"Don't be an asshole…"
Poe fumbles with his keys, pressing his phone into his shoulder with the side of his face. "I'm not being an asshole, Bee, I just can't really budge my schedule today."
"It's one family dinner!" The phone speaker crackles at the volume of her voice. "You know dad's rule: unless you're in the hospital or meeting the president…"
"...you don't miss family dinner," he finishes.
"Are you in the hospital?"
"...No."
"Are you meeting the president?"
"God, I hope not."
"Then you can come to family dinner."
He finds his apartment key and sticks it into the doorknob, locking his apartment up. "It's this CNN thing. I can't exactly cancel it."
"You can't get someone else to do it?"
"No." He makes his way toward the stairs.
"Why not?"
"Well-technically I can, but I shouldn't."
Beebee sighs dramatically. "No, no, I get it. You would rather argue on live TV than have a nice dinner with your lonely old father."
"You know that's not-"
"'The cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon…'" she starts singing, "...blah blah blah and the man in the moon…"
"You don't even know the words."
"'"When you coming home, son?"' '"I don't know when."' But we'll get together then, daaad. We're gonna have a good time thennnn…"
"Are you done?"
"I have several songs about negligent sons in my catalogue," she says.
"I'm not negligent, I'm just busy."
"Tomato, tomahto."
He puts his phone back into his hand and starts walking down the steps. "What's he making?"
"Your favorite. That fried thing with the chicken."
"What time?"
"Seven, like always."
"What about eight?"
"Too late. I'll be hungry by then."
"Eat a snack or something." He nods at a takeout guy as he passes him on the stairs, the smell of Chinese food wafting through the stairwell. Speaking of food, he forgot to eat breakfast. "Listen, I can either do eight o'clock or just not come. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be some work-obsessed jerk, but this job requires a work-obsessed jerk sometimes."
"You're not a jerk," she says. "You're just…"
"I'm just…?"
"I get worried about you. I know dad gets worried about you, too."
He shakes his head. "I'm fine."
There's a pause that's filled with phone static, then she says, "I'll ask Dad about eight. Can't promise he'll be too happy about it…"
"Tell him I'll make polvorosas."
"Speaking of polvorosas, how was your date?"
"What do polvorosas have to do with my date?"
"Nothing, I just really want to know how it went and couldn't think of a segway."
"It was absolute horse shit." He reaches the bottom of the flight of stairs, enters the small lobby with dingy black-and-white checkered floors. He notices that the door to the outside is propped open, the cold autumn air rushing in.
"Oh," Beebee says, disappointed.
"He insisted on paying, then didn't tip the waitress. And he must've drank, like, three glasses of milk."
"What adult man drinks milk?"
"That adult man, apparently. He's single handedly keeping the dairy industry alive. I also told him that I've never seen The Godfather. You would've thought that I said I kick puppies for sport."
"You've never seen The Godfather?"
He groans. "Not you, too."
"I've even seen The Godfather. And you know I hardly ever watch movies."
"Because you have the attention span of a fruit fly." He pulls his coat closed, shielding himself against a burst of cold wind.
"I don't deserve this abuse."
Poe hears a muffled voice coming from her end.
"Oh, gotta go," Beebee says. "Customer."
"'Kay. Love you. Eat something besides cheetos for lunch, alright?"
"Love you too. No promises. Byeeeeee-" She hangs up.
He lowers his phone from his ear and checks his phone's notifications. Thirty-two emails and twenty-one texts. And it's only 7:30.
He opens a text from Jessika Pava:
Remember: going over CNN notes 2.
He texts back:
Actually, I'm thinking of just winging it…
It doesn't take long for her to text back:
Haha! Very funny!
A follow-up text:
Wexley says to get your ass to HQ.
A follow-up to the follow-up:
And get me a bagel. Sesame seed, extra cream cheese. That vegan kind if you go to the place with the vegan kind.
A follow-up to the follow-up to the follow-up:
Please. Best boss ever! :)
Poe sends a thumbs up and slides his phone into the inside pocket of his coat.
"Shit. Dammit. Ow. Shit. Dammit. Son of a…" An unfamiliar voice mutters, coming from the outside.
