#fall 6

All those Fall 6 growing pains of The Mess are now in a pdf over at my public Mega folder.

Thank you for reading. 🍂🥰 Hold onto this fall warmth, because the next season is brutally cold. ❄️🥶

The next day, Deryck returned to The Study to meet up with Ben.

“There he is, finally.”

“What? You weren’t waitin’ for me, I’m early.”

Ben laughed. “For you, maybe.”

“That’s still early, mate.”

Ben started, “You guys still remember each other from last night, right? Kate, Deryck Rousseau; Deryck, this is Kate Rose.”

She stood for him. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk last night. Hi.”

“Kate Rose,” Deryck repeated. “That’s quite the name for a Sarah Plain and Tall-type such as yourself. Where’re you from, sweetheart?”

His Feverfewian accent was much more prominent than his brother Jonathan’s was the night before, or maybe it was just how his cool voice echoed off the tall, brick walls in its quieter daytime state. Either way, he caused her to stutter, “Wh-Whibley.”

In an uncharacteristically cordial response, the junior greeted the freshman, “Well. How’d’yah do?”

“You’re from Feverfew? I just spent the summer there.”

He looked her over. With a twinge of disgust, he scoffed, “I’ll never understand you tourists.”

She crossed her arms as a thin smile pressed along her lips. “Hey now, give me some credit. I know it’s not just a pretty place; Feverfew will cut your heart out.”

“It’s a city made of cold, old stone,” he agreed. “Locals have a sayin’: ‘Few drown in the river, ale, or lust, but we always drown. You’ve seen the Old Bridge ruins, yeah? Eh, still, can’t imagine growin’ old in any other joint. Can’t imagine myself old, either.”

Ben piped up: “Oh hey, that reminds me—isn’t today your birthday, Dere?”

Deryck carefully stepped over cables and pulled out a box of cigarettes, groaning, “Yeah, but save me your well wishes n’ chants n’ all that crap. Never liked birthdays.”

Ben began to sing anyway, “Happy birthday to—”

“For fuck’s sakes, Ben. What did I just fuckin’ say?” Then he took a long drag.

“Sheesh, fine. Have it your gloomy, moody way then.”

Kate offered, “I don’t like my birthday much either.”

“Kids, please! This is the last thing we’re asking of you before you leave for university.” That was their very unimpressed father, Reginald Barber the Third, speaking for the entire Cambridge Barber clan standing subject to the teenagers’ constant slew of complaints.

Lillian snorted at his blatant lie. “Okay Dad, sure. Like we won’t be doing this same thing all over again tomorrow when the next generation of Barbers set foot on their own campus.”

“Daring to go where no Barber dare yet go: the financial aide office,” Reginald the Fourth mumbled to his sister, who giggled, though everyone heard him. Even the artist stifled some laughter.

“Reginald, honey, you know that’s not appropriate behaviour.” That was their golden-haired mother Camilla, who was also unimpressed but noticeably more polite.

“This was a stupid idea,” Reginald III cursed.

Reigning matriarch Sarah Barber barked back at her adult son, “Dammit, Reginald. Will you stand up straight? No wonder your children are wild, look at what they have for a role model.”

Lillian and Reginald IV snickered at Dad for getting swatted down by Grandma.

The artist, Vivian Catherine Rose, was only too happy to announce, “It’s finished.” The family’s bickering helped her work impossibly quickly and she took home a generous commission for her discrete service.

Once the painting was hung, Sarah stepped back and spoke for the family all crowding around it: “Ah, see? There it is, and isn’t it just perfect. This portrait is what makes it all worthwhile, seeing our family displayed so proudly. Don’t you agree, Reginald dear?”

Reginald III answered his mother with a noticeably distracted “Y-yeah” as his thoughts drowned out the reality around him.

Perhaps it was the painted permanence of the portrait that reminded the heir of his own budding power within the family. All his life Reginald III was told what to do and when, but one day soon, he realized in the brushstrokes of his father’s silver hair, Reginald the Third would determine the Barber legacy. He could choose to change everything or nothing, either way was following one of his grandfather’s or father’s footsteps.

He wondered what his father, Reginald the Second, thought about the aging changes. He had been mentally checked out for a while. Dad barely bothered keeping up appearances anymore. The son was sure that smile was painted on.

“Don’t mind your father,” Sarah said with a quick wave of her hand. “He’s always been quite aloof. I’m running things just fine without his help, and I have been for a while now.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Reginald III answered, crossing his arms. “Why did you consult on my children’s names without me, Mother? Are you trying to go above me?”

