ready to grow young again

This was more information than Mar had asked for, and certainly more than she needed, but Henry didn't know what exactly the perameters were for what was happening, what the rules might have been; she'd made an error, sure, but he was the asshole, the idiot that stood here still trying to smell her shampoo from a foot away, still trying to scramble to remember what her laugh sounded like as clear as he could years ago, her voice now only outlining the memory further.

"Jesus-" Henry exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling forth again, although not necessarily at her, or, at least, at her for this. He breathed deeply. "You don't need to get indignant about it. This isn't the time to get indignant about it, okay? Not a battle to pick, here." He eyed her, seeing that his words might have had an effect. "I'm on my way home, anyway. I'm just going to go home. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm gonna leave you to deal with a bad feeling for a little while."

Henry's words were sardonic, and he felt slightly childish for them, but not enough to earneslty regret it. Still, his tone was a bit more gentle as he continued: "It's just a shirt. It's just a coffee. Just...let it go."

Let me go.

Mar's eyes narrowed and she felt heat flood her face, the hot sting of embarrassment surely obvious to anyone watching. She shoved her hand into her front pocket so the shaking wouldn't be visible, and cleared her throat. Hadn't she just insisted to herself that Henry being angry would have been okay, understandable even? Perhaps, as often as Mar lied to everyone else, insisting she was strong, and she was fine, she had been lying to herself as well. It wasn't just the anger in the barb that ruffled her. It was the way he dismissed her, like an annoyance to be brushed away.

She'd imagined dozens of times how Henry might act if she ever saw him again, a spectrum of scenarios ranging from a guilty rumination to outright flight of fancy. She'd imagined explaining the past few years to him, every twist and turn of navigating her medical crisis and coming out the other side. She imagined fighting, sure, and silence as well. She imagined bearing the brunt of Henry's righteous indignation. But somehow, in the endless imaginary conversations she'd practiced, she hadn't anticipated cruelty.

Henry was never cruel.

"Well, I hope you don't talk to patients that way." The words tumbled out before Mar could stop herself. It was mean-spirited, and made her feel small even to say it. There wasn't a justification to be so petty. And yet.

Mar didn't scramble to take it back, choosing to let the statement hang between them. She met his eye, daring him to challenge her, and be cruel again.

For what had to be the fourth time so far since entering this godforsaken building, Mar let out a sigh. She didn't even want coffee anymore, for all the good it would do her. The adrenaline flowing through her veins was enough to keep her alert for the rest of the day. At some point later, Mar would pretend to unpack the significance of running into Henry Eaton and being so emphatically rebuffed, but she'd gotten exceptionally good at compartmentalizing.

"Welp," she said, making a popping sound around the p. "It's been a real .... slice." Mar eyed Henry one last time, before moving to the leave the cafe. "See you, maybe." And she walked, not knowing if she would encounter him again -- or if she even wanted to.

There was something seemingly cruel about this - the idea that she would effectively return to the scene of the crime, come to the place she knew he had grown up and lived the entirety of his life, and choose to settle there once again. Henry tried not to assume there was some malicious intent in her actions, tried not to take it personally - Mar was many things, but she was never mean - but he couldn't seem to work his way past the notion that maybe Mar was never who he thought she was, that maybe he didn't ever really know her at all.

He cleared his throat, trying to work the knot out. "That's -- good. Good for you," he affirmed, as if she gave a solitary shit about his approval or opinion of her. As if he were of any consequence to her at all. The stupidity of this lapse in judgment hit him, then, and the weight of it overtook him. They didn't have to do this - pretend things were normal, be mutedly polite. He didn't have to do this to himself.

But the alternative - to leave, to never see her again - was no better.

"I'm fine," he reaffirmed. "I'm -- I don't need anything. I didn't even need anything when I came in here. It's -- it's fine, Mar." His voice was soft around her name, unexpectedly tender; he realized he hadn't actually said it out loud in so long. His throat felt raw. "I'm -- I'm glad you're well."

