There's no way I'll ever have her completely figured out, but I guess this is the most recent revelation:
Maka doesn't seem to want to fix, but to give you the strength to fix things on your own.
Well, actually, I think she wants to, but she at least knows better than to pry like that. You know, like when you tell me how we gotta let Layla get hurt because it's about teachin' her how to deal with the hurt. I still can't. I still get hung up on the fact that I could stop it from happenin' and then she'd never have to know. I change whatever I have to– abandon whatever I have to make sure that happens. And then I come here and I nod through you tellin' me it's unhealthy.
When it comes to Maka, she's just some immovable rock. Part of it's stubbornness, I think, but it's also one of the ways she shows she cares. Like when I told her about bein' just Layla's uncle. She could've screamed at me—and man, did she look like she was gonna—but instead she offered me a way to work through it. She told me to ask Layla– have a discussion about what Papa means to her.
And it worked.
Or when I was losin' it about Wes… It wasn't just some "hey, don't worry, I'm sure he loved you" just like everyone else tries to parrot but it was a steady "give it time." She left it up to me again, but at the same time said she'd be there. No matter what I decided, she was gonna be there. I just don't know anybody like that.
But another piece of that is how she can't seem to do it for herself. Past couple of times I've seen her run scared from her own feelings and… Well, I wish I could give the same thing back to her, but I never know what to say. I don't have some perfect script like she does. I want to give more, to make her feel sure, but I've been strugglin' with the how . I've really only come up with one thing, and that's how I wanna end today's session.
I need more homework. I need somethin' harder because I want to show her—and myself—that I'm stronger. Maybe then I can give back what I've been takin'.
It'd been a while since Soul had experienced that sort of head static, but that in no way meant it had lost its familiarity. It was the moment Shihab told him it was the family business or nothing, or the entire road trip to Seattle that blurred into one long moment, or when Julien told him Viv had died. Yeah, that had been the last time– with little toddler Layla in his arms, Julien uttering it over the line with a cold finality that stripped him of consciousness. Now—even though Layla wriggled beside him—Soul could hear it threatening, sizzling and popping just in the periphery of his mind.
"Papa!" Layla's volume meant this wasn't the first iteration of his name.
He dropped his chin, eyes blinking sleepily at her. "Sorry, let's go inside." Even giving the verbal permission didn't encourage his fingers to the knob, making Layla reach instead and open the door.
There were only two things missing from Viv and Wes's room: the notebook and a small raven figurine that Viv had kept on her bedside table that now resided on Layla's. Except Soul had asked for homework, and fucking hell was there a pile of it.
"Papa," Layla's whisper was almost a whine, "you said we were going to have a discussion."
Once again he had to shake away the grey cloud that sat heavy. His legs ached as he settled on the bed, not for the action itself but the tightening muscles that wanted to run instead. "W-we need to talk about this room."
Layla perched next to him on the bedspread, a different kind of anxiety mirrored on her face. "Are you okay, Papa?"
"No," he warbled honestly and scooped up her hand. He squeezed. "But remember how Dr. Marie said it's alright to hurt? It's the only way you get over the hurt." Soul hated how many times he had to say it since every single repeat forced the same answer in his head: but I don't want to. I'd rather it be there, hidden away, never comin' up than face it.
Layla glanced around the room before setting on his face again. "What's hurting?"
He had tried a million and ten ways in his head to describe it, but none of it translated the way he wanted. He'd settled on a close enough facsimile. "I miss your mom and dad." Layla sat, waiting as he tried to pull in another aching breath. "But leavin' this room the way it is doesn't seem to be helpin' that, so… I wanted to know if you wouldn't mind makin' a change."
Layla blinked before giving her surroundings more focus, taking a moment to digest each corner as if she had never looked at the entire scene before. "You mean… make it not Mommy and Daddy's room anymore?"
"Yeah," he croaked. "It'll be slow, but maybe someday soon I–" No! His heart tried to buck while his mind forced the rest of the words over the hot coals of his tongue. "I'll be in this room and we can make my old room a guest room. For friends to stay in."
Her face instantly brightened, but she buttoned her lip, checking her smile and shine.