“Oh no, no, nothing like that.” She circled the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip. “An old habit, I suppose.”

“Aren’t you coming, Dad?” Lillian asked, with her brother Reginald IV watching their father’s reaction carefully beside her. The family was moving on to afternoon tea with or without Reginald III, apparently.

“You two go on ahead, I need to—meditate on some things.”

“There,” Ethan Hill declared, “we’re all set. Richard should have what he needs with this, right? Chairs, equipment—I daresay our music living room may even look better all cluttered up this way. I think I was fooling myself with the rug, no one wants to get up let alone dance at our ripe age, hey Harold?” He chuckled to himself. “Though it does mean we may need to order more dining room chairs now, hmm. Eh, we’re still spry enough to move them from one room to another ourselves for now.”

Harold Ward sniffed.

Ethan turned to his husband and spied a single tear run down his cheek. “Harold, honey? What’s wrong? I thought this would make you happy, not sad.”

Through a brave smile Harold answered, “If this weren’t the last time I’d see my son perform, heh, well. Maybe this is for the best, not really a career highlight for Richard to be performing at an old folks home for free. He knows it, I know it; hell, not even my grandson would play this gig these days. I heard Ben’s performing now, can you believe that? He’s taking right after my Richard. Remarkable.”

“Hold on. Last time? Was there a disagreement between you two?”

Harold’s smile shifted to something else when he said, “Ethan, you told me the news yourself.”

Dr. Hill swallowed and exhaled through his nose. “I also told you there are options. You have time.”

“That’s alright, just—enjoy this moment with me now while we can, hm?”

“Harold…”

“You’re forgetting ‘please’ again.”

Ethan sighed. “You say that like one word could change your mind.”

Painfully predictably, with the nip of an early winter’s kiss, the couple spent their last moments together comforting each other.

Ethan cursed, “Oh, it isn’t fair! After everything we went through to finally get here? We were just—!”

“Shh,” Harold soothed. “Don’t waste your breath. Kiss me instead.”

Ethan sniffed, then obliged.

Brandon W. was walking home from his night class when…

…he saw something he wished he didn’t.

He held his breath, looked the other way, gripped his MP3 a little tighter, and kept marching toward the dormitory’s back door.

As he did, Kate heard footsteps approaching and peeked beyond Deryck’s sweet breath. Dammit, of course it was Brandon.

“What’s wrong?” Deryck asked.

Kate didn’t exactly cover her panic well with, “It’s nothing. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Their casual terms dictated Deryck would have to be ready for a sudden change of heart like this. No personal dramas, just good fun. He shrugged. “Later, then.”

Kate called after Brandon a couple times before catching him on the stairs.

“Wait, Brandon? Got a sec?”

“I’m going to bed,” he answered.

“O-okay, sure.”

“Shit.”

But by luck or design later that same night, Kate would find Brandon again in the barren cafeteria. She smiled at him, relieved at the sight of a second chance to cure her guilt.

“Hey, I thought you were going to bed. Midnight snack?”

“Can’t sleep,” he grunted.

“Sorry about earlier,” she began.

“Why?”

“Um, well, I’m not sure what that was exactly, but it was definitely not cool.”

His cold-shoulder exterior cracked when he chuckled to himself, “Cool. Of course, that explains it.” It’s her damn mask again!

She asked, “What?”

“Nothing, never mind. I get it, Deryck looks pretty cool.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I was going to tell you, but then I didn’t know how.”

When he looked at her, she shied away. “There’s something to tell?”

“Oh, just that I thought I’d get my bad boy phase in early. Erm, bad joke.”

“A-huh.”

He squatted, returning his focus to other available options.

She squirmed, “Look, um, are we cool? I’ll leave you alone if we’re cool.”

He shrugged. “Yep, sure. We’re cool.”

“You don’t sound super convincing.”

“It’s late, and I’m tired, and I’m hungry.”

“’Kay, well, night then? See you tomorrow?”

“Night.”

Kate returned to her room already preparing for a sleepless night when her dorm phone started ringing. Not many people knew this line would actually lead to Kate since the campus directory still listed the room under Joanne Payne. Kate didn’t feel particularly inclined to answer at first, but then she worried it might be Jo’s little sister calling for help.

She cleared her throat before answering, “Hello? Hannah?”

“Hi, sweetie. Been a while since we emailed, hey? I’ve been trying to reach you everywhere. Sorry to call so late, but it’s important.”

Kathleen Rose had just legally corrected her family name back to Rowe.

Using the clues Kate left behind, Kathy was able to verify most of what her estranged daughter had said before her severance. As curator of town records, Kathy’s case was well within her control.

