Notes from Mama Lobster: Song is True Colors by... pretty much everyone. Except Glee, fuck that version. Three more chapters and then an epilogue, guys...
== John: Race
She's barreling down the hill (far too fast for her own safety) but you don't have much of a problem keeping up. By now you've mastered the art of skidding on the air, just enough to move you faster than running alone, but not so much as to be noticeable by the neighbors. It's a fun way to pass time, you can't deny that, but Casey's lack of windy abilities has you nervous.
She's gotten stupidly risky over the past few weeks, and with every turn your heart throws itself into your mouth and the wind pulls to keep her upright. On more than one occasion you've asked her to stop this, or at the very least to slow down, but she'll never listen. You can't really complain too much. It gives you every excuse to keep her company.
She twists too far to the left in an attempt to stop, but the wind cushions her gently. She doesn't fall. She just laughs endlessly, dragging you down into a tight hug while her shoulders rumble. You knew there was a reason you hadn't put a stop to this yet.
== John: Stress
"She's not here to kiss and make up, Dad. She said she wanted to help, and she is. Sometimes I need to talk to a girl."
Yeah, that's all well and good, but you're already exhausted from keeping Casey upright and you don't want to leave her in the care of Professional Commitment-phobe Simone Rogers. Still, Casey really does seem to have gotten better since they've made peace, and you'll do whatever you need to so she can keep moving forward. Still, it would be nice if none of these meetups happened in your house.
You call Dave, because if anyone has experience in dealing with weird and wildly uncomfortable situations, it's him. Even the laziest of Hollywood writers should be awake by three in the afternoon.
"Mmph… h'lo?" You could be wrong about that.
"Should I ask her for coffee?"
"Egbert, you're an ass." Dave grunts, punctuating it with an obnoxiously loud yawn. Clearly he was the exact right person to call.
"I'm not the one sleeping past noon."
"That just makes you more of an ass for waking me up. Leave it alone."
The cold of the kitchen counter is welcome against your forehead. "Come on, it can't be that bad an idea. You made it work with Jade, right?"
"Jade is different." He says. "I'm not helping you invite another shit-ton of drama into your life."
"I'm not 'inviting drama!' I don't even want it to be romantic. I just want to see how she's doing, especially if she's gonna be around Casey so much."
"Did someone kill you and replace you with a rom-com heroine?" Dave's voice changes into a girlish squeak. ""Oh no, sassy and much more attractive bff, he's just my boss! We're only going out for a business meeting and he only got me this five hundred dollar briefcase to impress the client! This is SO platonic!" News flash: your creepy boss wants to stick you with his grade-A beef thermometer while the pop darling starts howling about love or something. And there is no way in hell I'm letting you ride into this self-destructive sunset."
"I think I lost track of the metaphor. Am I the boss or the heroine?"
"You're the ass. Leave it alone, man. Keep an eye on her and Case if you have to, but could you try to steer her toward Rose? I know she's a shit parent and all but damn if she's not trying."
"Yeah." It might be the most non-committal 'yeah' you've ever managed in your life. "I'll try."
== John: Watch
Trying to steer Casey toward Rose seems heartless, especially with how much good this is doing. They sit there and they gossip about Adam's more bizarre habits, they compare notes about art and music and terrible movies and Casey finally learns to do her eyeliner without needing to smudge it all over her face. You have no idea why a spoon is involved, but apparently Simone insists that it's important.
You really shouldn't be eavesdropping, but it's hard to control yourself. Besides, they seem to avoid talking about anything too heavy. It's easy to catch snippets of conversation over the sound of peeling potatoes and a preheating oven.
Halfway through your casserole, the front door opens and closes. Simone must be gone. Fifteen seconds later Casey bursts in.
"Dad," She says. "We have to find Lynn."
"Um…?" Are you having a stroke? Your hair might have gone from black to grey, but you didn't think you were a health hazard yet.