He laughed weakly, tasting the bitterness of it. "It's okay if that's exciting, bug. I want you to feel whatever way you want about it. So, tell me the truth, yes or no?"
"Yes," Layla tried not to gush, keeping her voice just above a whisper.
"Then I got a favor to ask." Instead of just the steady face to face he'd hoped for, Soul collapsed, drawing Layla into his arms. She was instantly ready for him, gentle and loving as her delicate hands rubbed his back.
"Okay, Papa, just tell me." Her voice was the sweetest chirp.
He rested his cheek against her hair, leaching all the comfort he could before whispering. "When you go out with Maka, can you pick out some new sheets? Like a new bed set– you know what I mean?"
"But if they're going to be your sheets…"
"I don't care," he answered quickly. "Just nothin' pink. You know I hate pink."
"No pink," Layla echoed with a giggle.
Soul pulled in another breath before turning his lips, planting kisses in her hair. "I'm not tryin' to make them disappear."
Layla didn't answer, only squeezed his middle.
His eyes burned, a tight fist closing around his throat so the words only just eked out. "So, little by little, you and me are gonna change this room. Sheets first, and then I'll need you to help me to decide what comes next."
"I'm happy, Papa." Her delicate whisper warmed his chest. "I hope you can be happy too."
Maka picked up her cell on the first buzz, happy to look away from the endless parade of students on her computer screen. "Is this Layla's secretary?"
A dry, snorting chuckle came from the other end. "I guess. Got your calendar out, Ms. Albarn?"
"Oh, my proper name," Maka replied as she beamed. "And I'm ready to negotiate when you are."
He cleared his throat, a little of his sweetness tempered by that sadness she was learning to sense oh so well. "Next weekend's when we have a memorial for Viv and Wes, always do, every year."
Maka simply hummed an affirmative, trying not to take up space.
"It's Saturday mornin', so I was gonna ask if you were free to take her Saturday afternoon?"
That churned slowly, not because her calendar was blacked out but because she could swear tendrils of his own melancholy were drifting through the line. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"
A half-hearted scoff was her first reply, and after a pause: "It'll make me feel better if I know Layla's out with you, havin' fun. I'm… gonna have things I have to do afterwards and it's just better if she's where she can be happy."
Maka couldn't resist the sigh which made a crash course for Soul's ear. "But what about you?"
"How about a compromise?" His voice came back as a soft murmur, and to her surprise, Maka realized any trace of pain was momentarily gone. "You have a good time with her, and then you come back here and have a drink with me when she goes to bed."
She toyed with a tendril of hair, feeling a warmth that was most certainly not coming from her sweater. "Just a drink?"
He cleared his throat. "Maybe some kissin', if you're up for it."
"Maybe," she replied with a short, soft giggle. "Soul, I just don't think I want you to be alone."
"Not gonna be– or at least not for all that long." Tenderness was resounding in his tone, but there was still a touch of sadness she couldn't deny. "Just don't let Layla drag you around 'til bedtime."
Maka huffed in resignation. "Alright. Layla, shopping, Saturday afternoon. You, me, wine, and the couch Saturday night."
His smirk was audible over the line. "Sounds like a date."
Soul never made Layla wear black. He always assumed that Viv and Wes would want to see her as the vibrant beauty she was– if they could see her at all. That was something he still couldn't settle on because no matter what heaven was, there was no imagining the two of them deserved to go there so young and to leave Layla at that. Those were always the resounding thoughts that took over his mind as he held his daughter's hand and walked her through the cemetery.
Julien and Remy were always there first; Remy, as usual, berated his father for attempting to kneel and clean the grave. He would get far enough to lay flowers before Remy would force him back up and take over the tender care of the stone. This time, Flora stood looking lost and confused while she squinted into the sun with Melanie at her side. A creeping creature clawed at his gut as he watched Flora, waiting for the inevitable name off her lips.
Julien saved him, waving and calling out as if they were lost in a crowd: "Solomon! Layla!"
Soul offered a weak wave, but Layla picked up the slack by running to her grandfather. She was careful not to barrel into him, giving a gentle hug around the middle before flinging herself over Remy's back. Layla stayed draped over his shoulders as soft murmurs started between the two of them.
