pgriver​
The thing about seeing and believing is that in order for the latter to work, you’d have to be doing that first part. He’s got his back facing her for this reason, already kind of feeling like she’s told Mom (who in turn will think surprising Dad by keeping him out of the loop again will absolutely work like it did the first time). Silent incredulity ensues in case there wasn’t already enough of it the minute Rachel had made herself welcome in his space.
While River counts down from ten to one, he stares at the wall in front of him and: How old are we again? (Not 16 and 12, 10 and 6, 5 and 1.) What’s in it for me? (Mom, Dad, nativity scene with actual hay, home.) If I say no, will she respect it? (You’d be angrier if she didn’t offer at all.) Can I ever 100% win? (Maybe if Dad cries.)
And then… and then a long sigh. Just one of those mid-twenty things. But he isn’t at the peak of it yet, choosing to spin on his bare heel to finally face her.
Eyeing the cocktail in her hand, he steps closer. “I want three of those.” Slithering his way to stand behind her now, he looks over her shoulder to peep at the messages going back and forth like crossfire between her and Mom. “And the window seat.” And you to not talk to me, but a Christmas miracle is only really getting an aerial view of the lights at this time of year.
The cold shoulder only conjures up an even colder wave of indifference from her end. What would’ve royally pissed Rachel off ten years ago doesn’t, but the impact of such details is lost with ill timing. You change now, and so what? Why not then? Questions worth an ounce of consideration if not all of it.
Only she’s not seeking that kind of scrutiny, not here. Just an answer that goes unsaid as River carries out the pause just as deliberately as he denies her the satisfaction of his visible disbelief. A familiar face brushes by their table which she waves to in the meantime, warm smiles aplenty before they go out the door. The ping! of another notification cuts through the pleasant din of the restaurant, but she holds off on it, tapping against the glass with a hum.
And then, there it is.Â
“No point in staying when you don’t have to.” Phone’s back out, with milliseconds for River to catch the exchange on her screen before it’s swiped to the camera app. “Extra wide now: 1, 2—” For confirmation purposes only.
Neither demand goes unheard, but that’s different than it being understood. She’s a breath away from going forward with the former until her mind catches up. Rachel’s brows furrow, baffled. Pulpy red fruit’s a no-go, but with a sudden new exception. O-kay.Â
Her face relaxes, turning to wave the server over. “Order it yourself.”Â
