New story! Because there's no such thing as rest in this house. I hope you enjoy it! I'm a big fan of some of the more adorable characters in this one 3
Four years ago, Weiss thought nothing of ordering hundred-dollar filets for dinner. Today, she wore cheap, filthy spaghetti on her shirt - and it wasn't even hers.
"I hate children," she said, dropping the dirty plate into a bin filled with equally dirty water. As the chefs chuckled at her plight, the only sympathy she expected from such a motley bunch, she stormed into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full-bore.
Waiting for the water to reach a degree warmer than freezing, she frowned at her reflection. Her hair held its perfect braid. Her makeup emphasized her stronger features in a subtle yet classy way. But her painted nails had chipped from overuse - she needed to redo those soon, unfortunately - and the giant orange stain on her white blouse detracted from what should be a polished image.
Using a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, she cleaned off the tomato sauce before blotting as much of the oil as possible. The greasy-orange remnants would probably stain - just her luck - but she could do very little about that right now. The best she could do was throw the towels into the trash bin, shake her head at her reflection, and head back to work.
"Weiss!" One of the other servers paused mid-step, two plates of steaming food in hand, when they saw her shirt. "What happened?"
"Don't ask," she grumbled, so they nodded towards the dining room.
"Table seven keeps asking for their check. They're in a hurry."
After a big sigh, Weiss muttered a soft, "Thank you," before returning to the dining room as if she wasn't wearing someone else's dinner. Pride was useless in a place like Dusty's, where families brought their misbehaving children and hungry college students splurged on the all-you-can-eat pasta.
"Sorry for the wait," she told the impatient diners, plastering on a smile while finding the appropriate bill in her apron. She hardly set it down before the older gentleman dropped his card on top of it, so she forced another smile and polite, "I'll be right back."
He hardly acknowledged her exit, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes while ringing up the bill. Friday nights were the best and worst nights at Dusty's. Parents tipped well in apology for their unruly children, but a spaghetti stain wasn't even the worst to have happened on one of these infernal shifts.
As soon as the receipt printed, she snatched that along with a pen and returned to the table. The diners didn't acknowledge her presence, but she offered a quick, "Have a wonderful evening," before leaving the bill and returning to the kitchen to check on her other orders.
Hours later, she drove home with a small wad of cash in her pocket and a set-in stain as a reward for her energy and self-respect. Not even one of Dusty's famous ice cream sundaes could have cheered her up as she circled around her apartment building, searching for an ever-elusive space on the street.
Eventually, she gave up and parked several blocks away. Pulling her jacket tighter to keep the late-night chill at bay, she walked home accompanied by buzzing street lamps, distant sirens, and dogs howling nearby. Her keys never left her hand while her eyes trained straight forward, and only when she entered her building's worn-down lobby did the tension release from her shoulders.
A hastily printed paper sign and caution tape still blocked the sole elevator, so she took a deep breath and let herself into the overused, under-cleaned stairwell. Ignoring her aching feet, she listened instead to her heels tapping against each step leading her home. The fifth floor arrived before long, and she let herself into her apartment moments later.
Taking a deep breath of softly fragrant air - the rose-scented candle on the coffee table doing a marvelous job - she locked the door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her feet immediately thanked her for the relief; her hair agreed as she undid her braid and walked to her room. Soft music filtered through the walls as she changed out of her work clothes. The black skirt made it into the hamper; the stained shirt on top to be dealt with later. Hopefully, she could salvage it. If not, another perfectly good shirt would be lost to a misbehaving toddler.
While tying her hair up in a simple ponytail, she followed faint music to the closed door beside hers. Leaning against the doorframe, she knocked first, quietly. After several seconds passed, she knocked louder and said, "Whitley?"
"Yeah?"
Taking that as permission to enter, she opened the door and poked her head into the room. Her younger brother sat at his desk, headphones around his neck and curiosity in his eyes. Everyone said the two of them looked alike but, aside from the same white hair and blue eyes, Weiss didn't see it. He kept his hair short and clean-cut while hers reached almost all the way down her back. He'd also sprouted up with age, towering a good foot over her even when she wore heels.
