A/N: Hi ... You don't need to tell me. But absence does make the heart grow fonder, right?
Disclaimer: Hannah Montana? Well, I wouldn't say no.
Ah, now I don't hardly know her
But I think I could love her
- Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
The Californian sun had already risen when the taxi pulled up quietly beside a large, modern beach house, droplets of gold descending upon the street, creating a familiar twinkling glow upon the sidewalk. It was deserted and silent, a sure sign of the early morning and even more so the occasion.
A tall girl of around eighteen with brunette locks cascading down her back in waves stepped out of the cab with a practiced manoeuvre, signaling to the driver that she was capable of hoisting her own suitcase out of the trunk and hauling it up the familiar path. Large sunglasses obscured a majority of her features, protecting her from the early morning rays and her global identity. After making good on her signal, she thanked the driver with a healthy tip and stared upwards at the mass of brick and glass that made her childhood, relieved the taxi had made its swift departure. There was something to be said for silence: it had no expectations.
Nostalgia settled like restive dusk in her stomach, accompanied by a thudding apprehension which she embraced and resented simultaneously. Had it really been this long since she had walked the same path and never looked back? Had it been this long since she left?
The temperature was causing her discomfort and she shuffled in her chequered shirt and tight jeans ruefully, not wanting to go inside but knowing she had no alternative, not really. Besides, they were expecting her. She wouldn't disappoint them again. Glancing around and failing to find a distraction, a reason to prolong her long overdue arrival, she finally accepted the inevitable and strode forward confidently, channeling her nervous energy into a stiff defiance. Her footsteps fell heavily and each step accelerated her heartbeat.
She faltered as she reached the door, the oppressive wooden barrier looking more like a portal into another world. The grip she had on her suitcase was painful. Should she knock? Walk straight in and announce she was there, just like she used to? It was an alien feeling, not feeling welcome in your own home. It's not your home, she reminded herself guiltily. She knocked. A loud, clear knock and exhaled in trepidation, awaiting her fate. This was simple, it really was. It wouldn't be awkward and it shouldn't be unsettling; no, this was her family. Her family.
However, her heart still froze as the door opened, revealing her father on the opposite side of the threshold, the blue eyes she had inherited widening at his daughter's presence, as arranged as it was. It was a relief to know he looked the same, that he didn't look older. Nostalgia strengthened.
"Well, I'll be darned," he chuckled as he took in her appearance. "Look what Thanksgiving brought in." Miley smiled tightly in return, unable to gouge his real reaction. Was that it? He was happy to see her? "You swore when you were five that you wouldn't ever wear cowboy boots again, and now look at you. Tennessee got to you," He pointed to the brown boots on her feet with a smug eyebrow raised. No apprehension, no awkwardness. Warmly, he enveloped his grown-up little girl in a hug that only fathers know how to give and she returned it gratefully, knowing it was more than she deserved. Already her tension was evaporating, replacing the knots in her stature with calm reassurance. Right now she couldn't remember what she'd been dreading. This was her father, he loved her then and he apparently loved her now. Tears welled up in her eyes and she clasped them shut, surprised at the emotion, and resisted the urge to sob her apologies into his sturdy shoulder.
"Come on in, darling. You're putting them guitar fingers to work in the kitchen." He kissed the top of her head and released her gently, delicately, as though she were glass and nudged her inside. He grabbed her suitcase and she clasped her hands together, not knowing what else to do with them as she walked over the threshold and stared at her surroundings.
Everything was the same. The piano was still raised upon the dais with Robbie Ray's guitars sitting comfortably in front. They looked old in the light; the satisfaction of a well-played instrument. Even the air smelt the same: ocean and pine amalgamating with the scent of plucked guitar strings.
This time she smiled a genuine smile, no false pretenses and worries stopping the curve of her mouth. This was home. Home sweet home.
