i know that the show isn't split into two acts but this is so oh well anyways hmu on tumblr and cry over tlfy with me because its my favorite fucking show
Still Hurting
She sits at the desk, her breath caught in her lungs as she stares at the letter sitting in front of her.
She really doesn't know why she feels so numb. She knew this was coming- who didn't?
They hadn't been themselves for a while, years even. After his second book deal, after the countless auctions she failed to sell a piece in, after the first, second, third affair he denied existed. She refused to be on his arm every night, he refused to not have a trophy to show off at every banquet in his honor. They weren't working, and so he decided that it was up to him that she wasn't worth trying with anymore.
She wonders absentmindedly where she is going to go as she rises from her seat, the photos of them scattered throughout the dull apartment staring her down as she slips off her rings, her watch, her bracelet. She has no bank account, an apartment she can't afford, no job to speak of after he'd convinced her to quit. She almost wants to smile at the shine her jewelry still has, like it's new and their love isn't dead.
It's her fault. It's always her fault. She didn't go to enough parties, she always distracted him while he was trying to finish the next chapter of the book that he'd publish before fucking his boss in a celebratory fashion; she is the problem. Never Lucas, it would never be Lucas because Lucas decided on his own that Maya singlehandedly destroyed their romance, and he left her.
He really fucking left.
Shiksa Goddess
"I'm breaking my mother's heart," he laughs into her ear, hiking her legs up around his waist. "I can hear it splintering and cracking apart all the way in Texas."
Maya giggles as he presses sloppy kisses to her collar bone. "Lucas!" she shrieks, his hand sliding up her dress before he tosses her onto her bed.
"I'm breaking my mother's heart," he repeats, a grin spreading so wide that she's afraid his face will tear in two. "An artist! she'd tell me, An artist, Lucas?" He impersonates his mother with a thick southern accent, "She could have two heads or an extra limb as long as she has some type of doctorate- but no! You bring me home an artist!" He watches her dress fly across the room while yanking his shirt above his head. "You could have fourteen kids, and she wouldn't care. You could ride a Harley as long as you know how to identify a cardiovascular disease."
She kicks off her shoes before he climbs to the bed, flopping to his back and tugging her on top of him. "You could shave your head or have nothing but tattoos covering your entire face, but I tell her that you don't have a college degree and we're toast."
She hungrily kisses him, her fingers threading into his hair while her knees find either side of his waist to straddle his lap.
"I've dated pediatricians, obstetricians, ophthalmologists, orthopedic surgeons- fuck, she set me up with a dental assistant once! She just wants one doctor in the family, she cries to me when I escort them out, just one."
He forms a giddy chuckle, flipping them over with a quick tug on her waist before lowering his face to hers so he can peck her nose cheekily. "And I'm breaking her fucking heart, but staring into your eyes I just know that I could fall in love with somebody like you."
See I'm Smiling
Honestly, she's surprised he even showed up. After two summers alone in a small community in Ohio, she'd forgotten what it was like to see him walking into the grounds for her annual showcase.
"I'm glad you could make it," she grins from beside him, their legs swinging off the pier when he flashes his own smile. Neither of them reach the couple's eyes, but it's alright. (She hopes it's alright.)
"I told you not to give up on me just yet." His hand slides over to hers before he nods her head, signaling for them to stand.
"I know we have some things to work through." Maya squeezes his palm for reassurance. "But you made it here, and that's what matters, right? Sure, we'll have to try a little harder.. and maybe talk a little more. But you made it here and we're together in Ohio, so who knows where else we'll go."
They can be okay, she thinks. They can make it through this. Maybe they could see another therapist or there could be another compromise or something because he's in Ohio right beside her and he's holding her hand and she's smiling and he's laughing and everything is coming together- they have to make it through.
"I stole this sweater from the theater department," she snickers, her arms flying out to her sides when they rise from their seat. "It makes me look like your Aunt Ruth on Thanksgiving."
He chuckles at her joke.
"See, you're laughing and I'm smiling," she assures, reaching for his hand again with a timid stare. "I think we're gonna be alright."