"Just letting you know I'm home," she said before nodding to his headphones. "How are you not deaf?"
"Got used to it."
"Through hearing loss, I'm sure." When he grinned and shrugged at the thought, she rolled her eyes. "What're you working on?" she asked, noting the various pens and poster board scattered across the desk.
"Class project." Whitley swiveled around in his desk chair and grabbed a handout from on top of his bed. "Supposed to make a family tree," he explained while showing her the assignment. When she glanced over the page and scoffed, he rolled his eyes. "Right? Super important question - who was our great, great, great aunt on Dad's side?"
Rather than answer, or admit that she had no idea, Weiss made a face.
"Exactly," he concluded, taking the page from her and tossing it onto his bed. "It's pointless. Don't even know why I keep going..."
"Because you have to get a degree."
"I don't have to. If I dropped out, I could get a job and, you know, help."
"You're getting a degree first."
His mouth opened, but he didn't argue this time. His blue eyes glanced around the small bedroom instead, and Weiss' shoulders slouched as her gaze followed. The grimy window desperately needed cleaning, the off-white paint peeled near the ceiling, and boxes still waited to be unpacked, but she'd badgered him about so many times that she'd given up already.
"I guess…" Whitley eventually admitted before perking up. "Then I'll graduate, save the company, and buy mansions for you and Winter."
"Winter and I will buy mansions for ourselves, thank you very much," Weiss quipped, though she dropped the haughty attitude at his endearing giggle. He had another laugh now - his 'mature laugh' - but this one made her smile every time it slipped out.
"Then I'll just take all the glory," he replied with a boastful, borderline-arrogant smirk. As always though, that smirk morphed into something sweet and genuine as he added, "How was work?"
Reminded of another eventful shift, she slumped against the doorframe and sighed.
"Let's just say a small child is lucky I didn't dump a glass of water over his head."
"You should've done it. Give that bloodsucker a taste of his own medicine."
"That's highly frowned upon." When Whitley giggled again, Weiss playfully rolled her eyes and grabbed the door handle. "Need anything?" she asked before leaving. "I'm meeting Winter but can bring something back."
"I'm good." After averting his gaze, which made Weiss wait, he eventually sighed. "I left one of my favorite jackets at Mom and Dad's, but I'll get it later."
"Want me to grab it?" Worry flitted through his eyes at the offer, but Weiss waved it away. "It's on the way. I might as well."
"If you're sure…?" Whitley gave her time to back out; when she didn't, he smiled. "Then yeah, thanks. It's the blue one with silver pockets. Can you grab some other stuff from my closet, too? Anything really."
"I'll make sure it's the ugliest clothing you own," she teased, shutting the door as he stuck out his tongue.
With her night laid out for her, she gathered her keys and jacket and left the apartment. Her feet protested their return to heels, but giving up her parking spot was the worst punishment. Fortunately, if that word applied to her life anymore, the upcoming errand took precedence over her future parking troubles.
The buildings grew smaller and more spread apart as she drove, but she never glimpsed the sprawling estates of her youth. Her destination lay just outside the city center, where moderately sized townhouses and condos mingled with apartment buildings and shopping centers. Tract homes were common, and one or two trailer parks had popped up in their midst.
In this realm of suburbia, dark, lifeless roads wove past houses so similar that Weiss always had difficulty telling one from the other. Tonight, she drove right past the correct address before cursing under her breath and turning around.
After parking in a driveway just long enough for a regular-sized vehicle, she tapped the steering wheel and stared at the small, cookie-cutter house before eventually getting out. Her feet wanted to drag on the way to the front door, but dragging her feet in heels would only be uncomfortable and dangerous. Imagining the alternative - Whitley being here instead - made reaching the front door a bit easier.
Standing on the porch, she considered ringing the bell, but the lack of lights visible through the windows convinced her to let herself in instead. Her keys sounded too loud on the quiet street but even louder in the small, lifeless entryway just inside. She shut the door as softly as possible, but the creak of it settling back in its frame echoed out in front of her.
