A door could be heard shutting throughout the house. A smaller house. Not much to look at but still cozy, still a home. Furnished. Mostly clean. A little fireplace in the corner, kept the house warm during the cold months and served as a decoration any other time. Certain individuals would beg to roast marshmallows and eat s'mores. It was often met with a no. Framed pictures hung neatly on the wall and their stands stood at a perfect angle. The fridge was thematically not supposed to be there. It was covered top to bottom in colorful magnets and terrible drawings of houses and blobs that were supposed to be horses and stick people that seemed to phase into each other.
A middle-aged woman with strands of white hair mixed into her naturally brown hair jumped up with a smile on her face and a toy unicorn in one hand.
"Oh, how was work today?" she asked.
A man with a clean shaven face and a strapping brown suit that screamed "business" set down a briefcase on a nearby countertop.
"Hey, Mom. Work was fine. Thanks for watching her. I know I'm a little late, even for, you know, working late," Marco said.
"She just made her first real macaroni drawing!"
"Oh, good…I'm sure that dug into the carpet."
His mother held up a piece of paper that sprinkled glitter and dropped a macaroni noodle. He couldn't tell what it was supposed to be.
"What is it, exactly?"
"It's…um…well, I'm not really sure. It's probably another horse? Maybe?"
"I'll find room on the fridge in a minute," Marco said. "I still have cereal, right?"
"I found an old favorite of yours. Remember the kind you would eat as a kid? Those sugar seed things?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Captain Blanch's Sugar Seeds." But any happy nostalgia was cut short when the smiling face of the girl he used to share them with briefly flashed in his mind's eye. "I kind of outgrew that stuff though."
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," his mom hummed as he grabbed an apple instead of even opening the cabinet.
"What about an apple a night?" he jokingly challenged her.
"Daddy, I made a picture," a small voice piped. "I colored it zebra."
At first he thought she meant a zebra, but she proudly ran to him with her picture, she had drawing a bunch of connecting circles and sloppily colored them pink and purple, all over the paper, like zebra stripes.
He took the picture and pretend to marvel at it.
"Wow, this is going at the top of the fridge so everyone can see it!"
She giggled in her own pride and impatiently waited for him to keep his word.
The apple could wait. He grabbed the macaroni art too and somehow managed to squeeze them both up top, beneath one banana magnet and one large sparkly cupcake magnet—the cupcake magnet was a Father's Day gift so he couldn't hide it or tuck it away somewhere to make it less noticeable than the banana. He had to act like this cupcake magnet and all the ties and mugs he got were his pride and joy.
"There we go, what do you think?" Marco asked the little girl.
"I like them." She pointed to the macaroni art. "I made that."
"Grandma told me, did you clean up the mess?"
"We didn't make a mess."
He perked one eyebrow in suspicion and made his way over to the coffee table that, whenever he left the house, became an arts and crafts table. Not so surprisingly, there was a trail of broken macaroni shells and glitter sprinkled all over the carpet.
"Come on," he said. "We need to clean up."
"Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share…" the girl sang as she started throwing the macaroni onto the table.
"Were you good for Grandma?"
She blew on a pile of glitter she had accumulated in her hands onto the table, where it showered down as far away as on the other side of the floor.
"Yup, we had fun," she answered.
"Here, I'll get the vacuum," his mom said, already walking towards a different room.
He didn't strive to keep a clean house like he used to, but eventually the sleepless nights, long days, and her endless energy caught up and instead of clean, he had settled for presentable. There was still some kind of paint smudge or something that wouldn't come out of the fabric on the couch. It was a couple years ago and he had since given up. It didn't look that noticeable.
Organization hadn't come to a complete halt but he was much more lenient on it now than as a teenager. He was able to stay organized while babysitting Buff Frog's tadpoles, but babies were a much different story. Even with his mom's help he really didn't have the energy or willpower to be a parent and make sure every little thing was exactly where it was supposed to be. As long as he knew where something was in a general location, he was fine with it. Plus, the crayons always ended up in the most unexpected places so he quickly realized that some things were simply never going to stay organized anyway.
