𝓡.

               mavis   can’t   help   but   to   frown,   feeling   deprived   of   what   she   had   hoped   would   be   some   awesome,   life-altering   revelation—   this   was   .   .   .   smaller,   than   she   had   expected.   “   hey,   ”   she   begins   to   chide   helena,   putting   on   her   best   ‘   i’m   being   serious   ’   face;   it   is   not   entirely   effective,   however,   owing   to   the   twinkle   in   her   eye.   “   they’re   not   stupid.   they   just,   like,   want   some—   um.   comfort.   like,   to   get   answers   to   things.   ”   she   slips   a   lock   of   hair   between   her   teeth,   just   barely   chewing   it.   she   knew   she   did   not   sound   very   convincing,   and   still—   “   so,   you   don’t   believe   in,   like,   magic?   witches   and   curses   and   spells   n’stuff?   ”   bummer.   she’d   asked   the   wrong   person.   but,   maybe,   she   could   still   work   with   this   prediction,   vague   as   it   was.   “   .   .   .   a   love   triangle,   huh.   and   she   wasn’t   any   more   specific   than   that?   hm.   are   ya   dating   anyone   new?   ”   wiggling   her   eyebrows,   “   have   any   sexy   guys   stood   out   to   ya?   ”

               brooks  watches  with  a  knowing  smile  while  she  looks  him  up  and  down  ,  stood  before  her  like  a  statue  .  he  shifts  his  weight  ,  utterly  unconcerned  with  how  ridiculous  he  looks  :  a  beat  up  denim  shirt  held  together  hapharzardly  by  one  button  over  a  white  tank  ,  green  athletic  shorts  that  don’t  match  anything,  trucker  cap  shoved  low  ,  sunglasses  that  very  well  could  have  come  from  the  gas  station  ,  mismatched  socks  peeking  above  beat-up  sneakers  .  looking  like  someone  who  had  gotten  dressed  in  the  dark  and  decided  this  was  good  enough  .  brooks  reaches  to  run  a  hand  through  his  damp  hair  ,  flicking  off  the  last  of  the  water  and  replacing  the  cap  upon  his  head  . 

"  stalking  is  a  strong  accusation  ,  "  he  says  lightly  ,  leans  in  just  enough  to  be  annoying  ,  not  enough  to  be  polite  .  “  i  prefer  ‘  coincidence  .  ’  makes  me  sound  more  interesting  and  less  criminal  .  ”

               his  eyes  drop  —  briefly  ,  delibrerately  —  to  her  own  frame  ,  like  he's  decided  if  she's  allowed  to  check  him  out  ,  he  can  do  the  same  .  brooks  lets  the  question  hang  a  moment  too  long  ,  like  he’s  mulling  over  what  she  meant  to  ask  versus  what  she  actually  said  .  "  hmm  .  "  he  hums  .  a  small  ,  knowing  sound  ,  like  he's  heard  that  tone  before  .  his  lower  lip  catches  between  teeth  ,  chewed  upon  while  watches  her  .  her  question  —  or  more  the  ‘  here  with  someone  ’  part  —  has  brooks  glancing  over  his  shoulder  into  the  space  behind  him  .  a  quick  scan  ,  left  ,  then  right  ,  but  nothing  catches  his  eye  . 

               “   oh,   be   reasonable.   it   was   not   an   accusation.   it   was   a   question.   ”   though,   perhaps,   in   her   intention,   they   were   not   so   dissimilar.   she   arches   an   eyebrow   at   him,   but   otherwise,   her   face   remains   dispassionate.   “   —   it   makes   you   sound   vacillant.   ”   pearl   gently   tugs   another   doughnut   from   the   bag,   taking   a   moment   to   fully   chew,   and   swallow   it   before   elaborating.   “   it   makes   you   sound   unsure   of   yourself,   of   your   actions.   ”   there   is   a   hint   of   something,   like   disappointment,   lacing   her   words,   if   one   were   keen   enough   to   unravel   them.   maybe,   it   was   not   quite   the   reply   she   was   hoping   for;   or,   not   as   clearly   defined.