She held her breath for several seconds but relaxed when the silence returned. Moving towards the narrow staircase in front of her, she glanced at a faint blue light in the living room and paused. The living room lights were off, but the television had been left on. On the sofa, her mom slept with no blanket, no pillow, and an arm lazily thrown over her eyes. Treading even more carefully, Weiss crept past and peeked into her father's office next. Finding it dark and empty, she breathed a small sigh of relief and hurried upstairs to Whitley's old room.
Finding a duffle bag in the closet, she set it on the bed and filled it with whatever looked reasonable for a college student: sweatpants, jeans, collared shirts, and the blue jacket. As soon as the bag was full, she zipped it closed and slung it over one shoulder. She'd just closed the door behind her when heavy footsteps caught her attention.
"Slinking around, are we?"
Stiffening at the smooth, overconfident voice, she lightly clenched her fists and turned toward the last person she wanted to see. Whitley might have outgrown their father in height, but her sweet younger brother could never match the purposefully intimidating presence or bullying smugness of the man standing in the hall in front of her.
"Just picking up some things for Whitley," she said, shifting the bag on her shoulder.
"I'm sure." Steel-blue eyes swept over the duffel bag before a sneer pulled at her father's lips, making his handlebar mustache curl in a way she'd always loathed. "Maybe it's time we changed the locks."
"If you want your key back, you can have it."
"But what would your mother think?"
"Since when do you care what Mom thinks?" Weiss snapped. Her heart sped up as he stared down at her, those cold eyes calculating her resolve to start another argument. Eventually, he scoffed.
"You won't find anything useful here anyway."
With nothing more than a dismissive wave, he returned to his room. Only when the door closed did Weiss' fists uncurl, and she hurried downstairs before he decided to extend the conversation. Her feet nearly carried her right out the front door, but a glance into the living room sent her to the kitchen instead.
Outside of a half-empty bottle of liquor and used glasses on the counters, the kitchen appeared unused. Rather than worry, again, about the lack of evidence of well-rounded meals, Weiss uncapped the liquor bottle and poured the rest of it down the sink, listening to the alcohol gurgle in the drain before disappearing for good. After running the faucet to wash away the smell, she pulled out the recycle bin only to discover it overflowing with empty bottles. The garbage was also full - of takeout containers, this time - so she gathered up both bags and took them outside.
Glass bottles clinked loudly against each other as she tiptoed through the entryway, but not even that could wake her mother from a deep slumber. Outside, she tossed the bags into the garbage cans, causing an incredible, short-lived commotion, before brushing off her hands and returning to her car.
The duffle bag went on the passenger seat, and she drove away without more than a glance in the rearview mirror. Thinking about her parents exhausted her, and she was exhausted enough without dealing with them. Fortunately, only one more stop separated her from collapsing in bed for the night.
Winter's home wasn't quite 'on the way,' but it was adjacent enough to be moderately convenient. Plentiful street lamps cast a brighter glow on sleepy streets and illuminated a shopping mall's sprawling, empty parking lot. In the adjacent neighborhoods, duplexes and triplexes stood in a neat grid of mirror images that easily disoriented first-time visitors. The themed street names only added to the confusion. First, every street was named after a different species of tree, then a different type of flower. Daffodil, azalea, sunflower, and finally violet.
Two cars sat in the driveway of a small, two-story townhome, so Weiss parked in front of a neighbor's house and hurried to Winter's door. Unlike some of the nearby units, where children's toys or flowers crowded small front porches, only a generic doormat and small flower pot filled with little red flowers welcomed her to the humble home.
Regardless of the late hour, she rang the doorbell and rubbed her hands together while waiting for an answer. The door swung open soon after, revealing a tall, tan woman whose light-blonde hair would look white if not compared to the snow-white hair running in Weiss' family.
"There you are. Come on in."
"Thanks, Robyn." After stepping into the entryway, Weiss glanced into the living room, where the late-night news played on the television screen. Not immediately finding her sister, Weiss turned back to the light purple eyes watching her. "Winter said she needed to see me?"
"Ah, yes. For 'the project.'"
"Never-ending project," Weiss corrected.
"All things end in time. We just don't know when that end might be." While Weiss nodded at the philosophical response, Robyn studied her more closely. Soon, an easy smile appeared. "You know, you look more like your sister every day."
