#riverdalepromptathonweek4

When Betty was in high school, her deepest fear had been that she would lose Jughead. She’d imagine that another girl or a rival gang member or this month’s flavour of serial killers would take him away from her. Whatever the dreaded scenario, college was never part of it. College was supposed to be their fresh start away from the hellhole that was Riverdale.

The thing about college, though, is that it’s exciting. There are interesting courses, fascinating extracurriculars, likely-minded people and a mountain load of studying. Betty and Jughead try to keep in touch via texting and videocalls -their limited budget not allowing 1000-mile trips between New Haven and Iowa- but, in the end, college life moves in a faster pace than what they can keep up with. By the end of freshman year, they break up. It’s less dramatic than either of them expects and maybe, Betty thinks, that’s a small mercy.

Betty is not naïve. She knows that however full and exciting her college schedule is, this alone is not enough for a fresh start. Fresh starts are not about new places after all. One carries their demons within oneself. (Although, there is something to be said about the local mobster not being your best friend’s dad or your neighbour not running head first into every ill-advised scheme of said dad or the local gangs not counting half your family and your boyfriend amongst their numbers.) Betty tries her best to become a better, more self-aware version of herself.

She starts seeing one of the clinicians at the on-campus Mental Health & Counseling Centre. Opening up to Dr Burble doesn’t come naturally but, after all, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s not as if the administration isn’t fully aware that she’s the daughter of the Black Hood. It takes effort to learn not to overwork herself, not to bottle things up and let them fester. To acknowledge that things work even when they’re not done perfectly. To let go of the things she has no control over -to let go of the guilt she feels for the crimes committed by her father. It is not easy and she is not always successful.

She tries to forge new relationships, even as she’s let most of her older ones go. She tries dating and it’s fun but she doesn’t feel as if these partners merit the effort of sharing all of herself, present and past, like she did with Jughead. She thinks that there is a part in her that will always feel this way and worries of what this says about her. She wonders if it’s the same for Jughead. They’ve kind of stayed in touch, mostly through social media. It’s not frequent, but, she thinks, it’s sincere. When Jughead messages her with news of his manuscript being accepted by Penguin Random House, she contemplates making the two-hour trip to New York for his book launch night but, in the end, she decides that congratulating him in person doesn’t outweigh the awkwardness of small talk with strangers over what will undoubtably be just a glimpse of Jughead among the general chaos of celebration.  So, on the night of the launch, she buys a copy of his book from Atticus and sends him a photo wishing him a great time. The next morning, she finds a voicemail from an exuberant and tipsy Jughead. It makes her smile. To no one’s surprise, his book is a thriller, however, neither the story nor the characters are inspired by Riverdale. It looks like Jughead has truly moved on after all. Betty doesn’t know what to think of this. If she had to give a name to her feelings, it would have been a kind of joyful sorrow.

She hasn’t figured everything out yet. She is a work in progress.

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November 2021

Four months after Betty passes the Bar Exam, a Human Justice law firm offers her a job in New York. The opportunity is a dream come true, even if moving on to a new job and a new city still triggers some of her insecurities.

Dr Burble suggests that she buys a plant. “More low maintenance than a pet, still something to take care of in a routine manner.” The catch being that she has to find something to do for the plant every single day, no days off. At least not until she feels settled enough away from her life in New Haven.

And that is how an aglaonema finds its way into Betty’s New York apartment. It has a lush foliage and is easy to care for, which are the main reasons for her choice. It doesn’t need to be watered often, so Betty makes a routine out of putting it on the kitchenette windowsill before leaving for work every morning and back into the living room every evening. Which, in turn, means cleaning the city’s grime off the plant’s leaves every other day. It’s a good schedule and soon Betty picks more plants for her apartment, though the aglaonema is the only one that gets a special treatment.

Moving to New York means that she now almost shares a zip code with Jughead. She lives in the Lowest East Side, while Jughead’s apartment is in Alphabet City, so they’re both within the same community board.

Meeting with him is inevitable. It’s both thrilling and stressful, as Betty feels unprepared to face this new Jughead.

They meet at a café near NYU, where he works as a TA, while doing his PhD. He looks different from the Jughead she knew but the same as the Jughead in the photos on his facebook and Instagram accounts (Betty is certain that the latter is run entirely by his agent). He wears glasses and a soft brown cardigan that makes Betty want to run her hands over it. In the course of this reunion Betty learns that Jughead orders decaf after 6 o’clock, that he probably doesn’t eat at the Uni’s dining hall (judging by the empty Tupperware in his messenger bag) and that he talks more about George Eliot now than he did about Kerouac before. When, later in the evening, they relocate to a diner nearby, he orders a double-decker cheeseburger like he used to at Pop’s but washes it down with a Belgian lambic beer that tastes like sour cherries. The changes both intrigue and dismay her.