"Hello, Solomon," Flora started, but paused as her eyes gauged his reaction.
"Ah, yeah, Flora. Nice to see you," he stammered, the surprise keeping his gut from sinking. Just a fluke. She remembered, but it's just a fluke. Probably guessed right since the name on the headstone would mean I'm a ghost. "Miss Melanie."
"Hello, Solomon," she echoed with a smile.
Again, there was no trembling fall in his stomach but the shaky start of warmth in his chest. Smiling didn't come from stretching a grimace. Guess it's a good day, even if it's that day. Soul took his usual spot on the other side of Julien, watching the family quickly close ranks as if a bell had chimed and their macabre session was started. Heads bowed, hearts heavy, feet digging into yellowing grass.
Layla found her way back to him, arms clinging to his middle and making him sway slightly. Her face disappeared into his jacket, hair obscuring any view left of her features. Soul rested a hand on top of her head, testing for any shudder of sobs but finding her breathing steadily against him. Julien had started to sniffle as he wrapped an arm around his wife who still appeared in a fog. Remy's head was bowed, eyes closed tightly. Melanie simply wavered respectfully behind.
Soul's mind here would usually be blank, letting that grey static take over every inch so he wouldn't be tempted to examine, to think, to digest those names on the headstone. He'd made other promises for today.
Viv —his thoughts wanted to jumble and crash, clatter to pieces, but he refused the urge— thanks for listenin'. I didn't know you tuned into the radio—let Layla listen even—and that means more to me than even I think I know. I promise I'll find out what you said to Mom. I'll listen. I'll know what you stood up for, and I'll accept it. You deserve that much. He stroked Layla's hair. And I'll keep takin' care of her, like you wanted.
The next inhale burned, the sharp icicles of the air piercing his lungs. Wes, I still don't know you. I think I'm startin' to accept what Viv believed, but at the same time… I don't know what I can do about it. I can't ask you the truth. I can't say I forgive you because maybe I don't know if there's anything to forgive you for. Just know I'm tryin' to know– to accept. I'm going to get to a spot where I can tell Layla. I swear.
A hand clutched his shoulder, and Soul's chin swiveled toward Julien. It wasn't until he saw the soft, apologetic smile on the old man's face that he realized his own was covered in tears, silently sliding to duck and hide under his jaw.
Layla's exuberant brightness came with the opening of the front door, and while Maka took a moment to revel in its beauty, she couldn't help but want to push through and see if Soul had any shine left. The man in question wasn't even in the foyer to greet her, but before she could level the question to Layla, that sweet melodious voice offered the answer:
"Papa's just in the kitchen." That surety came with a grasp of Maka's hand and a tug, bringing her towards that promised destination.
As they entered, his back was to her, mystery scribbled on every corner of him. His back doesn't seem tense– he's not slouching. But… Again, she had to quell the urge to barrel into him and squeeze every last bit of information.
"Got a gift," his voice rang over his shoulder before turning, exposing a porcelain cup in one hand and a travel mug in the other. "Little pick-me-up before you have to go out with this monster."
Layla's lip puffed in the appropriate amount of pout. "Papa!"
Soul chuckled as he offered the portable coffee across the island to her. Maka took it, but kept the entirety of her focus on every last curve of his face. He raised his eyebrows at the appraisal. "You don't like it?"
Her lips pursed slightly. You know what I'm looking at, Soul Evans.
He slipped around the island, moving close enough to dust a kiss on her cheek and get his whisper next to her ear: "I'm alright."
Maka glanced at Layla, finding her attentively watching the exchange. "You better be," she muttered back, pressing a soft hand to his chest. "Since Layla and I have to get going."
"Yay!" Layla gave an exuberant cheer, throwing her arms around Maka's middle and pulling her an inch or two from Soul. "Papa, can I have my list now?"
He chuckled, waving a dismissive hand to get her on her way. "Go get your bag and I'll give it to you."
"It's a purse," Layla corrected but still turned and started to thunder for the stairs.
Maka had watched her go but as soon as the footsteps receded her glare was back on Soul. "Are you sure?"
"We compromised, didn't we?" Soul offered, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand planted on her hip, drawing her a little closer.
She hummed back a flimsy affirmative before sighing. "Alright, what's on her list?"
