in a house with big windows
The windows were not metaphorical. They were big, bright and opened right up to the kitchen. The table held four chairs, one for each of them. One spare. Three empty and one where the little girl with dark hair and big, bright eyes sat with her shoes hitting the kitchen table legs.
The room was big, but not too big. The aloneness still lingers. It hangs around in the air lately.
It was not breakfast unless there was bloodshed. Heads would roll, toast would be spat. Milk would be spilt and yes, there would be crying over it.
Maeve did her best to ignore it, her only break being the cigarette and coffee she nursed with closed eyes and a closed door. And what could she say? She wasn't a morning person and neither was Winnie. They were both having a bleak start to the day, Maeve thinks; if I could cry, I would too, and she shrugs before looking through the glass windows into their home where her daughter sits at the table, arms folded and scowl etched into her face.
Five year olds aren't sweet. In fact, Maeve would choose the 'terrible two's' and a 'threenager' over five. Five is bossy. Five is cocky and reckless. Five on Winnie has too much of herself in it. Five is closer to ten which is closer to teen years, and that she's not looking forward to. Five is fucking terrible. Fifteen should be worse.
She lights up another Benson & Hedges. Nine hours without a nicotine fix mixed with the brattiness of Moordale's finest students was hard to work through, but the toilets in the back block are overrun with fifteen year olds that smell like Lynx Africa and Marlboro Gold's - oh, how the times have changed. There are new kids who run riot in the back block, her reign was done years ago.
Ten years ago, to be exact.
Winnie's pigtails bob up and down as she swings her legs at the table the same way Maeve did when she was her age. But her legs are too much like her father's and look like they might snap in half if the wind were too strong. Frog legs.
There's a leaky tap in the house with big windows, a leaky tap that they'd been promising each other would get fixed, but it never had. Probably some miscommunication where one of them said they'd mention it to Jakob, then assuming the other would do it. It was a never ending cycle. But she'd be damned if she were going to be the one to make the move. There were so many things wrong with the place. Tiles had lifted in the back room, an excuse for Otis to not use it as his office. Her own office was small and the window ledges were rusting, but it was her safe space and she refused to give it up. There were problems in the walls, not physical - these were metaphorical. There were problems in the air.
No, it's not that deep, she ponders. There's a problem with us.
But the house, it was theirs and there was no better feeling than coming home after a long day at work and knowing that it's home. The simple things, Otis would say. She could hear his voice as if he were right behind her.
A tap on the shoulder pulls Maeve from glaring at the crack in a window panel that needed replacing. "Coffee and cigarettes," Jean says softly next to her.
Maeve is startled when she meets Jean's eyes that were kind and caring and almost laced with a look that Maeve is all too used to - sympathy. She holds back a grimace. "Pardon?"
"The simple things? Coffee and cigarettes, a teeny, tiny bit of respite before starting in the storm that is the day of a mother…"
Maeve chuckles with a nod. Flicking her ash on the ground, she offers her half drunk coffee to Jean to which she doesn't refuse, taking the mug and lacing her fingers through the handle. Jean joins her on the patio with her small quips and unignorable wisdom, she can't help but love her. Every single bit of wisdom that has ever come out of Otis's mouth was all Jean, of that, Maeve is certain and she uses that as the excuse for being unable to ignore the gravitational pull Maeve has towards the Milburn's. "The shit storm, no less."
"Shit storm, wild hurricane, blistering winds, chaos, call it what you will…" Jean says, clutching the mug tighter as Maeve reaches out for her coffee, lowering her hand when she sees that it's no longer hers. "And how is our darling today?"
Was there a less embarrassing way of saying that they fought over porridge, half of it ended up on the floor and the other half in Winnie's hair? "Well…" Maeve starts with a sigh. "She absolutely fucking hates porridge."
Jean laughs and leans into Maeve's shoulder, "As did Otis."
Maeve suppresses a sigh, as did Otis , she repeats in her mind. "Well," she begins. "The git gave our kid all the bad parts of him when I already gave her the bad parts of me."