Poe walks outside.
A young man sets down a box with a broken bottom, crouches down, picks up a large volume that had landed on his sneakered foot. He pulls out his phone and sends out a text, then starts putting the books into stacks, not noticing Poe.
Next to him is an old blue Volkswagen beetle, its trunk propped open and filled with boxes.
Poe looks at his watch. 7:34. He might be pushing it, but he'll feel guilty if he just ignores the guy and goes on his way. He crouches down and picks up a book that's landed in a puddle.
He uses his coat sleeve to wipe off the hard cover, reads the title: The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes.
"Thank you," the man says earnestly, finally noticing him.
Poe hands him the book, starts putting the rest of them into the stacks that the stranger has already set up. "No problem."
"You really don't need to…" He pauses mid-sentence, studying his face. "You're Poe Dameron."
Poe can't tell from his tone whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. "Last time I checked," he says.
The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile, then goes down again. "I'm friends with your sister, Beebee. I don't think we've met." He holds out his hand, and Poe shakes it. "Finn Tuwone. I'm Rey Jakku's new roommate."
Finn Tuwone. He recognizes his name, but he can't remember from where.
Their hands pull away-there's a weirdly prolonged amount of eye contact where Poe tries to remember if he's met him before, then they go back to stacking books.
"This is what I get for getting moving boxes from the Dollar Tree…" he says begrudgingly, picking up a copy of Ten Days in a Mad-House by Nellie Bly. He has a lot of books by journalists, autobiographies of journalists…
It clicks.
"Do you work for the First Order Journal?"
Finn looks up at him, his expression suddenly guilty. "Not anymore."
"Too bad. You were the best writer they had."
His face lights up. "You've read my stuff?"
"'Leia Organa Is Not As Advertised'," he quotes the title.
That light quickly goes out. "Oh. Shit."
"It's the first thing I've read from the FOJ that I actually thought was good. No offense."
"Offend away. They fired me. But aren't you Organa's campaign manager?"
He nods.
"It's been awhile since I wrote it, but I'm pretty sure I called her an aristocrat that's advertising herself as working-class as a way of pandering to voters."
"You hit the nail on the head." Poe smiles at him teasingly. "That's exactly what we're doing."
"Well I'm glad you liked it, I guess?"
"Oh, I didn't like it. It pissed me off. But it was the most well-written pissing off that I've ever experienced."
Finn shrugs. "Most journalism is well-written pissing off," he says. "And I kind of gave it my all, considering it's the only hard news my boss ever gave me."
"Where're you working now?"
Finn frowns, picks up the last book. "Nowhere."
Rey sets the bag of Chinese food on her rickety kitchen table, picking open one of the boxes inside and popping a dumpling in her mouth.
Her phone bloops next to the bag. She picks it up and looks at the screen:
Book box broke. Can you bring down a laundry basket or something?
She chews and swallows, then replies:
One sec
Rey grabs her laundry basket from her room and rushes out the door, running down the stairs. She turns the blind corner that leads to the lobby staircase, knocking into a large shoulder.
The laundry basket goes clattering loudly down the stairs, and she stumbles backward, her own shoulder stinging.
Her face burns when she sees who she's knocked into.
Ben stands at the stop of the flight of stairs, clutching the work bag slung across his shoulder. He pushes a lengthy strand of black hair out of his face, awkwardly scratches at the side of his long nose. He's wearing a black sweatshirt over his tall, broad-shouldered build, a pen sticking out of the breast pocket. (he always has a pen on him, but never any paper). "I'm sorry, I-"
"Oh, you're fine. You're fine." She waves him off. "You're fine." Why don't you say "You're fine," one more time, Rey?
There's a stretch of uncomfortable silence.
"You look good," she blurts. "Did you get a haircut?"
"No."
"Oh." Rey rocks back and forth on her heels.
His brown eyes look up at the ceiling, then down at his shoes. "You got a new roommate?"
"Yeah. His name's Finn. He's a journalist."
"Nice," he mumbles, picking at the brick wall.
"Not a romantic roommate. He's sleeping in the loft."