Was it hot in the coffee shop? It felt hot. Mar glanced around them once more, to see if any other patron had clued in that this was one of the more monumental days of her life so far. She dared to sneak another look at Henry, afraid to look too long and risk him catching her. She probably didn't have any right to ask for his attention or time, but it didn't stop her from trying to soak in as much as she could. "So ... you're still here too, then? Unless you're just passing through. Which is valid, if you are." She was stalling, dragging out the conversation, and Mar knew it. But, she reasoned, anyone else would have done the same.

The more he insisted that he was alright and that she needn't apologize or try to make amends, the more Mar felt that old familiar pull of stubbornness, to push back against it. To dig her heels in and insist on her point, regardless of the gravity of the situation. In this moment it didn't matter that it was Henry. She was right, and she was going to make it clear. "Well, it's not fine, actually," she said, gesturing to the stain on his shirt. "And I'm not going to leave until I've done something to make it up to you, so. It appears we are at an impasse. So are you going to let me buy you another coffee, or do we have to come up with another solution?"

Grace scoffed at Mar's inquiry, bemused and endeared by her loyalty - they were very similar in their pride for their students causing them to often go above and beyond, but Grace recognized that wasn't the case for every teacher. "You were the only non-arts faculty member at that concert aside from the principal. And he only shows up in the first twenty minutes to give an opening remark," she offered, shaking her head. She took another sip, then, thinking on Mar's words for a minute. "I don't know if I've said it yet, but - I really am so glad you're back."

"We could always blackmail people, if you want them to come. I know for a fact Richards is on Tinder even though his wife just made an anniversary post on Facebook." Mar took another sip of her drink, and looked at Grace for her reaction. "I'm just saying. There's ways of getting people to come out if you want." Was it fair? Absolutely not. But Richards and his ilk weren't exactly the type of people who played fair, either. So she figured it cancelled out. Like PEMDAS, or whatever.

Grace's comment was so earnest and Mar felt a rush of affection toward the blonde -- someone she'd already considered somewhat of a friend, and hoped that their trajectory would continue. She reached forward and placed a hand on Grace's arm, and gave her a smile. "Thank you, so much. That really means the world to me. I fell out of touch with a lot of people, so .... your friendship is really important to me. And keeping me in the loop on all the gossip at school, that was -- it really was sometimes the only thing I had to look forward to," she admitted. Grace had been a lifeline at a point where Mar felt lost at sea.

"No, Mar," he murmured, his voice sharp. He hadn't let their eyes meet until that momen for fear of what might happen; he had darted his gaze in every other direction, trying not to cling to the sight of her so that he knew how to live in famine once again after the gluttonous rush of this moment was over. Looking at her, then, made him feel like he was standing in front of her with an open wound, waiting for her to decide what to make of him. "No. It's obviously not fine."

He exhaled again, shakier than before, trying to ignore the temporary blur of his vision, tears filling his eyes; he blinked, hard, and cast his glance down again, away from the assault, like he was forcing himself to look away from the sun. The attention of the other patrons had largely shifted from their small fracas back to the daily happenings of the cafe, conversations carrying on as if Henry's world wasn't falling apart at its seams in real time. He sighed, the breath a bit uneven. "What are you even doing here? Why are you - " he shook his head. "No, don't - don't answer that. I don't - you don't have to answer that." She had made it clear - quite abruptly - that she was no longer his business, her life none of his concern. Henry struggled to remember that as he swallowed again, ignoring the sudden, perverse urge to check for a diamond on her finger. When he spoke again, he tried to keep the tone level, tried not to betray the clenching of his stupid heart in his chest or the way his lungs felt like they were burning through his ribcage. "You're not hurt?"