"I would say she definitely inherited a lot of his bad qualities, I won't lie. But she inherited a lot of your great ones, so there's a win there."
"I'm here for the small wins."
Jean rubs her face with her free hand before handing Maeve back her cup of coffee. "Jakob and I have our trip to the Canary Islands coming up."
Maeve grins at Jean, "Please tell me you're eloping this time."
Jean scoffs, "I'm sorry but I am not you nor my son. I will not be eloping without my loved ones being present."
She feels her heart stop, or her throat hitch. Or her entire body succumbed to feelings she did not want to feel, but her smile stays plastered on her face, fearing that the manic look would make her look crazy. Twenty year old Maeve thought that it was the best idea she'd ever had. And it was the best question she'd ever been asked. And Otis was the only person she'd ever need.
And in that moment in time, all those things were true.
Blackpool wasn't far, and both Eric and Aimee were disappointed but Adam and Steve were more than happy to see the 'city', and they did what they could on Otis's small wage.
Maeve's brought back down to earth when she realises that Jean is still talking. "So it's the Canary Islands for about a month, Otis will be using my office as well to see my clients but I really wish you and him might use this time to talk through things…"
Maeve finds it hard to not list reasons why talking through things would be a terrible idea. The sheer ridiculousness of sharing one's feelings being at the top of said list. At the bottom of it, she just doesn't have the energy. Or the heart. "Otis has always been the one with the talking skills, I'm more of a listener myself."
"But do you listen?" Jean challenges.
Again, not one of my skills, she thinks. "I try."
Jean isn't convinced, raising an eyebrow. "In times like these, both parties need to both speak, and listen. Who knows what you might hear… or be able to voice given the right circumstances."
Being therapised by your mother in law is a lot to get used to. It took years for Maeve to get used to it, but in times like these, she wishes Otis were a lot more like Jean. Maybe, with all his skills, he'd be able to open up to Maeve a little more. It was something she hoped for at times, and feared at others. She didn't want to hear it, but she knew she'd have to one day.
The reason behind it feeling like their world was ending.
Maeve nods and fakes a smile, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "We'll get there, Jean."
Jean wraps an arm around Maeve's shoulders. "I hate to see you like this, and I do wonder if Winslow picks up on anything. She's so intuitive. Just like you."
Her daughter's intuition scared her. "God, I know."
"If you need a break, you're more than welcome to stay at the house while we're gone."
"There is much better coffee than the crap I'm drinking, at your place," Maeve groans.
"That too, and I'll get Jakob's sister to send more of that Swedish coffee you like…" Jean adds in a sing-song that makes Maeve both cringe and laugh at the same time.
"We're fine here, Jean. Honestly. Truly."
Maeve can tell Jean doesn't buy it, but she was telling the truth. She'd rather be in the house that feels slightly empty than away from Otis. In the house she bought with him, when they had each other and they saved every single cent they'd ever earned to start a new life in Moordale with their baby who was only months old was only that - a house. It wasn't a home, not when Otis wasn't around. The hallways were cold when she was home alone. The bed was so cold when they started drifting apart.
Jean stands up when Winnie spots her, waving at her granddaughter through the cracked window. "I just see Otis and I wonder how his mind is ticking with the distance, how he works through all his feelings."
Maeve knows exactly how his mind is ticking and how he's working through it.
He's not.
It's simple really. Let the ignition tick over twice before revving the engine and then the car starts up.
Unless it doesn't, then Maeve has to let it sit for five minutes before trying again. If only it weren't frowned upon to smoke in a vehicle. The stress gets to her and there's nothing more satisfying than a fresh, crisp cigarette to really get the lungs going.
"Why don't we just get a new car?" Winnie asks, causing Maeve to close her eyes and pretend to smack her head on the steering wheel.
"I'm trying, frog legs," she replies in a tone that's far too light and bright for the answer. "Mummy is trying to save the money."
"Why don't we just ask dad to buy us one?"
