From: Mary Boleyn
To: Anne Boleyn
Sent November 14, 2016, Monday, 5:01 PM
Hey, just saw your new status…you ok? Wanna talk about it?
From: Anne Boleyn
No. But I will be.
From: Mary
Ok…let me know if there's anything you need.
From: Charles Brandon
To: Henry Tudor
Sent November 14, 2016, Monday, 5:30 PM
Just saw Lizzy and Gil Talboys pretty cozy in the library…you know about that?
From: Henry Tudor
I honestly could not care less. But no, I didn't.
From: Brandon
Aren't you two still a thing?
From: Henry
Well, actually I do care. Talboys is kind of a tool. Hope she knows she can do better.
From: Brandon
So…you're not hooking up?
From: Henry
No. We're friends.
From: Brandon
…sure.
From: Henry
We are.
From: Brandon
Since when are you friends with a girl?
From: Henry
Since always. Fuck off, man.
From: Brandon
Just trying to keep you on the up-and-up! Sheesh.
From: Henry
Besides, even if I were interested, she told me she likes someone. Like, a lot.
From: Brandon
Really…who?
From: Henry
None of your business.
From: Brandon
You don't know, do you?
From: Henry
…no. But she told me they're a sophomore, and that rules Talboys out. She's probably just being friendly.
From: Brandon
Looked more flirty than friendly.
From: Henry
With Lizzy, they're one and the same.
From: Mary Boleyn
To: Jennifer Parker
Sent November 17, 2016, Thursday, 3:04 PM
Hey, can I ask you a favor?
From: Jennifer Parker
Sure, what's up?
From: Mary Boleyn
I know you're a stickler for the rules, but would it be alright if I had two guests instead of one to the next party?
From: Jennifer
Depends. Why?
From: Mary
Well, I want my sister there but also my friend needs to get laid.
From: Jennifer
Oh? Elaborate, please.
From: Mary
Ok…well, she's basically a goddess among the nerds but they're too shy to ask her out, and she's too proud to ask them. Also she's really tense and I just think she needs it.
From: Jennifer
I see. Well, there are way too many people going to the Homecoming party tomorrow. But I guess you can bring your friend and Anne to the Saturday one.
From: Mary
Great, thanks!
Anne used to never see Henry Tudor, and now, suddenly, she's seeing him everywhere.
Sure, she knows technically he was there at that first Beta Thau party back in August, but Mary wouldn't even let her look at him.
Usually she'd at least look up Mary's various flings and boyfriends on Facebook, to make sure they weren't creeps, but she'd been busy. And besides, with what Henry Percy had told her about him, she doubted it'd last long (though with Mary, they never did).
They have no classes together.
The first time she'd really seen him was at the Masquerade. But even that didn't really count- his face was obscured behind the mask. All she saw was blue-grey eyes. She could see he was at least six feet tall, could see his ridiculous cheekbones…the brightest smile she had ever seen and the strongest arms that had ever held her…
The first time she really saw Henry Tudor, not in costume, was at tutoring.
And then private Amelie tutoring.
Then…the…Library Incident.
Then more tutoring.
And now every-goddamn-where.
She'd applied for a job at the student café on the same day as she and Henry Percy had broken things off (she didn't want to wallow, wanted to stay busy so she couldn't get sad, and she could use the extra cash anyway) and been hired on the spot (they were, and are, very under-staffed).
Luckily she knows how to work an espresso machine from the barista job she had in high school. Luckily she knows how to count change quickly from her summer gig as a clerk at an always-busy grocery store.
Unluckily, he somehow manages to always come in when she's working.
And sees her in her stupid uniform (baseball cap, polo shirt, a too-short skirt and closed-toe shoes) in their stupid school colors, forest green and crimson, looking like a goddamn Christmas tree. Not that it matters…it's just an embarrassing outfit in general. It doesn't bother her that he sees her specifically, or anything like that.