"Bathing suit, then everything else is optional. I always give her money with the list, but…" He reached in his pocket, taking out an already folded bit of bills. "Take this as a just in case. She goes a little over, spot her from this. But just a little."
"I'll try not to spoil her," Maka answered as she reached for the cash and sunk it into the front pocket of her jeans.
He rolled his eyes, but his grin was coming back strong and leveling it at her made her heart flutter happily. "And if she wants to have dinner out, use the rest of the cash, but that's up to you."
As if I'd say no if she asked. "Should we bring something back for you?"
Soul shook his head. "I'm a big boy. I'll manage on my own." His mouth gaped for a moment, catching air before he blew it slowly between his lips. "Actually, there's one more thing."
She leaned an inch closer, hands caressing over his chest. "What?"
He smoothed a hand over hers, making all the nervous motion stop before whispering, "She's supposed to find a nice bed set. It's for a King sized. Don't let her forget that."
"What–"
"I'm ready!" Layla called impatiently, apparently not trespassing beyond the foyer.
Maka bit into her lip, shelving the question in favor of using the time for a quick kiss. He returned it without hesitation, but let her go after only a brush. "Give her the list." It was more paper in her hand now, crumpled from sitting somewhere in a pocket. "And don't forget you owe me a little time tonight."
The bathing suit had been the quickest in-and-out shopping excursion that Maka had ever been a part of. She had expected Layla to spend at least half the trip deliberating, but that purchase seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Instead, as soon as the only must-have clothing item was bought, Layla dragged Maka to the home goods section; no reminder needed.
"Soul said a King sized," she offered as they made their way towards the gigantic plastic bags full with various comforters, "but I don't remember your bed being that big."
"It's not for me," Layla corrected while flashing Maka a smile. "It's for Papa! For his new room!" That was a torrential flood of joy straight from Layla's mouth to Maka's ears, but it left her blinking.
"Are you moving?" She tried to push away panic at the idea. Could he take her back to Seattle? Leave all this behind and–
Giggles were the only answer until Layla slowed in front of the bedding display. "Papa's taking Mommy and Daddy's room. Then we'll use his room for guests." She poked at one of the plastic covers. "So he needs something new to make the room his. Anything but pink."
Anything but pink , echoed ridiculously in her head. There was obviously so much more there to process, but her mind was suddenly as useful as a sieve trying to catch water. This was leap upon leap for Soul, and he hadn't mentioned a word of it– besides "something to do" which now hit her as utterly absurd. "W-when did Soul decide that?"
Layla's eyes widened slightly. "He told me yesterday. Why? Is that bad?"
"No," Maka corrected quickly, her spare hand coming to Layla's hair to smooth over the waves. "Layla, it's alright. Let's pick out something he'll really like."
Her face beamed with joy. "That you'll really like too!"
There was something a little too telling about the way the young girl looked at her, making heat start to climb up Maka's spine. "Me?"
Layla nodded and without expansion started down one of the aisles, eyes ticking carefully from one package to another.
"Layla," Maka called after her uselessly as she easily caught up to the girl's heels. "Why do I have to like it?"
"Because that's where you're going to stay, right?" Her little hand rested confidently against one of the bags. "What about this one? Papa likes yellow and I think the blue flowers look nice."
"Maybe not flowers," Maka murmured back, hardly able to manage it over the scream in her mind. Where I'm going to stay? I-I think I know what she means but that can't possibly be it. "Layla, about staying with you two…"
This instantly yanked every last ounce of attention away from the array of fabrics and made Layla's gaze snap to her, instantly rapt.
"Sometimes I might– maybe I'll stay over soon, but–" She was drowning and each word was another stone tied to her ankle.
"We shared a bed at Grandmama's," Layla cut her stuttering matter-of-factly.
Yes, Layla, and you have no idea how crazy that almost ended up! Maka inhaled slowly through her nose as she pursed her lips, trying to gather all the right words behind her teeth before releasing them. "And that was nice. I just– I should discuss it more with Soul before we just say that I'm going to be over all the time." Great idea, Maka. Disperse the blame.