But the change hardly reflected closure when so many questions remained.

Did Kathy’s mother Lila really have an affair with Caroline Murphy? That thought haunted her the most, corrupting all aspects of the once angelic presence of her mother’s memory. How could Kate not feel like a dirty science experiment if the rumours were true? Why was Kate celebrating the absurd idea? Did no one else feel repulsed by the incestuous overlap between the Rose-Murphy families?

So, if “Rose” was indeed Lila Roberts’ idea, then Kathleen Rowe decidedly didn’t want any part of it.

Besides, “Rowe” was honest and represented a clan of humble countrymen. She dreamed about becoming one of them several times in the days following the loss of her motherhood.

Her first decision as Kathy Rowe was to inform her shrinking surviving family about the change. Namely, her sister Vivian.

“Wait, so, if you’re taking Dad’s name then I’ll be using Mom’s name? Kate too?”

With impressive calm eyeing her bare ring finger, the elder sister replied, “Catherine is an adult now, she can decide for herself what namesake best suits her current feelings.”

The younger sister pleaded, “Was this really necessary? You’ve always been a Rose.”

“Far from it,” Kathy snorted. “I chose Mom once before, but I’m not—her. I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into your ridiculous idea when we both know I was always meant to be taking after Dad. Before Reginald III, I don’t know if I even needed to be a mother in the first place. The whole ordeal is quite over now.”

“Kath, that’s not fair.”

“Well. You’ll tell her for me, won’t you? I’d hate to miss the Christmas card she won’t send.”

“Hey, do you remember what Mom used to say? ‘If you don’t like something, change it.’ Call Kate. Fix this.”

“I don’t want to hear about Lila Rose anymore; I am Kathleen Rowe now, it’s done.”

“You’re sweet to stay with me,” Bonnie Weseman sniffed, “but don’t let me hold you back on your big day. Go on, go, be with your friends. Wouldn’t be the first time, hey? Dropping you off at school like this?”

“No big deal, Mom,” Brandon shrugged.

She sniffed again. “I’ll be crying for months over this one, kid. Seriously, honey, don’t wait for me. Is that Kate over there?” Her son’s subtle nod made Bonnie’s knowing grin grow. “Go say hi to her for me. Go, go! You can tell her that your mother misses hearing the two of you bicker over those games of yours. What do you think? Would that work, or too sappy?”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her those days were probably long over, but his mother’s teary eyes were brimming with new hope for him and his future. He stalled. “I, uhh—”

“Just use me, sweet pea, I’m the perfect excuse. Say whatever you want, even if it’s just an opener, like, ‘Hey, my Mom says hi.’ I promise I won’t watch, sheesh! I told Sadie I’d meet her at the sorority house after dropping you off.”

“Sure, Mom. Say hi to Sadie for me. Tell her to visit the house more now that your favourite son has moved out.”

“Nick still has his blonde hair, wise guy.”

“I’m a good excuse too, Mom.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. On your way, favourite son of mine.”

“Hey! Long time no see, weary traveller.”

Kate Rose was distracted taking in all the changes approaching her that she forgot to answer. His voice was a lot lower than she remembered, it sounded almost fake. Was that real stubble? And chest hair? He made a face that brought her back. “Brandon. Sorry—hi.”

“Everyone’s dying these days.”

“What?”

“Your hair?”

“Oh, phfft, yeah. You like it? Jo’s handiwork. It’s a big change but that’s what university’s all about, right?”

“So they say. Definitely heard that one a few times today already.”

Jo Payne swooped in then. “I’m gonna miss you, roomie! Just kidding. Did you know she snores?”

Kate made a face but before she could protest Lee Sato called her out too: “It’s true! She slept most of the way here, I can attest.”

All Kate wanted was to keep her problems quiet. If Kate sleeping was the excuse the couple wanted to disguise all their heavy road trip conversation with, fine, but—snoring? Brandon laughed predictively with Jo and Lee, which gave Kate little room to say anything else but:

“Umm—okay, well, obviously these two are in kahoots and therefore can’t be trusted. Let’s focus instead on getting all this crap inside, yeah? Hooray, move day.”

“I can’t believe you,” Kate pouted to Jo. “I don’t even snore.”

“Shut up, it’s cute.”

Behind them, Ben Parker Green waddled over carrying a big basket of records as Lee whistled to win back their lovesick friend’s attention. “Yoohoo? Brandon? Any chance you’d like to help sometime today?”

“Right, yeah, I will—I’ll help. Sorry. What’s next? Ben’s guitar?” He really didn’t have a clue.