FOLLOWING FRANKENSTEIN
Chapter 8: Cupcakes
Author note: warning-this chapter got unexpectedly sad. Buffy's development took some turns I had not anticipated. It's necessary development, but not necessarily easy. If you've already read the other two stories, then you'll be fine. It's not really that different from the sadness level in the other two stories. I just wanted to warn you ahead of time so you aren't tearing up at work and then shaking your fist at me in anger.
.o.o.o.o.
Buffy pushed the swing back and forth, back and forth. The chain creaked along with the little girl's screams of delight. The summer sun poured out over the playground and interrupted the canopy of leaves overhead with a mosaic of rays of light that danced on the grass below their feet. The nearby beds of the sensory garden perfumed the air and filled it with butterflies and bees.
"More! More!" Layla cried, clapping her little hands and giggling as her feet thrust into the air to propel herself higher.
"If I push you any higher, you are going to fly straight to the sun!" Buffy responded. She gave an exaggerated mock groan and pushed her passenger as far as the taut chain would allow. Layla closed her eyes while she extended her arms to her sides.
"I'm flying!"
"Yes, you are, Little Bird. Now, you had better hold on tight!" Buffy said and she gave her another substantial push. Layla flapped her pretend wings and squeaked in response.
Buffy was prepared. She knew she'd be getting her arm workout again. She knew Layla never tired of the swing set. Even on the days when she was too sick to get out of bed, she still gazed longingly out her window and asked if she could swing. On those days, Buffy brought in a fan and had her close her eyes and pretend she was on a swing. She complied. Layla couldn't laugh quite as hard those days, but she still smiled and the fact that she could, despite the pain she was in, made Buffy's eyes water with tears every time.
"Will I be able to fly for real, once I go to heaven?" Layla asked. Buffy didn't answer at first. She waited until she had carried Layla from the swing and set her back in her wheelchair.
"I think so, Little Bird. I've never been, so I can't tell you for sure."
"Mama said I'll be an angel, then, and get my own pair of wings. She said I'll be the prettiest angel there," Layla said. Her bright eyes shone, made all the more vibrant by the scarf on her head.
Buffy swallowed hard and forced a watery smile. She took the little girl's hands in hers. They were so fragile, so thin.
"I think she's right," Buffy said.
Buffy brought Layla back to her room at the children's hospice care facility and helped her into bed. The chemotherapy had brought so much hope, so much promise, but it hadn't worked out as they had hoped. It would be only a matter of time now and everyone knew it.
"Will you be back next week?" Layla asked, suddenly clasping Buffy's hand before she turned to leave.
"Of course. Always. We have another trip to the moon and you still owe me a painting of a flower."
Layla gave her a gap-toothed smile and threw her arms around Buffy. "My flowers are real good now. I've been practicing."
"I won't believe it till I see it," Buffy said with a wink. Then, she left the girl to sleep. The nurse gave her a warm smile as she came in with a tray of medicines and a heavily marked up chart.
"There's my sweet girl!" the nurse exclaimed. "Now, Ms. Slayer, I see you've brought her back right on time. I believe they are waiting for you in the kitchen."
"Oh! We got so carried away on the swings, I almost lost track of time!" Buffy said, throwing her arms up in the air and picking up the pace of her retreat.
She hurried through the bright halls of the facility till she came to the large, communal kitchen. Sure enough, her three little "assistants" were diligently waiting for her, already wearing their aprons and carefully arranging their measuring cups and mixing bowls on the long counter.
"I apologize for my tardiness, little chefs! I'm here now! Let me wash my hands and we can begin. Who remembers what we are cooking today?"
"Cupcakes for Mark!" Jadon exclaimed. He held up his one functional arm to wave his spoon in the air. His older sister stood behind his wheelchair, ready to help with the tasks that required an additional set of hands.
"Mark can't eat them. Mark is dead," Anna retorted. She put one hand on her hip and spoke with the no-nonsense frankness that only a child can muster.
"He asked for Spiderman cupcakes. He will be there to eat them, even if he isn't there to eat them," Jadon argued.
"That doesn't make sense," Anna said. Her blue eyes gave an overly dramatic roll and then settled in an unconvincing glare.
Buffy placed a hair net on her head, gloves on her hands, and then tapped on her mixing bowl with her wooden spoon. "Hey now! None of that sass, Miss Anna. I understand Jadon perfectly and he's right. Mark's family will eat them in his honor when they come to pay their last respects to our favorite Ninja Man. Since Mark asked for cupcakes and his family is gonna eat his cupcakes, then it will be like he's still there, telling them all what to do in the way only Mark can do. You remember what he used to do on game nights? Yeah. Of course, he's still orchestrating what they are gonna be eating tomorrow, too. That's such a Mark thing to do.
"Now, I believe, we promised Ninja Man he would have our world-famous cupcakes. If we are gonna do that then we need to get to work. Spiderweb frosting is not easy to master. It's gonna take all your skills to make these resemble Spiderman instead of ladybugs."