Robbie Ray put his hands deep in his pockets and looked around himself. "Jackson wanted to redecorate, said it needed a change, but ..." He shrugged but she couldn't see, having her back to him as she observed the living room and tried to find something different, something she didn't recognise. "I couldn't do it. This place has too many memories. It felt wrong to mess with that, you know?"
She knew. She did now. Nodding, she walked into the kitchen and trailed her fingertips along the marble island, relishing the coldness and the memories of baking muffins with her father, chasing Jackson around the counter ... She felt a lump in her throat.
"I missed this," she voiced aloud.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jackson strolled in a couple of hours later, conveniently skipping the part where he helped prepare dinner. His excuse was that he was responsible for setting the table, and that warranted a get out of jail card for kitchen duty. In fact, he was so strung up on delivering his excuse to his bemused father his desperate eyes bypassed his sister until he did a double take and stopped mid-sentence. Miley was here in the flesh? His elusive sister was back home, rinsing carrots in the kitchen sink and smiling in with a contentment not seen since her pre-Hannah days? She was smiling? Of course he knew she was going to be there and he wasn't sure how he felt about that, but she looked different, older, and it had unexpectedly tugged at his heartstrings. Though her eyes still looked guarded, the very picture of a wilted rose, she looked ... happy.
All these years he had a vision in his head of what she would look like: blonde hair, superficial smile, designer clothes and a dismissive tone. Boy was he wrong. Way wrong.
He cleared his throat. "Long time no see."
Her blue eyes sparkled, not believing how grown-up he looked. Evidently being twenty-one had been good for him. His hair was shinier, cleaner, his eyes deep and experienced. He looked taller, more defined and his manner no longer radiated slapstick comedy but was replaced with a seriousness mingled with witticism. Yes, being twenty-one seemed to be a blessing. That being said, being eighteen was definitely agreeing with her.
"Hi," she said simply and he smiled, an identical pair of blue eyes communicating unspoken words. I'm sorry, she said. Its okay, he replied.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------.
"Why are you setting two extra plates?" Miley asked in confusion, her position one of laziness as she rested her arms on the kitchen counter and observed Jackson set up the table. Slowly. Unbeknownst to her Jackson glanced up at their father before saying, "Well, Mrs. Truscott and her daughter from a couple of streets away are coming over. Their plans fell through and Dad took pity."
"Yeah," Robbie Ray chipped in, throwing a towel over his shoulder as he finished wiping down the counter. His side was spotless, his daughter's ... not so much. He couldn't complain, though. At least she had offered. Or had he told her? Either way he was sure it didn't matter; she would have done it. The single thing he was proud of was her lack of ego, and she could have so easily developed an ego.
"Cool," she said, having no qualms about meeting new people. Firstly, she was used to it, and secondly it wouldn't be right to voice her dislike, if she had had any. She was as much as a guest as they were after all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The guests arrived twenty minutes before dinner was ready, arriving promptly and sufficiently with an expensive bottle of wine. Heather Truscott was aging nicely; wrinkles seemed to evade her forehead and her smile was young, still restless as though years of living hadn't convoluted it. Robbie Ray greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and she complimented his pink apron. Although Miley watched closely, appraising the interaction, it didn't look like there was anything more than friendly comradeship. To her surprise she felt disappointed. It stung to know her Dad was alone and had been since her mother passed away, many a year ago. He deserved a woman in his life. Still, it wasn't her place to intervene, though once upon a time she might have. Instead, she greeted the woman with shoulder-length blonde hair with a practised politeness and shook her hand with a practised shake. Clearly her father had told Heather Truscott she was going to be there, otherwise she was ninety-nine percent sure her greeting would have been accompanied with startled eyes and a loose jaw. She wondered vaguely whether he had mentioned he had a daughter who happened to be a worldwide singing sensation. Well, had been. Now she was a country songstress with brown hair instead of blonde.