               “   —   but,   i   suppose   i   will   take   ‘   coincidence,   ’   if   that   is   your   final   answer.   ”

               she   dusts   some   of   the   cinnamon   sugar   away   from   where   it   has   fallen   onto   her   blouse;   now,   as   he   seems   to   return   her   ogling,   pearl   is   feeling   a   bit   too   aware   of   herself.   she   is   reminded   of   just   how   disheveled   she   must   similarly   appear   to   him,   to   everyone—   though   her   socks   are   not   mismatched,   and   her   outfit   would   appear   to   have   been   put   together   with   more   purpose,   the   heat   has   certainly   frazzled   her.   her   linen   button-down   is   undone   to   the   chest,   askance,   and   just   revealing   the   damp   skin   underneath;   her   hair,   so   perfectly   groomed   this   morning,   has   become   a   fluffy,   frizzy   halo.

               she   is   flushed,   and   pink;   pinker,   now.

               “   you   guess.   ”   she   repeats,   almost   a   challenge,   and   with   more   irritation   in   her   voice   than   she   means   to   levy;   the   sun   must   be   getting   to   her.   being   made   so   conscious   of   her   body,   of   being   in   this   body   and   in   the   sun,   must   be   getting   to   her.   “   the   family   that   you   definitely   are   not   stalking,   only   seeing,   coincidentally—   ”   pearl   shrugs   a   little,   still   taking   the   time   to   sneak   a   glimpse   of   his   arms   as   he   rolls   up   his   shirt.   “   he’s—   they’ve   .   .   .   left   me.   for   things   more   amusing.   ”   she   is   trying   to   play   nonchalant,   but   poorly;   there   is   an   ache,   there,   just   below   the   surface   of   her   speech.

"   shit   ...   he   ain't   comin'   ?   that's   a   shame   ...   "   it   sounds   he   truly   wanted   her   husband   to   come,   but   if   he   were   to   be   honest;   he   never   favored   arthur.   from   that   walk   down   the   aisle,   he   could   spot   the   way   groom   was   too   clingy   for   his   sister,   put the pieces together after seeing   the   way   she'd   shrunk   away   from   advances   at   get   togethers,   the   way   he'd   grimace   in   disgust   at   his   own   hand   being   denied,   like   something   was   deeply   wrong   with   him.   he'd   never   express   his   thoughts,   those   kinds   of   conversations   were   never   meant   for   he   and   pearl   to   have,   and   he   assumes   they   never   will.   "   be   sendin'   you   home   with   some   tupperware   ⸻   he   get   picky,   you   eat   it.   "   a   nod   of   confirmation,   one   that   doesn't   ask   for   any   in   return   as   he   sets   bowl   of   salad   along   with   the   rest   of   dinner   spread.

a   chuff   of   something   amused.   "   only thanks to this   wonderful woman.   was   makin'   sure   i   didn't   even   get   much a chance   to   get   sunburnt   out   in   that   summer   heat,   "   neck   near   snaps   at   the   sound   of   fridge   opening,   alarms   ringing   in   his   head   before   he   even   moves   to offer in grabbing   pitcher   in   partner's   hands,   opting   for   self   control   and   pulling   out   dining   room   chair,   instead.   "   nothin'   compared   to   that   sweltering trip   daddy   took   us   on   t'ouisiana.   no   gator   typa   place.   you   woulda   enjoyed   the tours.   "

the   sudden   upbringing   of   news   makes   his   blood   run   cooler,   and   it's   his   turn   to   feel   nauseous   ⸻   nervous,   like   the   person   on   the   other   side   of   the   table   isn't   his   own   baby   sister.   "   good   news.   right.   "   he   pulls   out   his   own   chair,   a   quick   glance   toward   gianna   as   he   sits   himself   down,   awkward   clearing   of   his   throat   in   tandem   with   uncomfortable   shifting   in   his   seat.