Li Wei had been practicing spiderwebs for days, or so his father told her. He had been very fond of Mark and wanted to make the very best cupcakes he could manage.
Li Wei was entirely nonverbal, though he communicated well enough with his eloquent face and his little exclamations of grunts and hums. His dexterity with frosting never ceased to amaze Buffy. His dark eyes crossed in concentration while he bit his tongue and focused all his mental acuity on whatever pastry Buffy set before him, turning out one colorful masterpiece after another. She made sure to give him increasingly challenging tasks, just to see what his mind churned out to accomplish it.
Buffy turned on some music. It was tradition, after all. They needed to dance with their tools before they began to cook. She told them it was the only way to "warm up" the cooking utensils. In reality, she loved to watch her little pupils wiggle and spin and giggle before the "real work" started.
At that, a cacophony of spoons tapped out a rhythm along with the music and they all began to sing… or grunt… or drum along.
"Now, little chefs, we begin!" she said and she began to read out instructions for the cupcakes. They all began to measure and mix, flour and sugar flying through the air and over the counter. Anna and Jadon continued to bicker together, but Li Wei was entirely engrossed in his creation.
There had been weeks she had as many as ten students and other weeks she was down to only a single pupil. It didn't matter. Whoever came would help cook, even if they weren't able to eat whatever they made. She got to share her passion for cooking and she knew it was more about the process than it was about the outcome.
Volunteering with the children's palliative care center was her favorite part of her week. Without fail, she came on Mondays and Thursdays and helped wherever she was needed. Sometimes, she went out on home visits and helped with everything from laundry to cooking meals to holding babies. Other times, all that was needed was a friendly face and concerned ear to walk a family through the process of terminal illness and the grief of loss. There were a lot of days that she spent her time in the confines of the center itself. Then, she spent most of her time playing with cool kids and laughing more than she'd ever known was possible.
At first, she had been nearly paralyzed with impotence. What did she know that could help these kids? She had never even been a kid. She wasn't a nurse. She never had parents or siblings. She couldn't draw to save her life and painting was like a foreign language. She wasn't much help with homework or lessons and at the sight of tears or dirty diapers, she bolted for the hills.
"Can you smile?" the director had asked her, that first few weeks.
"Yeah."
"Can you listen?"
"Yeah."
"Can you take them outside to see the birds and trees?"
"Yeah."
"Then you have all the skills you need."
Buffy thought that was a gross oversimplification, but with as many requests for assistance as the center received and as few volunteers they managed to maintain, she understood. They needed the help and they weren't too picky. She had two hands, spare time, and a squeaky-clean background check. That was enough to make her nearly ideal, even if she spent her first few months Googling how to change diapers and how to carry a toddler without breaking them.
There were a lot of lessons she couldn't learn from Google, but a lot of those were taught her by the kids themselves. They were ruthless, relentless little teachers who didn't shy away from hard subjects and wouldn't put up with "easy" answers. No, they forced her to learn, even on the days she didn't want to.
Her most influential teacher, by far, was a five-year-old girl named Julia.
Buffy had met Julia at the hospital. The girl was recovering from yet another surgery and intolerant of the isolation. She contented herself with making her nurses burst into giggles and flooding the entire floor of the hospital with her personalized "Get Well" cards. She went through an entire box of crayons with her incessant scrawling and her construction paper marvels were soon delivered to all the patients she could reach through her personal army of loyal nurses.
Buffy's stay in the hospital had not been long, but it had been lonely. When her meal tray came with the hand-drawn picture of spiders and worms and puppies, she laughed out loud and insisted on keeping the card taped to her window. She immediately asked her nurse for a piece of paper of her own and she drew her own picture of a dragon devouring a robot. It only took an hour before Julia responded in kind. She added a kitten wearing sunglasses to Buffy's artwork. Her handwritten narration beneath probably made sense to Julia, but wasn't actually legible.
"She says the cat is the dragon's best friend and they are going to eat popsicles once they finish their dinner," the nurse charged with their correspondence translated.
"I can't argue with that," Buffy said.
Thus began a construction paper friendship between the pair that progressed to an in-person friendship, once Julia was permitted supervised wanderings around the hospital. It wasn't long before she was a regular visitor to Buffy's window. When Buffy was discharged, it was her turn to visit Julia… in the hospital, at her home, and later, at the children's center.
After that, Buffy categorized her life into three parts: DoE, DoA, DoJ. There were the Days of Edward, the Days of Anthony, and the Days of Julia. She didn't think it was an accident that they were mutually exclusive.
True to his word, after his final visit to the movie theatre Anthony never returned. In fact, she had not seen or heard from him in years. For a few months after that last visit, she clung to the hope that he'd pop up again, like he always had. She continued her life, her work, her routine as she had always done. However, the words he had spoken to her niggled like a sliver in her finger and she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that he was right. But she was Buffy V. Slayer, perpetual procrastinator and change was hard. If she was honest with herself, something she avoided as diligently as Brussel sprouts, sometimes she was a little too lazy for her own good.