Ben tenses, his face going slightly pink.
Rey cringes at herself. Why does it matter? We're not seeing each other. She clears her throat. "How's the play?"
"Good," He meets her eyes, clearly grateful for a subject change. "Still working out the kinks, but we're on track for opening day."
"What's it called again? The Light…"
"The Pull to the Light. It's good. Your stuff's better, but it's good. Except the lead actor's insufferable."
"They're always insufferable."
He has a way of smiling that always looks like he's trying to suppress it. "Have you written anything else since…"
"No," she says, voice unintentionally curt.
Ben's smile falters, eyes suddenly full of conviction. "You should."
She crosses her arms, suddenly feeling cornered. "I have my hands full with the shop."
"Right," he says, unconvinced.
"I have to go help Finn. 'Scuse me." Rey brushes past him, walking quickly down the stairs and picking up her basket in the lobby. She can feel Ben's eyes on her, but he doesn't say anything else.
After a few seconds, Rey hears his footsteps going up the stairs.
That was the longest conversation they've had in about ten months, and it sucked. She wishes she had a nearby pillow to scream into.
She walks through the lobby and out the door, onto the sidewalk.
Poe and Finn are in the middle of a conversation, neat stacks of books surrounding them.
Finn looks over Poe's shoulder and spots Rey. He strides toward her and takes the laundry basket. "Thanks."
"Takeout's here."
"Good. I'm starving."
"You're the only person I know that orders takeout at seven o'clock in the morning," Poe says, turning around to face her.
"It's the best time to order it," she says. "No one else is, so it comes very quickly. And the evening shift guy smells like marijuana-it ruins my appetite."
Poe squints at her. "You're a peculiar little Brit." He looks at his watch (he's got one of those obnoxious smart watches) and frowns.
"...And you're gonna be late for work," she says.
He slides his hand into the inside pocket of his coat, digging around for something. "If I don't leave in the next five minutes, yeah. I have to pick up bagels, because apparently I'm their boss and their intern."
"Maybe they don't take you seriously because you're so short." Rey tilts her head. "Have you tried standing on a box? Maybe some heels?"
"I would look amazing in heels. Sadly, they hurt my back." He pulls out a white little card and walks over to Finn, throwing it into the laundry basket. "I might know a guy that could get you a job. Text me." He leans in, stage whispers. "If this is a hostage situation, blink twice."
Finn smiles, says, "I'm really not sure yet."
"Oh, shut it. Both of you."
Poe pats Finn on the arm. "Nice to meet you, Finn."
"Nice to meet you, too."
He nods curtly at Rey. "Rey, always a day ruiner."
"It's my duty," she says.
Poe turns on his heel and walks briskly down the sidewalk.
"God, what an arse," Rey says after he's some distance away.
"Yeah," Finn says, still watching Poe leave. "What an ass."
Rey swats him on the arm.
Rey can't sleep. She's not used to having another person living in her house, and she's been so caught up in the whole moving-in process that she hasn't taken a second to realize that Finn is, technically, a complete stranger that she invited into her home indefinitely. Of course she doesn't think he's a bad person, but she also doesn't really know him.
She's curled up in her blue living room chair, watching Pride and Prejudice (the 2005 one with Keira Knightley, obviously) and eating some polvorosas that Poe dropped off earlier that night. Well, not some-like half the tin. He may be annoying, but he sure knows how to bake a biscuit.
This is what she always does when she can't sleep-she watches this exact movie and eats a lot of something, preferably something sweet. Usually she has the sound on, but she doesn't want to disturb Finn, so it's on mute.
That's alright, because she already knows about 99% of the lines just by reading their lips.
Rey's been obsessed with this movie ever since she moved to the States. It's like watching a painting.
She's on the part where Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy are speaking on the balcony of his estate. There's unsaid things between both of them-important unsaid things-but instead of actually addressing them they're exchanging pleasantries, keeping a safe distance from each other.
Her phone buzzes on the coffee table.
She pauses the movie, brushes the crumbs off of her shirt, and leans over to look at her phone.
It's Ben, with a single-worded message:
Hi.