Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino.
What Love Creates
By Lola Presents
Chapter 2
A small beep sounded beside him as Lincoln lay there, now staring blankly at the ceiling. Startled back to reality, he stashed the picture in his hand back into the bag, pulling out his phone instead.
"Lucy," the preview screen read.
Lincoln swiped the screen and opened the messenger to see a new text from his morbid sister. Tapping it, he opened the conversation, and before him was a video thumbnail featuring Lola. Quickly, yet quietly, he fetched his earbuds and plugged them in, not wanting Ruth to overhear, then pressed play.
"Hey, Lincy!" chirped Lola, sitting prim and proper on the edge of her bed.
Her apparent demeanor took the young man somewhat off guard. He quite expected her to be sullen, considering everything that happened.
"God, I've missed you today. I love you so much! I know we aren't supposed to talk, but I had to get this to you. Our sisters have agreed to send messages between us. Isn't that sweet? Anyway, I don't have a long time here. Mom and Dad are saying their farewells to those going home tonight. But I just had a great talk with Lucy, and I realized everything would be okay. We have to be patient, though. If our love is true, it'll withstand anything life throws at us, right? Anyway, I heard the door close. I have to go! I love you!" Lola summarized before the video ended.
Lincoln experienced a wholesome feeling he couldn't quite place. It wasn't the same as the rush one gets when flustered or embarrassed, though. Nor was it the same as when making love. It conveyed a more familiar feeling, intensified. It reminded him of home.
Lincoln: I love you too, Lola-bear. But perhaps, in the future, send text and images only. If I hadn't had my earbuds handy, Ruth might have heard. She's been insufferably demanding and highly nosy. I don't want to give her any reason to kick me out, you know?
Lucy: This is Lucy, but she agrees.
Lincoln had already forgotten whose phone they were using and expected to see Lola's name instead.
Lincoln: Hey, Lucy. Thanks. Tell everyone I love them.
Lucy: I will. Lola wants to know if you can chat for a few, though.
Lincoln: I would, but it's late. My first day at work is tomorrow, and I still have to fill out these papers.
Lucy: She understands and says good night and good luck.
Lincoln closed the app and returned his phone to the bag. Then, he completed his employment application, which was merely a formality. His portfolio had impressed them so much that they offered him a position on the spot.
He was grateful yet apprehensive. He'd never worked under pressure before and wondered if he would buckle. No, he couldn't afford to do that. Too much was riding on his success.
After completing the file, he slid it under the bag beside him, turned off the light, and slipped under the covers. Yawning, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
It wasn't an easy task, laden with sadness and regret. However, slumber eventually claimed its victim, and the young adult faded from reality.
Dreams have an uncanny way of reflecting on, and amplifying, recent events. Lola was no exception. Her nocturnal dreamscape was replete with scenarios where Lincoln got swept away suddenly.
In one such episode, the ground opened beneath him, swallowing him whole just as the two were about to kiss. In another, a car came through, hitting him and sending him flying out of view.
The torture was relentless; the visions came rapid-fire and left Lola stricken and weak. Suddenly, she awoke and sat upright in her bed. Her breathing was thin and raspy, and she felt a familiar tingling sensation in her fingers.
"Fuck," she thought.
Throwing her covers off recklessly, she hopped from her bed and bolted out the door.
"Mom!" Lola cried, knocking at her mother's door. "Dad!"
After years of raising eleven kids, their reaction was almost immediate. To the panicking girl, though, it seemed an eternity. Finally, the door flew open, and Lola fell into her mother's arms.
"Help! It's another anxiety attack!" she gasped.
Rita assisted Lola to the couch and turned on the television.
"Okay, honey," she said. "Remember what we discussed. You have to relax and involve yourself with something other than what's on your mind. We can discuss it later."
Lola's mother turned the channel to a late-night rerun of Dream Boat, then sat beside her daughter.
"Calm down," she said. "Breath regularly."
The little girl tried as hard as she could but was having trouble.
"Mom?" she said as the tears began to flow again. "Am I ever going to see him again? I love him so much."
Rita cradled Lola's head on her shoulder and ran her fingers through her child's hair. "I don't know, sweetie. I just don't know. But you need to think of something else, okay."
"I know, Mom," Lola replied, sniffling back some mucus. "It's hard, though. For me, there's little else. He means everything to me."
"Shh," instructed Rita. "That's not true, honey. You have us, your friends in the pageant business and school. You can't let yourself become too dependent on one person. You must be able to stand on your own. Look at your father and me. We are married, yet each has interests and lives outside this house. Even when one of us goes away for a convention or seminar, we're still together."