Her blue dolphin notebook stayed in its place on her nightstand, unopened. It had been years since she had crossed off a single number. She had added a few lines, but she didn't think that counted. She had stopped crossing them off her list, ever since Anthony appeared on her doorstep. Since then, it was like she had regressed back into a hole. She had buried herself in her flat, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. She had forgotten to dream for anything more than basic survival and keeping up with the routine she had already forged for herself. She needed to change.
As terrifying as it was, Tony was right. She needed to turn off the telly and go face the real world, as a real person, as the person she wanted herself to be. Well, maybe it wasn't a drastic, overnight change, but she did allow a subtle shift in her course. Fits and starts were better than nothing, or so she tried to tell herself.
Working as a chef in a restaurant wasn't anything like she expected. For one thing, it was hot and standing her on feet all day in front of a stove made her more tired than she ever thought was possible. She was more than a bit surprised to find that she loved it. She enjoyed the speed, the rhythm, the cacophony of noise and spices and bodies moving through the kitchen in a multivalent dance. She loved the challenge of cooking with other people and for other people… enough to even deal with other human beings on a daily basis. That was unexpected.
It was so much more, well, involved that her work in the movie theatre had been. She could not hide in the shadows of a dark hall, shielded by her broom, and protected from conversations by the badge on her shirt. In the kitchen, she was forced to speak with the servers and the other chefs and the occasional customer. The fluorescent bulbs shone down on all she did, forcing her actions into the unforgiving brightness, and putting each of her mistakes on display. She couldn't hide the broken plates or the burned soup or the cut finger. She couldn't hide the shadows under her eyes after a bad night or the frown when she was irritated with a host.
She was so tired each night, she didn't even have the energy for movies anymore, even if she wasn't under a self-imposed media ban. No matter how tired she was, she still couldn't escape the dreams.
There had not been so much as a glimpse of the "Vampire of the Theatre," as she came to think of him. He never returned to the theatre and no matter how she strained her eyes on dark nights in even darker alleys, his red eyes remained only in her imagination.
Sometimes, she wished he'd show up again. Not because she wanted to see him, but because she wanted an excuse to seek out Anthony again. She knew she could try to call him, that she could reach out to him herself, but every time she did, the thought of his face out the window that last day made her pause. She didn't want to do that to him. Not again.
Except she kinda did. She missed him. It crept on her slowly, like the way her throat got sore long before a cold kicked in. It took time before she could admit to herself what she refused to accept: she missed Anthony Masen even more than she missed movies. It was in the cracks and crevices of her life – the echo of his laugh during a game, the way her heart jumped when he appeared unexpectedly, his crooked grin when she brought him food, the way his arms wrapped around her when he hugged her. He had snuck into her heart like a cockroach and now, every time she turned on the lights, she realized there was an infestation.
She spilled hot water on her shoes the days she realized that the ache in her heart was from Anthony's absence and not simply her own restlessness or Edward's lingering memories. Keeping the metaphorical lights off would only get her so far. She needed a serious extermination and not of Anthony. It was Edward that she needed to get rid of. Once and for all. Until she exorcised his apparition from her life, her mind, her shadows, then she couldn't move forward. It was time she unpacked the baggage and set it all on fire and be done with it.
In what she came to consider her fifth bravest and most terrifying moment in her life (and yes, she kept lists), Buffy hauled herself onto a therapist's couch and stared the unsuspecting woman in the eye.
"Tell me, Ms. Slayer, what can you tell me about yourself?"
"Ummm, I like cooking… and I used to like movies… oh, and I was kidnapped as a child by a serial rapist and killer who kept me alive to take care of his victims until he killed them."
The woman's composure momentarily flickered. She cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair. "I am not sure I heard you properly. Can you repeat that?"
Buffy grinned. "Sure."
Buffy tried to stay as close to the truth as she could manage, while still hiding the secrets she had been charged to keep. She was able to talk about Badiyah, about Decoy, about Edward, and, worst of all, she could talk about the ignominious mess that was Buffy. She didn't talk about Anthony. Not yet. She didn't think she could.
When the email came, she thought it was purely a coincidence. It was after a particularly emotional session with her therapist that Buffy came home as raw as if sandpaper had scratched out her insides.
"Do you know if he is still alive?" her therapist had asked.
Buffy had snorted and mentally began to list all the ways she had tried to kill him. She decided against saying that out loud. Later, though, the question circled around in her head like a hawk and she couldn't shake the morbid curiosity from her mind.
Was he? She hadn't heard from him since Anthony. Was he still following up on her? Was the endless cycle of Bellas continuing? Was his looming presence still spilling through those underground halls and reverberating through the souls of each hapless being within that Temple?
