two conversations
Pacifica blinks and rolls over. The sun is streaming through the window blinds overhead, illuminating her very vivid surrounds. At least this time she recognizes them. It's the second time she's awoken in Mabel's room, so the glare coming off all the highlighter-bright colors isn't as startling.
The previous night hadn't been the raucous gathering that she had prepared herself for, basing her expectations largely on the townsfolk who had invaded the Northwest party. After a day spent in the truck, everyone had been tired, and the sleepover was pretty lowkey. They had watched a couple movies back to back, the viewers slowly dropping off one by one until only Mabel and Pacifica remained awake. While the credits rolled, they had all been sent off to their designated sleeping areas. Wendy claimed the couch, Soos camped out on Dipper's floor, and Pacifica was granted a cot next to Mabel's bed. It's a far cry from her own expensive bedding. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she doubts she would have slept at all.
She glances to her right and sees Mabel's bed is vacant. For a moment, she considers going back to sleep. But without travel fatigue to ease her passage into slumber it's probably not achievable. She's just not tired enough. Her desire to remain within the confines of her sheets has little to do with being sleepy and everything to do with not wanting to face a very unfamiliar set of circumstances.
She looks around the room again. Purple curtains, starry ceiling, an entire wall dedicated to photos of the Shack. Is this her home? Does she have a home? Or is she adrift without destination, pausing only in passing, finding rest where it is offered and then moving on. That sounds very poetic, to her mind, and also terrible. She doesn't want to be adrift. She wants to be home. Maybe not in such a tacky room, but if it's her only option…
She kicks the sheets down and carefully gets to her feet, having discovered after an early morning trip to the bathroom that her cot is prone to tipping. The carpet is soft beneath her toes; she's not sure why that detail strikes her until she thinks of the house in Malibu and its endless hardwood floors. Mabel's room smells like craft paper and corkboard. It makes Pacifica miss the subtle scent of lavender that suffuses her room.
Those days are gone, she realizes as she stands in the bedroom of a girl she once considered a rival. But Mabel had never really been a rival—competition, technically, but never an actual foe. For if Mabel had ever truly been her enemy, that enmity had been one-sided by the very nature of its halves: Mabel has always been a friend-in-waiting. That's who Mabel is.
There's a picture of Mabel and Dipper on the dresser; their arms are slung over each other's shoulders and their grins display missing teeth. They must be seven, or eight. Pacifica looks at the photograph and is reminded of what has been gained, not just what is lost.
She steps out into an empty hallway. Dipper's door is partially opened. Curious, she peeks inside. Soos is asleep on a rumpled pile of sleeping bags, snoring softly. The ceiling fan whirs slowly overhead at a medium pace. Dipper is still in bed, his curly brown hair just visible over the edge of the second pillow he has at his back.
She almost gives into the urge to wake him. She needs something familiar; she needs a guide. She wants to hold his hand, just for a second, and pull strength from it.
She shoves the thought aside and backs out into the hall. She refuses to be that weak. She can face this first strange day on her own. She doesn't want to, but she can.
So much is still up in the air. Is she really staying? If so, where? She can buy her own necessities, so long as Mother doesn't change her mind and cancel Pacifica's card. But Pacifica doesn't know what's expected of her. It's nerve-wracking. She is without anchor, bereft of balance. How is she to navigate a life that has so little resemblance to one she recognizes?
Everything is different now.
She makes her way down the stairs. There are voices coming from the kitchen and the television is on in the living room, displaying vibrant Saturday morning cartoons to an inattentive audience. Wendy is buried beneath a blanket on the couch, her hair draped partially over its arm.
Pacifica would never admit it, but she's a little intimidated by the older girl. Wendy is tall and confident and it's abundantly obvious how much Dipper admires her. Pacifica's own self-possession is more of a charade—that has become clear. So much of her certainty is left behind, shaken by ghosts and golf and an apocalypse the rest of the world slept through.
Pacifica moves quietly past the couch and is about to investigate the kitchen when she hears her own name and stops.
"—Pacifica," Mrs. Pines says. "What, exactly, is going on there?"
"Aren't they so adorable?" Mabel says enthusiastically.
"They definitely looked comfortable in the backseat."
Pacifica blushes, mortified. She'd wanted to touch him, so she had. And then she'd been asleep when they'd been all tangled up in the backseat, it didn't happen on purpose and it's not anyone else's business! Though, if it were anyone else's business, it would probably be his mother's…
Mabel suddenly becomes deflective. "Soos likes his cars cold, so I came prepared. Sweater-prepared!" she says, dodging the implied question.
"Oh, lord, you're already protecting him?" Mrs. Pines says. "What did they get up to? They're only thirteen!"
"Technically a teen," Mabel is quick to point out.
"Heaven help me, I'm not ready for this. I'm too young to be a grandma."
Pacifica can feel her face burning.
"Mom, whoa!" Mabel interjects. "Don't be gross!"
"Then you'd better tell me what's going on with those two, Mabel Pines, because you and Dipper have been thick as thieves since you got back last summer and for all I know it has something to do with that girl. Should I have been checking his phone?"
"No, this is good! It's good he's moving on!" Mabel protests. "He was hung up on Wendy for most of the summer!"
Something freezes in Pacifica's chest.
"Wait, now it's Wendy, too? How old is she?" Mrs. Pines sounds shocked. "What on earth happened to him this summer?"
