I don't think I've had to say out loud that they died. Nah, okay, maybe once or twice, usually for things form-related like when I brought Layla here the first time.
I sorta dropped ties with my old life in Seattle– just a blank resignation letter. It wasn't like I made friends besides the obligatory work ones– didn't have a girlfriend– only really apologized to the landlord.
Back home, my parents already knew– obviously. Julien, Flora, and Remy– again, obviously. My friends here, well, Liz and Patty were related to Viv so they knew and they were the ones who said it. I sorta just stood in the background, acceptin' the sad smiles, the pats on the shoulder, the goddamn endless condolences.
"So sad to die so young."
"He spoke so highly of you."
"You must miss your brother so much."
Bullshit.
All of it, hollow bullshit.
So I hate sayin' it. I never wanted to remind the world that there was that broken piece of me– or at least what they see as broken. It's been six fuckin' years, and I still can't decide what it really is to me. What I had with Wes was broken way before that, not when he died. And Viv… yeah, I'm not there yet. I still can't.
So tellin' the girl you like that you're a fraud– that the girl you take care of isn't really your daughter– that fuckin' hurt. And what's worse is, that whole night, some of the reality of it kept slipping away. I'm actually thinkin' Layla's my kid. I'm actually forgettin' I didn't buy the house we live in. And when Maka was there… for a second, I let it slip over my mind that if I played my cards right, we could be a family.
I lived that dream the whole time she was there. I walked her to the door thinkin' it, breathin' it, livin' it. I played with her fingers, tryin' to buy more time because it felt like as soon as she left, the bubble would pop.
And it did.
I let her walk away and all of the reality of it came rushin' back.
Layla's my niece.
Viv and Wes bought and paid for that house.
I could have a chance, but I could lose Maka too.
I just went up to Viv and Wes's room. Sat on the bedspread for a while. Reminded myself what I'm not.
Soul stood in the doorway glancing around what Remy had every right to call a museum. Everything was the same as the last day Viv drew breath, just covered in a fine layer of dust. He took a step forward as Dr. Marie's order resounded in his head:
"I want you to change just one thing. You can choose what it is, but pick one thing to take out of the room."
Somehow there were simultaneously too many choices and none at all. Everywhere he looked in the room, the arrangement screamed at him to be left alone. He couldn't bear to get close to the bed, now way too much intimacy surrounding that place that those two ghosts shared. Instead, he moved to the desk and placed shaking hands on the blotter. The loops and curves of Viv's beautiful script covered the desktop calendar– lives planned out in deep purple pen. He peered through his fingers, catching blurbs of past rendezvous.
"One thing," he pleaded with the desk.
To the right was a dark brown, leather bound journal. One hand raised, his fingers just touching the edge of the hide. The smoothness called to him, letting his palm slide over it next. Finally, his grip hit the spine, lifting it just an inch from the desk. His heart thundered until he was sure it would catapult from his chest.
"One thing," he repeated, both a demand and a call for forgiveness.
He pulled the journal to his chest and started quick footsteps back to the door. As soon as he reached the hallway, air came back to his lungs. It was not a complete release, but he could feel those subtle cracks appearing in the magic of the spell. He started back towards his room—book still tamped to his chest—when the vibration in his pocket made the breath catch in his lungs.
The buzz continued as he pulled it from its hideaway, Maka's name blaring on the screen.
He smiled.
He realized he smiled.
And he didn't want it to stop.
Soul flicked his thumb to receive the call, bringing it to his ear. "Hey."
"Hi!" Life was surging in her voice, the excitement tickling his ear just like she was whispering there. "I-I meant to catch you before you left today, but I couldn't find you."
"Ran out pretty quick– first day of therapy." The sentence still sounded odd coming off his tongue, but his smile didn't have time to fade.
"That's great!" There was a flustered little breath on the other end before she amended: "Or, I hope it went great. Are you feeling alright?"
He looked down at the diary in his hand. "Think I'm getting there."
"Did Layla go with you?"
"Nah, asked Liz and Patty to grab her. I think they're getting manicures right now." He could chuckle at that. "Should keep the three of them occupied until dinner time."
"Then how do you feel about grabbing a coffee?"
With me? still came as his gut reaction, but luckily he bit it down. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"What about the diner on 3rd?"
"Sure. Need me to pick you up?" That brought a feathery fluttering to his gut.
"Actually, I was going to run there. It's not too far, so just give me a head start. Leave your place in twenty? Unless you think that's too late. I don't know when Layla–"
"Twenty's fine." He leaned against the wall, catching himself as his mind drifted over her in those running shorts– her long, lean legs that shouldn't have been out in the chill of fall becoming winter. "Just be careful."
