Every day was Monday in Pelican Town.
It wasn't that this place was Hell, where Shane was forced to relive the same horror of his dead-end job and crippling self-loathing (he was well aware that no one was forcing this reality on him). It wasn't even some thrilling freak of science, where an entire town managed to isolate itself from the outside world to forget any passage of time.
No, Pelican Town was neither cursed, nor miraculous. Neither terrible nor stunning.
It just was.
And Shane had come to terms with the vast sense of tedium that seemed to be the main export of the place he now reluctantly labelled "home." Even then, "home" was more of a word than a feeling to Shane. Home meant belonging.
Shane simply existed.
And then she moved in, like a plot hook out of a stupid movie. No reason, no explanation: she just appeared out of nothing. Stupid. Why? Shane was more interested in finding a reason than he was in the newcomer herself; but he was apparently alone in that.
Ask anyone but him, and people would hint at something grand being just on the horizon.
She'd come barreling into town on the Zuzu City Metro, crashing through the cosmic boredom permeating the town like a veritable wrecking ball. Everyone was expecting the bubble around the town to shatter, letting in some cleansing wave of the outside world: revolution, novelty, maybe even some culture? An alteration to the daily in some way, any way, at least. People were expecting change.
What they got was Sawyer: the granddaughter of Underhill Farm's original owner, with about as much personability as one should probably assume from a person who naively ran from their life on a whim to try their hand at that whole nature thing. She was practical and insular, hardly ever leaving her overgrown plot of land, save but to purchase seeds and run errands from the job board. Solitary and wholly uninterested in befriending an entire town of yokels, she never stuck around longer than she needed to.
She was so articulate in her social apathy that Shane was amazed anyone had ever gotten their hopes up; but maybe her intentions weren't as obvious to them as they were to him. He recognized the behavior.
That didn't make him feel any kinship with the farmer, though. He didn't really bother to feel anything about her. And sparing her a thought at all was more of an annoyance in his mind than anything.
Shane was probably the only one in town not disappointed by about mid-Spring, several weeks after the farmer had settled in the crusty hilltop cabin north of his Aunt's ranch. Many had gossiped around the town, especially after hours in the Stardrop Saloon, where Shane spent the majority of his spare money and all his free time. Usually he tried his best to stay uninformed of the town happenings, lest he be expected to give a shit and chime in when someone tried to engage.
But there was something different happening tonight: he couldn't really hear that note of hopefulness or wonder in people's voices when mentioning the farmer. Any gossip he overheard was tinged with the obvious stain of normalcy: she was old news now.
Nothing had changed. The town had been charged with expectation for something less than three weeks before finally resigning to its usual equilibrium. Shane felt both smug and somehow let down at this revelation. Well that was fucking frustrating; the whole point was that he didn't care.
Shane ordered himself a beer beyond his limit at this thought, trying to quash whatever the fuck that was by telling himself he deserved another drink for being so perceptive. He'd drink to guessing, correctly, just how little Pelican Town's newest resident would shake things up.
Gus slid him a pint, no longer making eye contact, and Shane downed his beer with three quick chugs, head tilted back so far that he saw stars when he slammed his chin back down against his chest. From this position, head making that slow and revolving sensation behind his eyes, he could smell suds running down his chin to mingle with the fibers of his dirty collar.
He probably shouldn't have done that.
And then, as if he'd summoned her out of the fucking aether, Sawyer was standing in the doorframe to the Stardrop.
Oh fuck off, Shane thought to himself as the kid lingered there for a moment longer than most would. His head lolled to the side, away from the fireplace that was now making him uncomfortably warm; he couldn't do much more than that to escape.
She'd lingered but then immediately shot off in the direction of Pam, who was at her usual station (the spot on the bar closest to the taps of "the good stuff," her words). Her jolt of momentum carried her right up to the middle-aged woman, and which point she jutted an arm forward with an insistence bordering on total social unawareness.
"Pam, I forgot your birthday!" The farmer, whom most people haven't even bothered to look up at, had an astoundingly candid tone to her voice, "I am so sorry. These just came in today and I want you to have one."
There in her uncomfortable grip, Shane could see a delicate and pale parsnip, totally unharmed and seemingly perfect. What the actual fuck? Who would want a parsnip for a belated birthday present? Where was this girl from, Shane let his mind ask despite being able to come up with the answer right away.