He nods sweetly, and she smiles genuinely this time. "I can't wait to show you around. You can meet all my students and there's a dinner tomorrow and you can sit next to me-"
"Actually, honey," Lucas sighs, "I can't stay the weekend. I have this party tomorrow. It's a publicity thing, I couldn't get out of it. I'm so sorry."
Her breath catches in her throat, the dimples in her rosy cheeks faltering. "Oh." She takes a shaky breath. "I didn't know you had to go so soon. I thought we had a little more time." He frowns, her hand cupping his cheek as soon as it forms. "It's alright, though. I mean, it's whatever. If you have to then you have to. It's whatever 'cause you have to. We'll have tonight."
He winces at her final word, causing her to tug her bottom lip between her teeth. She knows what's coming next. She always does, his ridiculous excuses making her want to rip her hair out.
"And I tried to get a flight for tomorrow, but the only ones that they had were for tonight."
A bitter laugh escapes her as she stomps past him. "Okay, you know what makes me crazy? You know what makes me nuts? That you could stand here, we could be together- finally together- and then you're left with the choice between me and them and- Surprise! Surprise! Guess who you choose!"
"It's not a choice, Maya," he counters.
"It is a choice, Lucas! It's an easy choice! You do not need to go to another party with the same twenty people you see every single day! You could stay with your wife on her fucking birthday but you can't- no you can't even see my show."
"Baby…"
"You can't spend a day without your little girlfriends or be in a place that's not about you! Oh, you! And nothing but you. Marvelous, novelist you. Oh isn't he wonderful? Just twenty-eight! The savior of writing! Miles and piles of you. Are you fucking kidding me?"
"You're being crazy, Maya!" he shouts, his fists clenching at her shrill accusations.
"I am not being crazy- do you think that I'm joking?" Tears form in her eyes as she gasps for breath. Her cheeks are flushed from her angry ranting and she's not even sure she wants to look up at his figure, watching him stay stoic on the dock as she tries not to sob.
"You know, I'll never get it," she starts, wiping at her cheeks, "God, I'll never understand how you could just do this. You're just standing there and you see I'm crying… and you don't do anything at all."
Moving Too Fast
"Yes! I am twenty-three. I- what?" Lucas snorts, his heart beating right out of his chest. "You read my manuscript? That's.. Wow."
He makes a mental note to thank the fuck out of Professor Adler as soon as he gets to his apartment.
"Yes, and we're very impressed, Mr. Friar. There's word that you're working on a new novel? Perhaps we could see the first chapter of that?"
"Oh, right! Of course, yes, of course. Did you want me to bring that to you by hand?" He eagerly asks, shoving his things as quickly as he can into his satchel.
"No, Mr. Friar, I'm sure that email will be just fine."
"Oh- right. Yeah. Email. And what is your email, Ms. Blair?"
"Please, call me Linda."
He chokes on his spit at her response. "Linda? Like we're friends? Just Linda? Okay, Linda. I'll um, I'll get that to you."
"I'll be in touch, Mr. Friar, please try to stay breathing until then."
He laughs a little too hard, nodding even though she can't see when they say their goodbyes and he dials Maya's number.
"Maya, I've thought about what you said," he beams, struggling to climb on top of his bike, "Let's move in together."
"What? Lucas, yesterday you were-"
"I'll explain later! Just find an apartment."
He can't believe it. It feels like the world is swirling beneath his feet, but he's not tripping. He's not stumbling. He's soaring- above doubts, above loneliness, above debt.
Within a month, they're opening the door to their new home, his check from the starting chapter of his novel getting handed to the landlord for their first month of rent, and he's so happy.
He's in love and he's an author and he's so fucking happy.
A Part of That
It's sort of surreal, she thinks; his mind, his process, his success.
She sits between a group of women, other wives, being asked what it's like to be connected to such a thriving man.
"It's crazy, y'know?" She explains, "I kind of feel like we're superheroes. By day, Maya and Lucas- typical domestic couple planning errands and watching movies on the couch while dinner cooks- and then, at night, we're at extravagant parties. We're dressed to the nines and he's being tugged every which way to snap a picture or to talk to this publisher."
