A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely comments!


New Normal

Chapter Ten

April 2017

Adjusting back to their former living situation was a surprisingly easy transition. George and Sybbie didn't mind sharing a bedroom again, thankfully, and Tom and Mary split up the household chores just as they had before. In some ways, it felt as if they had never left.

Sybbie was due to start school that upcoming autumn, something her and Tom both had difficulties adjusting to. "I just can't believe it," he said one evening. "It seems like she was born only yesterday."

Mary agreed, thinking of the happier memories surrounding her birth. Mary remembered holding her, still recalling the way tears had sprung to her eyes when she looked down at her. "Isn't she the prettiest baby you've ever seen?" Sybil had cooed, looking tired yet proud in the hospital bed. And Tom... Tom had been over the moon. Matthew had offered to take him out for a drink but Tom had declined, not wanting to part from his daughter for a single moment.

"I'm having a hard time believing she's nearly five," she said, marveling how close Sybbie's birthday was approaching. She was glad now that the birthday present stowed away in her bedroom wouldn't have to be shipped across the ocean now.

Tom let out a groan. "Don't remind me— I'm having a hard enough time dealing with the fact I'll have to send her away."

"All children have to go to school," said Mary, smirking. She couldn't resist teasing him— even if she too couldn't quite believe it was time for her to go.

"I'll remember that when it's George's time to go," Tom said almost sulkily.

"As if you won't be a wreck about that as well," she countered back, knowing how much he adored George. "Let's face it— when it comes to these things, I'm the one who has to remain sensible."

Tom leaned back with a sigh, knowing it was true.


May 26, 2017

It was nearing midnight as Mary and Edith walked out of the hospital. It must have rained at some point during the evening, as the lights illuminating car park caused parts of the pavement to shimmer. "I just wish I could know he's alright," Edith said, close to tears again. Mary couldn't even muster up even the slightest amount of indignation. She was worried as well.

"We'll know more in the morning," she said as they walked to Edith's car. They had followed the ambulance to the hospital. "It won't do Papa any good for either of us to fret over him. All we can do is go home and get some rest."

"Do you want me to drop you off at your house or do you want me to take you back to Downton?" Edith asked as she started up the car. Her hand caught the light, causing the engagement ring on her finger to shine.

Mary shook her head. "Take me to my house, please." Tom was expecting her; she had texted him all the details and made a brief phone call, but it wasn't anything substantive. Her and Edith had been busy informing all the other dinner guests of Papa's condition. She quickly pulled out her phone, which was at 5%, to text, "I'm heading home now."

The rest of the ride was quiet— not awkward or strained in any way, but relatively silent. Edith's AUX cord was plugged in, playing faint strains of a Beyoncé song, but the volume wasn't loud enough for Mary to hear the lyrics. It was always at times like this, when she was reminded of the fleeting nature of life, that made Mary wish her and Edith weren't always so combative. Sometimes it was difficult for her to admit it, but she really did love Edith, even though their personalities didn't exactly mesh... but at times like this, it wasn't important.

Edith rolled into the driveway, headlights shining on the garage door. "Give Tom my love," she said as Mary opened the car door.

"I will," said Mary, swinging her legs out and trying to miss a puddle. She glanced back to Edith, wondering if she should say anything before finally telling her, "Get some rest."

"You too."

Mary walked up to the door as Edith backed up into the street. They waved at each other briefly before Mary stepped into the house, feeling bedraggled and beaten.

She heard the television in the other room as she kicked off her heels, feet aching in protest. "Mary?"

"It's me," she called out, and the television turned off. Tom wandered out into the kitchen, dressed in pajamas but not even close to looking as if he was ready to sleep. His hair was still slicked back, courtesy of tonight's dinner.

"How is he?"

"I don't know. I didn't get to see him. They only let one visitor in the room, and it was Mama... They said he was in stable condition but who knows..."

Tom walked towards her, pulling him into a hug. Mary suspected it was more for his sake than hers. Over the years, Tom and Papa had grown close, so close that Papa had often acknowledged that Tom was like a son to him. She couldn't imagine what it was like for him, waiting at home all the whole, wondering what was happening, but someone had needed to watch the children and he had volunteered, along with Bertie, urging Mary and Edith to follow their parents to the hospital.

"What was the procedure called?" asked Tom once he finally pulled away.