The sinking feeling in her chest and the roll of her eyes make her question her caffeine intake or lack thereof. She makes a mental note for three coffees before leaving tomorrow. She turns to the back seat and is met with big, blue eyes and a dissatisfied look. A mirror doesn't lie, and Maeve is looking straight into one in the form of a five year old. The look of dissatisfaction is hereditary, she sees. "I'm going to utilise this moment as a teaching tool," she says, straightening out her shoulders. "We're not going to ask your father to buy us a car, because we don't need him to. Do you know why?"
"No."
"Because we are women, and we don't owe men anything. There's nothing wrong with our car, it's just very, very special to start up."
Lies, pure lies, but Maeve is happy with the lie if it means she's proving a point, and the point is proven when Winnie replies with; "Women don't owe men anything."
Maeve smiles to herself, turning the key in the ignition again and hearing the engine rumble in the right way. "Perfect."
"Mum, are you going to be late to work?"
Maeve's smile drops. "No, bub," she lies again. "I'm never late. Always on time.
"On time is late," Winnie says.
Maeve shakes her head, a smile creeping back. "I love you, kid. Way too much..." she tells her daughter. "Waaay too much to be listening to Otis Milburn through the body of my child," she mutters to herself.
Tomorrow, she may need to borrow Otis's car. And she'll tell him she owes him one. Parenting is hard when you have to lie to the five year old.
Maeve's certain that the best thing about being one of Moordale High's English teachers is the sheer amount of guts a lot of the students have. Whether it be a fearless word warrior who has spent months working on a piece of work to hand in or, the fearless weedhead that whipped together a couple of pages overnight.
And at times, the weedhead makes more sense than the word warrior.
Marking work always took a lot longer than she thought it would, or that she told Otis it would. But when she sits in the same office that Miss Sands used, she thinks the least she could do is put a bit of effort into marking. Tonight, the weedhead wins.
Alongside weedhead, two other papers stand out. Similar layouts, similar wording, one with grammatical errors and the other without any. One that has the name "Jane Eyre" spelt correctly and the other with the name spelt as one word.
Maeve snickers. She wonders how much Lucy Hughes charges to write papers for the students.
With Lucy's papers in her bag to reread when she gets home, she drives home with the promise of eight being the latest she'd get there, and tonight, she might just keep it.
When she walks through the door, there are squeals of delight, and roast chicken in the oven - she can tell by the smell of lemon and oregano. She reminds herself to tell Eric, because, even though he denies it, it's his favourite meal. She'll take photos and send them just for a little extra torture.
The lounge is dimly lit, the fire is warm and unlikely to go out like it does when she lights it. Every single year Otis attempts to talk her through correct kindling stacking and burning embers, but it never seems to stick. It always ends up in a night in front of the fire and laughter over too many coffees… the crackling fire in front of her just makes her feel sad. A sad reminder that they haven't laughed over her lack of fire building skills in the longest time.
Maeve creeps up on her daughter and Otis, not wanting to disturb them when Winnie's laughter is from the belly and the tears probably streaming from her eyes are from too many tickles. Otis's long legs and arms are tangled around their daughter whose laughter is lighting up the room. "How's it going then?" she asks quietly.
Otis pauses on the ground, laughter still rattling in his chest when Winnie climbs up on his back, "Maeve," he says deeply, eyes glittering in the soft glow of the fire. "You're early."
"On time," she replies, running her fingers through her hair. "How're you doing, frog legs?"
Winnie rushes to her mum, wrapping her arms around her waist and Maeve takes a moment, pulling her closer, brushing her lips along her daughter's forehead. Every single day when she has her daughter back in her arms after work, it's like a weight has been lifted. "We cooked dinner, we did homework…" the five year old keeps a running commentary even when Maeve has zoned out, reveling in the moment where her daughter is in her arms.
Otis nods along with the commentary, agreeing here and there but Maeve focuses on his soft smile, messed hair, awkward fingers flexing in and out as he rocks on the balls of his feet. "Busy day?" he asks once Winnie's chatter ceases, finding an interest on the iPad sitting on the couch. "Winslow said you had car troubles?"
"Nothing I can't fix."