               “   well.   we’ll   see   if   i   get   the   chance   to—   ”   she   speaks,   a   bit   too   wearily,   as   though   it   was   decided,   on   some   cosmic   level,   by   forces   beyond   her   own   control,   that   such   a   trip   would   be   out   of   her   reach.   pearl   has   already   begun   to   wither,   brimming   with   so   much   regret   as   she   is,   but   does   try   to   swallow   her   sourness.   it   is   difficult,   to   watch   the   two,   gianna   and   her   brother,   move   around   each   other   with   so   much   ease;   a   naturality   that,   she   can   only   imagine,   is   forged   when   one   is   truly   in   harmony   with   their   partner—   to   pearl,   a   foreign   concept.   she   accedes   to   the   lemonade   with   a   small   ‘   thank   you,   yes,   ’   but   otherwise,   prefers   to   stay   out   of   their   way.   “   .   .   .   i   would   have   liked   to   visit   orvieto—   they   have   .   .   .   tours   of   the   city’s   underground.   one   day,   maybe   .   .   .   ”

               she   begins   to   sip   nervously,   however,   on   her   drink,   when   directed   toward   the   table;   talk   of   good   news   cannot   seem   to   quiet   the   immediate,   gnawing   worry   that   makes   itself   known   within   her   gut.   this   is   going   to   be   a   serious   conversation;   pearl   feels   small   again,   like   a   child,   and   transported   to   a   time   when   being   sat   at   a   table   like   this,   and   for   a   serious   conversation,   would   mean   something   in   her   life   was   about   to   be   irrevocably   altered.   when   they   were   told,   she   and   merrick,   for   example,   that   they   were   not   whole   siblings—   and   pearl   was   made   to   contend   with   her   otherness,   something   that   had   always   quietly   lurked   in   the   back   of   her   mind,   suspected,   but   at   that   table,   become   totally   exposed,   and   given   roots.

               somewhere,   in   her   subconscious,   she   is   blaming   her   brother   for   bringing   such   a   memory   to   the   surface.

               she   sits,   after   a   long   moment,   and   endeavors   to   listen   without   her   usual   judgement;   but   as   merrick   reveals   each   new   piece   of   their   story,   blood   cannot   help   but   rush   into   her   ears.   all   life   around   her   does   deafen.   good   news—   yes,   objectively   this   is   good   news.   why,   then,   does   she   not   feel   as   a   happy   sister   should?   an   understanding,   stark   and   cold,   does   wash   over   her;   pearl   thinks   herself   somehow   othered,   again.   she   has   submerged   them   all   in   another   of   her   near-endless   silences,   thinking   with   much   gravity   on   what   she   will   say.   in   most   other   circumstances,   in   most   other   families,   she   conceives   that   this   might   be   ‘   congratulations.   ’   perhaps,   ‘   how   wonderful   ’   would   do.

               instead,   what   she   manages,   at   first,   is   an   “   oh.   ”

               pearl   cannot   meet   their   eyes,   and   starts   to   fiddle   with   her   glass   rather   than   drink   from   it,   almost   tipping   it   over   as   she   does—   her   stomach   is   in   knots,   all   thought   of   imbibement,   of   food,   so   far   away   from   her   now.   “   you’re   married,   then?   ”   she   struggles   to   pull   a   smile   from   her   mouth;   the   outcome   is   wetted,   unsteady.   “   well.   it   would   have   been   nice   .   .   .   to   have   been   there.   ”   she   was   feeling   so   detached   from   it   all;   unable   to   connect   with   her   husband,   her   own   identity   as   a   mother   being   fraught   and   ill-fitting,   and   this,   so   uninvolved   in   her   brother’s   life   as   to   be   told   of   his   wedding   only   after   the   fact.   maybe   it   was   what   she   deserved,   this   perpetual   estrangement,   from   everyone,   and   everything;   from   herself,   above   all.