In a surge of impulsive desire, she opened up Google Earth. She didn't exactly know where she had been created. That was the downside of spending years trapped underground – it was a little hard to recognize landmarks or geographic coordinates. Still, she began combing through northern Chad, desperately gleaning her memories for any landmarks, any road, any sign of where she had been born. She needed to know if the Temple was still in operation. Maybe she could find the perimeter fence, the roof, signs of freshly disturbed earth in the vicinity, fresh tire tracks into the garage, anything that would let her know if it was still there.
Four hours later, she hadn't found anything. She didn't know if it was because she was looking in the wrong place or if something else was keeping her from seeing it. Knowing Edward, she wouldn't be surprised if he regularly hacked Google Earth in order to mess with the satellite imagery and hide the existence of the Temple.
Reluctantly, she called it a night and crawled into her bed.
The next morning, she received an email from an unknown address. She didn't understand how it got through her spam filter and she read the name twice over before she started. She had read that email address before, but not in her account. She had seen it in Edward's. Back in the days she regularly checked his emails for missed bills and delayed payments, she accidentally (or not so accidentally) stumbled on personal emails from those who called him "family."
She probably would have just deleted it, in past years, but after a full day thinking about her past, she couldn't. Her morbid curiosity reared its ugly head again, Buffy clicked "open" and began to read:
Dear Buffy,
You are safe. Edward is dead. That horrid underground bunker has been destroyed. No other vampires will bother you again.
Sincerely,
Alice
P.S. You are stronger than you think. This attachment will help.
P.P.S. A few years from now, when you consider that trip to Italy, don't do it. Greece is just as lovely and you won't regret it.
Buffy read through the email twenty times while remaining frozen in place. She wasn't sure whether she should be even more creeped out than before or to laugh in relief. It was as if Alice had seen her obsessively looking up Edward on the internet and knew exactly when to send the email. Was this "Alice" going to now follow up on her and take the place that Edward had previously filled? Was she watching Buffy from the shadows, waiting to swoop in for the kill? How could she possibly know that Buffy was now "safe"?
Moving away from these considerations forced her to consider the rest. Edward was gone. She was just as torn between rejoicing and weeping. She was free. He would never come for her. He was truly and completely gone.
And so were the Others. So was Decoy. It was all her fault. She sobbed anew, this time for the woman she had fought so hard not to love, the one born to die in her place but cursed to live first. Buffy was the only living remnant of all the Bellas.
Part of her was overcome with guilt. She had comforted herself with the thought that Edward was immortal. There was no way for her to kill him because he would just go on living forever, no matter what she did. To know it had been possible to end him made her feel all the worse for all the years he had continued on. She should have tried harder, she should have found some way to end him sooner. How much suffering could she have prevented?
If she hadn't been such a coward, could she have saved Badiyah? Could she have saved Decoy? Why hadn't she found a way to blow up the entire Temple, as soon as she was coherent enough to order stuff on the internet?
When Buffy had spilled enough tears to empty her storehouse, she decided she was brave enough to continue. Alice had sent an attachment and Buffy decided to open it. It was a large image file and it took a few moments for the file to open up. When it finally processed, Buffy gaped.
It was a photograph of a man, his head thrown back in laughter. His auburn hair stood out in riotous waves, contrasted with the pale ivory of his face. His golden eyes overflowed with mirth, but they were focused on something out of the lens of the camera, as if the picture was taken when he wasn't looking.
If it wasn't for the arch of his nose, the curve of his cheeks, the crooked edge of his grin, she would not have recognized him. Even with those identifying features, she still wondered if this could possibly be the same man. It must be Edward, but the Edward she had known had never looked like this. She scrambled through her faded memories but not in a single one could she remember such a laugh or genuine expression of delight. His eyes glowed with a light she had never seen and his entire face was such a marked contrast from the decaying, dilapidated shell of a man she had first met upon waking.
For so many years, she relied only on her memories of Edward and her exposure to Anthony and somehow kept mixing up the two in her mind. With a laugh, she realized her error. Truly, if the man in the photograph didn't resemble Edward, then he was an entirely different being than Anthony. This man was so young, so thin, so pale that he could hardly be recognized as coming from the same genetic code as his clone. Anthony was no Edward. Not in looks, not in personality, not in anyway. How had she ever conflated the two in her mind?
For the first time, she had photographic evidence of her creator... and… Buffy grinned. The possibilities were endless. She hooked up her printer, set it on the appropriate number of copies, and pressed "start."
She had to buy more toner twice before she was satisfied.
"I hate you Edward," she screamed and she threw another knife at the photograph taped to a chair. It bounced off and fell with a thud onto the ground, leaving a slight dent on the page. She grabbed a wooden spoon next and tried again. The kitchen sink was already full of the ashes from the copies she had turned into burnt offerings on the stove. The bathtub was similarly endowed with the drowned versions.
For every grievance she still held against him, she screamed at his photograph and destroyed it. She went on until her voice was hoarse and she collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Then she woke and did it all again the next day.
