"You don't know what happened?" Toby asked ponderingly, silvery hair transitioning temporarily into a faded powder blue, a reflection of the clear azure painting the quickly vanishing autumn sky. His hair reminded me of a mermaid's tail, scales against scales creating a serene luminescence.
"Beats me," I sighed, melancholy. Worriedly, my thoughts skipped back to Chase, as they'd been doing for the past two weeks since the cut incident. "He's been avoiding me," I admitted, bottom lip jutting out involuntarily in despair.
"When's the last time you saw him?" Toby enquired, rubbing his glove-encased hands together to combat the increasingly frigid winds. The dense Sherpa wool lining of his gloves formed a thick-layered fold where the midnight blue leather ended and his wrist began. Winter was quickly appearing, the way seasons seem to spontaneously manifest out of thin air, catching everybody off guard.
"Last week, I guess. I went over to his house to drop off some box lunches for him. Kathy says he hasn't been eating too well," I told Toby restlessly, a frown disfiguring my face, cheeks puffed out in distress.
"Don't frown," he lamented, chewing happily on a piping hot piece of grilled squid he'd retrieved from inside his overcoat pocket, "you'll get wrinkles. And then I'll never hear the end of it," he chortled gently, jade eyes closing in quiet merriment.
"I should take tips from the master," I conceded, admiring how I'd never once seen the slightest trace of a crease on Toby's forehead in the entire course of our three season long friendship. Leaning my weight against the ridged brick bridge of Flute Fields, I gazed meditatively at the shimmering waters below. Glittering specks of winter sunshine shimmered in the oceanic blue lake, ripples in the water shivering, as if the icy season air was afflicting them too.
"I'd tell you to talk to him," Toby's voice broke into my thoughts, "but knowing Chase, he isn't exactly one to talk about his feelings."
I sighed pensively. "You know him well, then."
"Did something change between the two of you?" he probed lightly; my own personal therapist and best friend rolled into one.
"Nothing changed," I rushed out abrasively, eyes dropping to the healed cut on my finger, a small, faintly mauve scar having formed over it, "and everything changed."
"Lover girl," the deep, sultry voice of the mahogany-headed maiden called out from behind me. I turned around to be greeted with cool tones of silky bottle-green juxtaposing starkly with vivacious tones of sparkling ruby; Selena in all her embellished glory.
"Hi to you, too," I addressed, valiantly ignoring her peculiar new nickname for me. Two seasons had passed since I'd helped her land her dream job in Castanet – a fast friendship had been forged since then. Selena was sandpaper, brusque and coarse on one side, but smoothened out on the other. You never quite knew which side you were going to get.
"What's the deal with you and Chase?" she delved right in, neglecting all boundaries and formalities. Rough side it is. "And don't give me that, "it's nothing," nonsense he's been giving me all month. All I know is that he's been in the foulest mood I've ever seen anyone in, and it's driving all of us at the Brass Bar up the wall. Sometimes we'll give him an order and we're not even sure if he'll cook it. Talk about a disgruntled chef," she ranted in exasperation, raspberry streaks in her hair turning positively livid with pent up aggression.
"I wish I could help you," I sympathized apologetically, shaking my head in hopelessness, "but we haven't really been speaking either. I think he's been avoiding me."
"Man, so the both of you really are stupid," Selena thought aloud, harshness of her personality arising in all its tenacious glory. The golden hair ornament she wore tucked restfully into her bun dangled belligerently in her rage. A pendulum vehemently swinging back and forth, back and forth.
"How kind of you to say so," I retorted jokily, her abrasion futile in the face of my cushion-soft spirits.
"You really need me to spell it out for you, huh?" she sighed dramatically, tanned, slender hand brushing her long curl of a fringe out of her face, "The only thing he'll so much as react to these past few weeks is the mention of your name. He eats your box lunches religiously, everyday, as if the Harvest Goddess herself sent them down to him. Even though he could cook it better, and in probably half the time you took to make it as well." Resting a hand on her curved hip, clothed in ethereal billowing gypsy pants, Selena cocked her head self-assuredly to a side, perfectly groomed magenta eyebrow raised in anticipation for my response.