Slowly, Lola nodded.
"I get it. I hurt, though. You know?" Lola admitted.
A moment passed as Rita sighed deeply.
"Yes, baby," she acknowledged, "love can hurt just as much as it can feel wonderful.
"Mom?" whispered Lola a few moments later.
"Yes?" cooed her mother.
"Can you change the channel?" Lola pleaded. "I'm not sure Dream Boat is helping."
Chuckling, Rita clicked the remote and changed it to the local news station.
"Much better," replied Lola.
Soon, the girl was lulled into sleep by the dull drone of the reporter. There, she and her mother slept the rest of the night, cuddling each other.
At precisely six-thirty in the morning, Lincoln's phone began blaring that awful Ace Savvy alarm, rousing him roughly.
"Damn it," he thought as he rolled from the bedding and silenced the noise.
He still hadn't changed the alarm, but who could've expected that? Recent events had challenged his attention to the point where little else got through to him. He gazed around him for a moment to blink the sleep from his eyes. Oh, right, not his room.
After gathering clothes and a towel, he went to the restroom and showered. After dying and getting dressed, he headed to the kitchen and made a quick breakfast. Not trusting anything in the fridge, as Ruth has the undesirable habit of keeping things well past their due date, he opted for dry cereal, a slice of toast, and water. He ended the new routine by washing his plate and glass, then grabbed his paperwork and headed out the door.
Meeting Lincoln at the door to the office building, a man named Michael Sloan showed him his cubicle.
"Good morning, Mr. Loud," the man addressed him, slapping his shoulder in a friendly manner. "This is where you'll be working. When the storyboard artists complete the initial penciling, they'll bring their work to you. All you have to do is ink in the final outlines and shading. From there, hand everything off to Brad in the cubicle across the way," he explained, pointing to Brad, to whom Lincoln waved cheerfully.
Brad, having overheard the conversation, returned Lincoln's gesture.
"Nice to meet you!" he chimed. "I heard good things about your work, and I look forward to seeing how you do."
Lincoln nodded in return.
"Thanks, it's great to be here," Lincoln replied. "My name is Lincoln," he added unnecessarily, too nervous to think straight.
"Well, don't hesitate to see Brad or me if you have any questions. Good luck!" Michael said before sauntering off with Lincoln's application in hand.
"So," asked Lincoln politely. "What should I do while I wait for the storyboards?"
Brad chuckled as he leaned back in his bucket seat.
"Honestly, nothing official. But you might want to read the company emails and take stock of supplies. If you need anything, ask."
"Ah," replied Lincoln, opening the materials cabinet beside him.
"Say, I was curious," prodded Brad. "What brings such a young man to a place like this? You can't have graduated yet, have you?"
While Lincoln still had a few months of high school left before accepting the position, he was still on the short side, though not by much, so he understood the man's question.
"Well, you're right," Lincoln admitted. "I haven't graduated yet. Family circumstances required me to get a job as soon as possible. They accepted me on the condition that I complete a G.E.D. or equivalent online."
"Oh, I see," replied Brad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he said. "It's just a bit unusual."
"So, this is what work is like," Lincoln mused to himself as he set about inking the first set of pages that came in. "A bit boring, but I could get used to it."
Before he knew it, he became engrossed in his tasks, imagining each scene's lighting and how bulky to make each character. He took into consideration narrative notes and how coloring would affect his shading.
Batch after batch came across his tilted desk until finally, noon came.
"Time for lunch!" he thought, looking at the clock on the wall, then setting his utensils down and capping the ink well.
Lola walked into the kitchen around eleven-fifty, looking for something to eat, but stopped short as Lily, now eight years old, was rummaging through the refrigerator.
"Oh, hey, Lily," Lola greeted her. "Anything good in there?"
Lily picked up something covered in saran wrap and sniffed it.
"Ew," she declared. "No, just old leftovers."
Tossing them aside, Lily searched until locating some pre-made tuna fish.
Lily stepped aside as Lola opened the door and peered inside. Her eyes centered on the plate of leftover sandwiches she'd made, just in case Lincoln wanted something else the other night. Gingerly, Lola picked one up and sniffed it. It smelled fresh, and as she had never tried one, she took it in hand.
Lola unwrapped the meal and thought about how nice it would be to pack a lunch for her brother every day before work, a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a thermos full of coffee. Then, she'd see him off with a kiss on the cheek. She smiled at the idea as she took her first bite.
