It's A Beautiful Mess Inside
...
You've been so kind and generous
I don't know how you keep on giving
For your kindness I'm in debt to you
And I never could have come this far without you
"Kind and Generous" - Natalie Merchant
It was a quiet Sunday morning. In Rosewood, this typically meant half the town was attending church service and the subsequent socials that followed. Several shops along the downtown storefront literally closed down through lunchtime in order for the employees to partake in religious worship, and to mingle with fellow churchgoers with whom they only interacted on this one day per week.
Spencer's family was one of those elite groups. Whenever Veronica and Peter were in town, their youngest was expected to awake early enough to get dressed in her Sunday best and walk the five blocks with her parents to the steeple. The Hastings family prided themselves on keeping up appearances of perfection, and that included organized religion.
Mr. and Mrs. Hastings may have been vigilant about their reputation, but they were not so perceptive when it came to their daughter sneaking around in the middle of the night. Whenever they were gone for extended periods of time, she was free to make her decisions as she pleased. But when they were home, she had to be careful of slipping beneath their radar. She had made it a regular habit as of late to appear on Toby's doorstep sometime after midnight, and make her exit a few hours thereafter.
Her cell phone alarm had gone off around the crack of dawn this morning, and she was scrambling out of his bed to pull her clothes on before he could even rub the sleep from his eyes.
"I'll be back later tonight," she had whispered in her characteristically sensual rasp, swooping down to plant a gentle kiss on his temple. And with that, she had disappeared out the door.
It was a fair few hours after that he pulled himself out of slumber and meandered to the coffee pot to start the brewing cycle. He stretched gratuitously and peered out the window as he waited for his morning beverage to be ready. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the sun was brightly illuminating their tiny Pennsylvanian suburb. Summer was directly around the corner, and graduation was fast approaching for his friends. They would soon be released into the real world and expected to fend for themselves in the new chapter of their lives.
Spencer had been accepted to both UPenn and Yale. She had not yet decided which prestigious institution she'd be attending, and Toby, despite being desperate to know what their future had in store, hadn't pressed her for an answer. Instead he was focusing on creating lasting memories that would sustain her throughout the summer, no matter where she chose to go.
And one of those particular occasions was coming up quickly, regardless of his ambivalence surrounding it.
It was why he had sent that one fateful text the moment he had stepped out of bed. He was borderline clueless in this department, and he was going to need reinforcements. Badly.
He had just taken his first sip of coffee when the front door to the loft flew open. His guest barreled in, dark eyes flashing wildly with worry. She dumped her purse on the floor immediately, whipping her head around the apartment in a panic. When at last her gaze found him, she looked torn between perplexity and relief.
"Morning," he offered simply, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Coffee?"
"Toby," she breathed, striding quickly to stand in front of him. She looked him up and down briefly before her mouth formed into a thin line of irritation, realization dawning upon her. "I thought you said there was an emergency."
"There is," he chuckled, setting his mug aside. He stood up straight and rubbed his palms together, as if preparing for negotiation. "I need your help with something, Em."
Her mouth fell open slightly, and she threw one furious hand onto her hip.
"Toby Cavanaugh," she began accusatorily, "you tricked me."
"No, no, no," he said laughingly. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just didn't know who else to call. And if I'm being entirely honest…I didn't really want anyone else's help."
She cocked an eyebrow at him surreptitiously, finding herself torn between flattery and annoyance.
"Okay…what is it?"
"Well," he started with a heavy exhale, "once upon a time, I went to a Homecoming dance with my best friend."
Her face softened as the memory returned to her, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"And I told her I didn't really know how to dance," Toby continued uncertainly. "She gave me some crash course pointers, which worked fine at the time…"
Her eyes lit up with understanding, and a coy smirk tugged at her lips. "…And you need to know more if you're going to impress a certain valedictorian at prom."
"Yes," he stated, relieved that he didn't have to elaborate. "Exactly. I want Spencer to have the prom she's always dreamed about."
"Toby," Emily crooned gently. "Spencer is going to have the time of her life with you, whether you have two left feet or not. She loves you – and you being there, sharing that night with her…that's enough."
"I know," he agreed, rubbing an imaginary itch at the nape of his neck. "But I don't want her to have to settle for anything less than perfection. With everything I put her through this year…"
He trailed off, frightened that if he continued, he'd be opening a floodgate of emotions that he was not prepared to deal with.
There was a moment of silence as both of them digested where the statement had been heading. Then at last, Emily cocked her head at him in admiration, reaching out to gently rub his upper arm. "You're really sweet, Tobes."
If he were the blushing type, he was certain his cheeks would have been positively scarlet at her compliment. She and Spencer were the only two people in his life that had ever really spoken to him that way, and he was not accustomed to accepting it with grace.
She seemed to sense his confused discomfort, for she stepped back and bounced a bit with renewed enthusiasm. "All right," she declared, clapping her hands together. "Where do we start?"
He blanched helplessly, offering a slow shrug to indicate that he had positively no idea what the answer was.
She grimaced a little, nodding shortly with understanding. "Okay…um…how about we just start with some basics?"
"Whatever you say, Professor," he said, smiling shyly.
Emily was already heading for the iPod dock on the far shelf, hooking her MP3 player into it. Toby recognized the first song that came on as being something popular that played on the radio regularly, but he admittedly didn't pay much heed to mainstream music. He much preferred classics, like The Beatles, or underground bands that held concerts in random local bars.
"Okay, come here," she commanded, pushing the coffee table aside a little to give them more space. He silently obeyed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and regretful of his decision.
She reached out to take hold of his hands, placing them delicately on her hips.
