A/N: Just wanted to throw out there that I apologize profusely for any spelling/editing errors - I am writing this like there's no tomorrow and want to share it for anyone at all reading. Love to read reviews. Xoxo - C
Chapter 3: some prayers never know
"Oh, wow. This is… just... wow," Beth says as quietly as possible, voice muffled around the piece of cake inside her mouth, hoping the baker, Michonne, who she's known basically her entire life, standing behind the counter is too distracted to attempt to decipher the words.
With significant effort, she swallows the glorified piece of cardboard she just consumed. "Not good," she whispers, cutting her eyes to Zach.
Zach nods, cheeks puffed and lips pursed as he aborts his attempt to chew and swallow the piece of cake, discreetly spitting into a handkerchief he'd pulled from his back pocket.
"That – that was a fucking disaster," he coughs out, apparently much less concerned with the volume of his own voice.
Beth shifts on her feet, smiling nervously at Michonne, who definitely heard that comment. Jabbing an elbow into her fiancée's side, Beth giggles nervously while attempting to guide them both toward the exit of the small shop.
"Oh gosh, look at the time, Zach!" She says in a high-pitched voice. "We've got another appointment we have to get to, like right now, but thank you so much for the taste test today, Michonne! We'll be in touch!"
She soon reaches the door and feels a wave of relief at the jingling sound of the bells as she roughly pushes it open, when she hears Zach call over his shoulder to the likely-already-offended Michonne, "That cake tasted like straight garbage!"
As soon as they're outside the bakery, Beth fights the overwhelming urge to reach up and pull Zach by the lobe of an ear and stick a bar of soap or two into his rude-as-hell mouth.
"What the hell, Zach?" She asks, crossing her arms as she comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "There's no need to be so rude."
"Seriously, Beth?" He asks, resting his hands on his hips, brown eyes narrowing. "That horrible piece of cake I just nearly ate was the rudest part of that entire experience."
"I live here, Zach. In this town. I know these people and see them often. They know my family – what will soon also be your family, if you get what I'm sayin'. Please, please – try to be a bit more sensitive!" She almost stomps a foot to punctuate her words, but she's already embarrassed enough.
"You won't live here for that much longer, or have to see these people, the ones that aren't our family, anyway, any more often than you wanna, babe," he replies calmly and with an amount of confidence that causes Beth's chest to tightly constrict in response.
"There it is," she sighs, looking down at her worn boots. "We can't ever have a discussion about shit like this, about the way we are, who we are, as people – not without you swooping in and fixing it with solutions that I seem to have no say in." She starts walking forward, since her lunch break is nearly over anyway, and she'd honestly rather be at work for the remainder.
His heavy feet follow her, catching up within a few bounding steps. He reaches out and grips her shoulder softly, turning her blue eyes toward his brown ones. But all she sees are bubbles of red.
"No say? Beth, we've talked about this – "
"You've talked about this," she snaps. "And I've tried to respond, to express my concerns and intentions and fears. And then, when you realize that our thoughts or goals differ in any real way, you bolt, Zach. You always have."
"I'm sorry, Beth," he says, and it sounds genuine but resigned. "I am. I do have to get back to the city, but I'll be over tonight. I promise to listen and talk and try. I love you. We're getting married. We have been through so much and we'll get through anythin' life throws at us."
"We're having dinner tonight at daddy's," she says, "remember? But sure, Zach, I'd like that."
He gives her a solid hug and a chaste peck on the temple, and though it helps dissolve some of the tension that'd rapidly developed throughout her body and mind, she feels an obscure roll of sadness pass through her gut as she says goodbye.
Xxx
She spends that afternoon at the Grimes Farm, as requested by Hershel, to jot down measurements and observations as he examines the next horse on the schedule.
She's sitting on a conveniently located old stump, just outside the stables, with her clipboard propped against its side awaiting the shouted orders and stats and descriptions from her dad. But, she's mostly daydreaming. Questioning. Wondering. Missing her mother, who'd passed two years earlier, and badly wishing she could descend from the heavens just for a heart-to-heart or even a final word of advice or encouragement.
