February 14th 2025
They were always outdoing themselves, party after party, each one seemed to garnish more exclusivity, bubbly champagne, tiny square tea cakes, frosted cupcakes, cherry lollipops, edible glitter sugar cookies, tiny gift bags tied with red ribbons filled with more sweets to go, the quintessential Valentines Day.
Its essence made Finn feel like she was floating on clouds, like some disoriented fairy, the possibility of growing wings and spewing glitter did not escape her thoughts on a day like today. She usually had a spring in her step when she moved, an involuntary movement, a habit, something she grew up with, unaware of its first instance but lost without it. When that motion carried her down the semi dark hallway, heels clicking on the wood floor, sleeve of her dress slipping off her shoulder clumsily, searching for him, finding him where she least expected, in the library, she paused at the door, peeking in, unsure if she should even be here.
Hesitation was not her forte. Kicking down doors was. But something about the sight of him, slouched on a sofa, staring out the window across the room, only utilizing a small lamp on the desk for a light source, the sun long gone behind the mountains, caused her recoil. A pout formed on her lips, a bubble of worry threatened to burst in her stomach, the consumption of all the sweet treats reaching a moment of regret when she sensed a different mood past the threshold of this room, she didn't like that feeling.
Pensive, brooding, quite a few words could summarize his lamenting gaze. His tie was undone but still wrapped around his neck loosely, one dress shirt button undone, as if the entire outfit he chose for the day was stifling. He didn't appear that way when he was dancing tonight, or making his toast, or smiling at everyone, then again, she knew how to fake a good mood to appease the masses. She was getting the same vibe from him at this moment.
Swallowing the sugary lump stuck in her throat, she raised her arm, curled her hand into a fist and gently knocked on the side of the door frame. It felt like the right approach. He looked up and sideways, acknowledging her presence with a look of mild concern but gesturing for her to enter anyway.
Her legs felt numb with the weight of the unknown as she carried herself into the space, feeling as if she entered a somber funeral compared to the chaos of the rest of the house. She realized as she walked, that she rarely came in here. The walls were shelves of books, some of Barbara's artwork hung in the spaces on the wall that were not occupied by books. His desk was in the center of the room, single row couches wrapped the spaces in front of the book shelves. She chose to sit on the cushiony arm of the one across from him, crossing her leg, her leggings itching her skin in a restless moment.
As she fidgets in her unconventional seat, waiting for him to speak, he simply sits in silence, watching her tuck the hem of her dress around her legs, swinging her foot around in a circular motion, anxious, the words "Rough day?" tumbling out of her mouth but sounding hoarse, as if she had not spoken for hours.
"Long day," he corrects her, tugging at the already loose tie around his neck. "I piped frosting onto those cookies for an hour."
He chuckles at his own misfortune of becoming a baker to appease the crowd.
"It's freezing, why are you hiding in here?" she notes the chill in the air, rubbing her arms, breaking the figurative ice with her question.
"Just wanted some quiet for a few minutes," he tries to rebuff her concerns.
"It was a pretty crazy party," she admits, recalling karaoke, dancing, drinking, the usual rowdiness.
"Yeah I'm feeling it," he jokes, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder, smirking but not seeing her reciprocate the old age joke with her usual eye roll or grin.
She's on to you old man; he can't help but think as her eyes pierce him with concern.
"You and John have plans for tomorrow?" Russell changes the course of the conversation.
She shrugs as she tells him "Stay in bed, watch movies, eat junk food."
He nods, she deserves that calmness, nothing crazy.
"Well if you guys feel like it, you're welcome over for dinner," he offers, unable to escape her quizzical look at this invitation.
"Sure," she says, switching how she crossed her legs, draping the left over the right this time.
They were doing some sort of song and dance here but she was unsure who was leading who. Something was not right in his orbit and her gravitational pull was unable to escape the wormhole of his emotions, a hazard of the job all these years.
Her brain goes to all the worst case scenarios, illness, something terminal, a loss she already mourned years ago with both her parents, the thought causing the ache in her stomach to intensify. Her mouth dry, she struggled to spit out the words, terrified of the words that would tumble out of his mouth in response. But the longer they sat here exchanging pleasantries, skirting around the issue, the tougher it was going to be to hear.
"Are you okay?" she finally dares to ask him, words falling out in a hoarse tone, as if she just woke up.
How many times has he heard someone ask him that? He finds amusement in the phrase. He could simply say fine and call it a night but he doesn't operate that way.
"Mostly," he pacifies her concern "last couple years have been, interesting, Katies away at college, Maya's working more, Charlie and Lindsay got the new house now, Catherine's on grandma duty with baby Nora, Greg's on what, his fifth published book, things are, stable at work."