He comes in with his entourage: Charles Brandon, Will Compton, and Anthony Knivert.
They're usually laughing, boisterous, always hanging on to his every word.
Henry turns heads but seems not to notice that he does.
He's stupidly generous, she thinks. If anyone in head of him in line is ever short, ever fumbling with their change, ever telling the cashier, "forget the scone, actually, sorry," there he is, opening his wallet with an easy smile and saying, "I've got it, no worries."
But, Anne supposes, it's easy to be generous when your father's richer than God.
He walks in with Lizzy Blount and buys her blueberry muffins. She pushes him playfully, he ruffles her hair.
He shoves money in the tip jar, even more so when Anne's the only one working.
Anne always feels her breath hitch when he comes in. She spills milk, drops napkins when she's trying to reload the dispenser; sometimes she unties her apron even as she's asking her manager to take her five, just to avoid him.
She sees him at the library, the cafeteria, Hugo fountain, walking out of the Erasmus Rose Garden Maze with lipstick smeared by his mouth, leaving the girls' dorms with bleary eyes.
November 18, 2016, Friday, 9:12 PM
So she shouldn't be too surprised when she walks out to the balcony on the 2nd story of the Beta Thau House during the Homecoming After-Party and he's there, sitting against the railing, smoking a cigarette.
She hates smoke (because she started smoking in Paris and it's hard to stand near it when you've quit). It's a good reason not to stand next to him, at any rate.
Anne shuts the sliding glass door behind her and stands there instead.
Because that's normal.
9:13 PM
Henry opens his eyes and there's Anne, standing at the door, arms wrapped around herself.
The white sweater she's wearing is about five sizes too big for her. Her skin is rosy, strands of hair framing her face, the rest pulled back.
Opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it.
"Mamihlapinatapai"- for some reason that word's coming to his mind right now.
Oh- he had to write a paper on etymology for his History class this week. On a whim, he had searched "hardest word to translate", and that word had come up. Apparently it meant, "a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will initiate something which both desire, but which neither one wants to start."
This is a test he doesn't want to fail: who speaks first?
It's not like they weren't just at their table this Tuesday, like she didn't just congratulate him on the 85 on his most recent test and go over every mistake with him…
But this feels different. Like they're both wearing masks and a song is playing just for them. This feels like that night felt. Fragile, electric with potential.
9:14 PM
"I don't bite," Henry quips.
"I'm allergic to smoke," she lies.
"I'm done," he says, dropping the cigarette into his half-empty beer bottle.
Anne decides not to get any closer. But she's tired, and more than a little sad, so she sits down and leans against the exterior of the house. This way she's facing him, and can talk to him, without having to feel his warmth.
"Where's your boyfriend?" he asks, looking over her shoulder as if he expects him to pop out at any moment.
"No idea, since he's not my boyfriend anymore."
"Why not?"
"He took a job that's out of state. It doesn't start till next semester, but…I'm not into delaying the inevitable."
"I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be, it's not like it's your fault."
9:15 PM
Kind of.
But Henry hadn't thought about her being hurt, just her being single.
Percy didn't have to say yes to the Red Dragon offer…is Henry really at fault for a decision made of another individual's free will? Just for offering an option to him? His Ethics professor would say no…probably. Maybe?
"Are you going home for the holidays?"
"Thanksgiving, no," she says, messing with the sleeve of her sweater, "December break, yes."
"Why no Thanksgiving?"
"Washington D.C. is too far for those few days…and my dad doesn't 'believe' in American holidays."
"Doesn't believe?"
"He's American, but he thinks he's French."
"And that's why you speak-"
"Yes. He's the US ambassador to France. He used to only speak French in the house, actually, out of stubbornness. Mary and my brother would just ignore him. My mom would get so annoyed with him for that…but I…I wanted to talk to him. So I asked him to teach me, I took some classes for the times when he couldn't teach me, and….I learned."
"Do you miss it?"
"Speaking French?"
