Chapter 8
Lila nods slowly, her eyes searching the area until they land on a phone booth, one of those rare things still around even in this city. She strides over with purpose, the door creaking as she pulls it open. I follow her but stop a few paces away, giving her some space. I watch as she picks up the receiver, the clunk of the buttons as she dials a reverse charge number before her home phone. When she connects, I hear her speaking in Punjabi.
It's a language I've picked up bits and pieces of, enough to understand she's asking about her family, checking to see if they're okay. I can't make out all the words, but the tone is unmistakable—relief mixed with anxiety. I catch snippets: "Ammi... bachche... thik hain?" ("Mom... the kids... are they okay?") It's the concern in her voice that hits me, more than the actual words. This moment, this check-in, it's everything to her.
As she continues the conversation, I lean against the wall of the booth. Seven years of being lost, of being each other's only constant, and now... we're back. Back to a world that hasn't changed as much as we have.
Finally, she hangs up and steps out of the booth, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. I don't ask, but I know the answer before she says anything.
"Everyone at home?" I ask, my voice steady, masking everything else beneath it.
"Yeah, Five," she replies, her tone softer than I expected.
I nod with a dull ache in my chest. "I'll see you later then," I say, already turning away, ready to put some distance between us.
"Five, wait." Her voice stops me in my tracks, and I pause, my back still to her, bracing for whatever comes next.
"Where are you going to go?" she asks, and I can hear the concern in her voice.
I turn to face her, meeting her gaze. "I'm going to see where my siblings are," I reply, keeping my tone casual, almost indifferent. It's the easiest way to protect myself from what I know is coming.
She hesitates for a moment, then says, "Good news... I know where they are. They're all coming to mine for a holiday dinner apparently."
Of course, they are. The irony isn't lost on me.
Right. Not awkward at all, I think to myself, but I keep my face neutral and nod. "Great."
The walk to her place is about twenty minutes, and the silence between us feels heavier than ever. Each step echoes with the unspoken tension, the words neither of us are saying. I focus on the path ahead, trying not to let my mind wander too much. But it's hard. Seven years, and now we're just... here.
At some point, our hands brush together. It's a brief, accidental touch, but it sends a jolt through me. I reach out, trying to hold on to that connection, something to remind me that those seven years meant something. But she pulls away, her hand slipping out of mine as quickly as it touched. The rejection is immediate, and it stings more than I'd like to admit.
She shoots me a look—a mix of warning and apology—and I step back, giving her the space she's silently demanded. I know better than to push. Diego's always been the one she's pulled towards, even when she's pushed me closer. I was just the interim, the stand-in during the apocalypse. Rationally, I get it. But it doesn't make it hurt any less.
We continue in silence, the space between us now an unspoken acknowledgment of what's to come. She's made her choice, and all that's left for me is to play the role I always do—detached, calculating, unflinching. We'll see the others, play nice for the sake of old ties, and I'll do it because that's what's expected. But deep down, I've never felt more alone.
As we approach the house, I force myself to break the tension that's been steadily building since we left the Subway. The silence between us has been suffocating, so I attempt a casual remark, hoping to ease some of the weight pressing down on both of us. "Everything looks normal," I say, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. "Is it possible they stopped The Cleanse without us?"
Lila doesn't respond. She's biting her bottom lip, lost in thought. I can see it in the way her shoulders are tense, how her hands twitch slightly as if she's readying herself for something, or maybe bracing against it.
"Hey," I say softly, trying to catch her attention. "You good?"
She finally looks at me, her expression raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the Lila I've come to know. "It's been seven years since I've seen my kids, Five. I'm scared."
Her voice carries a tremor that I haven't heard often. She's always been the strong one, the one who could face down armies with a smirk on her lips. But this is different. This isn't about facing an enemy. This is about facing the life she left behind.
No mention of Diego, I notice. It's only about her kids, and that strikes me harder than I expect.
I swallow, not entirely sure what to say, but knowing I have to try. "What are you scared of?" I ask, stepping closer, my voice low and steady. I'm not great at this—reassurance, comforting words—but I'll try for her. After everything we've been through, it's the least I can do.
Her gaze drops to the ground, and she inhales deeply before speaking. "That they won't love me like they did before," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn fully to face her now, reaching out to rub her arm, offering a light squeeze of reassurance. "Hey," I say, catching her eyes again. "It's only been a few hours for them, remember? Nothing's changed."
She looks up at me, her eyes filled with doubt and fear, so unlike the Lila who's always been so certain, so confident. "You promise?" she asks, her voice almost childlike in its vulnerability.
I let go of her arm and offer a small, half-hearted smile, trying to infuse it with some semblance of confidence, even if I'm not entirely sure of anything myself. "Yeah. Promise."
It's the most normal I've felt talking to her since we've been back—like we're on the same wavelength again, like the past seven years haven't just evaporated into nothing. But of course, that fleeting moment is shattered when Diego notices us through the door and swings it wide open.
He's beaming, his face lighting up with the biggest smile. "You're back!" he exclaims, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.
"We are," Lila replies, her voice still carrying that soft uncertainty, mirroring my own surprise. The "you're back" sounds too genuine, too heartfelt—like it's been more than just a few hours. But I've checked, and triple-checked on our way over. It's only been a few hours.
"Good. Yeah. I was starting to get worried." He steps forward and pulls Lila into the tightest hug, holding onto her as if she's the only thing keeping him grounded. It's almost as if it's been seven years for him too, rather than just a short while. Over his shoulder, Lila shoots me an apologetic look, and I just look away, brushing my hair out of my eyes to hide the discomfort in them.