Catching sight of my slightly agape mouth, she exhaled in frustration, rolling her eyeballs so far into the back of her head that all I could momentarily see was the incensed whites of her eyes. "I can't be telling you everything for him, can I? You've got to go talk to him, and if he tries to inch even a centimeter away, you sprint like a pack of deranged wolves is chasing after you and you haul him back to talk it out like a real man."
I don't know if this makes sense, but in that moment, after Selena's irate tirade, it was like I stopped lurking in the shadows of the past, struggling to swim in the viciously imbibing ocean, searching for clandestine clues of where I'd gone wrong. Instead, I started looking forward towards the future, emerging from the malicious sea to finally catch a gasp of the deliciously salty ocean air. A smile broke out on my face, upper lip pulling taut in my newfound appreciation for Selena's grating frankness. "Thanks," I murmured to her gratefully, eyes gleaming with a newly awakened determination.
"You know what I always tell you," her thick, pouty lips parted to answer, "You need me, honey."
"You might just be right," I responded, before crushing her in an all consuming bear hug.
On the outside of Chase's house, there was a little garden, with a crowded patch of wild lavender growing unkempt in one corner, each stalk hostile with the next, in a strangely beautiful battle of survival of the fittest. Meanwhile, the rest of the dense soil was covered in immaculately tamed rows upon rows of herbs; rosemary, oregano, basil arranged in one by one squares, as orderly as soldiers lining up for a march in. It hit me how, as children, Chase had always been the one to have the greener of the two thumbs between us, and I'd been the one continually churning out messy, congealed, under baked desserts. I smiled fondly at how the roles had been so drastically reversed. Leaning gingerly against his tilted mailbox – red, the colour apples are in a horse's mouth – I waited impatiently for him to get home from work.
"Moll?" an all too familiar voice caught my attention, honeyed silkiness and nostalgic concern, "What're you doing here? It's one in the morning."
"I've been waiting for you, smarty," I replied drolly, heart fluttering at finally hearing his voice again, after so long.
"You could have just came to the bar," Chase berated, fussing deftly with his keys, "It wasn't too crowded anyway."
"Probably because you've been scaring all the customers off, from what I've heard," I lectured him incessantly, noticing how his somber mood over the past three weeks had been instantaneously replaced with worry about my having waited outside his house so late at night, "And you didn't apologize to Candace," I continued nagging.
Following his lead into his house, I flopped myself onto his dreamy snow-white bed, melting into the luscious feather-filled duvet. A puff of cloud on earth. "Hey, did you come here to see me or to sleep in my bed?" he interrogated good-humoredly.
"Who said it can't be both?" I joked lightheartedly, stretching my arms up over my head, delighting in the sumptuous plushness of his bed. "And I came here because I missed your stupid face."
"Wow, that's lovely," he shot back, sarcasm dripping over the indented grooves in his voice, "Is that from a poem?"
"You've been avoiding me," I stated, rolling over to my side so I could sentinel his reaction, as he rummaged through his closet languidly for clothes. His sylphlike fingers stirred nimbly; purposefully.
"What makes you think that?" he questioned, his habitual tactic of deflection.
"Because in all the years I've known you, we've never gone longer than a week without speaking. Except for the seven years we were separated."
"Unfortunately," he bemoaned theatrically. "Those seven years were the most peaceful years of my life," the corners of his mouth twisted into a devilish smirk.
"What's wrong? It got so bad that even Selena came to talk to me. And Selena never lets anything get under her skin." Visions of the aggravated, elephant skinned island beauty flashed through my memory.
"Beats me. Everyone at the bar's been real crabby lately," Chase shrugged curtly, hands languorously going to the back of his neck to pull off his deep indigo apron, immaculately free from stains. He tugged his three trademark bobby pins out of his mass of peach hair – strawberry blonde streaks recently sun kissed in – letting his long, unruly fringe fall into his dimmed violet orbs. He slouched tiredly against his pine dining table, shoulders hunched forward in exhaustion. My heart fell, as if the arteries keeping it suspended had been hacked loose, noticing how drained he looked, like the edges of him had been etched away.
"Did you have a long day?" I asked concernedly, worry coating my hazel coloured eyes, "If you're tired, I'll come pester you another time."
"Every day's been pretty long, recently," he murmured listlessly, translucent gemstone eyes darting to focus on me. I understood that in Chase talk, that meant, "I missed you too."