She opened and closed her hands, now empty, for want of something to do. Should she reach out and try to help with the cleanup? Should she take his own drink, toss it away as well? She reached out as if to check the cotton material of his shirt, to examine the stain, and determine if it was salvageable, before letting her arm hang limply at her side. Nothing she could do now would undo the mess they found themselves in, be it the literal or metaphorical one. And wasn't that the horribly funny irony of it all?

He asked after her and Mar looked down at her own shirt that seemed by and large untouched. "No, I'm not," she responded quietly, shaking her head. "Nothing I couldn't fix, anyway." If there was a stain she'd missed, she could far more easily fix it than deal with a potential burn from a hot liquid. "I work here. Well, not here specifically. In Ann Arbor." Henry had told her not to answer, but she felt compelled to explain, give him some sort of context when she never had before. She shoved her hands in her back pockets for lack of anything else to do, and cocked her head to the side, taking in his presence. There had been plenty of times she'd wondered if she'd made the right decision to lie about why they ended, and plenty of people who had simply told her she had made the wrong one. But there'd always been a conviction that it was done to spare him pain. And now here she was, quite literally doing what she'd wanted to avoid.

"Please. Let me get you another coffee. Or a pastry. Anything," Mar pleaded. "I'm sorry."

As he ambled into the coffee shop, he wasn’t particularly paying a great deal of attention to any of its other patrons, a bit too in his head to care. This, he quickly learned, was a mistake. If he had seen her from outside — if he had noticed the shape of her as she loomed over the coffee bar, recognized the flare of her cheekbone as she turned to move — he…well. It didn’t matter, now.

In his mind, Henry’s life had been quantified by the time he had been with the woman before him and the time he had been without her. He had grown comfortable with this truth only recently, the idea that she defined him in a way he clearly never had the pleasure of doing for her. When Mar had left, it had taken Henry years to understand the person he knew and the person that would do that to him; he still struggled to knit those people together in his mind, to reconcile that the person he had anchored his life in had changed her mind. Or…whatever.

And there she was.

“Jesus fucking—“ he hissed, his jaw clenching, the heat of Mar’s coffee singeing his chest. He forced a hard exhale through his nose, trying to keep his breathing even, focusing on that endeavor so as to avoid focusing on anything else. When he found his voice after a moment, it was low. “It’s fine. Just—“ he sidestepped slightly, heading over to pluck a few more napkins from a dispenser and futilely pressing them into the fabric of his shirt, as if they would be effective at anything. As he worked, he felt the anger rise in his chest, and his hands and reasoning became less effective. “It’s fine. It’s fine."

She eyed him curiously for a moment, taking in how still familiar he was even with the passing of time. There was a different hairstyle now, and he looked more tired than Mar had ever recalled seeing him, but the way he held himself, and the frown on his face were exactly the same as they'd been years ago. The lines in his face were deeper, more pronounced with years gone by, but the cut of his jaw was exactly the same. Realizing she was now crossing into the realm of staring, Mar cleared her throat and blinked hard. "I might have a Tide pen," she offered meekly, tossing her now mostly-empty cup into the trash. "If you think it'll help at all."

Mar rocked back on her heels and fought the urge to cut and run, although it was an appealing idea. She could just leave, and get in her car and drive away, and she could find a new coffee place, and just forget this even happened. She had a fleeting thought of calling Grace and telling her about it, assuming the two of them would chalk it up to a crazy coincidence. Until the next time. Or the time after. After all, Ann Arbor was only so big.

"Well, it's not fine," she argued, grabbing some more napkins and handing them to him. "You have hot coffee all over you. And did your coffee spill, too? That's two things." She bit down on her lip, and paused, feeling anything she could say in this moment would be inadequate to address the damage she'd done. "Let me buy you another one, at least."