Six days after the eerily "coincidental" email, Buffy was hit with the desire to tell Anthony. Of all the people in the world, he was the one that would truly understand how monumental this was. Besides, he needed to know. They were safe. Edward wasn't coming for them again. Surely, that would be a load off his mind, right? She needed to see him, to be reminded of his face, to bask in just how "not Edward" he really was.
Yet, five years had passed since that terrible day in the rain. How could she waltz back into her life just like that? She didn't care. As if propelled by an inner compulsion, she was determined to find him. This proved harder than anticipated.
She tried to call him, but she frowned when she realized his number had been disconnected. Just when had he changed his number? Why hadn't he told her?
She decided he must have done it that week her phone fell in the loo and she must have missed the text he sent to give her the new number. So, she sought him out at his flat instead. This was a conversation that should be had in person, anyhow.
It was Chet that answered the door of his flat. It was nearly noon and he was still in his pajamas. His long dreadlocks were tied back behind his head and he held a muffin in one hand and a carton of milk in the other.
"Oh look. It's the Heartbreaker," he said, as soon as he opened the door. "Back to mess with Tony more, are you? A decade of trailing him along wasn't enough for you?"
"It's not like that," she said, a frown furrowing her brow.
He snorted. "I was around both of you enough. It is completely like that."
"I didn't mean to hurt him."
"What do you want?"
"I need to tell him something. It's important."
"Then call him," Chet said. He tried to push the door closed but Buffy stopped him.
"I can't. He changed his number."
"He didn't give you the new one? Good for him! It's about time!"
Buffy sighed. "Chet, is he here?"
"Tony? He moved out nearly a year ago. I guess he forgot to tell you."
"Please, Chet. This is important."
Chet rolled his eyes. "Sure it is. Look, you didn't have to clean up the sopping mess that was my mate after you worked him over like you did. He was in a bad way for a long time. It took the combined efforts of all of us to put him back together again. He nearly failed his classes. He could barely hold himself together enough to go to work. Then, day and night, even after all that, it took all of us to keep him from stalking you. He was like a blooming addict, looking for a fix even though he knows it will kill him in the end. Now you turn up like this, after all this time, and how do you think it's going to go? You are going to send him right back to where he was without a second thought."
"Chet, I don't have to talk to him. If you could give him a message that would be enough. It'll set him more at ease. Then, I won't try to contact him again. I promise."
Her hand on the door and her intent expression on him made Chet cave. He deflated slightly and grunted.
"What is it?"
"Tell him that 'Edward is dead.' He will know what I mean."
"That's supposed to make him feel better?" Chet asked, waving his muffin in the air for emphasis.
"Yes."
"Fine."
"Thanks. I appreciate."
"No, I mean, I will tell you how to find him. I don't do death announcements… But last I heard, Tony's found someone who appreciates his big heart for what it's worth and he was doing better than he had been for a long time. I don't want you messing with that. Go tell him what you need to tell him, but leave him alone, after."
Buffy knew Chet had a right to be angry with her. She knew she had hurt Anthony and the guilt of that was just another layer to add to the already overwhelming layers of guilt she already wallowed in. Still, she hoped that knowledge of Edward's death would help, in some way or another. It was one thing she could offer him, a peace offering of sorts, to help ease all the wounds she'd already heaped upon him.
She walked down the hall of the hospital to the office Chet directed her to.
"That's where you'll find him during a break in his schedule," he told her. He was right. She paused in the hall when she heard the unmistakable sound of his laugh. She braced herself, preparing to face him, when she caught the answering chorus of female giggles. She had nearly approached the slightly opened door when she heard the sound of lips crashing together and a chair scratching against the floor.
She knocked. The chair skooched again and a low hum of voices whispered.
"Come in," came Anthony's voice.
Buffy pushed open the door and walked in, her eyes looking everywhere but where Tony sat in a chair with a woman nearby him perched on his desk. The woman's eyes were bright and fixed entirely on Tony while her hand hurriedly fixed a loosened lock of hair. Her black hair fell down her bronze back as heavy as a brocade curtain. She wore an elegant black dress that matched the dark eyeshadow around her eyes and perfume lingered heavily in the air.
Tony turned to see Buffy, but not before she caught the expression of pure adoration he gave the woman on the desk. He reluctantly turned his eyes away and then they widened at the sight of the intruder.
"Oh! Buffy… This is a surprise!" he said, his face melting into a genuine smile. There were so many more grooves on his forehead and the edges of his eyes had deepened in the intermediary years. His short hair had a touch of gray on one side, but his eyes still glittered with that all-encompassing warmth that she had grown so fond of. He wore a suit and tie. When he stood to wrap his arms around her, she realized the intermediary years had added a few more pounds to his frame and he was so much larger and softer than she remembered. Yet, the familiar scent that hit her was all Anthony. As was the familiar kiss he placed on her forehead.
"Buffy, meet Riya, my fiancée. Riya, this is my sister-in-law, the one who helped me to recover from that bout of amnesia. You remember I told you about her?"