"Are you sure?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow before putting his hands in his jacket pockets.
The git wears a jacket and it's not even cold in here, she thinks. "Positive."
"I could get someone to look at it?"
"You're not really an expert on fixing things, so I might just pass on that one, thanks."
"Ah," he says, nodding slowly. "I see. The underlying meaning."
Maeve scoffs, "Whatever," she adds in a way that makes her feel like a child. Like Winnie when being offered porridge instead of cereal or when the toast is cut into squares rather than triangles. An unnecessary drama, but the offhanded comment proves a point.
"I'm offering car help. God forbid I'd offer you anything else."
She folds her arms across her chest. Not wanting to let herself appear like she's allowing him the opportunity to catch her unawares. "I'll ask Jakob."
Otis moves a step closer, hand reaching out to her elbow that he softly brushes with his fingers. When she looks up, it's like every single bit of her catches up when she's looking into his eyes. She's tired from a four o'clock wake up, her shoulders feel heavy, her eyes prickle, her chest is tight. She could do with one of his hugs, or one of his oh-so inspirational pick-me-up talks that got her through her teachers degree. Or that work on his clients. The same clients that he gives relationship advice. Oh, how the irony amuses her. Mostly, she just wants his arms around her and to tell her everything is okay. "Shit, Maeve," he says.
His thumb dances on her cheekbone, on instinct, she moves away. On instinct again, she moves back closer. The sound of candy crush is jarring when it's in a quiet room with the sound of a crackling fire and the person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with who's so close, you can hear his heartbeat. She didn't notice the tears in her eyes or on her cheeks until Otis's look of concern was burning into her. Her laugh is by default, and the quick shake of her head wasn't intentional but it's almost as if her body is working on its own while her mind tries to remind her that this is all for the better, and she's okay. And of course she still loves Otis, they've always been friends. And sometimes, being friends is enough.
And sometimes, it just has to be.
The tears embarrass her, but at least they're followed up with a sniff, a straight back and a shove at Otis's chest. "Long day," she says, trying to cover up. "And you know how I get without my evening coffee."
She can tell he doesn't buy it, not for a second. But he humours her. "Caffeine at night is a wonderful thing for your sleep pattern."
"I never knew sleeping was one of your life's passions."
"I'm a dark horse, Maeve. There's a lot you don't know about me."
She knows that isn't true. She knows him better than she knows herself.
Otis's eyes are blue. Arctic. Torn. Cold. Maeve thinks her stupid thoughts and borderline obsession with his eyes should be followed up with something equally as obvious and ridiculous.
Her own eyes are brown. Hurt. Deep and let down.
Otis shifts from foot to foot, putting his hands back in his pockets. "I just... we're a good team, you and I," he says with a chuckle that Maeve knows is hardly from humour. "We'll get through it. We always do."
She feels like he wants to say more, but instead he keeps rocking on the balls of his feet. For a man who's paid to talk through anything and everything, he always looks like he's got words on the tip of his tongue that he'll never voice to her. She's unsure of exactly what he means, or if he means anything at all. Or if his words are simply to sound like he's trying to fix something. But what?
Maeve purses her lips. Optimistic at best? The optimistic approach sounds promising when it's out of Otis's mouth. "Sounds stupid, Milburn," she says instead. Better to act nonchalant than hopeful.
She folds her arms as he chuckles again. "Ah, Maeve," he says in that tone that makes her think, and wish, probably upon a cliched star that's oozing with his optimism, that they're sixteen again. "Don't forget you're still a Milburn... and she is too," he adds with a jerk of his head towards the dark haired girl sitting on the couch surrounded by flower petals in paintings that look way too lifelike for Maeve to ever feel comfortable with.
Winnie's eyes are blue. They're youthful and bright.
Her daughter has her father's eyes.
