Gray keeps his head down while he's at the library, in a vain attempt at avoiding any kind of human interaction. Seeing as though Claire isn't speaking to him, courtesy of their unnecessary blowout yesterday, and since he'd rather not hear Kai proclaim that it's high time he took her to the "the bone zone," Gray would like to pretend that people do not exist for a day.
He's going to go for a run, eat the entire kitchen, play some video games, and finish the night off reading. He doesn't even care if any of this makes him sound antisocial. None of those activities will give him a headache or piss him off. Can't he go one day without somebody pissing him off?
Gray picks up a relatively new Stephen King novel that he's been hearing about, turning the hardcover over in his hands. Someone rushes behind the bookshelf, running into the aisle to snatch his hat from his head.
I guess not.
"Hey!" he whispers.
It's Ann. She drops the hat at his feet irritably. "You need to apologize!"
Gray picks up his cap, dusting it off. "Sorry that you are so friggin' loud."
She steps toward him and hits his cheek. It's more like a very pathetic tap than an actual slap; Ann is all talk and no game. "Gray, I'm serious!"
"Do that again," he says. "That was so hot, it really turned me on."
She glares, pointing her finger in his face. "Why do you always eff a good thing up?"
Isn't this along the lines of what his grandfather said to him yesterday? Jeez.
Gray shrugs, leafing through his book. "That's what I do, baby."
"Gray!"
"Jesus Christ, let's hear this one."
Ann takes his jaw in her hands so that they face each other. "Why'd you lose it on Claire yesterday? Come to think of it, why do you lose it on people in general?"
He moves her hands away in annoyance, bringing the book to his side. "I like how your first assumption is that I'm in the wrong."
She rolls her eyes. "Claire and I were talking after my shift yesterday, and I could tell something was up, so the first thing I guessed was that you made her mad."
"Wow, Ann." Gray feigns being impressed. "Do you want… a prize?"
"Gray, stop being an asshole!"
"I can't," he says with dramatic sarcasm. "It's too late for me… I'm too far gone."
Mary walks over to them with her arms crossed. "This is a library. Please keep your voices down," she snaps. She looks the two of them over suggestively. "And don't start having an orgy in here."
Ann scowls. "An orgy is a bunch of people, Mary."
"Whatever!" she hisses, sulking away to her check-out desk.
Mayor Thomas pops his head out of the aisle. "Oh dear," he mumbles, pretending to select a book from the shelf, as though he wasn't just eavesdropping.
"Seriously?" Gray says, staring at him. Thomas just frantically picks out a random book from the shelf, which happens to be Life of Pi. Gray's mom used to have a copy of it on her nightstand; it came out around the time that she started experiencing her bouts of headaches. He wonders if she even got around to finishing it before she died.
Gray also wonders how his attempt at avoiding any kind of human interaction turned into a shindig at the Mineral Town library. He sighs.
"You know, Gray," Ann says carefully. "It just might be too late."
He frowns. "What does that even mean?"
Ann looks at her watch. "I'm going to be late for work."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what you think," she answers, knocking over an on-display book with her elbow. It falls to the ground with a loud thud. Mary extends her neck to glare.
Since he moved here, he's wondered why Mary and Ann have never really gotten along. Some sort of falling out with Mary's mother and Ann's mother, according to his grandfather (the apparent gossip connoisseur).
Gray just doesn't want anything started right now. This tumultuous season of spring has taught him that he's tired of fighting and hearing people fight.
"You're such a shit-disturber," Gray tells her.
Ann looks at him incredulously. "It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" With that, she spins on her heel, darting down the stairs of the library.
Gray picks up his book, From a Buick 8, trying to shake Ann's words from his mind. "Too late…" Was anything ever "too late?" The only thing that would make something "too late" would be death itself. If he wants to turn a new leaf tomorrow, run up to Claire and kiss her, he still can.
Doesn't mean that he will. Doesn't even mean that he wants to. Time away from that pain in his ass might be just what he needs.
Thomas has tossed Life of Pi on an abandoned table, and is now checking out a different book: Animal Farm. Go figure. Mary scans it, happily bidding the mayor a farewell.
"See you later, Thomas!" she calls kindly, as the stumpy man rubs his moustache in response, leaving. She stares when Gray walks up to her.
"Just this," he tells Mary, averting her eyes as he hands her his library card. He keeps his focus on the shadowy cover of his book.