"A gastrectomy." The doctor had described it briefly to them, but Mary had been so overwhelmed by everything and couldn't concentrate. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was that horrid sight at dinner, all that blood while everyone looked on in horror. It was fortunate so many of their friends had experience in the medical field, as Dr. Clarkson, Isobel, and Thomas has all jumped into action at once. "I knew his health wasn't the best and the ulcer but... I didn't know just how bad it really was."

Tom didn't try to sugarcoat things or tell her things would be alright. Instead, he hugged her yet again, and this time she leaned on him, knowing this was just what she needed. It took all her effort not to cry. When she finally pulled away, he offered, "Do you want a drink?", to which she responded with a simple nod.


June 20, 2017

"Mabel Lane Fox and Tony Foyle are married," Tom said, resurfacing from his phone as Mary rejoined him in the living room with two glasses of wine.

Mary blinked. Well... it seemed as if they had resolved their issues. Good for them, she supposed, but she hated being reminded of that horrid night at the hotel. "Since when do we pay attention to Mabel Lane Fox?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch inadvertently.

Tom shrugged. "Well, you knew him." He accept the glass of wine from her. "Didn't he like you?"

Mary bit back a curse, wishing she had never disclosed that to him. "He did... but that was ages ago. And clearly he's moved on." She was at least glad he had come to his senses and finally made things right with Mabel, at the very least. Though she didn't know much about the other woman, it was clear she loved him. He'd be a fool if he tossed all that away.

"Clearly," echoed Tom, as Mary took a healthy swig of wine. He glanced back down at his phone, silently scrolling before saying, "It says her show is ending next season, at her request."

"That's probably the best thing for them," said Mary, wishing this conversation would end. Frantically thinking, she asked, "Do you want to enroll Sybbie for piano lessons with Jimmy? I'm signing George up and if she wants to, then we can arrange it so they have classes back to back."

Tom was in the midst of taking a sip while she asked, waiting before responding, "I'll have to ask her. I don't know how interested she is in music."

"Well, it's a wonderful opportunity. It can't hurt, at any rate," she rambled on and on, trying to divert the conversation far away from Mabel and Tony as far as possible. "It's up to her, of course, but you might encourage it."

"I'll think about it," Tom said, before inquiring how things between him and Thomas were.


September 20, 2017

A small, blue figure with ME written above it. Then another figure in orange, with a yellow scribble on its head and two blue eyes, with JORJE crossed out above it, replaced by GEORGE. A taller figure in red, known simply as DADDY. Another in blue, with MUMMY, the Y overlapping over with the D in the previous word.

Sybbie had brought it home from school, pulling it out of her backpack and hanging it on the fridge with magnets immediately. Mary smiled at it, pleased George had made the cut. In some ways, they were siblings more than cousins... She tried not be bothered by her own lack of inclusion. Maybe there wasn't enough room, she told herself, setting her purse down on the counter, before reminding herself this was a kindergartner's drawing and getting upset over things like this was silly. So she ignored it, apart from telling Sybbie, "That's a very good picture, darling," as she joined her niece in the living room, turning on the TV.

Tom, however, took more offense. When he arrived home with George from daycare, he stopped in front of the fridge, glancing at the stick figures whilst his nephew ran into the living room to join his mother and Sybbie. Mary was waiting for his usual hello, instead finding silence. Before she could ask what was wrong, she heard him call out, "What's this on the fridge?"

Sybbie, excited, ran out to join him. "It's a picture of us! I made it at school!"

"Not all of us," Tom said, frowning as Mary and George entered the kitchen. "Where's Mary?"

"Tom, it's fine—" Mary insisted, somewhat mortified. There was no need to make a fuss.

"She's there!" insisted Sybbie, jabbing to the taller blue figure. "See? Right there!"

Mary was rendered speechless for once. Immediately, her eyes fell to Tom, who gaped at the picture. "That one says Mummy, darling," he said, blinking quickly. Mary wasn't sure if it was out of surprise or if he was trying not to cry. She hoped to God it wasn't the latter.

Sybbie shrugged exaggeratedly. "Teacher wouldn't let me call her Mary. She said I needed to write Mummy." She glanced back at the picture. "I tried to tell her my Mummy was in heaven, but she said it wasn't true because she had seen her pick me up at school. She didn't believe me when I said it was Mary, so I just wrote Mummy."

"Well, we'll need to have a talk with your teacher," said Tom seriously, bending down to be his daughter's height, "but it's lovely picture. You two can go play now while I make dinner."