"I'll bet you haven't had dinner," I voiced, granting him absolution from his embarrassment. Reluctantly relinquishing my position on the bed, I sauntered over to his kitchen area to whip up some seafood fried rice. The smoky aroma of charred rice quickly wafted through his house; ballerinas floating on their feet. Lounging on his bed, snapping up my abandoned spot like a vulture, Chase seemed to be wholly engrossed with his ceiling. "Sorry," I muttered contritely to the failing grey shrimp, before proceeding to lob it into the searing frying pan.
"Do you apologize to corn before you boil it too?" Chase chuckled deeply, turning on his side to face me; lanky forearm crossed over one of his amethyst eyes.
"Not out loud," I pouted, "And I feel bad if I don't say sorry. Don't you?"
"I'm a chef," he called out, one leg propped up so his knee formed a ninety-degree angle, a perfect isosceles against the surface of his bed sheets, "if I apologized to everything I cooked, I'd be so slow that I'd be out of a job."
I wondered at which moment I had grown to find coziness in his sarcasm. "I'm glad you're feeling better." Plating up the seafood topped fried rice, I delivered it with gusto to his dining table. He spooned the egg-coated grains of rice heartily into his mouth. "Anyway, I don't know what's been going on with you, but don't stay away from me anymore, okay?" I spat out hurriedly, a tremor of vulnerability reigning in my tone, "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you, or what happened that night. Just quit avoiding me. I don't like not seeing you everyday. The days go by longer when you're not around," I confessed, affirming that I'd understood his earlier message crystalline clear.
"Okay," he softened visibly.
"So," I began lightly, "do you want to tell me what happened that night? Or do I need to slice off an actual finger before you'll spill?" I quickly realized the poisonous lethality of my joke; pain contorted Chase's sharp features as he fell mute.
"Is it better?" he asked, guilt-wrecked, long, svelte fingers going to tenderly caress over the healed wound.
"It was nothing to begin with," I assured him, giving his fingers a snug squeeze. Increasingly aware of the extremely close proximity to him, my cheeks rapidly burned a flushed coral, the colour of strawberry lollipops in a candy store.
Your whole life, you can go around believing something, and you never question it. Why should you? But, day-by-day, through fleeting touches or a worried look or the anvil tugging on your heart when you miss him, slowly seeds are planted inside of you. Before you've realized that it's even begun, the prowling gradualness of it all has engulfed you – and those seeds are bursting out of their hull shells and sprouting. They are named Love and Kindness and Trust and Wonder and Spirit and Soulmate. And then, suddenly there are so many of them that they've entwined to create a garden so dense and thick that it starts to invade your brain, where the old things you once thought are dying.
Metamorphosis.
The thick of winter had befallen us. Bare skeletons of branches, atop which rested sleepy snow, had now replaced the spots where shrubberies once flourished. The ever-bustling wildlife had retreated for their treasured hibernation, leaving only faint plodding where their rustles used to be. Christmas lights adorned the tiled roofs of the Castanet houses, magical fairy-like luminosities glowing deep magenta, bottle green, sapphire blue, lustrous yellow.
The village youngsters were gathered in the plaza, in a winter celebration of some sort. Strongly mulled wine graced the snugly gloved hands of the young adults, cliché mistletoe strung coyly on streetlamps, fairy lights sparkled from where they lay, threaded through the spindly branches of the snow-clothed trees.
"How's it going?" a dry, husky voice coiled over my shoulder, belonging to a certain khaki donning wanderer. Long, wavy, sandy hair curved scruffily behind his ear.
"Things are good," I replied, genuine smile spreading across my cheeks. I sipped deliberately on my Styrofoam cup of spiced mulled wine, delighting at the subtle hints of orange and peach melding with the aged grapes. "How about you?" I inquired cheerily.
"I'm alright. Could be better," Calvin seemed to sigh dejectedly, cerulean eyes dimming.
My eyes happened to land on teal-haired Phoebe, whose shy eyes darted hurriedly away – a squirrel scurrying – in mortification at having been caught mid-stare at the gruff Calvin. Her cheeks scorched pink carnation. "I think I can help you with that," I laughed.