"No," he chuckles, "home. Your family."
"I miss my brother, George. But I don't think he'll be invited home, honestly. I'll probably try to meet up with him beforehand."
"Why do you miss him?"
"Because…he wrote to me. Actual letters, back when we were kids and at different summer camps. And then later, when I was in high school and he lived in Europe."
"Letters? As in, pen to paper, put it in an envelope letters?"
"Yes! I miss them. I'm sad I missed the era where people had to make…a real effort to reach you. To say whatever it was they wanted to say, to share their thoughts. I don't know, I guess I miss the excitement of getting one in the mail, miss tearing the envelope. Getting a new text doesn't match it, somehow."
Henry laughs. It's a great, unapologetic, sound, totally lacking self consciousness.
She likes the way he looks at her, she can admit that to herself. When most people look at her it feels like they're only seeing her. When he looks at her she feels like he's reading her.
"Well, I'll be gone for Thanksgiving," he says.
"To the Tudor mansion?" she teases.
"Not enough space in New York City for a mansion. It'll be the Tudor penthouse."
"Ah."
"There's one here, though."
"Of course there is! Why not go there?"
"We go to whichever office will need my father the most. With Black Friday, he told us that's New York. With Christmas, it'll probably be the same."
"I see."
"You look cold."
"I'm fine."
Henry gets up, walks over to her, and takes of his letterman jacket.
"I can't. If I take that you'll be cold too."
"It's worth it. And I have a sweater, I'll be fine," he insists, "take it."
9:25 PM
She does, grateful that he ignored her, and slides it on.
"Sit with me," she offers, patting the floor next to her, figuring it's the least she can do.
He shrugs and does so, back against the wall, just like her. He pulls his knees up, then lets one fall, hand clasped around the other.
"Tell me something," she says.
"Like what?"
"Like…I don't know. I just told you all this personal stuff, I don't why I did, but I did, all this personal stuff about my dad and my obsession with letters."
"Obsession?"
"Yes, obsession, and now you know, and I don't know…much about you at all, really. So tell me something. Something that most people don't know."
"Why?"
"So it's even! So I don't feel weird," she says, knocking her knee against his, teasing.
He's silent, distant in his expression, probably in his thoughts as well, she guesses. She can see the stubble on his face, is close enough that she could trace the line of his jaw, the cupids bow of his mouth (not that she would…why would she?), close enough to smell tobacco, smoke, fire and cinnamon.
"Please? For me?"
"For you?" he smirks.
She nods.
He sighs, shakes his head, wearing a chagrined smile.
"Let's see…"
Henry pulls his pack of Marlboro Lights from his sweater sleeve and starts to tap it against his knee.
"Something most people don't know…"
Henry closes his eyes, fiddles with the top of the pack, flicking the lid open. Closed. Open.
"I have a brother. An older brother. Arthur. I haven't," he takes a sharp breath, "I, I haven't…spoken to him. For quite some time. It's been over four years, I think."
"Henry-"
"Please don't say anything."
His eyes are squeezed shut now, the pack crushed in his hand. Anne doesn't know if she should take it from him. If he doesn't want her to talk, he may not be alright with being touched.
"He was just gone one day. I asked where he was, of course, and so did my sisters. But my father just - didn't explain. He never does, not when it's important, anyway. He'd just say he was gone, that he wasn't part of the family anymore, that he didn't want to be, that it was his choice. We asked and asked, but he wouldn't elaborate. So I guess…they must've had a falling out, yes?"
"I don't know-"
"Why else? I just have a hard time thinking that he'd leave without saying goodbye. I didn't have a falling out with him, so I don't know why…and I still don't know why. Why he left."
"What did your mom do?"
"Nothing. She passed when I was twelve."
"I'm so sorry. I know…I know how hard it is to lose a parent."
"Your mom, too?"
"Yes. I was ten. George was thirteen, Mary eleven. It was...pretty hard on all of us, obviously, but in a weird way it kind of made us closer."