Mary scans it with the machine, looking up at him flatly. "This one's new. I haven't read it yet."
"Heard it's good."
"I know that you aren't interested in me," she says, tapping on her keyboard to log the book into her system. Mary pushes her browline glasses up her nose, sounding a bit nervous. "I know that you don't want to even just hook-up."
What gave that one away?
"And I know that you think that I'm fake-"
"I think that you're sneaky," Gray says. He's talked to enough people today. No, enough people this year. No, enough people in this lifetime. He's just tired of everyone. "You're timid and shy in front of the older people in this town, but around us, you're all pissy-"
"I don't see why you're interested in someone trashy." Mary gestures to the stairs, where Ann sauntered off minutes before.
"She's not trashy. You both just don't like each other. And we're not even together." Gray hastily pockets his library card. "Don't be bitter."
Mary arches her brow. "Well, it's pretty clear that you've got a thing for Claire, right?"
Claire.
"Don't be bitter," Gray repeats, grabbing his book to leave.
Isn't he always, by default, the real bitter one?
"You look like someone from Charlie's Angels!" Ann exclaims. Claire smiles, doing a mock turn-around. She's decided on a chic-casual look, wearing black jeans and a ruffled red tube top. Her hair spills down her head, sleek like glass, in golden tresses.
"Um, really? I don't see it," Claire laughs, walking with Ann to her table. It's set up by the bar, with a candlestick unlit in the middle.
"Like, when they're undercover at the party," Ann clarifies. "Badass, but cute."
Claire grins, taking a seat. "Wow. Didn't realize what a sexy, private detective vibe I was giving."
Ann pulls a lighter out from her apron pocket. "As your waitress tonight," she says, igniting the candle. "I'd highly advise you tell me who'll be joining you."
Claire rolls her eyes. "You're so impatient. I told you that it's a surprise!"
"But, I need more hints! All that you told me was that he's older and really good-looking."
Claire wiggles her fingers. "This is the very element of my surprise. He'll be here any minute." Normally, she isn't one to keep secrets. But explanatory words could never do someone like Trent justice. Ann will just have to see for herself.
"Order the house pasta tonight," she says, handing her a crisp menu. "It's a rigatoni, your fave."
Claire bares her teeth awkwardly. "Then I'll get sauce all over my face."
Ann looks at her dubiously, retrieving the pencil tucked behind her ear. She taps it on her lips, as though she's trying to solve a complex math equation in her head.
"What?" Claire asks.
"Nothing."
"What?"
Ann shrugs. "Well, you didn't seem to mind eating pasta in front of Gray-"
Here we go again. "Ann."
"Hey," she defends, holding her hands up. "I'm just saying-"
"That's very different."
"How so?"
Claire blinks. "You definitely had money bet on us, didn't you?"
"No, but I can't help but think that this is just a distraction to get your mind off of Gray."
"It so is not!" protests Claire. Like I'd go to so much trouble to get my mind off of some idiot. "Using a guy as a distraction just creates a bigger distraction in itself. This is a man taking me out for a romantic evening."
"Regardless," Ann says, adjusting her apron. "Don't you worry. I let Gray have it today."
"You talked to him about our fight?!" Claire shrieks, widening her eyes.
"Of course," she replies with a frown. "I cornered him at the library, like, an hour ago."
"Why?" groans Claire. "I told you that I don't even care." Now, Gray's going to get all cocky and believe that she's been thinking about him... which she so has not.
"Relaaax, I didn't tell him about your date tonight. I simply eluded to it."
Claire scoffs. "Whatever. I don't care if he knows."
Ann nods. "Ah, I see. The old jealousy act."
"Do you think that I'd go to such extreme lengths to make that numbnut jealous?!"
"Ha, numbnut," snickers Ann.
Claire narrows her eyes. "I would never-"
"Well, maybe I just kinda hoped," she says, cutting Claire off before she goes on a Gray-filled tangent.
Claire pats her napkin in front of her, focusing her mind on the date. Trent had offered to cook dinner for her at his place in the clinic, but this proposition made her a little anxious. Gorgeous or not, he is still a stranger. When she told him that she'd rather go to the inn, a look of disappointment swiped across his face, but he gladly agreed nevertheless.
"You'll see what a catch I reeled in soon," she tells Ann.