At Mar’s inquiry, Grace strained to think for moment. “I think it was called ‘Tripwire’ or something. It takes a cue from James Bond, so that’s probably why it’s familiar!” Grace took a sip of her beer, swallowing as she thought. “I did put in an appeal to be able to do some actual recognizable music to administration, so I’m hoping by winter concert they’ll let me break out something by someone people would actually know.” Grace emphasized her annoyance with a roll of her eyes, then smiled again. “I can’t believe you stayed for the entire thing. You definitely could have gotten away with just showing up for the last fifteen minutes and I would not have known a damned thing.”

James Bond did strike a chord in her memory -- she'd seen From Russia With Love a few times with her Papa and brothers growing up -- and she gave a nod, trying to match what the students had played with what she might have heard previously. "Ooh, new music is risky," she replied, taking a drink from her glass. "What were you thinking of having them play instead? I used to have the kindergarteners and first graders sing a song for parents at the end of every year, but ..." she trailed off and gave a small shrug. "It's very different from teaching them instruments."

At Grace's insistence that Mar didn't have to stay through the whole evening, Mar waved a hand dismissively. "First of all, I was already at school, where else was I going to go?" she asked pointedly. "Secondly ... It's been a while since I was at an event. I missed so many other ones from being sick, I figured I owed it to Huron to at least be present this time." She tilted her head, and then quickly add: "Are there other teachers who sneak in and out?"

"I don't know about you but-" she ventured, turning slightly to give the other her attention, "-today has felt impossibly long and I don't know if I want to laugh or cry about it." If she drank enough, Holly probably would reach both points about her day but she was planning on keeping it together while she was in public. Once she got home, that would be another story.

The sound of the other woman speaking came as a surprise, and Mar's head shot up and she looked behind her, just to check if she was talking to someone else. She listened intently as the other woman mentioned her own seemingly terrible day, and Mar nodded in understanding. "You know what," she said, lifting her drink and tilting it toward her in a mock toast. "I absolutely do. There's gotta be some name for that feeling between laughing and crying, wouldn't you think?" She took another sip. "Maybe it's just disappointment. I've been told I'm a good listener, if you want to talk to someone." She hadn't, actually, but she was willing to try.

She brightened when Grace invited her to the spring concert, and straightened a little in her seat. "I would love that! I have been meaning to try to come to more school events to see old students. And you are welcome to cry as much as you want. I won't say a word." Mar raised a hand as if to intimate a scout's honor for her promise. "But drinks are a given, definitely. What are you going to play for the seniors?"

When Grace pulled up the page on her phone, Mar leaned in slightly to peer at the screen. The consistency of the photoshop quality varied wildly from picture to picture, but she almost choked to see the assistant principal bear a striking resemblance to Lex Luthor. "This is the dumbest and most brilliant thing I have ever seen," she said, wiping a tear of laughter away. "How long before they photoshop you, do you think?"

Smiling excitedly as Mar agreed to attend the concert, Grace's optimism waned just slightly when she thought of the senior sendoff, already dreading it. "And we're playing the same thing for the seniors we always play - the school anthem," she rolled her eyes, clearly disillusioned by the choice - but unable to do anything, despite her best efforts to appeal to the principal. "They're weirdly strict about the songs we're allowed to play. These kids will never know the glory of Vitamin C's "Graduation," unfortunately," she sighed. "Although I don't honestly know what I was expecting, because they didn't do anything fun when I went here."

At a hint of activity in the hall, Grace strained to pop her head up above Mar, looking to see what it might be - then, with a quick glance at the clock, she groaned, wiping the crumbs from her hands on a napkin. "I have to go - flutes at 1:50," she said on an exhale. "I'll text about the concert?"