Finn nods in agreement and approval of these life changes that have taken place.
"Everyone's good," Russell concludes "and uh, well, I think my work here is done."
Finn feels an involuntary twitch in her face as a volatile shiver passes through her entire body, like being spiritually shot.
"Wh-what do you mean?" she asks, feeling her heart pound hard against her chest, a ripple of fear rising up alongside it. Danger. Warning. Impending doom ahead.
"Come on Jules," Russell tries to make her see reason, clasping his hands together, hoping she takes the hints. Wait, they didn't make each other beg in this dynamic. He's shocked he has to be so blunt with her, then again, he did catch her off guard.
"You got someplace better to be?" she lashes out at him now.
"I'm not quitting you Jules," he tries to soothe her "just the job."
She shakes her head, sliding off the arm of the chair she's occupied uncomfortably for this exchange, stumbling on shaky legs to the door, refusing to look back at him, stomping out, an entire ordeal in under five minutes. Oh good, run away like the child you are, she scolds herself. Doesn't he know what this is doing to her, what this will do to her?
The dark hallway breaks into the well lit foyer where she practically bumps right into John who is holding her jacket and Barbara who presses two gift bags into his arms, no doubt full of candy and sweets leftover from tonight.
"There you are," John greets her with a smile, "ready to go?"
"Yes" she says breathlessly, uncharacteristically for her to be in this much of a rush but the fire was closing in on her.
She fumbles with her jacket, clumsily shoving her arms into it, thankful for John's help, he's just being a gentleman, unaware of her heartache.
"All right kids" Barbara begins her goodbye "thanks for coming and don't forget about dinner tomorrow."
She hugs them both, breaking away to reveal Russell has caught up to them and is now right beside her.
"This was quite a party," John praises them "thank you for having us."
"Always," Barbara assures them, patting his cheek affectionately then reaching out for Finn, pressing a quick kiss to her warm cheek, mothering her after all these years, knowing how badly she needed it.
The tension does not leave Finn's body as she stands caught between Barbara's affection and Russell's gaze on her, leaving her feeling flushed and uncomfortable, tears threatening to fall the longer they stay taking their time to say goodbye.
It takes a millisecond for Barbara to sense this tension in her as she pulls away, she's good at that, piercing her with a sympathetic gaze, seeing her watery eyes she tries to hide by focusing on a spot on the wall behind her.
"Oh honey, he told you, didn't he?" Barbara concludes of her emotions in the moment.
Finn struggles to recover her fumble, glancing awkwardly from Barbara to Russell, searching for a way out of this sinking ship.
"I'm missing something here," John says, gently touching her back in support but confused.
"I'm calling it quits at the lab," Russell says "effective immediately."
"No kidding?" John says "you're retiring?" Wow, I mean, congrats mate, well deserved."
He reaches out to shake Russell's hand who accepts it.
"So that's what this Valentine's rave was all about." John adds and Finn feels another emotional punch as Russell nods. How could she have missed that? Trained observer? Fail.
"Kind of rolled both parties into one," he confirms "give everyone one last hurrah as a team without really saying it."
"Nicely done," John praises but Finn shoots him a disapproving look and he drops the cheerful act.
"Well uh, we'll get out of your hair," John concludes the awkward conversation, reaching for the door which is still a few feet ahead.
The foursome awkwardly meanders to the door, John guiding Finn gently through the space to the porch while Barbara and Russell watch them descend the steps and head to their car parked on the street, Finn stealing tearful glances back at them with each step.
Numb shock seized her somewhere along the drive home. She felt like she had been plunged into a fish tank where every image and sound were distorted. If she didn't know better, she felt like she was having an out of body experience, almost like being unconscious while the world continued to spin around her, dare she say it, think it, like a coma.
The sucker punches just kept coming, she crossed her arms against her chest as her stomach lurched again. Her leg bounces up and down in the passenger seat, her head presses against the cold window. How could he do this to her? Tonight? This month? This day? Tomorrow? Did he even care?
She rolls her shoulders getting anxious in this confined space, some frustrated noise coming out.
"This is good for him," John's logical approach breaches her subconscious "he's worked really hard for a really long time, love."
Of course he's right, but can't he let her have this moment of selfishness? Of heated anger. Of unreasonable, non negotiable, toxic, pensive brooding? Hasn't she earned that? What about her pain?
Her sour mood ruined their evening plans, deep down the idea of what they had planned for tonight made her stomach churn with guilt mixed with an odd desire to fire up that passion and use it for something good, but that was emotionally wrong to do to John.