In the couple of months that follow, they meet often and Betty learns more about this new version of Jughead. She’s envious of his collectedness. New Jughead seems so comfortable in his own skin. And yet she cannot always read him like she wants to. Sometimes he looks at her in an intense, undecipherable way and she worries that he’s looking straight into the parts inside her that are still figuring life out.

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January 2022

On a crisp Saturday morning in late January, she finds herself at Jughead’s place for the first time, having volunteered her professional expertise for a short story he’s been writing. Jughead’s apartment is a one-bedroom affair, very similar to her own, the main difference being the large open kitchen. The place looks tidy and well-lived, most available surfaces covered in books. Betty tries to surreptitiously take everything in. One wall is almost covered by a large bookcase and a solitary movie poster. In the corner, on a smallish desk sits her gift of the champion of typewriters half buried under a pile of papers.

They talk about criminal trial procedures and, at some point, their discussion diverges into politics and literature. By the time Jughead’s stomach growls, Betty is surprised to see that it’s already two in the afternoon. Jughead offers to cook and Betty really wants to see this new Jughead, who’s able to produce sustenance that doesn’t come out of a takeout container, in action.

Jughead proposes mole verde or rather, he says, a hand rubbing behind his neck, a version of the sauce, mixed with grilled chicken in tacos. It sounds delicious to Betty.

Various products, that she would have never associated with any of the Jones’, whose idea of vegetables never went further than the lettuce leaf in Pop’s burgers, come out of Jughead’s fridge: a romaine lettuce, fresh spinach and radish greens, parsley, cilantro, tomatillos, poblano peppers and jalapeno chilis, and a beer glass covered in saran wrap with what turns out to be chicken broth.

For a brief moment, Betty wonders if Jughead has planned this ahead just for her but then she remembers the empty Tupperware in his messenger bag, that could only contain a homemade meal.

New Jughead, Betty discovers, really knows his way around a kitchen. He resumes their talk, while he deftly peels the skin from the tomatillos, rinses, quarters and blanches them in salted water. Perched on a stool by the kitchen table, Betty watches him roast sesame then pumpkin seeds in an iron cast skillet until they pop and then char the poblano peppers and serrano chilis on the gas stove. The kitchen becomes fragrant with the warm, nutty aroma of the seeds and the sweeter, smoky smell of the peppers.

Jughead seems to be even more capable with his hands now than he was before. His easy and precise movements give Betty ideas that make her squirm on her seat.

After peeling the charred skin from the peppers, Jughead removes the seeds from the poblanos but keeps the ones in the chilis. By this point, Betty half expects him to whip out a 5-kg stone molcajete and start grinding all the ingredients together but Jughead tips the seeds and greens, along with a couple of garlic cloves, an onion and some of the chicken broth into a food processor, and her hope of watching the muscles of his arms flex is dashed. Betty feels, quite irrationally, cheated.

When she compliments his cooking skills, Jughead just shrugs and says that, given his appetite, learning how to make his own food was only a matter of time.

She wonders what else Jughead has learned. She wants to explore new Jughead’s fridge and cupboards. She wants to explore new Jughead’s bedroom. She wants to explore him.

She must have unconsciously broadcasted some of her thoughts, because, Jughead pours the sauce in a pot, seasons it with salt, and then lifts her up on the kitchen counter and proceeds to enthusiastically make out with her.

They eat the mole with left-over grilled chicken in flour tortillas that Jughead makes from scratch. The sauce tastes fresh and, after a couple of seconds Betty can feel the afterheat from the chilis warming her up.

Later that evening, when she finally gets to explore Jughead’s bedroom as well as its owner, she feels that making love with him after all this time resembles the mole verde: fresh and spicy, and burning her from within.

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October 2022

They’re together for nine months when they receive a text from Archie -the first in eight years. He’s apparently back in Riverdale after having served abroad (Betty certainly was surprised by Archie joining the military) and he’s organising, of all things, a Halloween costume party. Neither she nor Jughead have set foot in Riverdale since they started college, FP having moved with Jellybean back to Ohio and Alice to Washington, where Polly and the twins now live. Neither is overenthusiastic at the prospect but they decide to go.

A trip to Riverdale means a 5 o’clock wake-up alarm for Betty, so that she and Jughead can beat the morning traffic. The sun is still not out when she dons her shades (because, ugh!, too early) and a long black coat to combat the chilling 10 °C outside, and heads out to Alphabet City with her aglaonema and an overnight bag.

A guffaw is not what Betty expects from Jughead when she walks into his apartment.

Jughead is shutting the lid on a Tupperware container, visibly trying to stifle his laughter as he eyes the clay pot she’s holding. “You have so many plants in your place” he says. “I hadn’t realized that that”, he points at the aglaonema, “is the official pet plant.” As if that cryptic phrase would make any sense.