               “   i’m   sorry,   i—   ”   she   was   making   a   mess   of   this.   she   couldn’t   help   but   to   do   so.   she   was   being   needled   by   that   ugly,   base   part   of   herself   that   would   ache   in   the   face   of   her   brother’s   successes.   it   had   to   lash   out.   “   pregnant   .   .   .   ”   pearl   is   quiet,   turning   brusque.   “   merrick.   you’re   fifty.   ”   the   jealousy   curdles;   she   can   sense   just   how   pathetic   it   makes   her,   and   grows   ever   more   embittered   with   herself   as   a   result.   “   have   you   thought   about   what   that   might   entail?   for   your   child,   for   your   w—   for   your   wife.   ”   suddenly,   and   with   the   squeal   of   her   chair   sharply   moving   against   the   floor,   she   is   standing.   “   you   are   so   .   .   .   reckless.   ”   she   shouldn’t   have   come.   she   needed   to   leave.   “   .   .   .   fuck.   i’m,   i   apologize,   i   have   to   go—   ”       @sundazeds

               “   well,   y’know   i’d   be   the   sweetest.   ”   she   grins,   toothily.   “   there’ll   always   be   a   slice   a’mavis   with   your   name   on   it.   ”   here,   she   pats   her   stomach   without   thinking   and,   consequently,   does   loose   a   choking   groan.   and   if   graham   is   avoiding   the   topic   of   her   brother,   mavis   is   too   preoccupied   with   this   pie-induced   predicament   to   notice.   “   are   matching   t-shirts   ever   too   much?   ”   she   supposes   that   he   must   strongly   think   so,   or   else   he   would   not   dare   to   ask   her   this;   but,   he   does   dare,   and   so,   she   pouts.   and   she   is   ready   to   topple   over   her   own   feet,   the   moment   he   steps   away,   so   that   she   might   guilt   him   into   acquiescence—   but   the   mention   of   his   daughter   has   mavis   changing   her   tune.   “   oh!   yes,   yes,   i   can   walk!   ”   she   proves   this   by,   rather   pathetically,   running   in   place.   and,   hiding   a   wince,   though   poorly,   “   for   my   little   mabie   muffin,   i   would   do   anything.   i   would   walk   through   fire.   ”   she   really   would!   “   wait.   i   need   to   wipe   the   pie   guts   off   my   face.   i   must   look   like   i’ve   munched   someone!   ”   she   eyes   graham’s   shirt,   for   a   moment,   an   impish   gleam   in   her   eye—   but,   decides   against   it,   scouring   the   pie   table   for   napkins   instead.   “   she’s   probably   grown   so   much   since   i   saw   her   last.   do   you,   um.   do   ya   have   her   full   time,   now?   for   good?   ”

               “   their   name   will   be   .   .   .   che—   um,   ap—   uh   .   .   .   chap   .   .   .   ple.   ”   she   cracks   a   smile.   that   is,   it   would   seem,   the   end   of   that.   when   offered,   mavis   will   thankfully   accept   the   wipes,   and   begin   to   rub   herself   down.   and,   leaning,   now,   against   the   closest   tree   that   she   can   find,   lacking   though   it   is   in   cover,   “   you’re   an   angel.   do   you   know   that   you’re   an   angel?   ”   glad   to   be   de-stickied,   and   able   to   take   a   breath,   mavis   permits   herself   to   think   on   nadia’s   question.   “   hmm.   i   dunno,   i   guess—   i’m   just   here   for   a   little   break.   n’to   check   on   my   brother.   ”   it   isn’t   really   a   lie;   it   isn’t   really   the   truth,   either,   but   it   is   what   she   decides   to   divulge.   “   y’know,   i   never   asked—   have   you   met   him,   my   brother?   his   name’s   cooper.   he’s,   like,   a   super   duper   famous   hockey   player.   n’kind   of   a   butthole,   sometimes.   but,   like,   not   always   .   .   .   ”   she’s   become   distracted   by   a   rogue   balloon;   having   lost   its   human,   it   floats   up   and   up   and—   “   ahh,   fu—   ouch,   ”   she   squints,   forced   to   stop   pursuing   its   path   by   cause   of   the   sun   in   her   eyes.   blinking,   “   anyway.   i’ll   have   t’go   back   home   soon   .   .   .   ish,   probably.   but,   maybe   i’ll   be   back   next   year?   espesh   if   coop’s   still   here.   ”   and   all   thought   of   prizes   is   pushed   from   her   mind,   lame   as   they   proved   to   be;   though,   she   isn’t   sure   she   has   deflated   enough   to   consider   sucking   down   cocktails   quite   yet.   “   mm,   gimme   a   piggyback   ride?   ”   she   flutters   her   eyelashes.   “   you   can   tell   me   what   you’re   doin’   in   weegee   on   th’way   there.   like,   did   you   grow   up   here,   or   are   ya   a   noob   like   me?   ”