After a day where nothing got done and nothing went right, Holly usually took solace in going home and figuring out what went wrong over a glass of wine and a hot bath. Things had started out in her favor, the private lesson that started her day went swimmingly and the next one went just as smoothly. Then…the Mini Mite group had one too many accidents causing practice to end early so the ice could be thoroughly cleaned for the free skate and remaining practices later. Holly managed to get through the rest of the day at Huron Ice Rink, but by the time the final skaters had left, the day had already begun to feel impossibly long.  Holly pulled her hair out of the collar of her coat as she entered Louie’s Pub, embracing the warmth that the space provided. Her plan - providing the evening would go better than her day - was to spend some time relaxing and maybe, just maybe, attempt a game of darts. Holly leaned against the counter, taking a glance at the bottles behind the bar to decide what she wanted. She ordered her drink - a whiskey and ginger - and slid into the empty seat nearest her, taking a brief moment to let the unexpected weariness of the day seep into her bones before beginning her attempt to shake it off and mentally prepare for the next.

She all but threw her bag onto the open seat, and hopped up on the barstool, letting out a huge breath. Mar didn't even want something strong to drown her sorrows -- she just wanted something to focus on other than the weird energy that her date had emanated and the nagging worry she had blown her only chance at a real relationship. Gathering herself, she looked to her left and saw another person at the bar, presumably doing the same thing she was. "Is it okay if I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the lack of space between them. "Please let me know if I need to move for anyone, I wasn't really paying attention when I sat down."

At Mar's inquiry about jazz band, Grace nodded, taking a quick bite of a chip. "It's their first official performance! We've done a lot of rehearsing, though - they sound great. You should come to the spring concert! Caleb makes fun of me because I cry with pride after every one, but I can try to be normal for you! We could even grab a drink, after."

Grinning with delight as Mar laughed hysterically, Grace watched her friend with joy, reaching for her phone in her pocket. She pulled up the page, then, and turned it around to face Mar so she could scroll through. "My personal favorite is the admin staff in the office - they did a whole series."

She brightened when Grace invited her to the spring concert, and straightened a little in her seat. "I would love that! I have been meaning to try to come to more school events to see old students. And you are welcome to cry as much as you want. I won't say a word." Mar raised a hand as if to intimate a scout's honor for her promise. "But drinks are a given, definitely. What are you going to play for the seniors?"

When Grace pulled up the page on her phone, Mar leaned in slightly to peer at the screen. The consistency of the photoshop quality varied wildly from picture to picture, but she almost choked to see the assistant principal bear a striking resemblance to Lex Luthor. "This is the dumbest and most brilliant thing I have ever seen," she said, wiping a tear of laughter away. "How long before they photoshop you, do you think?"

Jules looked at the book she had just put away once more before shrugging. "I like too many genres, that's my downfall. But I will always return to books that have a historic touch to it. And European based for some reason, it's fun to discover the world like that if you don't get out there yourself." One day she wanted to visit Europe, a roadtrip. Once the children were older and not living under her roof anymore, that was a goal for her. She loved taking care of them, but one had to have dreams that were just for oneself.

The woman scrunched her nose when asked what she thought about her son moving to the other side of the country. "I'm not too pleased about it but he needs to grow in the end. I would visit him all the time if it were possible but I don't think he will be too happy about it." No one wanted their mother around in college, she hadn't wanted her father around either.

"Lily likes to think she's a singer, but she is not. She is actually a pretty good piano player, so I think that is going to be the way to go." Unfortunately for the rest of the family, Lily did enjoy singing a lot despite the fact that she was unable to keep tone.

She didn't miss Jules Buckley's comment about reading about places she'd never been. "Europe is a fascinating place," she agreed. "I went to Paris once, when I was a lot younger. We saw the catacombs. It was really cool." She paused, and then added: "have you ever considered going?" Mar glanced in the direction of where Jules Buckley had placed the book back on its shelf. European history, fiction or nonfiction, had plenty of options for anyone curious to read. "Have you ever read All the Light We Cannot See? It's about a blind girl during World War II. I recommend, if you haven't."