"Ugh, fishing metaphors?" Ann makes a face. "I can't wait, though. I'm working the late-shift all night, so I will be watching, but I'll also be super busy serving." She walks over to the bar, pouring water into a clean glass for Claire, before handing it to her. "You better give me the juicy details tomorrow!"
"I will." Claire lifts her glass up like she's toasting the evening, bringing it to her lips.
The breadbasket is empty.
In sixty minutes of waiting, she's eaten eight pieces of bread.
Ann watches from afar as Claire stares blankly at her crumby mess. It's like her friend is lost in a carb-induced trance. She walks over timidly, raising her glass to fill it with more water.
"Don't even worry," Ann assures her. "That's nothing. One time I was waiting for Gray to… uh, um… come over, and I made like, six sandwiches." She pats at her stomach. "Want some more?"
Claire looks over at her sadly, and then averts her eyes to the table's looming candle. So much for ambience. This 3-wick piece of wax is making her more upset if anything. "No, thanks," she replies absently.
Ann brings a fresh loaf anyway. Bread is not the enemy here.
Another half an hour passes, with the candle's wax slowly dripping down the chamberstick. The flame has almost wiped out. "Claire," Ann says, gently squeezing her friend's bare shoulder.
She's completely despondent. "I bet he'll be here soon."
"Maybe give him a call-?"
"I don't even know his number." Claire's voice is barely above a whisper. Ann silently backs away, taking in the hustle and bustle around her. It's packed tonight with customers, which is great for the business, but not so much for Ann's sanity. She runs upstairs to Cliff's room, knocking on his door. He answers in a light pink bathrobe.
"Um, hi," he says, cheeks burning. They've had more awkward moments than this. Like, when Ann's friends-with-benefits sex life was basically revealed to him abruptly. They got over it like a minor bump in the road. Cliff was actually cool about that; he's cool about everything. She'll just get over his attire.
Maybe I'm just internally jealous that pink looks better on him than it'll ever look on me.
Ann holds out an extra apron. "I really need some help waiting tables downstairs," she explains, handing it to him. "Also, I have a girl emergency." Before Cliff can protest, she kisses him on the cheek. "And then, when this is all done, maybe we can talk, or hang, or whatever."
She presses her lips together and gallops down the stairs before she can catch his reaction. Running to the kitchen, Ann grabs the entrées that her father cooked, balancing them on her arms. The aroma of delicious food wafts in her nostrils.
"Table 14 still hasn't placed an order," Doug tells her.
"I know," she says. "She'd rather just have our bread, I guess."
When Claire's total time of waiting becomes two hours, Ann isn't sure what to do. Cliff carries out the dessert trays for the surrounding tables as she plops herself in the mysterious date's chair.
"Claire," Ann says softly, reaching across to touch her arm. The candle has vanished into a low, waxy mess.
"He's not coming, is he?" Claire mutters.
"Look. Some guys are just-"
"This wasn't just some guy," Claire says, her eyes welling up. She rises from the chair, swiping her tears away. "This was Trent." Covering her mouth, she darts out of the inn with her head down.
...Who the hell is Trent?
Ann runs to the bar, grabbing at the phone. A couple of days ago, Kai had to make a frantic call. Looks like I'll be doing the same.
"Hi… yeah, it's me. I'm working all night," Ann says into the receiver. She uses her shoulder to support the phone against her cheek. "And Popuri's out with Kai. And Karen and Rick are doing wedding-planning shit. So, I need you to go get Claire. Like, find her. I dunno where she went… yes, she was here… Well, I really don't give a shit about that right now. She just got stood up big time… Yes, she had a date… I didn't tell you 'cause it was none of your business… Yes, you being an asshole was your business. Can you just go to her, please? Hello? Hello?"
But the call has been disconnected.
Gray is not doing this. No freakin' way. No way in hell.
But he is.
He's throwing on his jacket, tying his shoelaces, grabbing his hat... all while grumbling to himself.
"'She was on a date tonight', as if I care… but no, by all means, conveniently leave that part out when you come to yell at me… as if I care," Gray mutters, pulling his jacket zipper up. It makes that familiar, suggestive noise, and he's once again reminded of undoing the back of Claire's dress. Gritting his teeth, he continues on his self-rant. "'Go get her'… she's not a friggin' dog. Why the hell do I have to-"
"Shut up," scolds his grandfather, reaching into the fridge to retrieve a basket of turnips. Claire's… stupid turnips. "Quit your bitching, and go make things right."