               he  feels  absolutely  ragged  .  threadbare  .  maybe  it's  something  about  the  combination  of  the  sticky  heat  ,  the  blended  scents  of  deep  -  fried  something  ,  kettle  corn  ,  and  sunscreen  ,  and  the  fatigue  that  comes  from  pushing  oneself  past  their  limit  that  has  him  clinging  for  dear  life  ,  entire  body  positioned  in  front  of  a  water  mister  in  hopes  of  easing  the  exhausted  anxiety  hes's  sure  he'll  have  to  reckon  with  the  second  he  gets  home  .  brooks  removes  his  hat  ,  lowers  his  head  to  better  mist  the  locks  tucked  in  a  cloth prison  .

               he's  somehow  lost  the  person  he'd  come  to  the  event  with  ,  certain  she  was  somewhere  retrieving  more  food  or  more  drinks  .  brooks  notices  he  might  look  more  like  he'd  taken  a  turn  in  the  dunk  tank  considering  how  long  he's  capitalized  this  machine  and  begins  to  back  away  ,  eyes  shut  and  stinging  from  water  and  sweat  dripping  into  them  ,  before  —

               "  —  oh  ,  shit  .  sorry  ,  "  he  starts  ,  turning  to  automatically  place  a  hand  on  their  arm  ,  soon  after  realizing  who  he's  collided  with  .  he  can't  surpress  the  tiny  smirk  tugging  at  his  lips  ,  especially  considering  the  formality  with  which  she  addresses  him  .  " well , hey there , neighbor . " pearl's once over makes certain that he  looked  about  as  haggard  as  he  felt  ,  glances  down  at  the  most  random  outfit  known  to  man  that  had  been  pieced  together  from  whatever  casual  clothing  remained  in  his  wardrobe  that  hadn't  gone  awol  in  japan  .  "  nope  .  still  alive  !  "  he  tells  her  ,  finally  removing  his  hand  from  her  arm  .  he  replaces  the  hat  atop  sopping  hair  ,  pulls  up  the  hem  of  his  shirt  to  wipe  his  face  dry  to  better  take  her  in  .  a  lot  had  happened  since  the  elevator  mishap  that  he'd  nearly  forgotten  it  ,  had  nearly  escaped  the  memory  of  how  tempermental  ,  unnecessarily  angry  ,  he  could  get  in  adverse  conditions  . 

               "  what  d'ya  have  there  ?  "  he  leans  into  her  space  ,  as  annoying  and  invasive  as  a  toddler  with  no  concept  of  personal  space  ,  finger  finding  the  entrance  to  the  bag  in  her  hand  and  tugging  it  open  .  "  mmm  .  .  .  doughnuts  .  .  .  "  he  hums  ,  snatching  one  for  himself  and  popping  it  into  his  mouth  ,  a  satisfied  nod  .  "  i  saw  you  earlier  with  your  family  .  "  he  notes  .  not  judgemental  ,  more  .  .  .  an  observation  .  a  question  .

               she   stares   at   him,   bewildered;   her   mouth   somewhat   agape,   and   searching—   for   whatever   word   might   aptly   impart   what   she   is   feeling   in   this   moment.   pearl   is   disturbed,   surely,   by   his   breaching   of   her   personal   space,   and   the   gall   with   which   he   plucks   a   doughnut   from   her   bag.   she   never   was   good   at   sharing.   but,   for   all   of   this—   for   his   irreverence,   for   the   touch   of   his   hand,   wet   as   it   was,   still   seared   upon   her   arm,   and   for   the   glimpse   of   his   skin   he   so   coyly   allowed   her   in   lifting   his   shirt   to   wipe   down   his   face—   she   cannot   oblige   herself   to   be   angry.   even,   as   she   suffers   what   should   be   anger,   crawling   down   her   throat   and   into   her   gut.