"Lynn." She says again, as if you're supposed to somehow understand. "We have to find her. It's really important and we should call the police now."
"Case, I have no idea who Lynn is or why she's even missing in the first place. Can I at least finish my casserole first?"
"Her name is Lynn Galway and she's important. Aunt Simone—" you flinch and cut your finger, "—talks about her all the time."
"And she's missing?" You have to fish around to find a band-aid, but Casey is either oblivious or undeterred.
"I think so. She called me Lynn by accident and then got all upset about it. She wouldn't say much except that they haven't had contact in years."
"And so you want to find out what's going on." Casey nods, and you sigh heavily.
"Okay. We'll try to figure this out at some point, but Simone doesn't like people fishing through her private life any more than you like people fishing through yours. Right now I think we just have to let this go."
"I guess…" Casey grumbles a bit, leaning back in her chair. "But we'll find out sometime, right?"
"Maybe sometime. Not now, though. You've got to get better first."
Casey sighs in defeat. "Yeah, yeah. I am better, though."
== John: Stress more
Adam Strider-English. The other threat to your sanity. Is he good for her? Is he making this worse? Should you even be thinking of allowing any boy near your girl ever again?
Yeah, okay, you've known him forever and a day and you're pretty sure he's not a threat to anyone but himself. But that doesn't mean you can't worry. Casey cries often, and you know that a lot of it has been because of him.
They let you sit in on a movie with them, being the awkward parental supervisor to a couple of technically legal adults. It's uncomfortable enough that you can't even focus on the movie (some basic horror thing that Casey has to comfort him through. Not for the monsters, but for the pet dog). Something about this situation sets your hair on end, but not for the reasons you'd think.
No, there's gentleness to Casey that you haven't seen before. She looks at him differently, with a softness around her eyes and patience that she's never shown to anyone else. When he takes her hand, sneaking just the barest touch over her fingers, she melts.
The house is going to be very empty when she moves out.
The last time you had anyone touch you like that was over six years ago.
== John: Answer
Rose has gotten better about answering her phone in the past few months, having been fishing for news on a regular basis. She'll even call you to check in from time to time. Apparently, right now, that time is one in the morning.
"John?" Your brain is too fogged to answer, so you grunt. "Right, you must have been sleeping. Sorry I've lost track of the time. I just needed to talk to someone…"
"Don't you have a matesprit to talk to? Someone who's right there?"
"I suppose that would be a better choice, all things considered. Go back to sleep."
"No, it's fine, I'm up now…" You run a hand over your face, slapping yourself awake. "What's going on?"
"Do you think Casey loves me?" She says.
"What?" It takes most of your energy to hold back a yawn.
"Just a question. Do you think Casey holds any affection for me whatsoever?"
"I…" No really, what? "Rose, that's kind of heavy for one in the morning. I don't really know what she thinks."
"…Of course. It was probably foolish of me to ask."
"Hey, Rose?" You start. "What answer did you want to hear?"
She pauses. "What do you mean?"
"Well, are you hoping that she still loves you?"
There is silence for a moment before the line goes dead.
== John: Play
The sheet music you have is yellowed and dusty, but you find you don't really need to look at it. Muscle memory is an amazing thing. Your fingers have weakened with a lack of challenge; regurgitating pop songs and classic hits might make you money, but it hardly counts toward making you a better musician. You run scales for a while, tripping over your fingers in discomfort. C major passes quickly, D, E, F trips you over the fourth, B trips you on the seventh, the melodic minor is much easier to recall. Eventually you find your way back to E minor and some cliché old songs.
"You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged…"
Your voice is fairing a little better than your finger strength, having been honed on years of fan favorites and Dave's bizarre musical works.
"Though I realize it's hard to take courage..."
A loud thud echoes from upstairs. You can't slam the lid to the piano quickly enough in your hurry to get to your daughter.
She's fine, of course. She just found a new, louder way to get out of bed on her own.