“Are you also… “, Jughead sniggers, “Are you also … carrying?”

It takes Betty a minute or two to understand what he means. “A gun?” she frowns. She puts her overnight bag down by the entrance and takes her sunglasses off with her free hand. “No! Why would I even own one?!”

Jughead is outright chortling now. Perplexed, Betty looks down at herself, then around the living room, as if it could contain clues that would explain her boyfriend’s mirth. Her eyes travel over the sofa and the overstuffed bookcase onto his poster of Luc Besson’s Léon The Professional, where a twelve-year old Nathalie Portman in shorts and a bobcut ignores her in favour of Jean Reno. He’s in sunglasses and a long black coat, carrying a gun in his right hand and … an aglaonema with his left.

Oh.

Betty looks down again at her own coat and plant, blinks and then snorts, because, ok, yes, it is kind of funny. Jughead is still laughing. “Oh, can it, Mathilda!” she says but there’s no heat behind the admonition.

Jughead is doubled over, his hands on his thighs, trying to calm his breath. “Maybe”, Jughead wheezes, looking up at her, “this should be our costume for Archie’s party. I’m sure I can find a pair of old pants to cut.” Betty snorts. “Though”, Jughead goes on straightening up, “Now I think of it, if Archie sees my legs in short shorts, he’s probably going to have some kind of sexual revelation.”

Betty guffaws.

“Hey!” Jughead waves a finger in mock offense “I’ve got great legs, don’t laugh!”

“Maybe we can repurpose your old black bob wig” he suggests. “Do you still have it?”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t. It was one of the first things she’d thrown away when packing for Yale in what feels like a lifetime ago. The idea of Jughead in it though sends her in a laughing fit.

Is it blasphemous to laugh at an object that once stood for everything that had been dark and scary in her life? Betty thinks it’s quite liberating.

In fact, right in this moment, Betty feels impossibly, incredibly, inexorably happy.

Her heart beats fast as she covers the distance to where Jughead stands and places her plant and sunglasses on the kitchen table to free her arms so that she can wind them behind his neck. Jughead puts his own arms around her middle and smiles until the skin in the corners of his eyes crinkles.

He nods his head back towards the table, to the Tupperware next to her plant. “I made chicken tacos with mole verde for the road” he says.

Betty counts one, two, three beats and then says “You make me very happy.”

“Is it because of the mole?” he teases.

She shakes her head burying her smile in the crook of his neck and lets his breathing calm her racing pulse.

“You know what?” Her words are a bit muffled by Jughead’s shirt. “We should go as Léon and Mathilda. To Archie’s party I mean”.

“Ah. Not the mole then” Jughead sighs. “It’s the legs.”

Betty shakes with silent laughter.

“Betty.”

Jughead waits until she opens her eyes to look up at him. His hands tighten their hold around her. “You make me very happy too”.

Betty smiles. “Good. I want to.”

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Here, in Jughead’s arms, in his Alphabet City apartment, unconsciously dressed as a cinematic hitman, with her nomadic plant and Jughead’s Tupperware of tacos, on their way to a town that is no longer relevant to either of them, she allows herself to believe, for the first time, that she, too, is a new Betty.

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Some Notes:

Getting overambitious because this last week’s riverdalepromptathon hit ALL the headcanons …

This was inspired by 1. Betty’s long coat in 5x4, or, rather, @virgothozul ’s delightful art piece (that made me think of Léon), 2. my eternal love for a Jughead-who-knows-how-to-cook (headcanon supreme) and 3. my inability to produce art. 

In this timeline Bughead graduate in May 2014 and meet again after 7 years have passed (November 2021). Google assures me that it takes 4 years to finish college and 3 years to finish Yale Law School and that 8 weeks is an acceptable prep time for the Bar Exam. The latter seems suspicious. The dates for the New York State Bar Exam for 2021 are February 23-24 and July 27-28. I’m not entirely convinced of the feasibility of it all, but theoretically, if Betty graduated on the 24th of May 2021 she could pass her Bar Exam in July.

The beer Jughead drinks on their first reunion is a Kriek (a lambic beer fermented with sour Morello cherries). Personally, not a fan but it’s quite distinctive, and, thus, works in that particular scene. That being said, everyone should taste as many Belgian beers as they can!

Léon is a great movie and Gary Oldman is one of the best villains. Betty’s care of the aglaonema mimics the way Léon takes care of his plant that he calls his best friend, though mostly the aglaonema is a metaphor for Léon himself. Léon and Mathilda are most definitely NOT a romantic couple. Just to be clear.

What Jughead is making is indeed mole verde. Normally he should have added the cooked chicken from when he prepared the broth. Some recipes include bread and/or crackers in the mole.

The intense way Jughead looks at Betty that she can’t decipher is called eyefucking but Betty is too much in her head to recognise it for what it is!