Mabel's laugh is forced and uncomfortable. "Well, he had to notice girls sometime…"
"And all at once, apparently. We put off having the talk with you two for too long, I told your father that last year but he never wants to admit you aren't that little anymore. We're going to sit down and—"
"It's done! All taken care of!" Mabel says desperately. "Grunkle Stan had a book about it, he told me everything. Everything."
"Stan did? I can't imagine how uncomfortable that was."
"Nope. You can't."
"So, let me get this straight: Dipper, who rarely notices other people exist, never mind girls, was first with Wendy—"
Pacifica's eyes involuntarily dart over to where the gangly, freckled cow is still sleeping.
"—and then becomes involved with Pacifica, right after?"
"No, Mom," Mabel sighs. "The thing with Wendy was never going to happen, everyone knew that but him. She just likes him as a friend, so after she let him down easy he went and took my awesome advice way too far and sort of caused a string of minor heartbreak on our road trip—"
"Dipper? Breaking hearts?" Mrs. Pines says, and Pacifica can just about hear the woman's jaw hit the floor (and Pacifica is right there with her).
"Grunkle Stan got involved with his bad old man advice. Dipper's still embarrassed about it. But at least he was trying to get over Wendy, which is way better than being all mopey about it, and then… um, we came home," Mabel says, concluding the summer with a massive omission. "And Pacifica was having problems and Dipper helped her and I thought, you know, maybe something could happen because she was—" Mabel suddenly swallows her next word.
Mrs. Pines notices. "She was what, Mabel?"
Pacifica clenches her fists. Should she interrupt? Mabel had better not be about to relate anything regarding Pacifica's late-night sojourn to Dipper's room because it was not like that!
"…Different?" Mabel offers weakly. "Because of her parents and all that bad stuff…"
"She's definitely not in your usual friend circles," Mrs. Pines says diplomatically.
"We didn't really hit it off at first, but she came around!" Mabel says.
Sure, after the sad state of her family was revealed and the world almost ended. Pacifica sometimes feels ashamed of what it took to put her on her new path. Still, maybe that means she should be grateful it happened?
Someday, perhaps. Right now, it just hurts.
"By quite a bit, if yesterday was any indication," Mrs. Pines says wryly.
There's a clattering noise; it sounds like someone is digging through a drawer of utensils. "Where are the cookie cutters shaped like cats?" Mabel asks.
"Mabel," Mrs. Pines says warningly.
The clattering stops. "Mom, it's a good thing. All of my epic summer romances didn't work out—"
"All of your what?"
"—but Dipper still has a chance for his! He's just really slow and kind of bad at it, that's all. It's a work in progress. But lucky for him, his twin is an expert matchmaker!" Mabel declares.
"I'm more concerned with what's already happened than what you want to happen, Mabel," Mrs. Pines says.
"Dipper's still pretty hopeless," Mabel muses. "He probably doesn't even know that she likes him."
Oh, no. Is Pacifica that obvious? She supposes she has been towards him, specifically (the whole putting her hand on his was probably a giveaway). Still, if Mabel thinks Dipper isn't aware, then at least she didn't witness any of that.
Mrs. Pines sighs. "Dipper was so determined to help her. I should have guessed there was more to it."
"What? Dipper would anyway, he's not—"
"I know, I know. I'm very proud of both of you, that's still true. I just should have guessed he wouldn't tell me the whole story."
Mabel resumes rummaging through the utensils and doesn't reply. Pacifica can't blame her. Mrs. Pines is missing much more of the story than just whatever is going on with Pacifica and Dipper.
Pacifica is startled when Wendy suddenly rolls over onto her back and yawns, stretching her arms towards the ceiling. Rather than be seen hovering nearby by the older teen, she darts back up the stairs.
She almost runs straight into Dipper, who's yawning widely and rubbing at his eyes as he walks to the bathroom. "Oh, hey," he says.
He must still be half-asleep because he doesn't seem to care that he's standing there in his boxers and a threadbare white sleeping shirt. Pacifica does, though. After what she's just overheard, a partially dressed Dipper is the last thing she needs to encounter.
She ducks around him and dips her head so her hair hides her face, hoping he hasn't seen how bright red her cheeks are. "Hey," she says shortly.
She's trying to hurry back into Mabel's room when he says, "Pacifica, are you alright?"
She glances at him. He's blinking heavily, not fully awake, but still manages to look concerned. Why does he care so much? Why is she so grateful? "I'm okay," she says. "Just… still tired."
"Go back to bed," Dipper advises, yawning again as he resumes his path into the bathroom. "There's not much going on today, anyway."
Back in Mabel's room, Pacifica collapses on her cot and stares up at the ceiling, again wondering how she's gotten into this mess and why it doesn't bother her more.
A few hours later, the twins are saying their goodbyes to Wendy and Soos while Pacifica looks on. Dipper and Mabel are sad to see their friends go again. Pacifica has already expressed her gratitude (a handshake that had somehow turned into a brief hug with Soos, a much more distant handshake with Wendy) and now feels out of place. She feels like she should be leaving too; if not with them, then with someone else. But she's being left on the driveway with the twins, even though the house isn't hers. For a moment, she wonders if McGucket would be willing to rent her old room to her. At least that would be something closer to familiar.
As Soos' truck disappears around the curve of the street, Pacifica stands behind the twins while they watch it go. Dipper's shoulders are slumped, his hands in his pockets. Mabel is hugging Waddles to her chest, having allowed the pig to say his own farewells.
The wind tugs at Pacifica's skirt and hisses through the neatly trimmed grass. The sleepover is finished, the road trip is behind them. She is no longer a guest; she's just become a resident.