It's raining when they land in Happy Harbor, and very late at night. The bright white numbers on M'gann's phone read 1:16 AM. Still, a lone floor lamp lights up the Carr's family room window, and there's Harper reading a textbook on the sofa.
Life carried on in the months M'gann was away. The first of the summer cicadas have emerged, droning distantly in Lucas' trees. The rhododendron bush next to the garage blooms with bunches of delicate pink flowers. Harper turned 18 and got her first tattoo- a bluebird on her inner right wrist- and she shows it off as they head upstairs to their apartment.
No- her apartment. It's only her apartment now.
M'gann expects life to have carried on in her apartment too. Dust, cobwebs, decay. But when Em'ree opens the door, she's not hit with the scent of stale air and months of abandonment. Instead she smells cinnamon, citrus, barbecue sauce, and a cacophony of other sweet and savory aromas. When Em'ree flicks the light-switch, every square inch of every available surface- from the kitchen counters to the coffee table in the living room- is stacked high with plates of food.
"Ma'al, what is all this stuff?" Em'ree asks.
"Casseroles, mostly," Harper says. "Your Uncle radioed ahead that you guys were landing tonight, and people just started showing up. Don't worry, it's only been out for a few hours and we put the perishable stuff in the fridge."
Em'ree opens the refrigerator, revealing yet more dishes. She takes out a rainbow jello mold topped with whipped cream and pokes at it tentatively.
"The baba ghanoush is from Violet- Mrs. Daou helped them make it- and the sweet potato casserole is from me," Harper points at a blue bowl topped with mini-marshmallows. Her expression turns serious. "I didn't know Conner very well, but he meant a lot to you, and you were there for me when I was at my lowest, so I wanted to return the favor."
"Thank you," M'gann says, and she pushes away thoughts of M'comm and how much Harper's childhood reminds her of her own. "Pass my thanks along to Violet too."
"I'll tell them tomorrow at our Physics final. Speaking of which… I should get back to studying. Mr. Jiminez warned us his exam's going to be tough."
"Of course, good luck."
As Harper makes her exit, Em'ree's still poking at the jello mold. She scrunches up her nose, as if the thing smells like rotten eggs instead of strawberries and cream.
"Do you want me to get rid of this stuff?"
M'gann shakes her head. "I don't mind it."
"You sure? There's no way we can eat all this food, and your apartment's going to stink if we leave it out like this," she sniffs the air, then frowns. "Well, stink more than it already does."
"Can we worry about it later, Em'ree?"
"Alright, we'll talk about it in the morning. In the meantime, I'm going to help Uncle J'onn unload the bioship." She gives her shoulder a gentle pat. "I'll be right downstairs if you need me."
M'gann runs an idle palm along the countertop. There's a potato casserole coupled with a bouquet of lilies and a card from Dinah's flower shop. A bowl of tropical fruits from Themyscira. Delicate finger sandwiches on a plate with a Wayne Enterprises business card. A cheese and wine basket tied with a ribbon bearing the Vlatavan royal crest. Several casseroles with notes in familiar handwriting: Billy Batson, Vic Stone, Adam and Alanna Strange, John and Traya Smith.
On the kitchen table there's a plate of sugar cookies with sticky sweet icing, the kind the cheer squad makes en masse for their bake sales. A tray of pastel macrons from Madame O'Leary and the French club. An enormous plate of tamales from Mr. Jimenez and his husband. The entire cafeteria staff banded together to make an industrial sized platter of the broccoli chicken casserole Conner was so fond of back in high school.
There's a large sheet cake on one of the end tables, piped with stripes of red and blue icing and topped with a photograph of a motorcycle. If Conner were here he could tell her its make and model, but without him she's clueless. M'gann opens the envelope taped to the plastic lid. There are at least a dozen signatures from members of the Happy Harbor Motorcycle Enthusiasts Society. They were Conner's first clients. She recognizes a few names from conversations with him at dinner and before bed and driving to work in the morning, but most are strangers.
M'gann does a sweeping look around her apartment, taking in all the tupperware containers and serving platters and ceramic bowls encased in layers of shiny plastic wrap. How many of them came from people she's never met? How many lives have been touched by Conner in ways she'll never know about?
M'gann takes a shaky breath and wills herself not to cry. She's too emotionally exhausted to shed anymore tears.
She's just starting her inventory of the fridge when her phone buzzes. Incoming call from: Gar.
"Hey, Harper just texted me that you landed. How are you doing?"
"Tired mostly. It's been a rough few weeks."
"Yeah, I feel you. But hey, at least you're home. I bet you're glad to stretch your legs after that long flight, huh?"
"Yeah, it's nice to be back," she glances out the window at Em'ree and their uncle chatting next to the bioship. Her sister frowns, and M'gann suspects she's complaining about her unwillingness to throw all this food away. "What have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know… little of this, little of that. I'm a busy guy."
"Well, are you busy right now? Because I've got an apartment full of casseroles. Want to zeta over and eat some with me?"
"What do you got? Is any of it vegan?"
"I'm not sure? Probably? There's so much, and I haven't sorted through all of it yet. I'm sure you can find something here you can eat."
There's a pause. "Nah, I already had dinner. I was actually about to head to bed when I got Harper's text. Just wanted to check up on you." Gar yawns, overexaggerated and sounding almost fake. It's barely 10:30 in LA. She's never known him to turn in this early. But maybe he was on a mission or had a long training session?
"Ok, get some rest. I'll see you soon."
"Night sis."
"Night bro, I lov-"
The call disconnects before she can finish. He's hung up.