George and Sybbie didn't need to be told twice, running out of the room as fast as their little feet could carry them. Mary, leaned against the doorway, stepped further into the kitchen, following Tom as he grabbed all the ingredients he needed. "Can I help?"

"Could you grab the spaghetti from the cupboard?" Tom asked, various vegetables in his hands as he resurfaced from the fridge, nodding to the middle cabinet.

Mary obliged, trying not to be put out. Since his return, she had been trying to improve her culinary skills as to not place the full load of the cooking on him and thought it best to learn from the expert himself. Unfortunately, her attempt to make shepherd's pie had resulted in nearly burning down the house. They'd ate pizza instead, once the smoke cleared from the kitchen, and the charred brick of a pie went directly into the bin.

"I think I could manage boiling the water," she told him, standing on her tip toes to reach the pasta. She was tall but the cabinets in this house were clearly made for someone taller— unusual in houses as old as this one.

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, looking up from the cutting board with a smile on his face.

"Well, it can't be that hard," she insisted. "You can't burn water."

"Actually, you can," he smirked, causing Mary to let out a groan. Deciding this subject was futile, she sat the pasta on the counter before pulling up a chair and angling it to face his back.

There were a million different things she wanted to tell him about— Thomas's insistence that inventing a ghost would draw in more visitors to the estate, Isis's new puppy that followed guests around on tours, Edith's constant texts asking Mary for advice on her upcoming wedding that seemed to come all hours of the day and night. None of that came out of her mouth, though, not after she glimpsed Sybbie's drawing again. "You didn't need to get so upset over a drawing," she told him, the words sounding harsher than she meant it. "I didn't mind not being included."

"Really?" Tom sounded dubious.

"Yes, really." She glanced at the picture yet again. It was almost better, she thought, when they had all assumed she wasn't there. Knowing now that she was the Mummy in the picture felt strange— as if she had unwilling usurped her sister.

"I don't believe that for a moment. You love Sybbie."

"Of course I love her— but it was just a drawing." Maybe if she spoke it enough, it would come true, and that initial, inconsequential sting she had upon looking and not seeing herself would have never existed. "It doesn't mean anything. So I don't think you need to speak to her teacher about it."

Tom stopped chopping, turning to her. "So what happens when a child has two mothers or two fathers and the teacher doesn't believe them? Or if there's a single parent?"

"I think we're a rare exception," Mary insisted. "Not many young girls in this day and age live with their widowed aunt and cousin. Sybbie and I look enough alike— I'm sure I can easily pass as her mother." She thought of the cashier from the store before Tom and Sybbie had left for Boston. "It was probably an innocent misunderstanding."

Tom shrugged before turning back to his previous task. "All that aside, I don't like that she called my daughter a liar when she was speaking the truth. If Sybbie had been wrong, it would have been up to one of us to correct her when she came home."

Mary still thought he was making a bigger deal out of this than it warranted but continued to sit there, glancing every so often at herself in Sybbie's picture.


December 31, 2017

George fussed about as Mary dressed him in his suit. "I don't like yellow," he complained, looking down at his bow tie, which was sitting on his bed next to his stuffed elephant.

"I don't either," confessed Mary dryly, doing up his buttons. "But Auntie Edith does, and it's her special day."

George was quiet for a moment. "Why's Auntie Edith getting married?"

"Because she loves Uncle Bertie." Mary reached for the bow tie. It had been quite some time since she had done this... without permission, a smile crossed her face. Matthew had been more than capable of dressing himself, of course, but had always loved asking Mary to do up his ties for him. When she looked at George, she saw so much of his father.

"Why aren't you married, Mummy?" He asked innocently.

Mary felt like she had swallowed glass. She blinked, tears welling up behind her eyes. Edith's wedding day was stirring up all sorts of memories, more than any other wedding seemed to have done. Maybe it was because she knew Sybil should be here, all three Crawley sister married and happy. "Because I was married to your father once... and I haven't fallen in love since."

George considered this carefully. "Do you miss him?"

"Terribly." Her voice was now a whisper and her vision blurry, making it hard to concentrate on his tie. She paused for a moment as she gathered herself, before carrying on.

"I wish I knew him," George remarked sadly, eyes downcast.

"Me too, my darling," Mary said, lifting up his chin to meet his eyes. She kissed his forehead. "You can ask me about him any time you want to... or Uncle Tom. He knew him, too."