She laughed softly. "Worried about me?"
"Sorta cold out," he muttered, letting his head thunk back to try to knock out the remainder of that memory.
"Don't worry, the coffee and the company will warm me up."
The coyness made his cheeks flush. "See you soon then."
"Bye."
Soul slid the phone back into his pocket with a long, slow breath. He eyed the journal again. Steps. There was a new weight to it, so much more than pages bound in leather. Maybe I am movin' forward.
It was the oddest feeling and one that hit her as the antithesis of the majority that had come before; when his expectant stare fell on her coming through the door, the color on his cheeks returned, a wobbly smile accompanying it. A boy blushing at her entry had never been a welcome sight– one always met with a scathing remark ready on her tongue. His wasn't a leer– wasn't embedded in that lustful acknowledgement of her womanhood. Yes, there was need in his eyes, but it was tempered so gently with just the joy of seeing her.
"You didn't wait too long, did you?" The vinyl cushion croaked under her as she slid into the booth.
"Nah, minute or two. Just texted Liz."
Maka's fingers anxiously fanned on the table. "You still have enough time?"
"Yeah." Soul waved placating hands her way. "I was– well, Layla could eat with them if you wanted to…" He motioned towards the menu. "Unless you're not into diner food, I mean." His cheeks adorably puffed with air after as if he'd just filled his mouth with the shame of his supposed mistake.
"After a run, diner food is the best food," she replied as she reached for the bright yellow plastic, emblazoned with the sun. "I will warn you though, you get judged by what you pick at a diner."
"That so?" He finally let out a breathy chuckle before letting that signature smirk climb up his cheeks. "Fair to do just the same to you, then, isn't it?"
"I pick perfectly every time," Maka answered with a pert lift of her chin, Soul rewarding her with another deeper intonation of his laugh. "And if you're about to bring up the chocolate peanut butter–"
"Hey, hey," he cautioned. "I didn't open my mouth for a second. I'm innocent." With that he disappeared behind the menu but his chuckles still perforated it.
She took a moment to lower hers, staring at the mop of white hair sprouting over the fake sunrise. He thought of himself. A hint of pride with the distinct aftertaste of hope appeared, and she savored it.
The waitress moved to their table next. "Anything to drink?"
"Coffee, please," Maka replied.
"Just warm mine up a little," Soul added as he finally revealed the steady smile that was stuck on his face by tossing the menus aside.
She nodded, turning while she threw the sweet call over her shoulder: "Back in a minute."
"Do you know what you're getting?"
Soul narrowed his eyes at her. "You're just gonna have to wait and see." It was her turn to giggle but also with the distinct pleasure of watching that fluster him slightly, a hint of pink climbing to his neck as he placed a hand there to hide it. "You have more on your mind today?"
Maka looked down at her shorts before shrugging. "Not exactly. Just sort of…" She pulled a little at the spandex before leveling her stare at him. "Still a little nervous."
"Yeah." His agreement came on the edge of a sigh, some of the stiffness in his shoulders dissipating. "Though…" He had to let that thought wander as the waitress returned, coffee in hand. She gave Maka the new cup and refilled Soul's, somehow instantly juggling her pad in anticipation of their order. "Patty melt, medium."
Maka sat with her poker face intact, watching as he glanced at her after the order. "I'll have the disco fries, please, and a chocolate milkshake." This was said in all confidence, even as his eyebrows started to wrinkle.
None of this bothered the waitress who left with a quick thank you.
"Disco fries?" he spouted incredulously, his lip giving an ugly turn. "That's askin' for either a heart attack or a colon cleansing."
She laughed in reply, leaning slightly forward on her elbow as her hand caught her chin. "For the weak, sure."
He spat a laugh as he shook his head. "Well, I did say you were brave."
"You did," she purred, completely surprised by that quality in her own voice. It still felt dear, warm– a moment that she'd cradled since he said it. "But I'll admit your choice is okay. Not the best, but definitely not shameful."
"Thanks." He took one hand off his coffee cup, letting it crawl towards the divide, free of use and purpose.
Maka read the message loud and clear, forgetting her need to brace her chin and letting her hand fall over his. She immediately tangled their fingers with automatic comfort. "You were saying 'though…' before," she prompted.
A dizzyingly adorable grin took hold of his face as he glanced towards their connection. "Nervous, but feels good," he murmured back. "I was hopin' you'd agree that it's still… slow's still nice."
"For an English teacher you use crummy adjectives." She brought her coffee cup to her lips, blowing to hide the amused smile that was curling her lip.
"Wonderful," he tried, only earning a continued sip from her. "Divine."