Tennessee had been good for her. She had built a life there, a routine, and the mania wasn't as strong. She was one of their own and it was hard to be awe-struck by a girl you had seen running around your neighborhood with dirty knees and a mischievous grin. Besides, she loved the country. The peace was godly and the pace was realistic. It wouldn't have killed her to visit Malibu, though, they all knew that. She could have balanced two lives ... much better than her alter ego had been balanced. Neither would it have killed them to get in touch. After a while the calls had stopped, the emails a thing of the past. Robbie Ray and Jackson had visited Mamaw's ranch but somehow Miley always seemed to be out of town whenever that occurred, not being able to face them, creating an allusion that they were mad at her for leaving, for running away. But had that really been the case? She had left with intentions to return, but something had made her remain there in the quiet. Even though she was alone.
"Lilly's parking the car," Heather announced as she hung up her jacket, obviously familiar with her environment as she found the coat rack quite easily. "It was parked perfectly fine five minutes ago but she insisted that it wasn't, so she's out there now trying to tweak it. I swear, getting her that car for getting into Yale was the worst thing I ever did," she laughed to show she was joking.
Robbie Ray laughed too, finding humor in the situation. Miley couldn't see it, though. He hadn't ever had the privilege of buying her a car, teaching her how to drive it. No, she'd been too busy relying on her chauffeur to drive the limo. She shook her head, shaking the unpleasant memory. Things were different now. She wasn't like that.
By the time Heather Truscott's daughter arrived everyone was seated at the table, dinner spread along the length of it. It looked magnificent. Even the carrots. Jackson had somehow managed to mix up the knives and forks and he tried his best to rectify his mistake as they waited. Robbie Ray was in an excellent mood; as far as he was concerned he couldn't be having a better Thanksgiving. The prodigal daughter had returned (it had felt like she'd never left the second he saw her) and his son had exerted enough control not to devour the turkey upon first sight. A progression from last year.
Jackson himself was still scoping the space inhabited by Miley, trying to read her eyes. It was hard. Harder than it should have been. It made him shiver, seeing her dead gaze, knowing that aeons ago it had been pure bliss that made her sapphires light up. Pure bliss over nothing, just the fact she was alive.
"Sorry that I took so long!" The mellifluous apology sailed through the doorway, preceded by the appearance of Lilly Truscott, slightly breathless and apologetic, car keys in hand with the other gripping the door frame.
Miley turned in her seat, locking her disinterested gaze on the girl and almost gasped. Never before had she seen this girl, even throughout her years living here. Did she even have the opportunity to meet her? She'd had a private tutor. She'd lived as her alter ego. She was never at home. In that instant she felt herself regretting those decisions – stupid, naive child – and wished that she had gone to the same high school as this girl, just so she could have stared at her.
She could imagine it now, sneaking forbidden glances as she walked the corridors, sitting behind her in every class so she wouldn't be caught wanting. She'd gather the courage to say hello and stutter and blush when she would smile in return, amusement dancing in her eyes. And she would curse the fact this girl was the epicenter of her lyrics, the source of her insomnia and the secret love of her life, but at the same time she would be relieved that she had found something that could take away the nothingness that consumed her days. This unsuspecting girl would unknowingly break her heart, in the hypothetical corridors of the hypothetical life she could have had.
The room seemed strangely full now that she was there; no longer did the eerie emptiness make her shiver. She had chased the ghosts away, the demons that seemed to hover overhead, suffocating her no matter how hard she tried to act like she belonged. She had gotten rid of the last ounce of doubt in her mind that she should be here, amongst these decent people. Standing subconsciously, she realised that the girl, who looked a similar age to her own, had long blonde hair that glittered without the sun, and eyes so blue that it was almost painful to look into them, like this girl could solve your problems, like she was the best listener in the world. Miley didn't doubt for a second that she was the prettiest. Never before had she seen a face so exquisite, so angelic; she looked so fragile that she ached to do something, anything, to protect her from the world's horrors. And then, because she was human, she noticed that she was slim, toned, and guessed she was an athlete. Surfing? Soccer? Her skirt revealed tan legs. Definitely surfing. The shoes on her feet betrayed the illusion that she was high class: black low-top converse. Though it was stupid, Miley fell for this girl right then. This breathless, beautiful blonde girl with the eccentric skirt and the converse and the sweet voice that made her heart hurt.
