For TrueBeliver831. Monthly one-shot exchange
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Friends challenge
Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge- genre- romance
She's seen him around.
Or, at least, she thinks she has. She recognizes him vaguely, but she can't place when or where.
He walks with a perpetual scowl on his face, stomping around as he piles boxes into the apartment next door. She shamelessly watches through the window.
Then he catches her staring.
His irritated face slips into one of shock and it takes her minutes to remember why. He's gone before she can walk into the hall and re-introduce herself. She flounders, standing by the window, as memories filter into her brain as if through a screen.
Marcus Flint is a name she hasn't heard in ten years, but it's clear she'll be hearing it more and more often.
…
"Have you heard the rumors?"
Mrs. McLaughlin is an old, chatty woman with COPD and a way with words that makes her want to scream herself hoarse. But she pays well, so she keeps her silence.
"What rumors, ma'am?"
"Honey, I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. Call me Maxine."
She laughs quietly, and nods. "Of course, ma'am."
"Katie!"
"What rumors?" she prods, genuinely curious now. Mrs. McLaughlin is a very well-informed old woman because she's old and people tend to talk to old people for some reason.
She wipes down the table as she finishes putting the dishes in the sink to wash. The rag is covered in water, so goes back over it with a dry cloth, and Mrs. McLaughlin watches, quiet for a minute, which is a bit of a miracle.
"The ones about the new neighbor," she says eventually, and she nearly drops the plate she's holding. As it is, it slips, and Mrs. McLaughlin tuts disapprovingly. "Watch yourself, honey."
She nods distractedly, focusing a little too hard on the plate in her hands and the spot she can't get rid of. The dishwasher would do it for her, but she needs something to occupy her hands while they apparently talk about her former best friend.
"Are you alright, dear?"
She hums a little. "Yes, ma'am. Just peachy."
The old woman's gaze seems to pierce her soul, but the woman eventually just lets out a humph sound and continues, "They say he was a secondary school drop-out and now, he's going through a nasty divorce and is fighting for his daughter's custody."
She doesn't know about the second rumor, but she knows the first one to be false. He was forced to repeat his final year, but his father would never have allowed for him to drop out.
She remembers the man well. A stern figure, he'd had an iron fist around his two sons and wife, keeping them in line (she uses this term loosely, as she would hardly call Marcus' old adventures "allowed" in any manner) with various threats and liquor. He'd had a horrible temper, and it was the only thing Marcus ever got from his father at all.
"Really?" she asks anyway, leaking fake shock into her voice.
Mrs. McLaughlin nods sagely. "Yes, dear. It's all true, too- the woman said she knew the kid from jail or something equally unfavorable."
"Who was this that said?" she asks, dubious.
"Oh, Lydia from room 299."
"I thought you said she was a perfectly respectable girl? Why was she in jail?" She lets her doubt shine through her voice as she places the plate into the dishwasher, thoroughly fed up with it. The spot will have to be scrubbed with the power of machinery.
The old woman pauses, cocking her head to the side. This is a bad idea, because she starts to cough profusely, shaking her head. "O-oh, dear-r. I-I'm af-fraid I don't-t know-w," she manages.
She rolls her eyes as she bend down to fix the oxygen tank.
…
"Let me help you with that," she hears, and suddenly, her grocery bags aren't in her hands anymore.
She turns as soon as she gets the door open. Marcus Flint stands there with her things, waiting, and so she ushers him inside and says, "Thank you so much, Marcus."
He laughs. "It's not anything." He bites his lip for a second then says hesitantly, "I, ah. Actually had an idea to help you because I wanted to know if you wanted coffee? Catch up?"
Marcus had been everything to her.
…
"Hey!"
She was a year younger than him, and that just wouldn't do. She didn't look at him and started walking faster, but she was small, and he caught up easily.
"Katie, right?" he asked.
Seeing as he was determined, she gave a jerky nod.
"Yeah, okay. So, you're in all the honors classes and stuff, right?"
She grit her teeth and kept walking, another nod of her head.
"Jeez, you're quiet. What the hell did I- No. Never mind. Don't. Ugh, okay. Can you tutor me?"
She stopped walking.