George managed to smile, a sight that always warmed her heart. "Come alone now," Mary said, rising to her feet. "I need to change and then we'll head off to the church with everyone, alright?"


January 19, 2018

Edith and Bertie seemed deliriously happy when they met with Mary and Tom at the restaurant in London. It was almost disgusting... clearly, the honeymoon wasn't over in their minds yet. They kept kissing one another and giggling, lost in their own little world. Mary felt secondhand embarrassment, sipping her wine to alleviate her own firsthand embarrassment from sitting with two people so oblivious to their surroundings.

"You're probably wondering why we invited you out tonight," said Edith, beaming from ear to ear after the entrées came out.

Mary exchanged a dubious glance with Tom, who seemed as perplexed by all this as she was. "Not really," she said bluntly, "Aren't we just having a nice dinner together?"

"Well, yes and no," said Bertie, reaching for his fork and knife.

"It's just— we're so happy," gushed Edith, giving Bertie an adoring smile. "And we want you both to be as happy as we are."

It occurred to Mary what this was... and she was furious. She might have said something if Tom hadn't seemed to instinctively realize she was going to say something and gave her a Look. It was his wordless way of saying, Let me handle this. "That's very nice of you— but I don't think either of us are really ready for that sort of thing yet."

Edith looked disappointed but remained undeterred. "I wouldn't be suggesting these people if I didn't think you'd be well suited." She was practically pouting as she said it. "And besides, we've already told them about you and they're interested."

This time Mary couldn't hold back. "Well, you'll just have to inform them that we aren't."

Edith's incredulity was rather funny but Mary felt sorry for putting that stunned look on Bertie's face. She reached for her wine yet again. An awkward silence hung over the four of them until Tom, the diplomat who bridged the gaps between Mary and Edith, said, "It isn't that we are unappreciative. It's only that... well, we were happy like you once. And that sort of thing only happens once in a lifetime." He managed a small, though clearly pained smile. Mary wanted to reach out and take his hand, just as she would if they were home alone talking of such a thing, but such a thing seemed too intimate for a place like this.

Edith still looked as if they had spat at her and called her terrible names, but Bertie seemed much more understanding. "Of course. Neither of us have any idea what it's like, what you've gone through." He reached out, taking Edith's hand. It made Mary feel alone, wishing she had taken Tom's hand. "But— well, we understand if things don't work out with these people. We just wanted to give you an opportunity to meet people that you might be well suited to." Bertie offered them each smiles. "Maybe you'll only ever be friends. Or maybe you'll never want to speak to them ever again. Whatever you decide. We only wanted to present you with an opportunity to have some fun."

Mary had done all that. She thought of Justin and Tony and Charles... She preferred the idea of staying home with Tom and the children night after night to going out on a date with whomever Edith and Bertie had chosen for her. Knowing Edith and her low opinion of Mary, she had probably selected a man who was an absolute ogre in both personality and looks.

She was shocked when Tom said, "Alright."

She had no time to react, eyes wide as Edith practically shrieked at a pitch only dogs could hear, "Do you mean it?"

"Why not?" Tom shrugged, not looking particularly enthusiastic. He speared a couple of green beans with his fork.

All eyes were on Mary, save for Tom's. "What about you?" Bertie was directing that question at her.

Mary felt overwhelmed. Her eyes sought out Tom's, but she found no guidance there. He was staring ahead, chewing his food. Feeling as if her window of hesitance had slipped past her, Mary found herself choking out, "Okay."

She was met by Edith's squeals, a brilliant smile from Bertie, and Tom... well, Tom was saying nothing. Mary simply glanced down at her almost full plate, suddenly no longer hungry.


February 7, 2018

His name was Henry Talbot and he was a friend of one of Bertie's friends. Mary knew very little about the man— she hadn't bothered to look him up or anything like that. They had exchanged a few texts, agreeing to meet up at a bar for a few drinks. To keep it casual, he explained.

So Mary didn't put much effort into it. She wore a cozy cardigan, a pair of dark denim jeans, and a pair of ankle boots. After all, she figured he would probably bore her to tears, she would spend the whole evening wishing she was home, and would return home with a dozen complaints that Tom would have to listen to.

"Let me know if the place you're going to is any good," Tom said disinterestedly as she walked to the doorway, purse in hand. "I'm trying to come up with some place to go with Laura."