Riya stood. Her honey-hazel eyes met Buffy's but they were filled only with warmth, not accusation or derision.
"How could I forget? She seems to turn up in every conversation you have about what's made you to be the man you are today," Riya said in a West Country accent. Buffy was surprised when the woman gave her a genuine and striking smile and reached out to fondly clasp her hand. Then, she pulled Buffy in for a kiss on each cheek. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you! When did you return to England?"
Buffy gaped and looked back at Anthony. He gave a sheepish grin that Riya couldn't see.
"Recently," Buffy said, hoping that would be enough. To her relief, it seemed to satisfy her. Riya leaned over to squeeze Anthony on the shoulder. She knelt down to pull a violin case from the corner and paused to place another lingering kiss on Tony's lips.
"See you soon, Jaanu," she whispered and Tony blushed from his forehead to his neck.
"I'll be the one in the tux," he whispered back.
"I'll be the one in white."
She graced Buffy with one more smile and disappeared down the hall. Anthony watched her leave with a half-lost expression on his face until her heels could no longer be heard clacking in the hall. Then he turned back to Buffy.
"You are here," he said, his smile fading into a more somber expression of anticipation.
"I am."
He ran one hand through his hair, disturbing the carefully gelled waves, and he leaned heavily onto his desk.
"You changed your number," she hedged, trying to figure out a way to alleviate the awkwardness that wedged between them like an unpaid parking ticket.
"Yes."
"I, uh, Chet told me I would find you here."
"He was right, though you barely found me. I won't be back for a few months and I'm not sure I'll even have the same office when I return."
"Yeah, so, getting married, huh? That's awesome. I'm happy for you," she said. She even thought she meant it.
"Thanks!" he said. His face broke into such an expression of pure delight that it forced her to swallow deeply and look closer at the design in the tiles on the floor. A few more moments elapsed before he cleared his throat.
"So, what brings you to seek me out today?"
"I, uh, wanted to tell you something."
"Go ahead."
"Edward is dead. I just found out."
He clasped his hands together on the desk, his eyes on leaving her and he pursed his lips together. "I see. Are you… I mean… how do you feel about that?"
She exhaled and sank deeper into her chair. Maybe it was the size of the chair he was in or the positioning of the desk, but she felt like she was in the headmaster's office for tardiness rather than speaking to a very old friend. She tried to figured out what to say but all the words disappeared as soon as she thought them.
"I don't know. Good, I guess? Relieved, maybe? I thought you would be, too. I don't know if you were ever worried, but I thought you would like to know that you are safe."
He nodded. "Thank you for informing me."
They both stared at each other, neither making a move to stand or speak. Buffy could hear voices down the hall after another office door opened and closed.
"That's it, then," she said, finally rising to her feet. "I'll go now."
"Ok."
"Right, well, I hope everything goes well for you and her and everything. Cool." Buffy turned and fled out the door, as fast as she could manage while still appearing to walk. Her tears didn't wait for her to reach her flat. They streamed down her face as she walked to the Tube and continued all the way till she reached her pillow.
It was as if a light was turned on full power that night. She realized, then, what she hadn't wanted to. She was in love with Anthony. Probably always had been. Always would be. Not because he was like Edward, but because he wasn't. He was Anthony. He was kind, thoughtful, affectionate, hilarious, and so stinking brilliant. He was simply a wonderful person and she had treated him as poorly as she had treated Decoy. She had built strong, impermeable walls around herself as a means of self-defense, but she had never learned to pull them down and now she realized just how much she needed to. She also realized that it was too late.
"Hi, I'm Buffy and I came from a dysfunctional background and I have no idea how to manage my emotions or basic human relationships," she said, without preamble the next time she plopped onto her therapist's couch.
"Well, that's a start," her therapist replied with a chuckle. "But it doesn't have to be your ending place."
Buffy determined to do better, to be better. Even if Anthony never saw her again, he deserved better.
That was the last time Buffy saw Anthony and was the end of the era of her life she had allowed him to define. She decided that if Anthony could "grow up" and become a real person, then she could, too. She called her new season her "mid-life crisis" and decided it was time she figure out just who Buffy was, apart from any and all incarnations of Edward Cullen and Isabella Swan.
Her first order of business was to sell her flat and nearly everything in it.
Edward had been the one to choose it. He furnished it and had arranged everything for her to live there. Now, she had no need for a spare bedroom and the place was so far from her current job that she spent hours on the Tube each day. She decided just to rip the Band-Aid off and she sold it all. It was a far more expensive place than she really needed, too, and so she bought a much more modest flat closer to the restaurant. She acquired her own furniture and started over with nearly nothing that had been chosen by Edward.
The extra funds remaining she used to set the foundation for her own business as a caterer. On her days off from the restaurant, she picked up parties and events and slowly built up her own clientele.
She tried not to wonder how Anthony was doing and if he found married life suited him. She tried not to think about seeking him out again, "just to check on him."
It was easier when she was busy. It was harder when she wasn't.