She was impressed with the other woman's answer about her son moving hundreds of miles away. Mar had encountered numerous helicopter parents in her almost-decade of teaching, so it was refreshing to hear someone want their child to grow into an adult. "That makes sense," she said. "He'll be out of his comfort zone, I imagine, which is really good to get people to grow up. And I don't blame you -- if I had a reason to visit California I think I'd go as often as possible, myself. How does Lily feel about it?"

What was new with her? I had cancer and thought I would die, but I'm still here somehow was a lot to unload on an acquaintance, and felt a little overwhelming to share. "I've been alright," she settled on saying. "I visited my family in Puerto Rico over the summer, and I hadn't seen them in a while, so it was really nice. Other than that ...." she trailed off, considering how much of her life was made up of the same routine days. "Keeping busy with teaching, which is all I can ask for."

What a horrific thought.

She shook her head, dismissing Mar's concern as she leaned forward to reach a chip. "I'm gonna see if admin's gotten wind of it yet so they can put a guard out there to watch," she offered, popping the chip in her mouth and crunching a few times. Swallowing, she tacked on: "I can't imagine anything that happens to any of these kids being worth fighting in a parking lot for, so I kind of assume it's just to seem cool."

At Mar's confession, Grace warmed - she had missed Mar, truly; they were allies at the academy, but, quite gleefully, they'd also become good friends. Grace had taken measures to respect Mar's privacy during her time away, making sure she showed her support however she could without being invasive or unwelcome - establishing an employee PTO pool, sending care kits, organizing card-writing campaigns among the students and faculty.

"I do love my kids," she affirmed, fondly. Grace had always found great fulfillment in her work, in music itself - she wasn't particularly wont to express herself so intimately otherwise - and getting to spend her life sharing her love of it with kids, to shape their lives in some way...she knew that was something special. "I'm taking the jazz band to the senior center this weekend to get some volunteer hours, and the amount of them that are genuinely excited is so sweet," she said, smiling softly at Mar, as if she couldn't fully believe it. "It's hard to believe they're the same kids running Instagram pages ranking each other. And the amount of times I've been suggested "Bald Huron Academy" to follow on Instagram should be criminal - it's literally just photos of faculty with a bald filter on. It's awful." She thought, then, and quickly added: "Don't worry, we're not on there."

It didn't escape Mar's notice how Grace's face and voice softened when she spoke about her students and the projects they were working on. Mar listened intently as she mentioned the upcoming trip to a senior center and a warm smile spread across her face. "That's amazing, I'm sure it'll be equally great for the kids and the adults," she said earnestly. "Have they done a performance together before, or is this their first?"

She had taken a sip of water when Grace brought up the Instagram account, and then choked when Grace explained it was edits of students making them bald. It was so absurd as to be hysterically funny, and she coughed for a moment before regaining her composure. "Hold on," she said. "There's an entire account dedicated to making people bald? Like, that's a thing the kids are doing? That's hilarious. How did you find out about it?" She'd not been recommended any accounts to follow, but then again, Mar had only been on Instagram sparingly since her diagnosis, choosing to reveal nothing about what was going on in her life to her array of friends and acquaintances.

Her gaze lowered to the book in her hands and then put it back. "I'm actually here to pick up a specific book for her for an assignment but then I got distracted by books of my own interest. You caught me trying to convince myself not to buy a book for myself and I'm not sure yet if I'm failing at it."

"What do you enjoy reading?" she asked, curious. "I am probably not the right person to help you stay on task, I always end up with more books than I planned on. I always support picking up a book that catches your eye." Maybe it was a bit of enabling to encourage someone to pick up more than they came in for, but reading was at least beneficial for the reader.

Jules Buckley's announcement that her son was off to college reminded Mar how quickly time went by whether she paid attention to it or not. "Congratulations to him!" she said cheerfully. "How do you feel about him off to California? Are you going to make a visit out there?" It felt like only yesterday that she had been off to college, and now she was watching others grow up and embark into the world. "That's good to hear about Lily! Does she have a favorite instrument, or is she a singer?"