Some days, she wonders how exactly she ended up here, in this moment. It's like she'd only just awoken to her life. Where would she be in the next moment of awareness?
"So, you wanna be a vet, too?"
She startles at the unexpected voice, nearly tumbling face-first onto the uneven ground in front of her.
Clutching her chest, she half-turns from where she's sat, shielding her eyes from the sun with a sideways hand. She sees the shadowed silhouette of Daryl's lean – and utterly, glimmeringly sweaty – form.
"Jesus, Daryl. Didn't know you were there," she breathes.
He's got a cigarette hanging out of one side of his mouth while the other side curves downward in a half-frown.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya. Or interrupt. Just takin' a break 'fore I keel over from this damn heat," he says, squatting just behind and to the side of her.
She drops her hand to her thigh, smiling. "Surely, bein' from around here, you're not unfamiliar with Georgia summers?"
His eyes cut to hers then, and she notices the subtle grimace that quickly appears and retreats from his features.
"Yeah, guess it's just been a while since I experienced it – like this, I mean." He sits down next to her stump, crosses his legs and takes a drag from his cigarette, and Beth doesn't miss his exhale, directly exactly opposite her face. "Heard Rick the other day, sayin' somethin' 'bout you're gonna be a vet like your daddy and brother."
Beth shrugs, looking away. "I don't know what I'm gonna be," she says, nearly choking on the words both because of their weight as well as the ease at which they escape her.
"Too young to brood on that, girl. Ain't gotta figure it out today. Seems like ya'd be good at it. Lots of experience, I mean." He looks away, and she watches him pick at the skin on his thumb. "Looks like ya at least know one thing you're gonna be."
She glances up at his face then, notices his eyes on her left ring finger. Usually, she doesn't wear the big rock Zach had placed there several months prior when she's working, but it seems her mind hasn't been working at full capacity with any sort of consistency of late.
"Oh," she says, plastering a practiced, prideful smile on her face as she lifts her hand to offer him a fuller view. "Yeah, you're right. That's one thing I know."
"Ya excited?" He asks, stubbing the butt of his cigarette underneath his boot before pocketing it. "'Bout getting' married?"
She turns toward him, a sudden urge of desperation she can't quite identify rising inside her. "Not really," she says, even as she feels her eyes widening at her own response. He coughs, brows furrowing and body tensing as if he plans to make a beeline far away from her. She doesn't blame him, after hearing an answer like that to a typically safe sort of question.
"Oh – oh god, Daryl no. That – that wasn't what I meant. I mean – I am. Excited. I just – you know, I hate dresses. I hate people lookin' at me. I don't like big gatherings," the words rush out of her near-maniacally. "Ever since my mama died, all of that sort of thing just – it just feels somehow final and major and heartbreaking, even though it's not – it's just my stupid head, and –"
"Sorry 'bout your mama," he says, then, bringing his eyes back to hers. He means it. She knows in that moment that he, too, has felt loss.
They're silent then, and Beth is tucking strands of blonde hair feverishly behind her ears, ignoring how much it feels like they want to stray.
"Bethy?" Hershel calls then, suspending their silence. "You get all that?"
"Shit," she mutters so only Daryl can hear. "Definitely got none of that."
"Sixteen hands. Heart rate's 41," Daryl whispers conspiratorially. He grins and it makes him look just like a boy – full of youth and mischief.
She grins back. "Yeah, I got it, daddy!" she yells, jotting the stats down on her clipboard. "Thanks," she whispers.
"Thanks, princess!" Hershel responds. "That's a wrap for today, folks!"
Daryl and Beth stand to greet Hershel as he makes his way over, medical bag in hand.
"Doin' a fine job, son," Hershel says to Daryl. He slings a shoulder around his youngest daughter. "Couple weeks, we'll have all these horses up to date. Can't thank you enough for all your help."
"'S nothin'," Daryl says, shrugging. "You and Sean – er, Dr. Greene – you're doin' all the hard work."
Hershel smiles. "Say, Daryl, ya got anywhere to be this evenin'? Would love to have ya over for supper tonight."