"I don't mind," he said all too eagerly, back at her condo, when she confessed her worries to him about being emotionally unavailable, having zero objections to being used by her on any given day.
But the way she collapsed onto her bed, tear tracks visible on her flushed cheeks tossed any thoughts of intimacy right out the window. Instead, he kneels in front of her, meeting her watery eyes with his, calm and steady, offering a soft "What can I do?"
"Tell me I'm crazy," she murmurs, sniffling "tell me I'm crazy for feeling like this."
"You're not crazy," he promises, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Then what?" she sobs "what's wrong with me?"
"You care about people," he whispers against her burning forehead before dropping his gaze to meet her tear filled eyes "you and Russell, you've been through alot, more than most, you built something with him, to be honest, I don't even understand it all, but I'm not an idiot, whatever you have, it's a force to be reckoned with, and now, now it feels like you're losing it, that control, that consistency, that partnership, it's a lot to process darling."
As he speaks, describing her relationship with Russell from his own eyes, she inhales sharp sobs, he's not wrong, not about any of it. She would be a fool to deny it. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed by her own tears, seeing shapes in the darkness behind them.
Darkness. The space around her feels as if it's shrinking and the air is thick. She thought she had a handle on these feelings but the emotions and memories came flooding back in a torrential downpour. She can't forget about that, her brain taunts her, no matter how hard she tries.
"I'm here," his voice floats above her, bringing her back to reality.
And he is, when she opens her eyes, escaping the darkness that tried to smother her and instead reaching out for him, for what she needs, for what has always been.
"You know you could retire too," he throws a curveball into the ninth inning of her world series of pity.
She lifts her head from where she's been resting against his chest, sleep alluding them both, to give him a quizzical look.
"Think it over," he encourages her "no more stress, no more late nights and early mornings, no doubles, and you could spend more time with me."
He flashes her a cheesy smile that makes her grin and realize retirement would mean saying yes to him, to travel, to fun, to holding hands as they walked and explored new places, to sleeping in, to helping him write his articles, sitting in his lap, distracting him with kisses until he abandoned his work to focus only on her, maybe she could learn something new like painting or cooking properly.
All the same, a tiny voice inside her brain hushes her fantasy with reality, bills to pay, a community to serve, all her hard work, a rainy Seattle day, puffy cushion chairs where she was interviewed by a strange hippie man wearing a vest and flannel shirt, his wife made soup for dinner and invited her and her parents over to eat and talk more, the sign on bonus check he provided so she could move from Philly to Seattle easier, the way he reassured her parents she was safe there, every miniscule detail that lead her to where she was now, it was somehow all connected to Russell, he cocooned her in safety for years, and she couldn't just walk away from it all, not just yet. She felt she owed him some bizarre debt. But with him gone from the lab, what would become of her?
She ponders all of this, head pounding, blood pumping, her life force strong after all this heartache. Is that how she survived that coma? And the years since? By feeling? When his arms slide around her tighter, bringing her body to rest against his, fingers tangled up in her hair, scratching her head until she dozes into a restless but eventual deep sleep, her question answers itself.
February 15th 2025
The label "room darkening" on the tag of her thick maroon curtains was just a suggestion as the sunshine filled the space all too quickly. Her dreams were invaded by images of Russell making cupcakes with purple frosting, of an Alice in Wonderland themed wedding, a cheshire cat making faces at her while John sipped tea and read from a novel, the eiffel tower leaning in the background behind him, blood dripping from the steeple. Despite the absurdity of the dream, she was thankful her brain gave her something bizarre and not brutal to fixate on.
She feels beat down by the events of last night, rubbing her eyes, feeling an ache in her shoulders and back, disoriented buzzing in her head. Thankfully he is right there to catch her when she turns over, burying her face in his chest, summarizing her exhaustion with a heavy sigh.
"Easy," he soothes in a low voice, keeping her wrapped up in blankets and his arms.
Waking up slowly is necessary and warranted after all she's been through.
"I can start breakfast," he offers after a few silent minutes of holding her, knowing the prospect of food will get her moving. "I was thinking pancakes."
"What kind?" she asks, shifting under the covers, interest peaking.
"Chocolate chip," he offers, seizing the moment she lets the covers slip away to nuzzle in and kiss her neck "or banana, or blueberry, or sprinkles…
He kisses her neck in between whispered flavor ideas making her giggle and squirm under the blankets but she never leaves his embrace, melting into these affections.
His ability to make her go weak in the knees when she's already laying down is unmatched. She lets him carry on with kissing and naming absurd pancake flavors before she finally settles on one, squeaking out her choice of "chocolate chip" in between breathy giggles.