"This is how you'll see most people slow dancing at school," she explained. "It's the more modern way."
"Modern. Okay," he mumbled, mostly to himself.
Emily slung both arms around his neck, closing the distance between them. It had the potential to be awkward, but it simply wasn't. Emily was as close to a sister as he had ever had, and she had this inexplicable knack for making him feel comfortable in even the most uncomfortable situations. It briefly occurred to Toby that if this were Spencer standing flush against him, he'd be reacting much differently. That would be something he'd need to work on, as well. Self control.
"Find your beat," she instructed. "Just listen to the music and move based on its rhythm. Listening for the drums usually helps."
"Okay," he muttered. With some hesitation, he began to slowly sway their figures back and forth. Her encouraging smile gave him the confidence that he was doing it correctly, so he added more deliberation to his movements.
"Great!" she chirped. "And if you feel like you're losing it, just follow Spencer."
"Follow Spencer," he repeated robotically, afraid to divert his concentration from his body. "Got it."
"Now if you really want to impress her," Emily began, adjusting her hold on him, "then you should make your posture like this."
She put one hand up onto his shoulder, and used the other one to clasp with his out to the side.
"This is more traditional," she explained. "If you pay close attention, this is usually the way you'll see our parents dancing."
He nodded pathetically, feeling like all of the moisture had been siphoned from his mouth. How was he going to keep track of all of this?
"You're doing fine," she said supportively, as if reading his mind. "Now, let me show you a few more things…"
It was nearly two hours later when they both collapsed into a tired heap on the couch, fighting to catch their breath. Emily had been attempting to teach him the more intricate methods behind dancing to a fast song, which proved to be considerably more difficult than slow dancing. He felt like his legs were turning to jelly, and he wasn't sure he understood any of it any better than he had this morning.
"You're really getting it," she panted, patting him lightly on the knee. "A couple more hours and you'll have it down. I promise."
"You're a lifesaver, Em," he breathed, reaching for his bottle of water on the floor. "I mean, I don't feel like I'm even making a dent, but if you think I'm getting better…"
"I do," she insisted quickly. "You just need to stop doubting yourself."
"Mmm," he mumbled thoughtfully as he took a sip. "But that's something I'm actually good at."
He had tried to pass it off as a joke, but she was peering at him seriously, her face a mask of disapproval.
He winced. "Sorry. You were supposed to laugh."
"It's not funny," she declared quietly, sitting up straight to properly assess him. "Toby, is there something you want to talk about?"
"No," he answered quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I mean, no thanks. I'm okay."
She made a tiny noise of disbelief in her throat, her eyes falling on the coffee table alongside them. Reaching one hand out to gingerly touch the motorcycle book she had gifted him for his birthday, she took a deep breath.
"Did I ever tell you that it was your support that gave me the courage to come out in the first place?" she asked quietly.
This confession caught him off-guard. He turned to study her expression, offering a short shake of his head.
"You said that it was okay to be different," she murmured. "You told me to stop worrying what everyone else thought, and to do what made me happy."
The memories were vivid in his mind, of course. But the fact that she, too, remembered them so clearly was humbling.
She slowly turned to meet his eyes once more, her ebony irises glistening with sincerity.
"You're the bravest person I know," she said, reaching over to take his hand in hers. Her fingers were warm against his calloused palms, and he felt instantaneously comforted. "And when Spencer told me about…everything…I knew that there had to be more to the story. Because how could my best friend, who defended me and cared for me when I was at my worst, do anything to hurt me?"
There was a foreign lump appearing in his throat, and he found it suddenly difficult to speak.
"I don't know what you had to do to convince Mona that you were on her side," she continued brashly. "But I don't care. Because what matters is that you're here now – you're the same shy, goofy Toby that sat down next to me in the chemistry lab a year and a half ago. The same boy that looked into my soul and allowed me to take a glimpse at his."
He squeezed her fingers, feeling inexplicably choked up. Her loyalty had always been so unfalteringly strong. It didn't matter what horror stories she had heard about him in the past several months – she had never, and would never, give up on him. Even when Spencer had seen no other option, Emily had held onto her hope. She had taken a gamble, neglecting that all of the odds were against him. She had chosen to follow her heart, regardless of the fact that it so often ended with it being unceremoniously broken.
Nobody had ever put so much blind faith into him before. And even if he could formulate a coherent sentence right now, he would never be able to put his gratitude into words.
So instead, he snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest into a hug. She willingly fell into him, face buried in the crook of his neck, silent tears dribbling onto his skin. He planted a chaste kiss on the top of her head, releasing a shaky breath.
"Thank you," he murmured. He hoped she would know just how broadly he meant it. Would understand just how blessed he felt to have her in his life, standing by his side even when he deserved it the least. That this simple statement of gratitude covered so many categories simultaneously – countless occasions on which she had made him feel as though he was worth saving.
She sniffled quietly, and he could feel the muscles in her face tense as a smile formed on her face. "Thank you," she whispered. And he knew that she understood precisely what he had meant. And she was echoing the same sentiment back to him. It was difficult to take any credit for the bravery it had required for her to come out, but the fact that she held him partially responsible was positively heart-warming. And if she truly felt that he had played a hand in it, the most he could do was prove to her that he would do it over and over again, as long as it meant she got to be happy.
It was the most relieved he had felt in months. It was as if some inexplicable weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he could finally breathe without the pain of its burden.
He owed her so very much. She had been the first one to believe in him. She had opened the door for Spencer to take a different perspective on the boy that got sent to reform school, encouraging her to look past the superficial picture that Alison had painted of him.
She was the first best friend he had ever had. And after seeing just how far she would go for him, he knew he'd never need another for a long as he lived.