               “   cheeky,   ”   is   what   she   will   ultimately   choose,   and   with   a   squint   to   her   gaze.   “   oh?   you   saw   me.   so,   you   do   have   a   functioning   set   of   eyes?   ”   pearl   jerks   the   bag   away   from   his   pilfering   fingers,   too   obviously   scrutinizing   his   strange   choice   of   dress—   too   strange,   even,   for   her   particular   palate;   but,   in   doing   so,   perhaps   lingers   too   considerably   upon   the   beads   of   water   still   drip,   drip,   dripping   from   his   hair.   “   .   .   .   yes,   with   my   family.   you’re   not   stalking   us,   now,   are   you?   ”   she   means   to   tease   him,   but   the   question   is   posed   without   adornment;   there   is   no   wink   in   her   tone   to   betray   her   with.   the   effect,   then,   is   not   so   much   playful   as   it   is   unsettling.

 and,   maybe,   she   wanted   to   know   how   often   he   did   see   her;   a   grave   and   greedy   concern.

 “   you’re   here   with   .   .   .   someone.   ”   she   was   not   so   naive   as   to   think   him   alone.   “   and   are   they   the   one   that   dressed   you?   ”

               “   right.   well,   ”   pearl   turns   her   head   in   a   slow,   semi-circle,   only   pretending   to   search   for   something   that   he   might   dry   himself   with.   “   i’m   sure   there   are   towels   around   here.   somewhere.   ”   and   if   there   does   exist   a   folding   table   with   said   towels   sat   atop   them,   and   only   some   feet   away   from   where   they   stand   now,   she   simply   could   not   know   for   certain.   what   she   does   know,   what   she   comes   to   know   mere   moments   into   their   conversation,   is   that   fitz   is   in   the   mood   for   misbehaving.   she   lets   slip   one,   huffing,   incredulous   laugh,   as   the   shock   of   those   few   droplets   settle   over   her.   she   scowls,   though   not   so   harshly,   and,   wiping   one   bead   from   her   face,   she   scolds   him—   “   bad   dog.   ”   she   should   punish   him   for   that,   really.   “   .   .   .   that   darned   texas   heat.   they   would   probably   spray   you   down,   again.   if   you   asked   nicely.   ”

               “   fish!   my   hero.   ”   she   beams   up   at   him,   soughing   dreamily—   she   is   more   than   happy   to   play   the   part   of   the   damsel   in   distress,   and   does   concede   easily   to   being   maneuvered   by   her   friend;   even,   leaning   more   of   her   weight   onto   him   than   was   really   necessary.   “   n’who   said   i   wasn’t   s’posed   to   be   here!   ”   she   wobbles   a   bit   as   she   is   brought   to   her   feet,   now   allowed   to   feel   the   full   pressure   of   all   of   that   pie   on   her   insides;   a   wiser   mavis   may   have   realized   that   this,   eating   oneself   to   near-sickness,   was   what   made   her   ill-placed.   but   she   was   not   that   mavis,   not   today—   “   ohhh,   fish,   don’t   be   mean   to   me   .   .   .   i   think,   i’m   turning   into   .   .   .   a   pie.   ”   with   some   drama,   she   presses   the   back   of   her   free   hand   to   her   forehead,   bending   in   graham’s   arms   to   act   as   though   she   might   faint.   but,   seeming   to   quickly   recover,   “   well,   most   people   do.   i   am   much   cuter.   ”   innocent,   and   unaware—   “   but   he’s   not   that   bad,   is   he?   ”   asked   out   of   simple,   sibling   generosity;   she   did   not   intend   to   relinquish   the   honor   of   most   liked   riley,   of   course.   “   i   am   so   happy   you’re   here,   graham.   it’s   like   .   .   .   a   big,   family   reunion.   we   should   all   get   matching   t-shirts!   ”