Part leading him, part dragging him, I brought the bashful pair face to face. Phoebe's turquoise curls looped tighter in her petrification. The awkward introductions quickly faded away to an exhilarated conversation about ores; their eyes glinted simultaneously in concordant blazing passion. I excused myself discernibly, throwing a wink over Calvin's shoulder in response to a thankful Phoebe's curled lips – the sweet curvature of a rose petal.
"You would think you'd have a boyfriend by now, what with the way you play matchmaker so effortlessly," Toby's calm voice floated over to me. Turning my head, I was greeted by Toby and Renee strolling over leisurely, hands intertwined together. Renee looked like the last remaining rays of winter sunbeams had come to settle on her face. Toby's jade eyes gleamed in quiet contentment.
"I do believe that a certain couple has yet to thank me for getting them together," I alluded obviously to him, waiting expectantly for their swift declarations of undying gratitude.
Both smiled serenely at one another, cheeks stretching up in perfect harmony. Renee bowed her head slightly, hazelnut strands of hair falling into her face as she did so. "Thanks, Molly," she reverberated tranquilly. I laughed lightheartedly at Renee's faultless good-naturedness, playfully reproaching Toby for not being more like her. The couple left politely, encased in their own little bubble.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Kathy, waving me over to the olive coloured table where the drinks were held. With her stood – stumbled – Julius, Owen and Chase. As I closed the distance between us, I noticed how all of their cheeks resembled radiators, glowing with fuzzy warmth, and the whites of their eyes shared a similar tinge of piercing redness. The platinum blonde grabbed my arm subtly, whispering closely into my ear, "They're all pretty drunk."
Chase slung his arm around me the minute I landed next to him, sloppily resting his anvil head on my shoulder. "When did this happen?" Owen all but wolf whistled in amazement. The spiky redhead's glossy eyes told me all control of his consciousness had slipped away two drinks ago. Instinctively, my hand went up to stroke Chase's honeyed peach head of hair, the static of the frosty air making his strands dry to the touch.
"How much did they drink?" I asked Kathy quietly, surprised at how the heavy tankers Owen and Chase had been knocked out – Julius had always been a lightweight.
"Julius came up to Chase and challenged him to a drinking contest. Said that if Chase lost, he'd have to go apologize to Candace for making her cry," she lamented, gesturing over at the collapsed over men who reeked of wine that had been drunk too fast, "In the end it was Owen and Julius against Chase. Julius was out like a light after one drink, so Owen stepped up." I casted my gaze to the heavily muscled twenty-three year old, seated weightily on a bench, bulked body hunched over, broad forearms pressing against his hard thighs, glassy eyes staring blearily at the cobblestoned floor.
"Who won?" I asked redundantly.
"Do you even have to ask?" Chase slurred clumsily, hot, boozy breath tickling my collarbone, his eyelashes brushing fleetingly against my neck, "Obviously I won."
"I don't think anybody's the winner here," I berated, as he wrapped a jacketed arm around my waist to steady himself, "And you should still apologize to Candace anyway."
"I don't need to apologize to anyone," he pouted sulkily, baby side of him emerging in his drunken state, "And if anybody should be apologizing here, it's you."
"What did I do?" I asked, aghast. "All I've been doing is tolerating your sour mood the past three weeks." I poked his temple playfully to match his pettiness.
"It's your fault," he whined childishly, wrapping both his toned arms around my waist, head still heavily planted on my shoulder, world spinning in his amethyst eyes.
I shot a bewildered look at Kathy, who looked equal parts shocked and equal parts intrigued. "You forgot, Moll," he complained, drawing out the oll of his nickname for me, o-o-o-o-o-lllll. The blonde barmaid's jaw hung low, her eyes and ears like hyenas, viciously lapping up the delectable scene. The floodgates of Chase's consciousness had ruptured open, the usual heavy filter he kept on his mouth completely dissipated. He droned on, the pent up waters behind the gates gushing through. The dam had been broken.
"We kissed and you forgot," he whined discordantly, curling his arms tighter around me.
My eyes widened into discs, a lightning bolt jolting through me, as the rotating world quickly grinded to a halting standstill.
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Wasteland' by Francesca Lia Block.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading - hope you enjoyed the chapter, please review/like/follow and let me know what you thought! Also, thank you for all the kind reviews so far, I really appreciate them and I absolutely love reading them!