What he saw next sobered him up: Pam had tears in her eyes as she gingerly accepted the vegetable, like it was some precious artifact. He couldn't hear Pam across the bar for the first time since he'd moved to town, but she was mouthing something obviously appreciative to Sawyer, who looked on like she hadn't even known what her gift would mean.
Seriously. How even.
Had she seriously just stumbled upon (apparently) the most meaningful gift in the world to Pam? And for that fucking matter, why was the farmer even putting forth the effort? What was Pam to her?
Why did he care?
Across the bar, Sawyer stood dumbstruck in front of Pam, who had treated the gift of a parsnip like it was the most important thing she'd ever received; she didn't really know what to do now. She hadn't known that birthdays were this meaningful to the residents of Pelican Town. Like, sure, birthday presents are great, but this great? This significant?
In that moment, Sawyer was struck with an incredible guilt over the birthdays she'd already missed. Sure, she still couldn't exactly be bothered to interact with most of the residents, but a simple present on a birthday? A one-day-a-year modicum of interaction? She could at least be doing that.
The shame hit her hard as Pam invited her to sit down and share a drink: her treat.
"Does everyone like parsnips on their birthday?" Sawyer asked Pam after an amicable silence and a few sips of mead. She was out of her element here, but the desire to know more was growing in her mind; she hated to do things wrong, so she figured she should just ask.
Pam just shrugged, commenting that she didn't really know what everybody else liked. Sawyer nodded, ruling out the parsnips-for-everyone idea.
Make it personal, got it.
"Honestly, I'm surprised you remembered my birthday at all," Pam commented through a generous swig of her beer. Sawyer muttered something about checking the communal calendar while searching for more work, "So you know it's his birthday today, then?" Pam responds, pointing a stubby finger across the way to Shane, who had gone back to staring into his empty pint.
"Oh." Sawyer made a noise of no consequence as she mulled a thought over in her head. Yes, she'd seen the post on the calendar, scribbled over the 20th with less care than most other events; that wasn't to say that she had intended to do anything for him.
But now? Eying the woman to her left, Sawyer felt like things were different now.
Not with Shane, fuck no. But just in general. An effort could easily be made.
Buying him a beer was the obvious choice, but as Sawyer unflinchingly looked the man over, it was also obvious that he'd overstepped his limit. She wasn't about to worsen an already piteous situation, so, after waving Gus over to her, Sawyer instead opted for food.
"Send him a pizza, on my tab," Sawyer told the man, who smiled at her in an atypical manner, "He looks like he needs it." She added to his look, which made her squirm like she was being viewed under a microscope. Having her actions scrutinized by Gus made her kind of itchy; he didn't usually try to pry into Sawyer's life.
The fireplace was a lesser problem now for Shane, who had moved past the tummy-warmth stage of drunkenness to the tummy-sick stage. Most people would probably start guzzling water at this point, but Shane was well enough acquainted with alcohol to know precisely when he should be ingesting anything.
Now would be the perfect time for some food, if he hadn't just used the last of his cash on the extra beer. He'd managed to screw his routine up and he hadn't even enjoyed the drink. He'd curse the world if he weren't very acutely aware that he had a habit of doing this to himself. Was he just a glutton for self-induced pain?
But then, for the second time that night, Shane's thoughts seemed to materialize in front of him. A steaming pizza, cheese still bubbling and melting like lava rolling down a mountainside, replaced his empty glass on the bar.
"Eat up, Shane." Gus told him, standing there, glass in hand, until Shane met his eyes.
"I didn't order that." Shane slurred, mentally checking himself to make sure he hadn't somehow unknowingly called out for one. Like how that beautiful concoction of sauce and carbs seemed to be calling to him now. He had taken a slice before Gus could even answer.
"Happy birthday." Was the only explanation Shane received, who stopped mid-bite to look back over the counter.
What.
The farmer, looking exceptionally out of her element, made eye contact with him as cheese dripped onto the floor. She cocked a bit of a smile. Almost.
And then she waved. It was from her. Why.
Openly glaring at her, Shane realized that he'd never before been conflicted about pizza. Fuck her for that.