"All right then" he regrettably stops kissing her, untangling himself from their nest of blankets in pursuit of the kitchen.
She follows his lead, but much slower paced, stretching and sighing, too warm and comfortable to move quicker. He pauses at the doorway of her room, watching her internal struggle, her hair tangled from sleep, the realization of how lucky they are to be exactly where they are in this moment does not escape his consciousness.
After breakfast, she settles in front of her laptop, typing for a few moments then pausing to make faces of concentration, then typing some more.
"Homework on a Saturday?" he teases, sitting across from her at the small dining table.
"Sort of," she says "I want to bring something nice to the dinner tonight."
He nods, grateful she's decided to accept the invite from Russell. Today could be a toss up emotionally and he knows the more distractions she has, the smoother the day will be. He tends to his own work on his separate laptop, going over notes, organizing what he needs for his next article, pausing to sip his coffee and steal glances at her as she works.
It isn't lost on him how miraculous it was to be let back into her life the summer of her recovery. It killed him not being there when she first woke up, when she first came home, and all the in betweens. Only Russell had the title of caregiver for her during that time, another indicator of just how close they were and how well she trusted him. That summer wasn't without struggles for them; nightmares, insomnia, refusing to sleep with her back to her bedroom door, installing new locks and a new security system, her remaining physical therapy sessions, taking her to the shooting range to get her license back, ditto for driving, minus the guns, helping her study to reenter the workforce she dominated so well before the coma, all the while they both ached for something more, real intimacy, which they thought they lost because she was too tired or too weak or too impaired by heavy brain fog to focus solely on him, fears that overwhelmed her with guilt and tears which he could only kiss away until she was ready for more.
Now she radiated, even without the sun streaming into her condo space. She was the perfect distraction.
The afternoon melts away in a haze of comfortable laziness, just like he promised her. She finishes her mystery project on the computer, printing something out, fidgeting anxiously while she waits for it. They make a run to the grocery store to pick up some appetizers to bring for the dinner, snagging a bottle of wine, flowers and a strawberry frosted cake for two she spots at the last minute and pouts for, knowing they can share it later tonight as a celebration of her life, a second birthday. Somewhere in the chaos of their lives, making today a celebration alongside her wake up day in May of that year plus her real birthday just felt right. Any opportunity to spoil her extravagantly was not to be missed.
The sun is staying out longer now as winter reaches its peak. If you could call a sixty six degree day winter. The mild air is refreshing compared to his most recent trip to Alberta for a story where it was a whole fifteen degrees. Despite the dinner being just the four of them, she still insists on wearing a dress. He catches her testing the twirling ability of the dress in front of her mirror, spinning playfully until she notices him watching. Instead of embarrassment, she reaches for his hand and pulls him over to the mirror, grabbing her cell phone off the dresser and insisting they pose for pictures. She laughs hard when he makes a ridiculous superhero pose and his heart goes into overdrive as if she shot him with adrenaline.
Food, wine and her mysterious project tucked away in her bag and they are ready to go. Russell answers the door before they get the chance to knock. He grins at the sight of them, or maybe just her, he can't blame him. The sun gets one last chance to illuminate her hair before they step inside.
Barbara is at the kitchen counter adding some last minute touches to the meal when they enter. She immediately abandons her work to come around and reach for Finn, hugging her tight and for an extra amount of time and they all know why. Finn accepts this, having been rightly spoiled this way since the very first time she met them. The extra kisses on her cheek that follow make her flush red but smile.
Dinner goes smoothly. Not a single word about retirement is spoken. Russell notes her fidgeting in her seat towards the end of the meal and at the start of dessert but he can't tell if it's more than usual or just her normal restlessness. If that was the biggest problem in his life, he would gladly take it. When the last drop of ice cream seems to have melted in their bowls, she sits up, elbows on the table, wearing a smug grin as she hands him a folded up sheet of paper. Curious and a tad bit scared, he accepts it, unfolding the paper and reading the contents.
The card looks as if she made it from some sort of arts and crafts style website. It's mushroom clipart pasted at random with the singular line of "Lets Root For Each Other And Watch Each Other Grow" and her signature underneath. He chuckles at the mushroom pun and the overall childlike nature of this card but he knows she put her heart into it. She said what she needed to. When he shows the card to Barbara she smiles and rubs his arm.
"Thanks Jules," Russell says, folding the homemade card up and tucking it neatly into his shirt pocket, patting the spot to confirm it was there, over his heart, where she belonged.
She smirks, pleased with herself as John leans in, taking time to brush his cheek against hers beforehand, whispering in her ear, an inside joke, an unknown affection, whatever the case, it makes her smile, tenderness in simplicity.