Gray shoots him a glare. Saibara has propped open a recipe book that Lillia gave them last winter on the countertop. He's opened the page to her pickled turnip dish.
"More reason to get outta here," Gray snaps, gesturing toward the recipe. Can't stand… pickled goddamn turnips.
Saibara turns the sink on, lifting a turnip out of the basket to wash it. "If I knew this was grandson-repellent," he says. "I'd make it every night."
11/10 for humour. Good work, old man.
"Ha ha," says Gray, bending down to re-tie one of his sneakers. He stands up straight, exiting the front door with a slam.
When Gray passes by the inn, he notes its bright lights and tasty aroma that always emits from it. From where he's standing, he can make out the small figures of Ann and Cliff waiting on tables through the window. Gray keeps moving, walking over to Claire's farmhouse.
It's dark outside. The full moon above him is the only thing that provides a glimmer of light on his pathway. He knocks on the door to her home, awaiting an answer. Maggie whimpers behind the door, scratching in response. He knocks again, and she begins barking loudly now. When Gray turns the knob, it loosens and opens, much to his surprise.
"Shit," he mumbles. Maggie pries at the ajar door with her nose, pushing through the crack to fully open it. She happily jumps on Gray.
"Hi, Maggie," he says, petting her. "Where's your pain in the ass owner?" He lifts the dog in his arms, taking a hesitant step into Claire's farmhouse. Is she even here?
"Blondie," Gray calls, scanning the dark room. He doesn't want to be in her house if she isn't present. He doesn't even want to be here at all.
Claire's clothes are sprawled around her bed, with jeans and shirts and a singular bra thrown about. Her makeup is scattered along her vanity, while the scent of perfume lingers in the air. It smells all sugary sweet like her.
She clearly hasn't been here all night. Gray doesn't want to dog-nap Maggie, but he also doesn't want to put her back in the house, have her escape, and be the reason that she gets lost.
"Let's go," Gray tells Maggie. She licks his cheek in response as he makes his way to the Goddess Pond.
Claire is crying softly on the grass, listening to the waterfall's somber crash. She's not exactly sure why she's there and not somewhere else, but she knows that she couldn't just go home. Given that she hadn't cleaned up anything before she left, she knows that everything in it will only remind her of her date. And she doesn't want that painful sort of prompt.
There's no twist of fate where Trent forgot about the date, or got sick on the way to it, or mixed up the times; this is just an older guy toying with Claire's heart for no damn reason.
She shivers as she hugs her knees to her chest. Not only is she stupid for believing Trent, but she's also stupid for not bringing a jacket tonight. Although it's getting close to summer, spring still brings a chilly breeze to the cool, evening air. The hot tears running down her cheeks feel freezing.
A loud bark erupts in her eardrums. For a moment, Claire panics, thinking that it's the wild dogs that Officer Harris warned her about. She's not prepared to fight anything off; she's not even prepared to run away in these skinny jeans. But when the bark gets closer, it starts sounding more playful, like a little puppy.
Like her puppy.
"Maggie!" Claire exclaims through her tears. Her dog races to her, hopping into her lap. "How did you-?"
Gray follows, his footsteps silent on the grass.
"Go away," she snaps. Then, she squints suspiciously at him. "Um, did you steal my dog?!"
He stands over her, and she suddenly feels very, very small. "I went looking for you at your place," he says.
Went looking for me?
"And I dunno if you have a death wish or something, Blondie, but you really should get a lock. Your door's practically busted." Gray scowls at her.
"Thanks… I know," Claire replies bitterly. "I get it. My life is in shambles."
"Who stood you up?" Gray asks, ignoring her cynical remark.
What an insensitive… bastard! What does it matter to him?
"None of your business," she snaps, pulling out the response that he used on her yesterday during their argument.
A warmth blankets her shoulders. She cocks her head to see Gray's jacket draped over her. "Are you stupid?" he snaps at her, adjusting his blue t-shirt. "It's freezing, and you're out here without a fucking coat."
Yeah, I am stupid. This just makes her begin to cry even more. He widens his eyes in a panic.
"Stop. I didn't mean it like that," Gray says, looking freaked out. He quickly takes a seat beside her. "Seriously, I didn't. Don't cry... please?" She buries her head in her hands, weeping even harder while saying nothing. Maggie maneuvers her way to the other side of her, lying beside Claire's short legs with a whine.