It was in the middle of this "mid-life crisis" season that she got that diagnosis. The one that taught her just how fragile and short life could really be.
"We've found something… we will need to operate immediately. A full hysterectomy is required," her doctor told her.
They removed the "something"… and all her illusions of her own youth and immortality. She was grateful that the diagnosis didn't shift her "mid-life" into an "end-life," but she also learned enough not to take the days that followed for granted.
She didn't need to spend so long in the hospital, but it was long enough to meet Julia. It was long enough to change her life completely. The little girl wasn't "supposed" to survive infancy, let alone make it to the "advanced" age of five. Her congenital heart condition and premature birth meant she had been in and out of the center her entire life. Yet, she confounded everyone by insisting on living. Day after day, that little heart kept beating and she had a love for life like Buffy had never seen before.
Julia came from the East End, a side of London Buffy had never been to. The first time she visited Julia's flat, she had been shocked. The sparse, run down flat was unlike any she had seen before. Julia's mum worked three jobs to try to take care of her daughter, but it wasn't enough. Three jobs didn't help with all the time off she needed for the various appointments and therapy sessions that Julia required. To bridge this gap, Julia spent extensive time at the children's palliative care center. This freed her mum up to do other things, knowing Julia was well-taken care of and would be able to play and be with people who understood her.
At first, Buffy brought Julia to the center to help out her mum. Then, when Julia got worse, she came to the center to visit her friend.
"Some of the people who come here are so sad," Julia informed Buffy, during her first visit to the children's center. She was helping orient Buffy to the place and she could see Buffy felt uncomfortable. "I want to make them happy. Some of the children are sick. Some get better. Some don't. I want them to know that even though it's hard, even though they might not get better, they are still alive and that's good and I want to see them smile more. If I can make them smile more, then I feel happy, too."
Julia made it her personal mission to spread contagious joy like a disease, to every single person she met. It was Julia who first taught Buffy how to play. She'd never learned before, but she had the perfect tutor. Julie determined, early on, that Buffy was the perfect accomplice for all of her imaginary adventures.
"Today we will be pirates and we will search for buried treasure," she cried, very sure that Buffy would go along with her without protest.
"Ah, I see. On to the playground, then?" Buffy asked.
"Of course not! To the hollow log!"
"Oh, my mistake. Lead the way, Captain Julia," Buffy answered, following her lead and crawling on all fours across the grass to the log.
"No, I can't be the captain," Julia called back over her shoulder. "You are taller. You are Captain Redding and I am First Mate Greening and in a little while, you can be the shark that eats off my right arm."
Buffy laughed and complied.
It was like that, every time they were together. Julia welcomed Buffy to join her in the intense, imaginary world of the vivacious child. She taught Buffy all about swings and hunting for bugs and building mud castles – all the truly important life lessons which Buffy had somehow missed. There were other lessons, too, but not all of those were as easy to explain and Buffy found she was still unpacking those lessons, long after her beloved teacher was gone.
"People ask me if I regret having her,"her mum told Buffy one day. Julia had fallen asleep after a morning at the park and her mum made them both tea while the girl rested. Tears threatened her eyes while she stared at her tea rather than at Buffy. She took a deep breath and continued. "They ask if I wish she wouldn't have made it. As if the fact that she won't live to old age is enough to make her life all a waste! How can they look at that smile, at that brilliant, adoring face and think that? I'd rather have five precious years with my daughter than none. It's never a waste! I'll take whatever I can get, even when it's hard and I wish I could have so much more."
Seven years. Julia's mum got seven beautiful, stolen years with her precious daughter. Buffy had to admit Julia managed to change the world, everywhere she went. Most of all, she changed Buffy's world.
After Julia, well, Buffy kept coming to the center. She told herself it was out of habit. She told herself it was to honor Julia's memory. Yet, there was part of it that was also for Buffy, too.
Something about it all resonated with Buffy in a way she couldn't understand at first. She was surrounded by children, the majority of whom would die. Yet, for the time they had left, she could help make their lives fuller, more robust, more beautiful. She could defy death by helping the children, and their families, embrace the lives they still had left, whatever that meant for them.
One day, in a burst of inspiration, she realized this was what she had always done. For all the Bellas, this was what she tried to do, what she had wanted to do, even when it seemed impossible. She understood the dance with death, the process of grief, the fear. She understood the trauma and the lengths people went to survive in such circumstances. Illness could be just as tyrannical a predator as Edward's appetite and just as ruthless as his teeth. The children's center had better odds than the Bellas, but death remained a constant, familiar companion of all. At least some of the children got better and left. Those that didn't, well, their lives were no less valuable. Somewhere between the injustice of life's shortness and the overwhelming gratitude for its length lay the human condition.
There was also a part of Buffy, some part of her innocence or her missing humanity, that was restored the longer she spent at the center. Her life had never been so full, so real, so truly human, as it was now and not a day went by that she didn't think fondly on her friend Julia.