So this was what she was missing in Malibu.
"Hey. I'm Lilly." The girl that had changed Miley's world within a single second walked over to her, grateful that she was standing so she had something to make a beeline towards, and offered her hand in greeting. Her hand looked smooth, tempting, and Miley tore her eyes away guiltily. Not even two minutes and already she was infatuated. Nonetheless, she was a practised perfectionist at meeting new people, already learnt in the art of appeasing each stranger, so she accepted gracefully, struck dumb for the first time in her life. Usually the other person was struck dumb.
"That's Miley," Robbie Ray interjected helpfully, watching the interaction with an amused smile. "She's my daughter." Lilly looked away from the silent brunette and at the old man in surprise.
"I didn't know you had a daughter."
If Miley had been paying attention, the comment might have hurt. Her dad hadn't even mentioned her?
"I told you about her, didn't I?" Heather interrupted, saving him. "I told you Miley was his daughter."
Lilly shook her head, lost. "It's nice to meet you," she said and laughed, biting her lip. "I didn't even know you were going to be here so I guess it's a surprise on both ends, huh? Oh, nice name by the way. It's really unusual." She sat down and left Miley standing, licking her lips at the pile of food that greeted her. "Whoa."
"I'm responsible for the carrots," Miley said, coming to her senses as she followed suit. The words registered after she had said them and she winced. Stupid, stupid. She hadn't even said hello.
"Nice," Lilly appraised, "I guess I'm having a double helping of carrots."
"Since you don't like them I think that's an achievement," Heather chipped in.
Jackson was the entertainment during dinner. He began amusing everyone with his college stories; his obsessive compulsive roommate, his professors, his latest on-off love interest. There was laughter and comfort. It was very much a stereotypical Thanksgiving. That was if a stereotypical Thanksgiving included Hannah Montana, her old manager, Heather Truscott and her oblivious daughter.
"Well," Robbie Ray announced half an hour later, his arms behind his head and his stomach bulging. He slapped his gut and exhaled in regret, looking at the pie he had baked on the kitchen counter. "I can't," he groaned, "I'll throw up."
"I'm going to ... crawl over to the couch and die," Jackson stated, swaying as he stood up. Looking back at his sister who was twirling her turkey around with her fork, asked, "You coming, Miles?" He saw the furtive glance she shot at the blonde and nodded her head slowly.
"You know what," Lilly muttered, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "I'm going to the beach ..."
Miley's head shot around in surprise. "The beach?"
"Uh huh," she said, offering no further explanation.
Heather filled in the gaps. "It's her tradition. Ever since she was little she used to venture out onto the beach and-"
"-mourn the loss of mankind," Lilly smiled enigmatically, standing up. She walked with purpose, hugging Miley's father on her way out and thanked him for lunch. Staring at Miley who was watching her every move, she smirked and said, "Thanks for the carrots."
"No-no problem," she muttered as the latter walked on through the back door and didn't look back. She noticed Heather Truscott smiling at her. "What?"
"It's hard not to be infatuated by her, isn't it?"
What? Miley blinked, startled. That was not a comment a mother should say.
"Don't worry. She has that effect on everyone."
Through the open doors she saw a figure making its way towards the ocean, skirt and hair blowing in the wind. It was picturesque. It stirred something inside of her and her fingers twitched for a guitar, a musical enlightening inspiring a song. A song she hadn't been able to write in months, too busy with sinking into depression. Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet, eyes glued outside. No one spoke. No one had to.
Something clicked. It was that simple.
She could feel three pairs of eyes on her back as she ran from the house, her childhood home, and into the horizon, the sand beneath her bare feet wanting to entrap her into its abyss but she was too fast, too determined. It took seconds to reach the blonde figure. She hadn't gone far. Head tilted, her eyes burnt the sky with their intensity. She must have heard another person approach but the interruption didn't change anything.