"Daddy, watch this," she said.
She climbed onto the couch and turned around, bending her knees as if she was about to launch herself. He grabbed her before she could.
"Woah there," he said. "You don't even have your safety gear on."
"No, but, I can fly down!" she whined.
"And that's good progress but you still need safety gear," Marco explained. "Besides, if you ever want to fly up, your wings need to get a little bigger first."
"But I practiced!"
In perfect timing, his mother came back with the vacuum.
"Mom, did you let her jump off the couch?" he asked accusingly.
She gasped in offense and answered, "I did no such thing!"
"Then how did she practice?"
"She's been fluttering her wings all day."
"That's not practice!"
He sighed in frustration and turn back to his daughter, the sound of the vacuum turning on and moving in back-and-forth motions.
"Listen, it's great that you're exercising your wings and it's great that they're getting stronger, but you can't fly yet and it's never a good idea to practice anything dangerous without protecting yourself first."
"But birds can fly."
"You're not a bird."
"But I have wings."
"Well, yes, but—"
"So I can fly too!"
He sighed.
"Have you ever seen a baby bird fly?" he asked.
She shook her head but clearly still didn't realize what he was trying to imply.
"That's because their wings are too little. They have to wait for their wings to get big and strong first. Until then they need to stay in the nest where they're safe."
"But I don't have baby bird wings…" she pouted.
"Angel wings have to grow too," he said.
He wasn't entirely sure how to explain why she had wings at all, and honestly it was still beyond him as to why her mother had to go through mewberty but she was just born with them, so it was easier to call them angel wings. It was an excuse she didn't really question. He knew she would have questions later but for now, this was just what worked and he didn't want to tamper with that. So far they did well just to hide the wings from the other kids at school… It wasn't nice to make other people jealous.
"Well when will they be big enough?"
"I'll uh, I'll tell you when. And then I promise you can practice flying."
"Pinkie promise?"
He held out his pinkie and nodded, wondering why this kind of promise was more special than any other kind of promise. Perhaps it was like the double dog dare thing everybody did as a child. A dare was something they could hesitantly turn down but a double dog dare meant they absolutely had to do it.
In this form of a double dog promise, he would inevitably be roadblocked by his own inability to fly, and his lack of understanding how to train literally any living thing to fly. He was grateful she was just like him for now. Didn't even display any signs of magic. Loved to read, draw, color, and had a little bit of her mother in her as she was confidently overestimating her own abilities, like the flight attempt just now.
For the time being, however, he could just relax and raise her like any normal Earth child. Explain away the cheek marks as birthmarks, which would absolutely raise questions later but again, for now life was simple.
The two managed to finally get the carpet and table clean. Had to be vacuumed at least three times and he noticed there was still glitter trapped in the carpet. But whatever. It had been a long day at work and he was ready to settle down and relax.
"The neighbors are supposed to be coming over soon," his mom said. "I should really be heading back home."
"Okay. Thanks again for your help," Marco said.
He gave her a hugged and was quickly followed up by his daughter.
"Bye, I love you!" she said.
"I love you too," his mom replied.
"And, uh, Marco…make sure you're being responsible with that, well, that grown-up juice in the top cabinet."
"Mom, I'm fine."
She took a slow breath and nodded her head.
"Of course. I'll be on my way now. I love you both!"
The little girl blew a kiss at her grandmother as she closed the door, and Marco locked it behind her.
"It's almost time for bed," he said. "Ready to read a story?"
"Okay. Can it be a reallllllyyyyyy long one?" she asked.
He laughed sarcastically and answered, "Nice try but you need your sleep."
She grunted in disappointment and ran off to her room to select, most likely, a Dr. Suess book. The only one he hated most was that little Fox in Socks book his mom got her for her birthday two years ago. It was a frustrating read, not because the words were too big or he couldn't understand the context, but because he would get tongue-tied around every corner. Worse was that she absolutely loved when he kept tripping on the same words four times before he could keep reading. He was certain his mom did this more to prank him than to give a thoughtful gift to her own granddaughter, because seeing him all twisted up over a children's book seemed to be just as hysterical to her.