"I already told Papa," Layla insisted before turning her attention back to the bedspreads and taking a few more steps down the aisle. She poked an interesting geometric pattern of light yellow, white, and grey. "This one?"
"B-better. Maybe." Told him what? The question bellowed between her ears. "Did Soul say something about me staying over?"
Maka was sure she'd caught a glimpse of the roll of an eye, but Layla had furtively turned her attention back to the task. "I know that girlfriends sleep over," Layla finally answered after examining a few more options. Her eyes were still trained on sheets, but Maka still felt far more examined than any of the patterns. "And you haven't, and I told Papa to ask, but I'm sure he didn't," she muttered with a huff.
Oh, Layla… Even though the muscles in her stomach were still alight with a new kind of fluttering at the prospect, Maka still brought forth the calmest voice she could manage: "Don't blame your papa. It's me."
The girl's chin swiveled so quickly that her ebony hair flew and flicked the air. "You don't want to?"
"I–" Oh, you trapped yourself in this one, Maka Albarn. Maka moved closer, sure that any old biddy in the store shouldn't be privy to this information. "We both know coming to your house was a big step, and staying at your house would mean even more than that. I wanted to make sure… that your papa and I were important enough to each other that we could take that kind of step."
Layla's brow furrowed, gears revolving and thoughts skittering across her face. Some of the tension dissolved, but a wave of confusion kept her eyebrows wrinkled. "You are important to Papa."
Maka lifted her eyes to the wall of duvets, trying to find some reprieve from the moment. I think I know I am, Layla, but… She sighed, hand reaching to a package far above Layla's head. Her fingers traced a squiggle of black. "What about this one? It sort of– it looks like sound waves, doesn't it?"
A thoughtful hum came from below her, Layla's exploratory hand settling at the end of Maka's sweater instead of attempting to reach for height she didn't have. "You're right. I like that one, too."
"I think this might be it." She started to pull the package down, settling it low enough that Layla could have a better look. "Still look good?"
Layla nodded, but her eyes had barely glanced over the pattern between them. Instead, she was still staring sternly at Maka. "Is Papa important to you?"
"Yes." There was no anchor in her as the word just expelled on its own– thought be entirely damned. I should have thought about that– agonized– planned– picked apart. Except regret wasn't flooding her, no need to stutter and take back. "He's very important to me," she clarified, only feeling a surge of joy at the utter freedom of letting that live in her mind and her heart.
Soul laid back on the couch, jazz buzzing through the air at above Layla-permissible levels. He'd gotten the text about the shopping successes so far along with the update that dinner was going to be out– which obviously mustered not an ounce of surprise in him. Not that he had all that much luck with saying no to Layla, but Maka actually seemed to enjoy her time with the little girl. It didn't come as an added burden of being with him, but something that she wanted to do.
That brought a blustery sigh to his lips. He could make another desperate attempt at pushing away that daydream, but the urge died as he tilted his head back and shut his eyes. An appealing little movie started to play against the back of his lids:
What she'd keep on her bedside table.
What she'd eat for breakfast– since he already knew her coffee order.
What it would feel like to watch Layla go to her to ask for comfort.
What he could finally be if he could invite her to his– their bed and…
He forced his eyes open, making a half-hearted chuckle grate up the back of his throat. It's a fantasy, right? His neck rolled, resting his cheek against the arm and catching sight of the journal on the coffee table. Or are you gonna tell me that I was loved, Viv? You gonna tell me that you, Wes, Layla– all of you were waiting for me here. That I was capable of havin' that feelin' so long ago that maybe I could have found Maka sooner. I could have had her without all these walls to break down before I could even dream to get there.
His fingers shook as they grabbed the leather-bound dream. He opened it to the only one of Remy's bookmarks left.
Viv had left Layla with the girls– a sinful kind of lie to ensure this meeting was kept from her husband. The grim smile on Wes's face, the lifeless shrug, the somber sparkle to those mahogany eyes urged her forward. Lenora had always been an ice-queen as far as Viv was concerned, but she had only ever thought her capable of a little frostbite– only a threat of pins and needles left over from any given encounter. Instead, Lenora had taken limbs, stolen whole swathes of her boys with each frigid interaction. Somehow both boys' hearts had survived, but not without those obvious wounds.
