by unannounced, but then again, this is his home. In fact, for all intents and purposes, she is the intruder on the estate. “Welcome back, Matthias.” She doesn’t attempt to hug him, like she imagined other people did with their family members. They never were that type of family. “Thought it could use an update. Your mother did have an awful love for the color yellow.” Taking a hesitant half-step to the kitchen, she tries to act as unfazed as possible. “Thought you’d still be kicking around back east, honestly. The sun...” She looks back at him, squinting. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

Bobbi: I mean, if you're trying to talk about ska music, then maybe it is. (Bobbi knows it's one of the easiest things to talk about, almost obnoxiously so.) Ah, well then I guess we'll never know if I did or not. But you sound like the kind of lady that would ruin me, so I probably thought about it. (It's a passing statement, considering the topic is so casual to her at this point.) Lunch sounds good though. Pick your favorite place. I'll only judge a little big.

Lydia’s first instinct is to wave her boss dismissively. If there is one thing in life she is certain of, is that she is not good enough, something she has been trying to make amends with her whole life.

She continues to cook in silence. Lydia sees food as comfort. Never having much to fill her stomach while she was younger ( nothing she’d consider delicious, anyway ), she started appreciating when people cooked for her. It was an act of kindness in her eyes, an act of love, so whenever she stood behind a stove for someone, it always came with good intentions.

The scent of the olive oil with garlic is enough to make her mouth water, but as she dumps the can of crushed tomatoes in and starts seasoning it, she realizes how hungry she was. It’s not uncommon for her to have Declan all taken care of before she can even think of herself. It’s weird because he’s not her child— but it also feels natural to provide him with care, or to put them both ( Holly included ) before herself. She guessed it was just part of who she was, and she has never fought it.

A small smile tugs the ends of her lips at the mention of Teddy keeping the cat at his place. She doesn’t know why she feels a bit sad about it, but it’s there. Holly’s question surprises her, despite her consideration of Holly as a friend, she had never been the one to ask Lydia personal questions, which the blonde thought had completely worked in her favor when it came to her getting the job, the less she knew about what led her to the job listing, the better.

“No— we barely had money to feed ourselves, let alone pets,” she shook her head while stirring the sauce in the pan. The pasta was already cooking in a pot to the side. “My sisters and I had a thing for strays, though, not entirely sure why, I guess it’s a kid thing?” Lydia shrugs her shoulder and lifts her green eyes at Holly. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that you never had one, yourself?”

♪

Holly finds herself watching the way Lydia sautés the sauce, comfortable around the pan and the open flame in a way that she herself never learned. Even in her early teenage years, she never learned to cook, much to her mother’s dismay. The extent of her food prep only went as far as putting together a sandwich, so much so that even to this day, the smell of Wonder Bread sent her stomach careening into a past she didn’t want to remember.

She nods. There’s a realization that perhaps, her and Lydia hadn’t been so different. “Right,” she mutters. “No, not exactly — but we used to have this mangy old cat. Me and my mom. Mean as hell and scratched you if you tried to pet him. Don’t know if he was really ours, but we fed him scraps and milk. He’d leave for entire days and come back with half an ear, or a broken leg.” She thinks back to the tabby, who’d first walked into their house with its tail already half-gone, with a bad case of fleas. “He always came back though. I think my mom loved him more than me, honestly.” She chuckles darkly; it’s meant as half a joke, though she’d always suspected. “I’ve never been really a fan of cats since.” 

Rising from her spot, she shuffles over, surprisingly more awkward than her usual self. “Do you need any help with that?” With the pasta in the pot, bubbling away, she feels bad for not helping. “I mean, I can’t cook, but I can handle draining pasta.” 

The brightened expression on Declan’s face was good to see. The idea of the cast definitely got him distracted from the pain a little. Amelia smiled at his mother when she explained some more about who Jesse was and what had happened. She nodded once more to confirm that it would indeed be a cast like that. The woman watched how the two left to go with the doctor.

She was working on some administrative work when she saw Holliday and Declan next. The green cast was shown to her nearly right away and it made Amelia chuckle. She then looked at the mother of the kid. “You’re welcome. I don’t think I’ve mentioned my name. Amelia Landon. New to town but very understanding of your feelings as a mother myself. I think my daughter is just a bit younger than your son.”

♪

Another mother — it’s a rhyme, forceful and echoing inside her skull, taunting her like a schoolyard rhyme: anothermotheranothermotheranothermother, like she deserved the anxiety she feels. It is always a comparison with other parents, and given that she is raising Declan on her own, Holly always feared the disapproving glances from them. 