"Do you feel like you're living in his shadow?"
Maya stumbles at the inquiry, her eyebrows knotting together as a frown forms on her lips. "Well, I mean- sure, he walks in front of me instead of beside me, but I let him. I take his cue. It's more his scene than mine."
"But doesn't that make you feel like less of a partner?" She tries to remember the name of the woman questioning her pride behind her husband. "What makes it worth being nothing more than a trophy to him?"
"I'm not," Maya persists, her eyes searching for Lucas in the crowd. Her eyes find his and immediately her hard expression softens. "We're partners," she assures, the corner of her lips tugging up. "There's a moment where he's just sitting, staring out the window, barely even breathing; and then he'll smile. His eyes light up and deep within the ground without a sound, the moment comes to life." She lets out a sigh, his laugh from across the room pumping the blood through her heart. "He smiles, his eyes light up, and how could I complain? He smiles, and where else can I go? He invents a world that's passing by, and I'm a part of that."
She tries to catch his attention, but his eyes skim pass her this time instead of locking her gaze. "I'm a part of that."
Isn't she?
The Schmuel Song
Maya slumps through the door, another auction with absolutely no portraits sold down the drain had led her into picking up a waitressing job that she couldn't stand. She slumps off her bag and shoes, moping to the couch to lay limp in her misery.
"Rough night?" Lucas smirks, taking a seat near her feet and grabbing one to rub as she whines. "I hate it there. I do, I absolutely hate it," she pouts, scrunching her nose when he presses a his lips from her calf to the inside corner of her knee. "Oh no, Huckleberry. Let me wallow in my self pity and failing career."
"But I have a story," he grins, prompting her to sit up. "You just need to be upright for like five minutes to listen. That's it." She shakes her head, sinking lower into their couch when he stands.
"It's a good one," he promises, tugging out her canvas and set of oil paints, a brush tucked between his fingertips as if he were about to paint.
"Why does my stuff have to be dragged into this?"
"A Christmas story. I call it The Story of Schmuel, Painter of Klimovich."
She lets out a deep breath through her nose. "If I had known dating an author came with this many stories, I wouldn't have done it."
Lucas ignores her, humming along to a tune he had created to this exuberant tale. "Schmuel would work 'til half-past ten at his crafters' shop in Klimovich. Get up at dawn and start again with the strokes and flicks of his wrists. Forty-one years had come and gone at his crafters' shop in Klimovich, watching the winters soldier on, there was one thing Schmuel missed."
She tries to fight a smile as he hunches over, a thick accent that reminds her of coating his words.
""If I only had time," old Schmuel said,
"I would paint the scene that's in my head,
A man on fire, the mad desire of girls from here to Minsk, but I have no more hours left to go."
Then the clock upon the wall began to glow…"
Lucas tugs out an umbrella, shaking it towards a decorative plate on their mantle.
"And the clock said:
"Na na na na, na na na! Oh Schmuel, you'll get to be happy!
(It's a magic clock!)
Na na na na, na na na! I give you unlimited time!
Na na na na, na na na! So Schmuel, go Paint and be happy!"
But Schmuel said, "No, no, it's not my lot- I've gotta make do with the time I've got.""
He puckers out his bottom lip, trying to seem grumpy as Maya snickers, "You're such a dork."
"Schmuel was done at half-past ten and he said, "Good night, old Klimovich." Put on his coat to go, but then the clock cried, "Wait! Not yet! Even though you're not wise or rich, you're the finest man in Klimovich! Listen up, Schmuel-Make one line and you'll see what you can get!"
But Schmuel said, "Clock, it's much too late, I'm at peace with life, I accept my fate..."
But the clock said, "Schmuel! One stroke and you will unlock the dreams you've lost!"
So Schmuel, with reluctance, took his hand, a green coated brush to begin with land: "I should take out my teeth and go bed. I'm sitting here with talking clocks instead!"
And the clock said:
"Na na na na, na na na! Oh Schmuel, you'll get to be happy! Na na na na, na na na! I give you unlimited time! Na na na na, na na na! Just do it and you can be happy!"