This was a hill she would die on gladly– making her knock on Lenora's door firm and willful.
"Oh, Vivienne…" Lenora was used to set times and dates as Wes had impressed in Viv's mind from the moment they started seriously dating. "I wasn't expecting you."
There was no way for pleasantries to spill from her lips, Viv cutting right in as she took a clear step towards Lenora. "Do you have a moment?"
"I suppose." The older woman's smile tightened, a grimace just kept at bay as she opened up her home with a wave of her hand.
Viv cut straight for the library, knowing to avoid the possible bustle of the living room. There was no chance anyone would be among the antiquated texts– it was all just another layer of Evans's show. "I wanted to discuss something with you, and I want you to be as clear and as forthcoming as possible." She sat in one of the armchairs, hoping that she could hide the ball of her fists between her thighs and the upholstery.
Lenora stopped at the threshold, eyebrows raising. "What exactly are we discussing?"
"Your sons," Viv replied forcefully. "Specifically Soul and the reason he's in Seattle."
"You're making things your concern that most certainly are not."
"I married Wesley. He is my concern." Her knuckles screamed against the pressure of the curl of her fingers. "And that means so is his brother. Wesley loves Soul dearly, and having him halfway across the country–"
"You're speaking as if I had something to do with Solomon's latest getaway." Lenora crossed her arms over her chest. "Perhaps Wesley has neglected to tell you that this is Solomon's pattern. He's met with something he doesn't like, so he drops everything and leaves. He's a spoiled child."
She wanted to spit a bitter laugh at that accusation. While Viv couldn't claim years of watching Soul's comings and goings, she had noticed the pattern. She had watched him try over and over to eke some kind of love– acceptance from his parents and when he failed, banished himself. He wasn't running from not getting his way, but trying to escape the unending blizzard of disappointment from either of them. "Then why Seattle?" Viv pressed sharply. "We both know a spoiled child asks for money. I know he hasn't asked you. He hasn't asked Wesley either."
Lenora's shoulders set but nothing dared trickle from her throat.
"Has he called you?" Viv tried to refuse the nervous fidget that always threatened when under Lenora's glare. Instead, she brought her fists to her lap, displaying the whitening of her knuckles. "I call him once a week and each time he sounds both better and worse, and at first, I just couldn't figure it out. It wasn't until I talked to Wesley that I realized what it really was." Her hands pressed into the tops of her thighs. "He wants his life but at the same time he wants his family, Lenora. He's happy because he had the life he wants, but he's miserable because you've driven him away, and you've kept him from his brother all these years."
"That's quite an accusation," Lenora hissed through her teeth.
"Am I wrong?" Viv leaned forward, emerald eyes glowing with all the hurt she'd leeched over the line from Soul or from the other side of the bed as she held her husband at night. "Please, I'd love for you to clarify exactly why you waited until Soul was born to send Wesley away."
Lenora spat out a rueful laugh. "You only have one child, Vivienne. Wait until you have your second before you dare even ask for my reasoning. You should do well to realize that our lives are entirely different, so judging what happened in this house decades ago is too far beyond your understanding. In other words, if this is all you have to say to me, I'll ask you to leave."
Viv stood, wavering just a step before shaking her head firmly. "I won't." She could imagine Layla in her arms, imagine the next child—their son—that she and Wesley were happily going to bring into this world, and it fed the spite in the face of that monstrous woman. "How dare you!" Her shout broke that holy silence of the library and of much of the Evans's house. "How dare you steal their chance to love each other just out of your own selfishness! I want you to know, here and now, that I won't let that continue. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to mend my husband's heart and let him have all the opportunities he can to love his brother."
"Get out!"
"And if you can't admit– can't examine your role in this, I have no choice but to keep you away from my family. I refuse to let you come near my daughter if it means giving you the opportunity to do anything like this to her." And you won't even know about my son. Viv urged her feet forward, meeting Lenora in the doorway. "If you cannot accept your sons as they are, don't bother to call us. Don't bother to summon us here because we won't come."
"And Wesley agreed to your little embargo?" Lenora hissed.
"Wesley can make his own choices," Viv answered with a somber strike to her own heart, "but mine is never to see you again if I can help it."