Laura was Edith's editor and a close friend... as well as the woman she had selected for Tom. They had been talking roughly around the same length of time Mary had been speaking with Henry. "Don't you think it's a little dangerous?" Mary had asked Edith in the bathroom of the restaurant. "Mixing work with family? Won't things be awkward if they don't work out?"

Edith had merely smiled smugly. "Oh, I'm not worried. They'll get along. I know it." Her complete confidence in the match made Mary's stomach turn. Edith had quickly explained that Laura and Tom had briefly met at her wedding and Laura has developed something of a crush on him, frequently asking Edith how her "cute brother-in-law" was...

Tom was more unbothered than Mary thought he might be when she dramatically revealed this to him. "I remember her," he'd said. "She was nice." In the following weeks, he didn't talk about her much, nor did he express much excitement about their upcoming date.

"Of course." She threw him a smile over her shoulder as she pulled her coat on. "I'll see you later."


February 23, 2018

John opened up the door, looking grim faced and unspeakably sad. Mary hugged him almost immediately, knowing he too must be devastated. She would never categorize their relationship as a close one, but she had always liked the man and loved him for the fact he brought so much happiness to Anna's life.

"Thank you for coming," he told Mary when she pulled away.

"Of course. How is she?" Then, she asked, "How are you?"

John shook his head. "I didn't even know. She said something about how she wanted to surprise me, but..." He blinked, clearly growing emotional. "I just hate seeing her like this. She's so sad."

Mary nodded. She had told Mary about the struggles her and John were having, about her desire to have a baby... Mary remembered her own fertility struggles too well, but at least she had been spared the pain of realizing she was pregnant only to lose it a short while later. "Where is she?"

Anna was in her bedroom, eyes red and nose pink. Her cat, Felix, was on her lap and she patted him listlessly. "Oh, Anna," she said, heart aching at the sight of her friend like this. Mary sat down on the side of the bed, reaching for her hand.

"This isn't the first time," admitted Anna, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand a short time later. "We— we don't seem to have a problem getting pregnant... I just can't seem to keep it." She broke down yet again. This time, Mary's hug came without awkwardness or reservations.

The topic eventually strayed from Anna's woe to happier things. "You like him, then? Henry?"

"I do," Mary confessed, glancing down at the quilt on Anna's bed. It almost didn't seem to be right, talking about all the things making her life happy when Anna seemed so sad... but sometimes a distraction was nice and Anna had deliberately steered the conversation in this direction. "He's different... but nice." She smiled, more to herself than her friend.

"I'm glad," Anna said. She didn't sound it, but Mary believed her. "After all you've been through... you deserve some happiness."

"So do you," Mary said, meeting her eyes. Even when Anna glanced down, she continued with, "And you'll get it."

"Will I? Or is this all a sign? A sign I'm not meant to be a mother."

"Anna," began Mary, almost a bit disapprovingly, but without any harshness, "if anyone I know is meant to be a mother, it's you." Even when they were just eighteen at university, Anna had been effortlessly maternal. She was always helping people who lived in their dormitories, relentlessly patient with a Mary who was trying to adjust to a life without a cook and housekeeper, and genuinely loved children. If someone as cold as Mary could be a mother, she was certain Anna was destined for it. She paused a moment before asking, "Have you thought of adoption?"

Anna bit her lip, looking teary again. Mary felt terrible for stirring up her woes once more but sensed Anna needed someone to talk to about all this before she went to John. "I've thought about it... but I'd like to know what it's like. To be pregnant... and sometimes I worry John wouldn't want to."

"You know he loves you... he'd do anything for you."

"I know," insisted Anna, wiping her eyes. "But I just... I want to have his child. But I just can't seem to!" She broke down yet again, shoulders shaking as tears escaped her. Mary hugged her yet again.

When she left several hours later, she jotted down Dr. Ryder's contact information on a slip of paper before handing it to John. He had been downstairs, staring at a cup of tea and looking very solemn. "When she's ready for it, please give this to her," Mary murmured. "He's based in York and he's a wonderful doctor. I think maybe he could help you."

John managed a weak smile. "Thank you. For all of this." He paused before adding, "I know seeing you has cheered her up some."

Mary really wasn't certain she had done much... but she supposed she had given Anna someone to talk to, and maybe that was good enough.