"No, that makes sense- it was the same with my siblings and I. What was her name?"
"Elizabeth."
Henry gives half-hearted laugh, "Sorry…it's just…that was mine, as well."
"Oh. Wow, that's…something."
She can't think of anything else to say. Suddenly she feels like they're uncomfortably close. The sweep of his lashes against his cheek when he closes his eyes is almost too beautiful for to bear. She can't look at it, anymore, so she doesn't. She scoots farther away from him, puts a few inches of distance between, them, and somehow that makes all the difference.
"Well, you won't be smoking for a while," she quips.
"What?"
She gestures to the mangled cardboard pack, the gold on it still glinting from in between his fingers. He hasn't let go of it yet.
"Oh. Yeah," he says, uncurling his fingers from the pack, "those are toast."
"Please don't tell anyone," he begs, "I really can't-"
"I wouldn't-"
"Ok. I'm…I wish-"
Henry's interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open, and then hears a familiar voice: "Tudor! Get your ass back-"
Will Compton stops in the middle of his sentence.
"Boleyn-what are you doing here?"
"Will," Henry says in a warning tone.
"What?"
"That was rude."
"It's fine," Anne says, getting up, "I'm-"
"No, it's not fine. I don't care how drunk he is. Apologize."
"Sorry," he says sheepishly, "I just…ah…surprised to see you out here! With…him."
"Why?" she asks.
"Aren't you with Per-"
"No."
"Oh. Well, then, carry on-"
"We were just talking. I'm going to go check on my sister," she says, to Henry, "see you later."
"Are you going to be here Saturday?" Henry asks.
"Yeah," she says, "I am."
"Okay. See you then."
"I'll be here, too!" Will calls out as she leaves, taking a swig of his beer, muttering, "not that it matters."
"Nice," Henry says, getting up.
"Didn't mean to interrupt-"
"You didn't interrupt anything. Do you have a smoke?"
Will pats around his jeans, then hands him his pack. He gets the one that he had tucked behind his ear and lights it.
"So…" he says, watching as his friend lights up, "nothing go on there?"
"Nope."
"So, you wouldn't mind if-"
"You're not asking her out."
"But I thought-"
"No."
"Noted."
November 18, 2016, Friday, 11:13 PM
Anne hasn't been able to find Mary anywhere downstairs, so she walks back upstairs to her door and knocks.
"Mary?" she calls, "are you in there? I need to talk to you."
She puts her ear to the door and hears music. Maybe she's just putting makeup on (Mary always has music on when she does her makeup, even when she's just doing at touch up): "stealing kisses from your misses/doesn't make you freak out…"
"Hello? Mary?"
Normally Anne would be more respectful of boundaries, but she is…feeling strange, she doesn't understand anything that's been happening to her lately, and she just really needs to talk to her sister right now. So she tests the doorknob and it's unlocked. Maybe Mary just can't hear her? She is playing the music pretty loudly.
Anne opens the door, and Mary is there. She's in bed (is she sick?), under the covers, her eyes closed, face slightly shiny with sweat, mouth open and Anne sees…her feet peeking out from the comforter?
But that doesn't make sense. Because if those were her feet, she would be seeing the top of them. And she sees the back of them. The bottoms of a pair of Converse, actually. The toes facing the wall.
tell the neighbors i'm not sorry/if i'm breaking walls down
And there's a lump in the middle of the bed. That is…definitely not Mary.
building your girl's second story/ripping all your floors out
The lump's feet kick, and the comforter falls, leaving only a sheet. Mary's eyes flutter open languidly-until she sees Anne, that is.
saw your face/heard your name/gotta get with you
"Close the door!" Mary yells, panicked, tugging the sheet up to cover more of herself-
girls like girls like boys do
-which only exposes the person under the sheet.
Exposes the curly, blonde head of none other than Lizzy Blount.
nothing new.