She puffs her chest up, widening her eyes and nodding with a bright smile on her face. Half-faked, of course, but everything about Holly is like that. “Oh? How old is she?” Declan, who has realized he’s been referenced, grins up at Amelia, cradling his cast. I’m seven! “I’m Holly, by the way. Holly Carlson.” 

“Believe it or not, cooking’s actually fun…” Marco’s face was lit up with a smile as he spoke. When he was younger he could never have even imagined he’d speak about cooking that way, seeing as he’d been so against it for o many years, so determined to battle against his father and his wishes. Looking back down, he couldn’t help but he a little ashamed, he should have accepted things earlier. Now it really was his passion and maybe things would have been a lot different had he come to terms with that in his late teens. 

When she went on to mention the notebook she’d jotted things down in, he had to smile. He had one much the same himself, usually full of recipe ideas, things he’d observed when out eating somewhere else. It was a little book of possible inspiration for future menus. “Better keep it on you at all times,” he answered with a nod, and then with a shake of his head, pulled his own little jotter out of his pocket, holding it up. “They do come in handy sometimes.” A pause, and then glancing around the kitchen, he frowned very slightly. “Ready to work on dessert?” 

♪

Holly smirks, though she keeps her eyes averted, almost as if she is embarrassed to find enjoyment in the one thing she’d told herself she hated to do. Of course, Marco helping her certainly sweetened the deal, but she’d never tell him that to his face. No, she’s perfectly content keeping that tidbit to herself, flipping through the mostly-empty notebook with a watchful eye. 

“Ooh — you’ve piqued my interest.” She moves to reach for the notebook, almost child-like in her insistence to see the little book in his hand. “I’m curious to see what you write to figure out the recipes all of your amazing dishes.” Holly tilts her head, looking around at the remaining ingredients. “Ready when you are,” she replies, nodding. If dinner was simple, she couldn’t imagine dessert would be much harder. 

THEODORE CARLSON.​

He doesn’t understand. It had been Holly who hoped to elaborate on their moment of tenderness, questioning his sudden desire to care. Those moments of solidarity, to them, come few and far between — and for the most part, he complies. Even replies to her with barefaced earnest. He sees her. That ought to be enough to invite some honesty on her end, surely. An eye for an eye, a truth for a truth; the law of retaliation, after all, is what had brought them closer together.

Today, however, her end of the deal is not met. But Holly retreats just as quickly, her response a throwaway line about cat dads, delivered with a tone so unceremonious that had bordered on flippant. He is used to this by now but it is enough to throw Teddy off-guard, and his confusion flares with every word she speaks.

“Hey, fuck you,” he says, just as casually. His tone, however, is less acerbic than it is almost hurt. He doesn’t understand why she is attacking him on a settlement that had benefited both their ends, and in retaliation, he drops the cat gently on the kitchen floor and lets her wander around again. “You wonder why I’m getting soft? It’s in the name, you know. Teddy,” he says right after, crossing his arms in defense, “This is just me living up to my nickname.” A shrug. Still, he gets the point — the moment has past. “Figured it took me long enough.” 

♪

Had she misinterpreted his cue? Did she make a mistake in deflecting his hand? Like a child who has been scolded, she recoils, pompous demeanor replaced with something more docile and unassuming. Still, she does not release the pinched expression on her face; she only aims it elsewhere, rinsing out her glass with a dejected ferocity to make up for her loss. 

Holly doesn’t like seeing Teddy like this. Embittered to her retort, or maybe simply upset that she hadn’t played along — regardless, it unsettles her knowing that his core is as gummy and tender as his nickname. 

She wants the irony back. There is a distinct comfort in irony and how easy it feels for Holly in masking as something different, even if everybody knows it to be false. But still, she pulls back her talons, a softness entering her voice, as if she’s talking to Declan. “Look,” she starts, “I don’t need you to care about me, all right? It’s - it’s enough for me to care about myself.” She runs her hand underneath the sink, scrubbing, cleaning her hands of residual food left underneath her chipped nails. Holly sighs. She’ll have to get them done soon, again. 

“Why do you want to talk about this, anyways? You know everything —” So what’s the goddamn point? Why say out loud the most obvious thing in the world? She doesn’t say it. Only crosses her arms across her chest, inhales and feels the back of her mouth close up. “You know everything,” she repeats, “so we don’t have to say it.” It’s logic, clear as day for Holly. 