March 3, 2018

Mary glanced at her tiles. An X, a B, two Os... She glanced over at Sybbie's, relieved to find some more options there. It was a game night, something they had recently established. George had requested to play Scrabble, but since he and Sybbie were still learning to read, it meant they were playing as teams.

Her phone screen lit up as George leaned across the table to spell out RED. "Very good!" Tom praised him as he put the tiles up there. "Now it's Sybbie and Mary's turn..."

Mary had picked up her phone, frowning everything out as she read the message.

THOMAS: He said yes!

Mary dropped her phone, letting it clatter on the table and causing one of her tiles to fall of its little shelf. Before Tom could ask, she was rising to her feet. "I need to make a call quick," she said, beaming from ear to ear. "Thomas and Jimmy are engaged."

Tom grinned. "Tell them I said congratulations!"

"I will," said Mary, ducking out of the room, just as she heard George ask, "What does engaged mean?"


April 2, 2018

"I really thought they would work out," bemoaned Edith as they sat at the café. Mary had run up to London for some business and invited Edith out for lunch. She had half hoped her sister would say no, but it turned out she wasn't all that busy.

Mary said nothing, figuring it would only be unkind. Tom's romance (if it could even be called that) with Laura Edmunds has fizzled into nothingness in short order, with them mutually agreeing to remain friends... though it was obviously just a hollow agreement, as to Mary's knowledge they had never spoken since.

Tom's heart hadn't been in it. He liked Laura, he insisted when Mary pried, but he claimed nothing clicked. After needling him some more, Tom finally admitted he hadn't ever really truly entertained her as a romantic interest.

"I can't get over her," he had confessed, and at once Mary regretted pushing him to respond. "And it isn't even just that I'm incapable of it... it's that I won't let myself. I won't allow myself to just... forget about her." He had looked down, gaze trained on the edge of the coffee table in front of them. "She was everything to me."

All her playful teasing gone, Mary had ruminated on his words. It was the same way she felt, in so many ways. Until Henry, she had never actually contemplated being in a truly serious relationship again. Matthew was her great love; no one else could ever think to compare.

But Henry was different. It wasn't love, as Tom had teased when she had come home from the first date, dizzy with excitement. It was more that she finally felt like she had been woken out of slumber. The part of her that actually longed for romantic companionship had been dormant so long that she had forgotten what it felt like. With Charles (and even her short lived fling with Tony), she had merely been going through the motions and flattered by their attentions. But now—

"Just because you're with someone... it doesn't mean you'll forget about her," Mary offered up, his words both making her sad and guilty, as if a deficiency of love Matthew was what made being with Henry somehow so easy.

"I know." Tom stared down at his lap, looking still so lost. "But it feels wrong... being with someone else, when I'd much rather be with her."

There was a lump in her throat. "I understand."

"No. No, you don't." Mary was startled but Tom turned to her, no resentment or bitterness to be seen. "You understand me better than anyone, but not this. And I'm glad you don't." He glanced back down at his lap. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you." She reached out, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Tom shook his head. "I know. But I don't think I ever will be. At least, not in that way." He swallowed. "I don't— I don't even want to get married."

Mary blinked, remembering his drunken confession at New Year's all those years ago. At the time, she had assumed that they were the ramblings of an emotional, drunk man who was reliving all the misery and agony of losing the woman he loved. Now, even though almost six years had passed, he was still firmly tied to his resolve. Perhaps he really did mean it.

Mary hadn't known what to say, merely offering him her silence. He hadn't cried that night, thank God (at least not in front of her), but there had been a gloominess that hung over them both until the next morning, where they hadn't spoken of it since.

"At least things have worked out for you and Henry," Edith said with more than an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice, snapping Mary back into reality. She said nothing, merely reaching for her drink, which prompted Edith to ask, "Are things serious?"

"We're taking things slow for now," was all Mary said, thinking of the kisses they had exchanged in the tunnel that one rainy night and the way her heart had worked overtime. "Seeing where it goes."

It wasn't the answer Edith was looking for, as evidence by the scowl on her face when she thought Mary wasn't looking. Mary merely smirked to herself. Good.


May 19, 2018

Mary wondered if she should even ask... but not asking was killing her. "Why isn't Henry invited to the wedding?"

Thomas glanced up from his laptop before swiveling around. "It's a small venue," he said carefully. "We're limited on guests."

