LIZA + THATCHER WARD. @goblinkinggâ
Heâs fine most days. Thatâs the line he feeds everyone who asks about his father. Somedays itâs because he really is fine, others itâs because he knows his father wouldnât want everyone in town knowing what state heâs really in. When he tells Ari that Jim is okay, itâs because he doesnât want her to worry. Most of the time though, itâs just because heâs too tired to talk about it. For Liza though? She gets the truth of it. As soft as he can make it, but still the truth. âItâs not lookinâ good, Lizard.â
Her accusation catches him off guard, mid inhale. His throat tightens and thick smoke hits his lungs too fast. And before he knows it, Thatcher is doubled over seized by a coughing fit. âDonât,â he chokes out, alarm clear in his voice. âJust donât.â How Liza knew something that Thatcher has never once admitted to out loud, Thatcher will never know. A magazine tucked under his bed, discovered by a snooping sister? An app alert on his phone with an icon she recognized? Maybe she could just tell that there was something more they had in common than their last name.
It has always made Thatcher feel closer to her, even if heâll never admit to it. But itâs also made him just a little terrified of her. âWhatever you think I am, keep it to yourself.â He wants it to sound like a command, but between the anxiety in his chest and the smoke in his lungs, he knows he sounds like heâs begging. âSorry itâs not as good as whatever wild shit they got in the city. Out here we just gotta make do with what we got.â Hopefully itâs clear to Liza that heâs not just talking about the pot.
âBesides, you took one hit. You gotta give it a minute. I know youâre not new to this.â
The nickname âLizardâ makes her recoil, like sheâs twelve again and failing to be taken seriously, just like when Jim takes it upon himself to call her Lizzie just to make her feel small. Usually it makes Liza absolutely feral, but thereâs comfort in hearing it from Thatcher right now, while theyâre sitting in the still silence of the evening and connecting over their fatherâs eventual downfall. She makes a noncommittal noise of understanding, subconsciously huddling into the swing and closer to her big brother, as if he might be able to shield her from all the shit thatâs going on in their lives. As much as Liza likes to pretend sheâs big and bad and needs no one to protect her, itâs nice to think Thatch might be there to do it anyway.
His instant alarm at her innocent comment has her snickering, watching him while he doubles over himself. âItâs been kept, Thatch. Doesnât make it any less true.â Liza has never felt the need to hide her sexuality, nor has she felt the need to define it. She fucks who she fucks and thatâs it, but Thatcher has always treated his preferences like a dirty secret. Heâs ashamed, sheâs sure, and afraid and Liza would feel bad for him if she didnât find it so goddamn annoying. She gets it, though â because sheâs sure Jim would have a cow if he figured out that his golden boy was anything other than straight and narrow. âBut Iâll shut up.â Maybe, but she leaves that part off.
Liza plucks back his flimsy little joint, takes another hit and feels for a minute like sheâs sixteen under the bleachers at Forest Hills instead of openly smoking weed in her fatherâs backyard, and she takes a moment to appreciate the balls sheâs grown. The fact that Jimâs practically senile and doesnât scare her nearly as much anymore has nothing to do with it, sheâs sure. âYou donât have to just make do, yâknow,â she comments, inspecting the joint before handing it back. âShould come out and visit me in the city. Youâd like it.â He wouldnât like it at all, Liza knows that for a fact â Thatch is far too country, and the confines of the skyscrapers would send him into an orbit â but sheâs steadfast in the thought that he could use a little culture.
