Her breathing heavier, Miley stood beside the girl and looked up squinting. Things were clearer when she looked at the sky. Minutes ticked but neither girl moved, too caught up in their own thoughts. Miley's heart felt like it was engulfed in flames and she was waiting for its rebirth from the ashes.
"Let's run," Lilly suggested suddenly and spontaneously, a bright gleam lighting up her blue eyes with an infectious passion to explore the unknown, to seek adventure. Outside she looked like she belonged, like her endless blonde hair was meant to entwine with the wind, like her pale, soft skin was meant to shimmer beneath the sun. Miley could imagine lying beneath a starry sky, listening to her heartbeat.
"I don't even know you," Miley smiled, stating the obvious.
Lilly smiled back, her logic simple. "I know."
Trepidation diminished, she took the most important step of her young life and gently put her hand into the one being offered, a shy smile betraying her confidence.
This girl hadn't screamed when she saw her, hadn't asked for a picture or an autograph. Maybe she hadn't recognised her. After all she was no longer a front page headline. Or maybe, just maybe, she didn't care who she was.
"Don't look back," Lilly told her, tightening her grasp. "Just run. Run like your life depends on it. Get ready ... ready ... Right. About. Now!"
Miley's arm was almost pulled out of its socket as Lilly tore recklessly towards the ocean, the sand beneath their feet following them like a mine had been triggered with each hectic footstep. They ran like it was impossible to do anything else. They were the only people outside and the sunlight lit up their bodies in a numinous glow.
Finally, a stretch of sand behind them, their paces slowed. It was Lilly who stopped altogether and declared she was breathless. Still clutching Miley's hand, she fell to the ground and laughed. Beauty emanated from her mouth and Miley, infected, dropped down beside her. This ... wasn't weird. She was sitting on the beach on Thanksgiving with a girl she hadn't met before, the tension that squeezed her bones evaporating.
Lilly stroked the back of her hand and Miley's mind went blank. It should have been weird. It should have been strange. But it wasn't. Not even in the slightest.
"You okay?" Lilly giggled, watching her.
"Yeah. Yes," Miley verbally stumbled. She looked back at her, chest heavy. "You make me nervous," she admitted slowly. "You're like no one I've ever met."
"Nervous, huh?" Lilly smirked, reaching out to tuck some of Miley's hair behind her ear, smirking even more as she noticed the brunette unknowingly close her eyes at the touch. "You must be sensitive," she noted candidly, proving her point by stroking the brunette's arm and watching the goosebumps erupt. She stared for a while longer, content with the silence. "You're different. I've never seen someone with such complicated eyes." The eyes in question stared at her, a wistful hope breaking through the perpetual grey.
"I like you," Miley said factually, wincing slightly. It had sounded ridiculous in her head as well. Her hands grasped sand and she looked away. "I know we don't know each other but ..."
"I know," Lilly smiled softly, leaning her head against the brunette's shoulder, feeling her relax to the gentle movement. "You don't have to explain. I know."
Just like I knew you would, Miley thought. She drew a heart in the sand and stared at the ocean, blocking out the last few years. It was here, in her childhood home, that she could relish the feeling of another body pressed to hers and relax.
"I like you too," Lilly murmured against her neck. "But -"
"I know," Miley interrupted, not allowing anything to break the peace.
Words were not needed, nor actions or thoughts or anything. For the first time in countless years, Miley looked up and thanked God she was alive.
A/N: Yes, I know. It was less than decent but I tried. I've wanted to post something for ages but I haven't been able to write. I'm sure everyone knows what that's like. I realise I have neglected my other stories but if I have the inspiration I shall continue them. I would love to finish a story, just once. As for why I haven't been around ... life. Just life. I have been reading fic though. Cutflowers has written the most magnificent Liley story I have ever read.
Ok, four words to end with: Tyra Banks (and) Access Hollywood.