Amelia quickly learned that Declan had fallen off the swing and it made her think back of the days that she did the same thing. Trying to get as high as possible before you would launch yourself to see how far you would get. Jack and her were rather lucky, however, that their swing had been placed in a large box of sand so the landing was often rather soft. “Wea are going to make sure that your arm will hurt less but your mum is right, we can’t have you back here a next time, can we?” She asked the young boy with a smile who slowly shook his head with the lollipop in his mouth. She stood up straight and looked at Holly. “It all depends on how the bone is broken. Often in these cases it is a clean break and all that is necessary is some painkillers and he will be getting a cast in that case. It will show on the scan.” Just as Amelia was done talking, the doctor arrived at the waiting area. The woman motioned in the direction of the doctor. “He’s ready for you two now.” She turned in Declan’s direction. “Just hold on for a little longer and then you’ll be going home with a cast that everyone in your class can sign.”

♪

You mean... I’ll get one like Jesse had? Declan noticeably brightens at the thought, to which Holly has to smile, however small it is. “Yes, sweetheart. Like the one that Jesse had,” she answers, before turning to the nurse, steely-eyed and polite as she nods. “Jesse’s a classmate. He broke his foot about a month ago.” 

Holly listens to the woman talk so casually about a bone break, feeling her stomach turn at the thought. But the doctor appears at the door, and Holly breathes a sigh of relief. The next hour is quick, with Declan soon forgetting about the pain in his arm to marvel at his newfound green cast and the X-ray of his broken bone. I can’t wait to show everyone at school! 

Right as she leaves the hospital, she passes by the nurse who’d been kind enough to Declan — and she touches her shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture for Holly. “Thank you,” she says. “What did you say your name was again?” 

for: @hollidaycarlson​ location: holly’s place

Marco really did enjoy teaching people to cook, it was simply a case of he never really got a chance to do it. Despite his aversion when he’d been younger, he’d still imagined passing down family recipes to his children. It was what the Ricci’s did, from generation to generation, spreading joy and compassion through their cooking. At least, for now anyway, he could share a few things with those who asked, with those he cared about. Which was what had led him to Holly’s today and sharing the secrets of a few of his favourites. They were only fairly simple, but they had the Ricci’s flare, exactly what his father had taught him in his late twenties.

“Okay, so, twenty minutes in the oven and that should be perfect…” he commented lightly after Holly closed the oven door. There were still a couple of things he wanted to go over with her, but at least they were one meal down and on its way to ready. “You think you’re going to be able to do that without my help another day?” he teased as he asked the question, eyebrows raised playfully.

♪

Like she’d told Marco, Holly had never learned to cook — and frankly, she’d never cared to learn how, if only as petty rebellion to the beaten sentiment of how a woman belongs in the kitchen. 

But surprisingly, Marco makes the process more fun that she’d expected. There’s an art to the process that she’s beginning to appreciate, even if sitting on her phone and opening up the UberEats app is far easier. “Aside from the prep time, this wasn’t too bad,” Holly says, shutting the oven and setting a timer for twenty minutes. Of course, now there was a pile of dishes to clean up after, which always seemed to be the worst part. “Oh, totally.” She picks up the notebook where she’d carefully transcribed the ingredients and directions. “As long as I don’t lose this, I think I’m good.” 

It was difficult not to feel intimidated by the woman, even if she was shorter than Lydia. Her poise and her way of speaking demanded attention, and there would always be something in Lydia that would envy her— though she did not envy her marriage or her late husband. Selfishly, or maybe not so selfishly, Lydia thought that they were all better without, Declan was growing up happy and that’s what truly mattered. However, Lydia would never dare saying those words out loud.

As soon as Holly showed her the cereal bowl, the blonde could not help the look she got on her face. “Cereal? Holly, this is not dinner, in fact, this is not even good for you. You’re so lucky you have amazing genes,” she playfully rolled her eyes and started getting things from the pantry for herself after denying the glass of wine. Even if Holly was okay with it, she still preferred to wait a few more minutes in case Declan woke up. “I’m making some pasta, some for you, too— I bet that it’ll sit better than the cereal you had.”

She understood the nature of Holly’s life, maybe that was one of the main reasons why they got along together so well. Sure, it was almost a whole year for Lydia to drop the Mrs. Carlson when she talked with Holly and for her to feel more at ease at the home that was hers too, for all intents and purposes, but right now, she considered Holly a friend and never dared to judge the way she cared for her son. She loved him and cared about him, which was more than Lydia could say for her own mother.