He walked right into her and swore colorfully, and she held her ground.
The memory is hazy, but she knows he offered to pay her, and she agreed, and they met on the same football field that night.
…
She sees him around.
His daughter is this adorable jumpy little thing, with dark pigtails and pink skirts and tennis shoes.
His daughter reminds her of herself, and that is maybe why she says yes.
…
Their first date is at a daycare. It's loud and it's over abundantly yellow and green and there's safety padding on the walls but May has friends there and so he continues to pay for the expensive babysitting even though he has her to watch his daughter now.
"So. Did you see the game last night?"
She smiles. Some things never change.
She nods. "It was pretty wild," she says, and he looks relieved that she's willing to go along with this.
"I know! I still can't believe how that feign had worked. I mean, really- who falls for that?"
Laughter.
That's all she remembers. From the children, from Marcus, and from herself. It was magical and beautiful and exactly what she remembers from him the first time around.
…
"May?"
She finds the little girl in a grocery store, and Marcus is nowhere in sight.
"Katie!" she cries, and rushes her, throwing her off balance. But she pulls her into her arms and puts her in the basket of the cart, and she doesn't leave the grocery store for six hours, looking for Marcus.
But, as it turns out, she was supposed to be looking for one Pansy Parkinson, who is apparently the mother of this darling child because of a hookup that lasted for a month.
It sours her mouth and sends her blood running cold.
That Marcus had turned to Pansy-
…
"This," she pointed between them, "Us… we were cursed from the beginning."
It had been the only time she'd seen him cry.
…
But it was true then.
"May!" Pansy cries, and reaches for the little child who shies away from her. Her hair is dark like silk and cut the same as it was back then, and she's thin like always, and Pansy Parkinson hasn't changed at all.
Pansy blinks in surprise. "May? Darling, it's Mommy. What's the matter?"
"Don't wanna go home with you."
"Sweetheart, you can't go home with a stranger," Pansy explains, sounding more irritated than concerned, and it makes her blood boil. Pansy turns to her and smiles, strained and obviously not meant, "Thank you for finding her. I'll just take her home now-"
"I'll bring her to Marcus, Pansy," she says, scowling. "You're not a parent. You're a vapid woman and always have been and I can't believe-"
"Oh, honey," Pansy says, condescending. "You can't honestly believed he ever loved you?"
…
There were sixty names between Bell and Flint, but that only meant she could sit and stare at him for a very long time.
It's thanks to her that he's graduating at all, and as a girlfriend she's proud of him, and as a tutor she's proud of herself.
He felt her staring and turned to smile at her, the crooked one with the dimple, and she smiled back, brilliant and happy.
…
When he asked her to marry him, she said no.
He'd always loved her more, and she felt like he knew that.
They were eighteen. They couldn't…
"We were doomed from the beginning-"
"Bullshit."
…
Yes, she believes he loves her.
…
"Marcus?"
"Hm?" he hums, looking over his shoulder. He smiles, as if lost in thought, just looking at her. The laundry in his hands falls to the floor but he doesn't seem to care, instead turning around fully to give her attention.
It makes her heart warm.
"Do you think-"
"You always say I never do," he interrupts, and she grins, laughing, somewhat exasperated by his sense of humor. He's always been so self-deprecating.
"Yeah, yeah," she dismisses with a wave of her hand. "But I mean- I want- we've been at this a long time."
"Yeah, we have." He says it slowly.
"I… I don't think we were doomed, anyway. I think I needed time."
He reacts like she thought he might, eyes widening and his breath catching in his throat.
He sits down on the couch, and then May comes into the room, holding a doll and smiling with two front teeth missing. Marcus doesn't even notice.
"So… what are you saying?" he asks, a breath.
"I'm saying I want to pick up where we left off."
"Haven't we already?" he asks, confused, and she shakes her head.
"Not really."
He's quiet for a long time.
They revisit the conversation later.
…
He takes her to the movies and to play at an arcade and to a concert. He takes her to the library even though he hates it and together they go to football games. And then, after May is asleep, he takes her to bed in her apartment.
He asks her, four months after their conversation and one year after they met again, to marry him.
And this time, she says yes.