Mary wondered just how many people were invited. She knew full well Thomas wasn't inviting his whole family... maybe his sister and his younger brother, but Mr. and Mrs. Barrow certainly wouldn't be in attendance. Jimmy was an only child whose parents had died in a car crash when he was eighteen, so all he might be inviting were cousins. Unless they were marrying in a shoe box, Mary suspected there would be enough for at least one extra...

"Is that the real reason?"

Thomas dealt her a Look that clearly read: Do you want to know the truth? "I'll be less mad if I know the reason now than if I learned you've been lying to me later," she told him truthfully.

Thomas sighed. "Fine. It's the official reason."

He had a long pause, which prompted Mary to ask, "And the unofficial reason?"

"We'd like to spend our wedding day with the people we care most about."

Mary blinked. That was more than a little disarming. Anna and John were invited... and Mary knew for a fact that Thomas didn't like John. At all. They had gone on a triple date, back in February, the three couples, and Anna had hit it off with Thomas and Jimmy, slowly becoming their friend as well. It wasn't uncommon for Anna's name to be mentioned in conversations between Mary and Thomas these days or for Mary to hear about Anna stopping by Jimmy's studio to ask for musical information for a character in her book.

Furthermore, the Carsons were invited. Granted, Thomas had never had a bad word to say where Elsie was concerned, but he had quarreled with Charlie frequently. During those months when she had been unable to come to work, Mary was well aware Thomas had butted heads with Charlie frequently.

"And you don't like Henry?"

Thomas hesitated. "I think you could do better. That's all."

Mary didn't know how to feel about that. "I see." She tried not to be annoyed, especially when she had specifically asked, but it was hard to hear. "He hasn't... well, he hasn't said anything offensive, has he?" Henry had never indicated he was bigot to Mary, but then again, most people didn't advertise that sort of thing. The last thing she wanted was to find out her boyfriend was treating her friends poorly.

Thomas shook his head.

She turned back to her laptop, wondering if this was some sort of a bad omen.


July 21, 2018

The tears didn't come until she had hung up. Even when she closed her eyes, all she could see was the fire engulfing the car. Her knees had nearly given out, Papa catching her before she had careened into other onlookers. She couldn't tell whose car was whose, couldn't remember which number Henry's car was...

She had hugged him when the ambulance arrived, more composed by that point. His neck, which always smelled of his aftershave and his laundry detergent, had a smokiness to it. It made Mary want to gag, just as she had when Tom had held her by the waist saying, "It's Charlie Rodgers' car, it wasn't him—" She had hunched out over the metal bin, hands gripping the sticky edges, disgusted and wondering what was wrong with her.

"I have to go," Henry had said, sounding close to tears. "His wife—"

"Go." She drew away. "I understand." When their dark eyes locked, Mary had made her mind up.

She had always intended to wait, though.

"Why did you do that?"

Mary spun around. She knew Tom was listening in the whole time. He had been in the next room but it wasn't as if there was any other noise and she hadn't exactly been quiet.

"Because I can't do this anymore," she answered, meeting his eye and trying to emulate the Mary Crawley she had once been. That girl had been so strong— Ever since Matthew's death she had been such a fucked up mess.

"Why?" He sounded like a parrot, repeating the same word over and over. "You like him... You love him," he corrected. Mary's jaw tightened. "Why wouldn't you want to be with him?"

"It's not enough!" She did love Henry... Or at least she loved how she felt when she was with him. His life was exciting and exhilarating, the sort of thing she had always thought she would want in a man. Matthew's life hadn't always been full of daring thrills, but she had never been bored with him... and it was hard to complain about Henry boring her.

"Is this about what happened today?" Tom asked, as if it could be about anything else.

Mary's lips trembled. "I can't do it anymore, Tom. I can't bear to lose someone else that way." Granted, accidents like Matthew's happened all too regularly— It was the result of human error. But after witnessing the conflagration that afternoon, Mary knew it would be excruciating to endure it a second time... and with Henry's profession, he had a higher chance of meeting such an end. "Especially when I'm expected to be sitting in the stands, cheering him on," she added bitterly.

Tom walked towards her, wrapping her into a hug. Mary sank into him, letting him be her rock once again. For the first time since that horrible crash, she felt safe. Secure. Mary closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Gone was the trace of smoke or sweat, simply Tom. All of it was shattered mere seconds later. "He would understand if you stayed home," he murmured. "Really. He would."