             "   yeah   ,   you   could've   ,   "   he   grumbled   softly.   “   that's   why   people   call   before   showin'   up.   ”   there   wasn't   any   real   bite   to   it.   he   reached   up   ,   brushing   a   few   damp   strands   of   hair   away   from   her   face   the   same   way   he'd   done   since   she   was   little.   some   habits   never   left.   with   his   free   hand   ,   he   tugged   the   quilt   out   from   beneath   eggy.   the   cat   voiced   his   displeasure   immediately   ,   letting   out   an   offended   noise   that   cooper   ignored   entirely.   he   draped   the   blanket   around   mavis'   shoulders   before   lowering   himself   onto   his   haunches   in   front   of   her.   “   yeah   ,   i   know.   i   just   ...   i   haven't   ...   ”   the   words   trailed   off.   once   upon   a   time   ,   he'd   called   every   other   day.   after   games.   after   road   trips.   after   fights.   he'd   ring   them   up   grinning   ear   to   ear   ,   tell   them   about   goals   and   wins   and   locker   room   bullshit.   he'd   held   the   cup   over   his   head   and   thanked   his   mum   and   sister   on   national   television   without   a   second   thought.

             those   days   felt   like   they   belonged   to   somebody   else.   “   mavvy   ...   ”   he   buried   his   face   in   his   hands   ,   scrubbing   roughly   at   his   eyes.   "   she's   ...   "   his   voice   cracked.   “   fuck.   ”   for   a   moment   he   couldn't   look   at   her.   “   she's   not   gettin'   better   ,   is   she   ?   ”   there   it   was.   the   question   he'd   been   avoiding   for   months.   because   if   he   asked   it   out   loud   ,   then   he   had   to   live   with   the   answer.   guilt   settled   heavy   in   his   chest   ,   familiar   as   an   old   injury.   he   should've   been   there.   should've   called   more.   should've   gone   home.   instead   he'd   spent   months   running   —   from   her   ,   from   hockey   ,   from   bonnie   ,   from   himself.   from   this. 

               “   oh.   um—   no,   no.   that’s   okay.   i   packed   a   little   sandwich   for   the   trip,   ‘n   ate   that   on   the   way   here.   cheese   and   pickle,   y’know   .   .   .   ”   she   is   shaking   her   head,   perhaps,   a   bit   too   emphatically;   that   was   hours   ago,   her   lunch,   but   she   didn’t   have   the   heart   to   outright   decline   him.   she   wanted   cooper   to   think   that   she   could   take   care   of   herself—   that   she   could   procure   something   on   her   own,   and   had   not   already   made   a   habit   of   forgoing   food   when   she   found   herself   without   the   time   to   eat   it.   and,   more   than   that,   though   not   a   stranger   to   scraps,   mavis   could   not   really   stomach   the   idea   of   choking   down   a   meal   of   eggs   and   protein   powder;   not   at   this   exact   moment.

               still,   she   knows   that   he   is   trying,   and   does   almost   instantly   regret   her   rejection,   soft   as   it   was.   instead,   “   maybe.   a   glass   of   water?   ”   there,   an   olive   branch.   that   was   better.   she   extends   her   hand   to   his   cat,   then,   so   that   she   might   apologize   to   him   too;   puckering   her   lips,   and   kissing   the   air   to   attract   him   to   her—   “   sorry   for   stealin’   your   blankie,   eggy.   ”   mavis   coos   at   him   as   he   comes   up   to   nuzzle   her,   and   she   spends   a   minute,   or   two,   like   this—   playing   with   him,   putting   off   what   needs   to   be   said.   “   .   .   .   what   are   ya   doing   all   the   way   out   here,   anyway?   alone.   i   heard   you   were,   um—   well,   that   you   were   retiring?   ”