Maeve stands silently, leaning back to rest on the kitchen counter. The house was all she ever wanted. And everything they had was thrown into this house. It used to feel like a home, but now it's dull and damp at best. If she concentrates, Maeve feels like she can feel the summer heat from when they first moved in. Or see her spinning around the empty piece of land in Otis's arms when he bought it for her. They way he kissed her temples every morning in this very kitchen, Winnie's first day at kindergarten in Moordale, the moment she got the job at Moordale High and they celebrated in the deep bath that could fit the two of them in it. "Did you ever think in a million years we'd be doing this?"
"Discussing surnames? Or sleeping patterns?"
"Having a kid. Doing the whole this thing," she says gesturing to the space between them.
Otis's stare is too long, too harsh on her soul, too sad for her to face. "I never in a million years thought I would have lost you. Or would have to miss you the way I do."
"We were young, Otis."
"We were young," he agrees, leaning on the counter beside her with his hand on hers. "We made mistakes -"
"-a shit load," she adds.
"Yes, a shit load," he replies with an exhale.
"We were young, Otis. We had a baby straight out of graduating uni. We lived in a shitty apartment in London with no money. We moved home - uprooted everything - to come back here and you promised things would be different - they'd be better - you promised! " she says shakily, praying the tears keep away.
"I'm sorry -"
The disappointment creeps back up again, along the back of her neck, flushing her cheeks, leaking into her voice. The disappointment is sometimes hard to swallow when she has a lifetime of it backed up in her throat. "You're my best friend, Otis. When did our friendship take the backseat?"
He turns to face her, at times like these, she wishes she were taller. Able to look straight into his eyes, read everything in them. But instead, he tilts her head up with his fingers, and just like that, she wishes she was in his arms. "You've always been my friend first and foremost, but somewhere along the road, I think we got lost in translation."
She snickers to herself, always some technical approach to their life.
They were young, dumb and in love. They got married, they thought their love could conquer all and had a kid because she couldn't do the same path they'd done before when they were sixteen. But young, dumb and in love only gets you so far before you're in your late twenties with a kid trying to make it through life.
She murmurs, leaning her head on his shoulder. "That little girl ensures we'll do anything we can to get through this."
"Sounds like you're really excited," he says with a sigh.
"Yeah, well, it could be worse."
"Ah, my favourite flavour of Maeve - pessimistic."
"And I shall live longer than you."
"We're in the for the long haul then."
Maeve smiles. "So you've said."
The warmth of the fire reminds her of home. The one she built with Otis. The one that now echoes the aloneness.
The house with big windows.
Winnie went down without a problem. There were bribes of sweets and ice cream on the weekend, but Otis made a point to Maeve that kids don't really understand the concept of time and she doesn't know when the weekend is. So, if they're lucky, she'll forget.
Shower time is Maeve's favourite. Tears get lost amongst all the water, and faking a skin care routine meant Otis would hop in bed, breathe far too fast to actually be asleep and she'd do the same. Neither really wanting to have to be all alone together.
Otis's feet hang off the end of the bed, she still smiles at his mismatched socks he wears to bed, even when his back is turned. It's probably just as well, she hates the way he seems to be able to tell she's been crying.
She slips into the sheets next to him, back to back. Unsteady breaths escaping both of them. She squeezes her eyes shut, wishes away the tears and focuses on their daughter in the next room, sleeping peacefully in the house with both her parents. Everything Maeve never had. Everything she ever wished for.
In the house with big windows.
There's an unsteady shiver in her when her crying seems to catch up in her throat. When it shakes the bed, Otis's long body feels it. He sighs heavily, rolls over onto his side and she feels his breath on her neck. His hand finds its way along her hip and finds her hand, holding it in his.
His touch is soft. Not too hard, almost wary. Probably worried. All he does is keep her hand in his, unsteady breaths this time on her skin. It makes her eyes prickle more. Because she can't speak, she doesn't know what to say. And he doesn't speak, so she doesn't know what he's thinking.
But she lets the tears roll silently, no words spoken yet again. Another night lost to the silence, but at least this time, he's there for her for the first time in what feels like forever.
He still feels like her house with big windows, keeping her safe when his hand holds hers. Nothing was more all-consuming than a love that never seems to die. When she's with him, she never feels alone.
But why does it feel like the windows are no longer protecting her?