Daryl shifts his weight, eyes cutting to the older man's. "Oh. No. Nah, doctor. I mean, thanks for the invite, but you don't need to do that."
Hershel removes his arm from Beth's shoulders as the three of them walk up the drive, toward the trucks parked at its end and the setting sun.
"Don't ever do anythin' 'cause I need to, Daryl. I want to. Beth would love it too, wouldn't ya? Ya got plans already?"
Daryl looks over at Beth, squinting a bit in the light. Beth stifles a laugh at the look of pure nervous energy she sees on his face.
"C'mon, Daryl. We don't bite. Come meet everyone. Rick and Lori are headin' to their weekly date night, anyhow. Unless you got a hot date night of your own-"
"No," Daryl says firmly, cutting off Beth's words, before continuing in a softer, rougher tone. "It's nothin' like that, I mean. I ain't got any place to be."
"Then it's settled," Hershel says, opening the passenger door to his truck for Beth to climb in. "C'mon over round seven. You won't regret tryin' out my girls' cookin', that's for sure."
Beth watches as Daryl continues shifting from one foot to the other, looking at his feet then at the truck. She rolls down her window.
"Address is Six-Eleven Pine. Big white house, won't miss it. See ya soon!" She rolls it back up before he has the chance to attempt to decline.
Xxx
It's six-thirty and Glenn, Zach, Sean, Hershel, Maggie, and Beth are each managing a task in the kitchen: Hershel, taking up space and smoking some clean, rich tobacco from his pipe; Glenn, mixing rum and cola in five glasses and lemon water in a sixth; Maggie, stirring noodles, while complaining about doing so every few moments; Beth, poking a toothpick in the chicken pot pie; Sean, scrolling on his phone, feet propped inappropriately on the corner of the table while Hershel swats at them every few moments; and Zach, arranging place settings at the table.
The room is filled with laughter and a variety of smells, complaints and bickering, shoulder nudges and hip bumps. Hershel's wife, Annette, loved nights like these, and her absence was always felt since she'd passed; in every smile, laugh, taste, and prayer.
"Get one more settin', please," Hershel says to Zach, who'd been admiring his own table-setting skills.
Zach quirks up an eyebrow. "Gettin' senile, Hersh? Or you have an illegitimate child we're all 'bout to meet?"
Hershel kicks Zach's foot. "Damn boy, watch that mouth. Nah, we're havin' a guest, ya'll. So be on your best behavior, for the love of all."
"Who the hell would wanna come here?" Glenn asks, smiling at his father-in-law. "Unless it's a stray bunny that heard the doctors are in."
"Thought by now that sense of humor of yours would'a grown, son," Hershel says, taking a puff from his pipe. "Nah, ya'll, Daryl Dixon will be joinin' us."
"Dixon?" Maggie says, turning toward her father abruptly from her spot near the stove. "As in –"
"As in Daryl Dixon, Maggie. You prob'ly wouldn't remember him. He's been gone a few years now. He's helpin' Rick and Lori out on the farm, gettin' his feet on the ground. Helpin' Sean and Bethy and I tackle the team's annuals."
Maggie rolls her eyes and returns to her noodles, but Beth hears it when she says, "all I know 'bout Dixons is that they're nothin' but trouble."
Beth's about to ask what in the actual hell her sister is mumbling about when there's a knock on the door.
"I got it," Beth says, bumping her sister as she passes, hoping she caused a little hot water to splash out of the pot along the way.
Beth wipes her hands down her apron and opens the door to find Daryl standing there, fidgeting from head to toe.
He's clean. Freshly showered by the smell of him – oh my god, why am I thinking about how he smells? She wonders – and for once his hair is semi-arranged and not completely occluding his eyes and half of his face. Clean jeans, black short-sleeved shirt sans winged-angel-demon vest.
She realizes she hasn't spoken. Or invited him in. She hears someone behind her clear their throat and make a snarky comment. What in the hell is wrong with her? She wonders if Zach's piss-poor manners are rubbing off on her.
"Daryl!" She says, with far too much excitement there in her voice. "Please, Daryl – come in! Meet everyone. We're so glad you came!"