               she   sighs;   a   small,   pitiful   thing—   “   sorry,   i   .   .   .   ”   she   felt   like   she   might   be   interrogating   him;   like,   she   didn’t   have   the   right   to   ask   him   about   his   life.   she   touched   so   little   of   it,   now.   “   um,   mum.   right.   she—   ”   mavis   falters.   she’d   practiced   this.   they’d   explained   it   to   her,   their   mother’s   doctors,   like,   a   gazillion   times.   she’d   asked   her   questions,   and,   she   understood.   maybe,   she   was   not   very   smart,   and   there   was   much   left   for   her   to   learn   of   the   world,   but—   this,   she   understood.   but   it   would   hurt   to   say   it,   out   loud,   and   to   him.   and   she   was   familiar   with   it,   had   lived   with   it,   been   inside   of   it;   she   worried   how   cooper   would   react,   as   apart   from   the   illness   as   he   was.

               “   oh,   nadia.   ”   she   languishes,   acting   quite   the   drama   queen   as   she   takes   her   hand,   feigning   her   own   as   so   dainty   and   weak.   “   i   need   .   .   .   a   magic   carpet,   to   carry   me.   and   maybe   some   wet   wipes   .   .   .   ”   mavis   caresses   her   stomach,   now   somewhat   protruding,   and   knocks   her   head   back   with   a   groan.   “   oooh.   i’m   pregnant   with   a   little   pie   baby.   i   can’t   walk   another   step.   ”   and   she   cautiously   wobbles   to   the   nearest   bit   of   shade,   pulling   nadia   along   with   her.   “   i   almost   had   it,   though,   didn’t   i?   well,   if   i’m   still   here   by   this   time   next   year,   and   if   i   practice   .   .   .   ”   and   that   was   a   nice   dream,   wasn’t   it?   “   what   did   the   winner   get?   did   you   see?   i   went   into   a   total   coma.   it   wasn’t,   like,   something   super   cute   and   cool,   was   it?!   ”

♪  ༘⋆    ━━━

the buzzing near the shell of her ear forces a groan to slip from her lips. lucy reaches up and smacks the side of her neck, eyebrows raising in surprise at the fly guts on her fingertips. "huh," she shrugged, turning to her counterpart. "i somehow terminated that fly with no problem, do you have hand sanitizer? or...a napkin?" lucy reaches forward, grabbing a crinkled napkin to wipe off the excess insect residue. as the announcer takes the stage, the girl looks up, a scrunched look forming upon her face. "what could they possibly be promoting now?" she was a snob when it came to live music, and the last couple of acts hadn't been her favorite. lucy was as open as she could be, but if one sour note or one song she doesn't care for comes to light, then she's turned off for good. the last thing she wanted to do was listen to another band that wouldn't tickle her fancy. however, the mention of a wet t-shirt contest catches her off guard, eyes widening at the idea. "no fucking way they're doing the wet t-shirt contest!" she exclaimed, looking at the person that sat next to her. "oh my god, you totally have to do it! i'll give you five bucks to do it." she smiled, knowing damn well she gave her last bill away at the kissing booth.

               she   is   leaning   into   lucy,   having   snatched   her   bug   gut-ridden   hand   by   the   wrist,   and   pretending,   with   a   waggle   of   her   eyebrows,   that   she   might   lick   the   remnants   away   before   a   napkin   can   be   used,   when   her   bribe   is   put   forward.   “   whapt!   ”   mavis   hoots,   her   tongue   still,   slightly,   poking   out   of   her   mouth.   “   whapt   thoo   you   mean?!   ”   put   your   tongue   away,   mavis.   “   oh,   sorry—   wait.   is   that,   like   .   .   .   when   you   get   splashed   with   so   much   water   that   your   .   .   .   y’know,   ”   she   paints   another   arch   onto   her   brow,   and   begins   to   sway   from   side   to   side,   motioning   lewdly,   as   she   does   so,   to   her   chest,   “   .   .   .   show   through   your   shirt?   ”   there   is   something   skeptical   in   her   tone,   though,   she   does   seem   to   take   a   moment   to   consider   what   treat   she   might   buy   with   the   cash.   “   i   dunno.   ”   whispering,   “   .   .   .   i   didn’t   wear   a   bra   today.   ”