God— was he still going on about Henry? It wasn't that she unsympathetic; if anyone knew how wretched Henry must feel after losing his best friend in such a horrible way, it was her. But what about her? What about her anguish? What about that fear that had started the moment the cars set off, thrumming inside her when the engines roared as they circled the racetrack? What about watching the car burst into flame after it rolled over three times, only reminding her of how Matthew's Prius had turned over thrice? What about the fact a man had died almost the same way her husband had and she had sat there and watched it happen?

Mary wrestled her way from his grasp. "You don't get it!" Her voice was much too loud, at a pitch and volume that would easily rouse the children, but Mary didn't care. "I'm done with it! I'm done with him! I can't do it anymore!"

"You're only saying that because of what happened!" Mary thought it was a damn good reason, but Tom still seemed determined. "The grief has been stirred back up for you— and I know it hurts. I know it does."

Just for a moment, it seemed like her understood. It really did. He saw her pain, understood she was in agony—

"And it's frightening," continued Tom, "knowing you can get hurt again— but you will be hurt again, and so will I, because being hurt is part of being alive... and it's not reason to give up on Henry."

Henry, Henry, Henry! It was always about Henry! "If you're so concerned about him, why don't you just date him?" spat Mary, beyond annoyed and frustrated by him. "He's single now!"

"For one thing, I'm not really his type," Tom said, and it took everything within Mary to not roll her eyes. Of course he could joke at a time like this. "You are. You're the one he loves, and he loves you. Why would you give that up?"

Mary ignored that question, uncertain of what answer she would give. "Why are you interfering? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I love you and I want you to be happy!" Tom exclaimed back, any good naturedness fading as irritation won out. "You're my best friend and I've seen you through the worst of it!"

Tears were leaking out of the corners of Mary's eyes. The exhaustion of the day coupled by the fact Tom seemed to think now was the time to challenge her meant her ironclad control over her emotions had slipped off cleanly. "It's not what I want!" she cried out, unable to think of anything else.

Henry had many qualities that Mary admired. Sometimes she even liked the person she became in his presence. Being with him reminded her of being young...

But it wasn't enough to hide the fact his whole career revolved around cars and driving them at high speeds. It was something he loved, something Mary knew would pain him to give up. It boiled down to a simple lack of compatibility—

But Tom didn't see it that way. Maybe it was Mary's own fault, letting Henry into her world, meeting her family. Henry came to the house often, giving George toy cars and even once a guest to one of Sybbie's tea parties. He stayed late into the evenings, almost replicating the sort of nights her and Tom would share with Matthew.

In a short time, Henry had become not only Mary's boyfriend but one of Tom's closest friends. They had a bond that existed outside of her... Mary might have been jealous if it hadn't revolved almost solely around their shared love of cars.

That thought brought Mary back. Cars... the crash, the racetrack, her hospital bed, Papa, the helium balloon traveling up up up...

"You of all people should be able to understand why I can't go through that again!" The words clawed their way out of her throat. She couldn't look at Tom, but even she could, Mary doubted she would be able to make him out clearly through her tears. She felt so angry all of a sudden and all her ire was directed solely at him. "You know what it's like! Why would you want to watch me go through that again?"

"I don't." Tom sounded almost hurt. He took a step towards her but she backed away. "But I don't think you should give up on him. Not yet." He swallowed. "Nobody else has made you feel this way since Matthew. Why would you throw it away?"

"Why would I listen to you?" Mary countered, injecting as much venom into her voice as possible. "You're the one who refuses to even consider another woman!" It almost seemed hypocritical to Mary, to shove her at someone when he couldn't even look at a woman in that light. "You've even told me you won't ever marry, so why are you trying to shove me down the aisle?"

Tom was rendered silent for a moment. Good, thought Mary viciously. "This isn't about me," he tried insisting when he regained his ability of speech.

"You've made this about you, Tom!"

"He's the one for you, Mary!" Now he was the one silencing her. "If you're ever going to be with someone long term, it's Henry. I can just— I can just see it."

She couldn't deal with any of this anymore. Not him, nor Henry—

Mary shoved past him, their shoulders knocking into each other as she walked towards the stairs. Tom made no movements to stop her, simply watching her sadly as she disappeared from view. Mary had to practically grip the bannister, more physically tired than she even realized.

When she finally crashed onto her bed, face buried into her pillow and weeping, it wasn't because of Henry or Charlie or even because of Matthew. It was because of Tom, and the realization he was not on her side.