"You're wearing the pin," Gray mumbles, staring at the little diamond cross that he crafted for her. It's clasped near her left breast on one of her tube top ruffles.
Claire lifts her head to gaze at him through misty eyes. "I always wear it," she says, blinking quickly to rid herself of any more tears. They keep coming though, like a faucet that's been left on for too long. What she said is the truth; she's worn the pin ever since Gray gifted it to her. Sometimes, she'll hook it to one of her bra straps, but other times, she'll accent it on the front of her outfit. She's surprised that he hasn't taken notice of this yet. "But here, have it back, since you hate me so much." Claire tries to remove the pin, the sight of it becoming very blurry with her bloodshot eyes.
"Stop," Gray says, in a gentle voice that she isn't even sure belongs to him. He takes hold of her wrist, his grip strong in a non-domineering sort of way. "Don't be… dumb. That isn't true."
"How is it not?" She stares at him with hurt plastered all over her face. The moonlight above bathes them in a spotlight, like they're two people acting in a Broadway show. Gray's face is twisted in confusion; he doesn't look angry like he usually does. Just worried, and maybe even a bit flustered due to her incessant crying. Claire just continues bitterly: "You think that I'm some kind of idiot. That I'm juvenile, that I'm irritating."
That I got mascara smeared all over my face.
"I don't think that," says Gray hoarsely.
"You do. It's the truth, regardless."
"Would you stop? None of that's true." Gray's expression mellows as he unknits his eyebrows, frowning. "I'm sorry that I'm such a dick to you."
Claire looks at him. For once, his eyes aren't piercing into her with his every word anymore. They actually look like they've significantly softened in concernment. She just moves closer to him, burying her head into his shoulder to suppress her sobs.
What a hot mess you are. Get a grip!
But she can't; she's too busy spilling her guts uncontrollably. After her mom died, she never learned how to properly channel her sadness in order to cope with it. Claire's simply perpetuating and living up to her emotionally unstable, crybaby title that was unofficially bestowed to her at the convent.
To her apparent shock, Gray wraps his arms around her shoulders, hugging her. His muscles feel like an extra layer of protection against her body as he holds her tight. Claire doesn't even remember the last time that someone handled her with such unselfish care. Had it almost been a full decade? She isn't sure, but this sad fact makes her weep even more.
"I'm such a loser." Her voice is muffled against the fabric of his shirt. It smells like detergent, mixed with whatever woodsy cologne that he's got on. Claire buries her face into it further, in an attempt to stifle her cries. "I'm lonely and broken and disgusting and-"
"Blondie, stop it."
"Why? It's true. Why else would I get stood up?"
Pull yourself together, you wuss.
But Claire can't. It's like she truthfully cannot bring herself to stop the waterworks. Her first date ever wasn't supposed to end in tears. She knows that this isn't the end of the world; there's obviously bigger problems, but this is something that really mattered to her. It's upsetting to not feel good enough for someone else, much less, yourself.
She hasn't felt this sort of sadness, the kind that leaves your eyes raw and your heart sore, in a long time.
Gray stays quiet for a few minutes. All that Claire can hear is the whimpering of her dog, the beating of his heart, and the rush of the waterfall in the distance. Her cries have gotten more silent now, but the sadness still lingers.
"I'm no good with words," he finally says. She doesn't even feel cold anymore... just numb, like a junkie who hit their last fix. Claire keeps her eyes shut, listening to him. "And I don't know a lot of stuff. I don't know why I do dumb shit, or why other guys like your date tonight do dumb shit. I don't know fuck all about feelings, or how to stay positive when things get bad, or how to heal from that." Gray sucks up a breath. "But, I do know that you're a good person. You're pure at heart, and you don't have a bad bone in you. You're… beautiful, on the inside out, Claire."
She raises herself off of his shoulder, looking at him for a long time. Staring at his anxious eyes, furrowed brows, and flushed face, she throws her arms around his neck gratefully.
"Thank you, Gray," Claire says, sniffling. The pain in her heart is still there, but it's slowly diminishing by the minute. This is the nicest thing that he's ever said to her... the nicest thing that she's heard in a while. It beats the way that Trent complimented her by a landslide. "I'm so glad that I met you here. You're a really good friend."
Gray hugs her back, the stubble of his jaw rough against her neck. "I'm glad that I met you too, Blondie," he replies decisively. "I really am."