I see out of the corner of my eye that he's still staring at her, smiling in that way that only Diego can—goofy, endearing, but also utterly clueless to the tension he's walking right into. Even Lila seems taken aback by the intensity of his affection, her voice coming out a bit colder than usual as she asks, "What?"
"Oh, I dunno. I... I missed you," he says, his smile unwavering.
"You did?" She seems genuinely surprised, and I can't help but feel the weight of those words. She's not used to hearing them from him. Hell, I don't think I have ever heard him use those before.
"Yeah, I mean, why wouldn't I?" he responds, his tone light but sincere.
"It's just... I can't remember the last time you said that." Her voice is cautious, like she's treading on unfamiliar ground, and I can see the confusion etched into her features.
"Yeah," he pauses, looking down at his feet for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I'm sorry about that." He reaches out, taking her hand in his. "That's going to change. A lot of things are going to change now."
Perfect fucking timing, Diego. Now you decide to step up. I can't help but feel the bitterness creeping in, my eyes narrowing as I watch the scene unfold. I shift my gaze from Diego's earnest expression to Lila's face, trying to read her, but her attention is suddenly stolen by a small voice shouting from behind Diego.
"Mummy's home!" It's Grace, her little girl, barrelling past Diego and launching herself into Lila's arms. Lila drops to her knees, clutching Grace tightly, her hand pressed firmly against the back of her daughter's head as she hugs her with a fierceness that makes my chest ache. I can hear the soft, muffled sobs escaping from Lila, buried in her daughter's shoulder.
"You can let go of me now, Mommy," Grace says, her voice innocent and oblivious to the emotions running high in the room.
"Just a little longer," Lila whispers, her grip tightening even more.
I slip through the door, trying to make myself as small as possible, feeling like my back is pressed up against the wall. I'm not sure what to do with myself, how to fit into this moment that clearly doesn't have space for me.
"But you're squishing my face," Grace protests, her little voice breaking the tension. Lila finally loosens her hold, letting her daughter pull back just enough to breathe, but she doesn't let go entirely. She holds Grace's face in her hands, studying her as if she's trying to memorize every detail, making up for seven years in one moment.
"Why are you crying?" Grace asks, her small hand reaching up to wipe a tear from Lila's cheek.
Lila squeezes her chin lovingly, forcing a smile through the tears. "I'm just so happy to see you," she says, her voice cracking with emotion.
Even Diego, who's usually so oblivious, seems to catch on that something isn't quite right. "You okay?" he calls out, his brow furrowing with concern. But he has no idea what he's really asking, no clue about the storm brewing beneath the surface.
"Yeah," Lila responds, her voice steadying as she pulls herself together. She hands Grace over to Diego, who scoops her up effortlessly, and I can't help but notice the way Lila's eyes linger on her daughter, like she's afraid to let her out of her sight even for a second.
As I look around the room, it seems we're the first ones here. The realization of spending some awkward time just the three of us starts to sink in, but before it can fully take hold, Klaus bursts through the door with his usual lack of subtlety, and for once, I'm thankful for his unfiltered randomness.
"It smells so nice in here!" he proclaims loudly, his arms wide as if he's about to embrace the whole room. "Hey, how's it going?"
Before anyone can respond, Diego's attention snaps to Klaus's feet, and he tuts disapprovingly. "Hey! Shoes!"
"Oh, sorry," Klaus says, kicking them off without missing a beat. But Diego's scowl deepens as he notices the dirt clinging to Klaus's clothes.
"What's with the dirt?" Diego asks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Oh yeah, Allison and Claire-bear had to dig me out of the grave of a dead greyhound," Klaus replies, his tone as nonchalant as if he were commenting on the weather. It's nonsensical, sure, but coming from Klaus, it's completely plausible.
I realize I should probably follow suit and remove my shoes before Diego has a reason to direct his annoyance at me. Allison and Claire, who followed Klaus in, also start taking off their shoes, exchanging amused glances at Klaus' latest escapade.
"Is anyone hungry? My God, I could eat a horse," Klaus continues, already wandering towards the dining room.
I catch Lila smiling at Klaus's antics, her mood visibly lifting as she sees him. What surprises me even more is when she walks over to Allison and pulls her into a big hug. Even Allison seems taken aback, her arms awkwardly wrapping around Lila in response.
"It's so good to see you," Lila exclaims, her voice filled with genuine warmth.
Allison shoots me a questioning look as she replies with a strained, "You too."
As Lila goes around, reconnecting with her parents and her little boy who has just woken up from a nap, I can see how much she truly missed them. It's written all over her face, in the way she clings to each of them, her touch lingering as if to reassure herself that they're really here.
"Cinco, you coming?" Diego's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I nod slowly, barely registering what he's said. I nod slowly, my mind still lingering on everything. "Yeah... I'm right behind you."
The others have already made their way into the dining room, their voices mingling with the clatter of cutlery and the soft hum of background music. I stand by the door for a moment, taking a deep breath before following them in. The room is warm, filled with the scent of a meal that, under any other circumstances, would have been comforting. But tonight, it all feels like a formality to me
I sit down, my eyes fixed on the plate in front of me. I'm not paying much attention to what I'm eating. I'm not paying much attention to anything, really. Klaus, as always, takes up most of the conversation, filling the space with stories about all sorts. I can't muster the energy to chime in. Everyone else seems in high spirts, laughing and mocking with him.
Dinner passes in a blur, and soon we're gathered in the living room, the TV playing the familiar notes of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." The kids are laughing, their voices bright against the backdrop of the music, and I find myself sitting on the edge of the sofa, my gaze drifting across the room.