Lucas continues to belt out his fable as he tugs a reluctant Maya up, twirling her around the tiny space left with her supplies pulled out. Babbling on and on about an old man with a dream to paint while Maya half heartedly tries to keep up with his dance moves.
"Plenty have hoped and dreamed and prayed,but they can't get out of Klimovich. If Schmuel had been a cute goyishe maid, he'd've looked a lot like you."
"Wait- I'm Schmuel in this story?!"
"Maybe it's just that you're afraid to go out onto a limb...ovich. (Oof.) Maybe your heart's completely swayed, but your head can't follow through."
Maya purses her lips, his words causing a sick feeling to sink in her stomach. Is he rubbing in her defeat?
"But shouldn't I want the world to see the brilliant girl who inspires me? Don't you think that now's a good time to be the ambitious freak you are?
Say goodbye to wiping ashtrays at the bar!
Say hello to Maya Hart, the savior of art!
'Cause I say:
Na na na na, na na na! Maya, you get to be happy!
Na na na na, na na na! I give you unlimited time!
Na na na na na na na! Stop temping and go and be happy!
Here's a handful of brushes and a new set of paints, a pad of blank paper- you can fill ev'ry page-
Take a breath…
Take a step…
Take a chance…"
She watches as he tugs a small box out, poorly wrapped but cute in effort. She hesitantly takes it, her eyes lighting up at the gorgeous watch she pulls from crumpled tissue paper.
"Take your time."
She kisses him because she loves him and she adores him and she inspires him and she kisses him just because she can because he's hers and no one else's. His arms wind around her, holding her close as he mumbles his final lyrics of his song into her hair.
"Have I mentioned today how lucky I am to be in love with you?"
A Summer in Ohio
She loves it here, she really does- or that's what she tells herself to make it through her fucking summer.
She hates having to come back every year, teaching teenagers at a summer camp as the only outlet for her pent up dreams. The only place she ever really makes any sales is the showcase at the end of her three months, anyways- at least she's getting paid.
Sure, she's rooming with a former stripper and her snake, Wayne, and she wants to throw herself off a cliff thinking of the same projects that she'll have to repeatedly explain to the same kids she did last year, but at least she's getting paid.
"I miss you," she sighs into the microphone of her headphones to Lucas over Skype. "I saw your book at a Target in Kentucky under a sign that said new and recommended. I stole a look at your picture on the inside and sleeve and then I couldn't breathe. Richard, who I was with, got uncharacteristically quiet as I picked it up mumbled under his breath how I didn't have to buy it, all things considered. I scoffed and handed my VISA over because he wants me but he won't have me."
He visits her only two weeks later, striding right up to her as she flashes her ring to a group of giggling girls on pier. "Mrs. Lucas Friar," he can hear her bragging before she sees him, dropping all conversations and running into his arms.
"That's me."
The Next Ten Minutes
His fingers lace with hers as they stroll through Central Park, his eyes secured on the wind making her hair flutter.
"Have you been to the museum?" He ask. She shakes her head, following the pattern of the leaves on the ground as he leads her to a small gazebo. "We should go visit the dinosaurs."
"Anything you want, Sundance," she promises, squeezing his hand before taking a seat on the small bench beneath the wooden roof.
"Maya." His heart rate speeds when he plants himself beside her. "W-will you share your life with me for the next ten minutes?"
She eyes him curiously, his hands fumbling to leave hers and search his pockets. "For the next ten minutes? We can handle that. We can watch the waves, we could watch the sky, or just sit and wait as the time ticks by- and if we make it 'til then, could I ask you again for another ten?"
He lowers to his knee, a small velvet box being opened before her eyes as she lets out a tiny gasp.
"And if in turn you agree to the next ten minutes, and the next ten minutes until morning comes, then just holding you might compel me to ask for more."
Maya can't feel the air in her lungs or see anything besides the green in his eyes, and her face remains blank as he stares at her.
"There are so many lives I want to share with you. So please, would you give me the next ten minutes? For the next ten lifetimes? For a million summers?"