She finished another swallow of the bitter liquid before letting him see the depth of her amusement. "I think I'll accept that one."
"Maybe you've been readin' too much Tennyson," he tried to grumble but the light in his eyes ruined any hope of sounding grumpy. "You're a bookworm, right?"
Maka scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Hm…" Buzzed through his lips. "You're always tryin' to catch a glance at what I'm readin' while I wait for Layla."
"So that makes me a bookworm?" She raised her eyebrows as a challenge but knew it was completely a farce. If he ever saw my room, he'd know. There was a wisp of a vision that came to her mind– him standing, inspecting that place that no man was usually allowed.
"Got a test if you're up to it," he teased. "See if you can get the next lines: Break, break, break, / On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! / And I would that my tongue could utter / The thoughts that arise in me."
Now she was sure he'd read her like a book. Of course she had picked up a collection on her way home after spying on him reading it. After that day in the classroom, she had been sure he was just reading for class, but that hadn't stopped her. It didn't keep her from reading and rereading every line. It didn't keep her from knowing the next line, but her mind pressed forward, bringing even more obscure sweetness to the forefront: Oh, lighten into my eyes and my heart, / Into my heart and my blood! / Heart, are you great enough / For a love that never tires? / O heart, are you great enough for love?
Soul felt wooed.
Honestly, even watching her consume that mess that could roll the stomach of a professional eater hadn't dampened the feeling.
She was a bookworm.
A know-it-all.
Opinionated.
At the same time, there was a softness.
An endless intensity of joy.
Warmth.
Again, he found it impossibly hard to release her hand, even to slip on his jacket to keep from the bitter cold. They kept pace all the way to the sidewalk, Soul slowing at the old beaten car before turning back to her. Any of the endless niceties he could produce tangled on his tongue, eyes intently focused on the sweetness of her smile with no answer for it.
"Thank you." Her hands fiddled at the edge of a jacket that didn't seem to match the weather to him. "I did bring cash this time, but–"
"How about you get the next one?" he offered, the anxiety of that sending a lightning strike to his stomach.
"The next date," she seemed to correct.
"If this counts," he murmured. She took a step closer, the space between them disappearing, but he still felt lengths away. Being in her vicinity didn't seem like enough even if his mind tried to caution back: slow, slow, slow. His heart was much closer to beating back an entirely different call.
"My intention with the coffee was a date," she admitted. "And I think your intention with dinner was…" She left the blank for him.
"To give me more time to see you." It was an invigorating revelation on his tongue, and the beam of her smile only added to it. "Which is why I'm gonna ask again if I can drive you. It's cold, and it seems like you got an iron stomach, but I doubt you can run with that mix in there."
"Probably shouldn't," she whispered. Her eyes traveled down the street, threatening his hopes that she'd agree. It was as if she was watching some specter– receiving some message from afar before she glanced back at him. "Okay. Just to the apartment."
He nodded. Slow, right? She's worried I'm askin' to take her home, askin'– fuck, for somethin' I'm not even ready for. Soul moved slightly to the side, grabbing the door handle and starting it open for her.
"Oh, what a gentleman!" she cooed, giving him the most histrionic bats of her eyelashes that he'd ever witnessed.
"Think you can manage to close it yourself?" He smirked as her answer came immediately, the door clipping closed quickly as she sunk into the seat. Chuckling all the way, Soul finally slipped into the driver's side. "Elm, right?"
Her answer wasn't a sound but her hand taking his from the gear shift after he settled it into drive. Even with the chill that had threatened them, her fingers glowed with warmth, relaxing him into that still unfamiliar yet comfortable connection. The radio's hum was the only sound that filled the cabin as they rode along the side streets. Soul made the appropriate turns until he pulled up to the curb, displeasure sinking into his gut at the idea of releasing her hand to shift back to park.
Maka made the decision for him, squeezing one last time before releasing him. "Thanks."
The car leveled into park, jittering them just slightly. "No problem." He could finally take his eyes off the road to meet hers, trying to let the sweetness drift back into his smirk. "So, next time."
He was pleased with the little bit of pink that brought to her cheeks. "Maybe we can figure something out for this weekend…"
"Yeah," he replied without hesitation.
"But I'll see you at work tomorrow."
"Hope so." Soul could almost understand the way his students acted– the boyfriend and girlfriend pairs who found each other between each block, holding hands and trying to steal every last moment that they could together. He tried to swallow it down, summoning up whatever maturity he had left. "See you tomorrow then."
"Bye." Maka lingered for one more breath, one more revolution of her eyes over the contours of his face before reaching for the door and opening it back to the wintery air.