She came back to him holding The Giving Tree. He found this book a little more on the sad side, since it revolved around a selfish boy and a tree that gave up all it had even until the end, but it wasn't a very energetic one and it was still something she liked so it wasn't a half bad bedtime story.
He took the book from her and waited for her to snuggle comfortably against him before opening it.
"Once there was a tree…" Turn the page. "And she loved a little boy." Turn page. "And every day the boy would come—" Turn page. "—and he would gather her leaves—" Turn page. "—and make them into crowns and play king of the forest."
He had to force his voice to have any amount of character or enthusiasm in it. He had read the same books so many times now that his voice would probably be monotone if he didn't consciously make an effort to put feeling into it.
With each line she seemed grow sleepier, but more likely she was just getting more comfortable, shifting a few times as he continued. Sometimes she held his wrist back so she could look at one of the pictures a little longer.
"And the boy loved the tree…" Turn page. "Very much—" Turn page. "—and the tree was happy." Turn page. "But time went by." Turn page. "And the boy grew older."
"Wait go back," she said, removing his hand from one page so she could view the previous one. "Who is that?"
She pointed towards four feet that stuck out from behind the tree.
"Probably his girlfriend," Marco said. "They're leaning against the tree together."
"Ew."
Sometimes she still noticed new things in books he had read a million times.
"Can I keep going?" he asked.
"Yeah keep going," she said.
"And the tree was often alone." Turn page. "Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.' 'I am too big to climb and play,' said the boy. 'I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?' 'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.'"
Personally, this was where he felt the book got a little sad. Surely there was some kind of moral it was trying to tell through all this but it was actually just being real with the world while maintaining the innocence expected from a children's book. Basically a story about sad changes that would inevitably happen through one's life, but sad because the tree just stood there bored and waiting years, decades even, at a time for the boy to come and see her.
What he didn't understand about part of this moral, or even the possible realism the book was trying to express, was that the tree continued giving a piece of herself away, and it was only until she gave away her trunk that she was finally unhappy. He would've been unhappy once the branches were gone.
Or maybe he was overthinking it and the book was just trying to differentiate between selfishness and selflessness.
"'I don't need very much now,' said the boy, 'just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.' 'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, 'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'" Turn page. "And the boy did." Turn page. "And the tree was happy." Turn page. "The End."
"Read it again," the girl said.
"Maybe tomorrow," he replied. "Time for bed."
"Noooo!" she whined.
He lifted her up off the couch and she fluttered her wings, looking straight ahead as though she herself was finally flying, as Marco carried her to bed. It was the usual routine of tucking her in, checking for monsters in the closet and under the bed, giving her a goodnight kiss on the forehead, and turning the lights off with an, "I love you."
He knew all kids did it but the whole monster thing was odd to him. Perhaps it was because he'd fought real monsters for so long that he viewed the "monster in the closet" as such a laughable concept. His daughter had never even been exposed to a real monster. Never been told stories about any of his various adventures. How could he even begin to explain that without including Star? And even if he did include Star, how was he supposed to tell her that this was her mother? How was he supposed to tell her what happened? Why Star was gone? Why she would never be able to meet her own mother?
Even he still didn't fully understand why Star did what she did. Why she made the decision to stay behind, knowing the consequences. Knowing she would never see Rosalind again.
A/N
I can understand any confusion or curiosity. I'll be explaining what happened with Star later, but while this story can definitely be read on its own, it is the sequel to Nova. Naturally reading the first story will give more context behind Marco's current situation, even down to why his daughter's name is only mentioned in the last sentence of this chapter.
If you want a sort of spoiler (with Star at least), I would recommend reading Nova first before continuing. If you want to ride and keep up the suspense, I recommend reading Nova after (using it as a prequel).