Now, a human can't make such a face. But somehow, she managed it. If a cartoonist had rendered the image, they would've chosen to represent her expression as a squiggly line with green blotches on the subject's cheeks.
Though she hated the taste, she swallowed, determined to take part in Lincoln's favorite food. Remembering her mother's words from last night about people having interests and lives outside the home, Lola realized that her mother was right.
That sandwich was disgusting. Yet, the love of her life enjoyed them.
Struggling through the rest of the sandwich, she decided to make an effort to explore more new things. Going beyond her comfort zone was not something she was used to, but to become more well-rounded, as her neighbors once said, she would try. At the very least, it would go a long way toward understanding her partner better.
Partner.
That word had a new meaning for the girl. Before, it meant little more than someone with whom you did something. Now, it bore a new context; one of completeness, belonging, and understanding. Like pieces of a puzzle, the concept behind real love slid into place.
"Are you alright?" asked Lily, staring at the silent girl.
"Oh! Uh, yeah," replied Lola. "It's just this sandwich. It's kind of gross."
"Kind of?" laughed Lily. "What do you expect? It's Lincoln's!"
After a moment's laughter, the two calmed.
"Why'd you eat it anyway?" asked Lily, seating herself.
Lola shrugged.
"It's Lincolns," she said, smiling. "And I wanted to see what it tasted like."
"Geez," exclaimed the youngest Loud child as she rolled her eyes. "You're either insane or truly smitten."
"Yeah," acknowledged Lola. "Maybe a little of both."
Together the two kids sat and finished their meals, chatting loosely about Lincoln and his annoying habit of sitting around the house in his underwear. At least until Lana and Lucy came filing in for their lunches.
The remainder of Lincoln's day went as expected. He didn't mind, though. He loved what he was doing. However, He discovered that working wasn't the same as doodling at home. Here, there were deadlines and efficiency a virtue. By the end of his first shift, the pads of his fingers were sore, and small blisters had begun to form.
Not ready to return to his aunt's home, he took a cab to a nearby garage and arranged to have his car picked up and repaired. He sighed at the idea of having to forego getting a place of his own a little longer but saw no recourse. Lincoln rode with the tow truck driver, showed him where the car was, and then returned to the garage. After handing over a minimal deposit, he called another cab and headed home.
"What took so long?" inquired Ruth as Lincoln entered the home.
"My car broke down the other morning. I had to schedule repairs," he replied exhaustedly.
"Well, that figures," Ruth stated with an air of dismissal. "Broken boy, broken car."
Lincoln stared for a moment, prepared to lose his temper, but remembered why he was there.
Lola.
The young man sat down, ate his dinner in silence, then set about washing dishes and cleaning up after Ruth's felines. It was disgusting. His aunt had no sense of cleanliness or pride. He didn't have to wonder why she lived alone. Still, it was a roof over his head. Completing his tasks, he went to the shower and prepared for bed. No sooner than he lay upon the covers than his phone beeped.
"Lucy," the preview screen read, as it had the previous evening.
Lincoln: Hi, Luce. What's up?
Lucy: Hi, baby. It's Lola, and you're late! Is everything alright?
Lincoln: Hi, sweetie. Yeah. Everything's fine. Work is more intense than I thought, but it's great fun. I had a little trouble with the car, but it's in the shop now. How are you? I love you.
Lucy: Awe, I love you too. I missed you so much today. I even tried one of your sandwiches today.
Lincoln: Really? How was it?
Lucy: Disgusting! But I ate the whole thing anyway.
Lincoln: If you didn't like it, why did you finish it?
Lucy: It reminded me of you and made me feel closer to you.
Lincoln: That's sweet, baby. Listen, I know I wanted to be out of here in a few months, but it may be more. The repairs are going to sap me for a while. Waiting even longer is going to be difficult.
Lucy: I know what you mean. But here's a little something to tide you over.
A moment later, an image appeared, showing Lola in her flannel nightgown, lying in a seductive pose on her bed and pursing her lips.
Lucy: Lana took that. She didn't want to, though. I promised to help her fix Dad's van tomorrow to get her to do it.
Lincoln: Hah. That sounds about right. Well, talk more tomorrow, Lola-bear. I need some sleep.
Lucy: Same. I love you. Goodnight!
Lincoln: I love you too. Later.
Shutting off the app and plugging his phone in to charge, Lincoln scooted under the blankets and settled in for the night. He'd successfully navigated his first day of formal employment, talked with Lola, even though it was via Lucy's account, and was relatively happy. They weren't allowed to see each other and so far hadn't. Not technically.
What could go wrong?