Starting the stove with some garlic and olive oil on a cast iron pan, she listened to her requests, nodding along and smiling at the perspective of a cat with them. “That’s fine, I’ll see what I can do to ensure that he is not allergic before we meet with the cat,” Declan had always served as a buffer on her encounters with Teddy, it was easy to see that not all the Carlson’s carried the warmth of the boy. “Does he know it yet? That we’re keeping it? I never had a pet around me, it’s definitely gonna be something new.”

♪

“You’re too nice you know,” she says. Rising from her seat, she picks up her bowl and slips it into the sink. The sugar-sapped milk swirls in the bowl. From below, a loose, half-Cheerio floats up, a sad, lonesome C without anything to keep it company. Forgotten and broken. 

In the years that Lydia has worked for her, Holly had never thought to ask the woman about herself. She knows that the other is a writer — or used to be, and originally hailed from the island. But everything else is one big question mark that Holly never cared to press. But standing next to her now, listening to the soft sizzle of the aromatics in the pan, the biggest question still remained: why had she decided to move with them in the first place? 

But Holly has fought the gravitational pull of attraction all her life, and she walks around the kitchen island, placing the mass between them once again. She waves her hand in the air, head shaking along with her arm. “No, Teddy’s keeping it at his place. Thank god. I don’t know if I have time to take care of a cat.” She taps her fingers on the granite, pursing her lips. After a single, too-long beat, she asks, “Did you have any pets when you were younger?” 

It’s an attempt. A minuscule one, but an attempt nonetheless to learn more about the woman who’d given up her life in New York to return to one she’d clearly left for a reason. 

You’re asking me like I’m in the inside of your head. Teddy purses his lips, because in all truth, he can neither confirm nor deny her sentiment. For all his show of nihilism, his life has only ever been spent in pursuit of answers, of some clarity in this godforsaken life. But looking inside himself has only ever brewed more trouble than it’s worth. 

Yet over time, Holly had graduated from his brother’s pesky friend to some semblance of a moral compass. The thought of Holly being anyone’s moral guardian, if it were anyone else but him, is laughable, but nevertheless true. In many ways it is also sobering. So much so that, despite his aversion for self-reflection, he feels inexplicably compelled to take her words to heart. 

There’s a vague instruction about leaving the cat to the animal shelter, an offer he immediately brushes away. He’s always had an inclination to want the unwanted. It is a mantra by which he’s lived all his life. “I’m keeping the cat,” Teddy declares, and maybe he’s obsessed with finding meaning everywhere now, because he swears their ears perk up as he says so. “You don’t have to trouble yourself with it. I’ll see to it she’s given a home.”  

Holly’s next words, however, have significantly much more to reveal. Declan is the shining light against her — their — coruscating contempt. He knows she’d do anything for her son, in large part because she already has. “I don’t think you realize how much I get it,” he says, pressing his lips together, “I get it because I see you.” I see you: a vague declaration of their solidarity, of knowing the struggles they’d endured and brought about not so much by love but by the lack of it, even if they had the rest of the world fooled. 

♪

Holly does not want to be seen, least of all by Teddy, with whom she’d shared no live connecting thread. A Carlson by name only, Holly knows that her dear mother-in-law would want nothing more than to drive her out of their family home on the island. She supposes that is what Teddy means when he says that he sees her. She’s forgotten that being seen is hardly her choice, but one entrusted in the eye of the beholder. 

What she does is hide — like she always does, stowing herself away into neat little compartments fortified with steel walls. “Well,” she mutters, “have fun with that. I’m sure you two will make a happy couple. Sexist, isn’t it, that there’s no male equivalent of a cat lady?” 

But still, for all of her sharp-edged disdain aimed against Teddy, she knows they’ve been brought up to mistrust everybody but their own. Remarkable, that they’ve stuck by each other regardless. Perhaps it is because the understand that for themselves, they are comfortable existing in what is left unsaid between them. 

“Seriously, give a girl warning before you go soft on her,” she says. Her walls go up, immediate and forceful, and it’s topped off with an unforgivingly pinched expression. “Are you going to tell me who else to kill now?” 

Bobbi: Oh, god indeed. (Bobbi laughs with her, but her's is much more convincing) Well I must have been wildly charming to make you want to have lunch and or coffee with me. I didn't hit on you did I? (Not that she's complaining. She's pretty sure she remembers Holliday as a looker)