Beaming at the compliment, Weiss opened her mouth to say 'thank you' but was interrupted by someone else asking, "What about her sister?"
"I was just telling Weiss that you two look more alike by the day," Robyn explained while Winter joined them in the entryway. "If she cuts her hair, you'll be twins."
When Winter looked at Weiss, subtly determining the merits of the statement, Weiss politely ducked her head. "Winter," she greeted her sister, who let a near-smile pull at her lips as she responded with a nod.
"Thanks for coming over. This shouldn't take long."
"Right to business, I see." Robyn winked at Weiss before setting a hand on Winter's shoulder and gesturing towards the television. "I'll be here if you need me."
"Thank you."
Winter's soft gaze followed Robyn for a moment before returning to Weiss. A business-like demeanor soon settled into place, and she motioned Weiss into the small, tidy kitchen.
"How was your day?"
"The usual." Weiss waved off the sore subject before taking one of the barstools at the island and watching her sister walk around to stand in front of her. "Just stopped by Mom and Dad's, ran into Dad. He's delightful as ever."
"Some things never change..." Winter muttered before meeting Weiss' gaze. "What were you doing over there?"
"Grabbing some things for Whitley." The moment understanding appeared in Winter's crystal blue eyes, Weiss looked away and straightened the stack of mail on the countertop. "How was work?"
"Boring as ever, but at least it pays the bills. And hopefully it's not for much longer."
Weiss nodded at the sentiment but didn't express how much she wished the nightmare had ended yesterday. She waited for Winter to continue instead, which Winter did after running her fingers through her short, by Weiss' standards, ponytail.
"To that end," she continued, picking up a thick stack of papers and offering them to Weiss. "Can you look these over?"
Curious, Weiss accepted the heavy document, glanced at the overly formal title on the front page, and stifled a sigh.
"You know I'm not an attorney…"
"But you're familiar with the terminology," Winter replied. "Our other option is hiring an attorney, which...will take some time."
This time, Weiss did sigh while thumbing through the document, finding legalese stuffed in every paragraph.
"It doesn't have to be perfect," Winter added as Weiss let the pages fall back into place.
"I'll do my best."
"Thank you."
Weiss nearly picked up the document, prepared to take her leave, but Winter set her hands on the counter and immediately straightened back up. She then opened and closed her mouth before clearing her throat.
"So...any plans this weekend?"
Weiss' eyes narrowed at the uncharacteristic question, especially when Winter avoided eye contact, but she still answered.
"Meeting Blake for coffee in the morning and working tomorrow night, but that's about it."
"Does that mean you're free Sunday?"
"Maybe...why?"
"I'm having lunch with Mom -" Weiss immediately leaned away and shook her head, but Winter added, "You should come with me," regardless.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"One lunch. That's all I'm asking." When Weiss crossed her arms and pursed her lips, Winter sighed. "She might be able to help, and we need all the help we can get."
"She's the one who needs help."
"Weiss…"
The imploring edge in Winter's tone made Weiss frown. So, rather than start another argument, she worked her jaw back and forth before saying, "Fine. One lunch."
"Thank you."
Winter appeared genuinely grateful, but Weiss shook her head, grabbed the legal document, and stood up.
"Anything else?"
"No, that was all. Go get some rest."
Still separated by the kitchen counter, Weiss merely nodded to Winter before seeing herself out. "Goodnight, Robyn," she called out to the woman in the living room, adding a quick wave before glancing back at her sister. "See you Sunday."
Winter's nod was the last thing Weiss saw before shutting the door behind her. After glancing at the identical house across the street, she shook her head and returned to her car. Once inside, she dropped the stack of papers on top of Whitley's duffel bag, leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
On days like these, her mind liked reminding her of the time when her life was different. Better. Privileged, even. But dwelling on the past wouldn't help her get through the document Winter just gave her, make sure Whitley had everything he needed for that family tree, or mentally prepare herself for Sunday. Forgetting those memories would be more helpful, actually. The sooner she did that, the sooner she accepted that those times were gone and never coming back again.