Buffy finished arranging the cupcakes on a platter while Anna washed the remaining dishes. The girl hummed to herself as she washed, all her irritation with Jadon forgotten long ago. Jadon's sister took another photograph of the cupcakes before wheeling Jadon back to his room for the night.
The final cupcakes were… well… Buffy would only really describe them as red and black and white. There were a few that absolutely looked like Spiderman had been caught in frosting and glued to the top of a cupcake. A few others, well, they were the Impressionist version of the superhero, but they would taste delicious.
Buffy placed a comforting hand on Li Wei's shoulder and smiled.
"You did well, kid. These are amazing," she said.
He didn't make eye contact and a small trail of drool fell down the corner of his mouth. However, she didn't doubt he was already plotting the next culinary masterpiece he would decorate. She wondered if he would be as talented with clay as he was with frosting. She made a note to find out.
Buffy placed the platter of cupcakes in the humongous refrigerator and made sure to placed a note on top.
"For Mark," it read. They'd know what it meant.
Buffy stopped by the director's office on her way out. She picked up a list of families in need of meals for the week. She had cut down her shifts at the restaurant to make more time for catering. She cooked extra for each catering job so she could bring meals around to multiple homes to help families through some of the worst of it. It was an extra-long list this week but she had time.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd watched a movie all the way through. No, strike that. She had watched nearly every new animated movie that had come out each year, but that was only because they were constantly playing at the weekly movie nights at the center. She hadn't made it to her dance class in years, but playing tag was a better work out than dancing had ever been. She was a serious pro at hide-and-go-seek.
Her thoughts still trailed to Anthony, more often than she cared to admit. She assumed he had finished his studies and was a doctor somewhere or another. She wondered where he had settled and what area of medicine he had pursued. She wished, not for the first time, that she had figured out a better way to end things so she could have kept in touch with him. She wished, more often than she cared to admit, that she could go back and try it all over again. She'd have been more patient and less grumbly. She would have appreciated him for who he was instead of castigating him for who he wasn't. She would have definitely allowed him to cuddle more. And why on earth had she wasted so much time dating anybody else?
She left the center much later than she meant to. She stopped at a restaurant on her way home to eat a quick bite before running home to bed. She had just taken a bite of her sandwich when her attention swung to the news report broadcasting from a television on the side of the restaurant. At first, she thought it was her imagination, but then she caught it again. It wasn't.
Sure enough, the reporter was interviewing Anthony.
Author's Notes:
Well, there we have it. It got a lot longer than I anticipated, too. Next up, Buffy and Anthony meet again and we find out what Anthony has been up to.
FYI, for this chapter, I got my research from an organization called Noah's Ark which specializes in pediatric hospice care.
...
On a super side nerdy note… last week I Googled my pen name out of curiosity. It was rather fascinating to see what came up. One of the things that stuck out the most was the fact that the Remnants turned up on Goodreads.
My first response was definitely, "Wait, I'm on Goodreads? That's kinda nerdy-awesome. I thought that was for "real" books (apparently I'm wrong). I didn't know fanfiction could end up on Goodreads… and I'm not a "real" author, how did I end up here?"
Then I found that my reviewer also wrote their own summary of the Remnants, which (in their own words) goes as follows:
"Dark Edward somehow loses Bella & makes clones of her, fucking them & drinking from them until one of them somehow gets pregnant &
"First ending: he doesn't care & keeps drinking from / killing all his pregant Bellas in his temple & after all the years Alice finally gives up her hope & sees Edward totally lost himself & there's no turning back so she destroys his temple, thereby killing Edward & all his Bellas too.
"Alternative ending: he comes back & finds his favorite Bella pregnant, taking her back to his family, the Cullens, who know nothing of the new, very dark Edward. He constantly struggles with not going back to the temple & staying with this Bella-clone & their twins until Alice forces him to stay by destroying his temple & every single Bella clone inside."
Now, my second response (after reading the above summary) was: "Eww. Wait - that's not what the story was about." Followed shortly thereafter by: "Wait, I guess that kinda is what the story was about… (pauses) Though, I would argue it was more about the nature of humanity, of love, of relationships, of so much more…"
(Author ponders slightly to self further.) "Well, I guess, if I look on the surface and not so deep, this summary is technically mostly true. Wow, who would write such a terrible story?"
Cricket. Cricket.
"Oh, that was me…."
Then, I considered the review again and then I grinned.
With such a terribly abysmal premise for a story, my reviewer still went through all the trouble to write a Goodreads review, write up their own summary, and *still* gave it three stars? Really, it sounds like it doesn't deserve a single star. How does such an abysmal premise get three stars? I think I'm rather honored and I will take that as a compliment.
My fifth (and final) response: "Pen names are wonderful creations… as is the Fanfiction world which allows me to play in this literary sandbox with my anonymity intact."
.o.o.o.o.
So, to all of you still reading along and reviewing this third installment, you are all beyond wonderful and make this entire process so very fun. You are amazing.
