Chapter Text
Mari’s wandering aimlessly and she knows it.
Her head feels like it’s stuck in a thick fog, thoughts lagging behind in obscured thoughts and memories just out of reach— like her life’s flashing before her eyes in distorted, deliberate moments.
She’s fully aware of how utterly overdramatic that is, but it doesn’t change the fact she’s simply wandering about aimlessly with her head in the clouds.
She passed by Aubrey’s house some… what? 10? 20? 30 minutes ago? Her legs pulse with a dull ache she’s been familiar with for years, but her chest is pained with a sensation that’s not new, but instead back with full force after lying dormant.
She knows she needs to fix this. Surely she does, right?
If Aubrey wanted it all to end, if she wanted that to be the last of what was left— she’d have said so in more direct words, but she didn’t.
An apology wasn’t enough, that much was clear, but Aubrey clearly wanted something out of her yet, something she wasn’t sure how to give. But that ‘something’ suggested a solution to find, closure with which to try and mend burnt bridges.
She wanted to believe after she found whatever that was, she might be able to smooth things over in some capacity— but that sense of loss stinging through her chest was insisting otherwise. Like it had already come to terms with the situation. As if unwilling to seek a solution.
Asking her how not being able to see Aubrey anymore was now somehow worse, when she hadn’t really spoken with her much over the last few years. As if now because it was Aubrey keeping away, this was somehow any different of a situation.
As of now, the world wasn’t revolving around her own wants, even if the result was to the same effect, though now ultimately out of her control. And for whatever reason, that made it feel so, so so much worse.
She couldn’t let it stay like this. She needed to find a way to fix it. She had to— but she didn’t know how. Nothing she could say would be good enough, and she was as lost as Aubrey on what she’d wanted so desperately to know.
Why did she keep her distance? Why did she stay away?
She didn’t have a satisfying answer for herself, much less Aubrey— so she was at a stalemate. Meandering around in circles, running about like a headless chicken with no goal in sight.
Aimless.
Her legs felt like they just might give out on her if she paced around Faraway any more. She needed a distraction— something productive to do, to get the gears turning, as opposed to whatever pointless stewing she was doing now.
Ba-ding!~
A sinking feeling pooled in the bottom of her gut suddenly as her phone chimed. She had just about two guesses on who could possibly have sent her a message, and neither were people she wanted to talk to right now.
Naturally, considering her luck as she pulled out her phone and hesitantly opened it, she was greeted with the greater of two evils.
Dad [July 18th, 11:17 AM]: when will u be home? ordering lunch
Despite herself, Mari couldn’t help but smile. She was tempted to laugh, really– she wasn’t even aware it was already so late. Dad probably still remembered the church service times and figured she’d be out soon, that was just like him.
It was just like him to tell her things without asking too. It wasn’t a question of ‘are’ or ‘if’, it was when. When, as in, you will come home. The moment he thought she was free– he was more than eager to reel her back into that house. Like she might not have other plans, or want to grab lunch herself– or, hell, make it herself.
Because naturally she was capable enough to aim for straight A’s in school, but not enough to have basic time management skills or make her own plans. She’s always expected to be as independent as possible on as short a leash as possible– it only made sense, of course.
Why wouldn’t it? Why would she be allowed some agency in her own life?
It occurs to her, after a few seconds of smiling down at her phone, that she’s gripping it far too tight and getting far too invested in a text. It’s just a text from her Dad about lunch. It’s not the end of the world, certainly not something to get so… obsessive over.
Her brain’s just… not in the correct headspace right now– which is all the more reason she can’t go home right now. She’s not at all calmed enough to talk with Dad, casually or otherwise. She’ll blow things out of proportion.
She feels a little bad as she types it out, but not nearly as bad as she should feel.
Me [July 18th, 11:22 AM]: Actually I was going to swing by the plaza to check for job listings and just grab something out here! You don’t have to worry about me for lunch.
She typed out an ‘If that’s okay?’ towards the end at first, before deciding to delete and send on her message without it. She was an adult of making her own choices and sticking to them, after all. Even if those decisions were lies. She didn’t need confirmation before doing them.
She waited with baited breath regardless.
Me [July 18th, 11:24 AM]: k.
She knew it would work. That’s why she came up with the excuse she did– and yet, she was relieved anyway. The tension in her chest lessons just that little bit, though shame settles in its place. It doesn’t escape her how utterly pathetic this whole display is– with her acting as if having lunch with her Dad is some catastrophic event that needs avoiding at all costs.
But… she just can’t right now. Not after what happened with Aubrey. She doesn’t have the composure to keep her emotions in check with Dad with how probing he can be. Though, she supposes she’s thankful for the new distraction she’s been forced into– because Dad will want to know about how her hunt went, and she’s not nearly suave enough of a liar to survive that.
So without further delay, Mari makes her way towards Faraway Plaza.
Othermart is just about how she remembers. It’s massive, or as massive as a store can be in a run down town like Faraway. It’s modern, it’s super compact, not to mention kind of cramped feeling… but it’s as close as she can hope to get in terms of finding a local job listing without any sort of background check or preparation beforehand.
The first, and only, job she’s ever had was the few month period right before Christmas, sneaking in shifts at the Bakers bakery… though it was hardly anything official more so than it was the Bakers acting in good grace and doing her a favor. Her hours had been lax, the paperwork needed for the position was non-existent, and her interview was as complex as asking around if anyone would be willing to pay her for providing an extra set of hands around Othermart until she struck gold with the bakery.
It had just been more of a favor than it had been any form of official employment. The bakers had just been nice enough to give her menial tasks around the bakery to help out, maybe even the occasional hand in making the bread— though they kept their family traditions and recipes to themselves. They just heard she’d needed some funds for an expensive Christmas present for someone, and once she pooled together with everyone else for the violin.
She can’t help but shutter a little, dispelling the memory before it can run deeper. She needs to focus on the here and now.
Because maybe… maybe they’d be willing to take her back, at least for the day. They were short both Bowen and Daphne, after all, and Hero had said he was off today. It’s last minute, and way more of a sudden appearance than the last time she worked here, but… maybe they’re desperate enough to bring on someone they already know?
The… situation, if you could call it one, still left a bad taste in her mouth— but she wasn’t Daphne and Bowen, and they seemed content enough with how things turned out, so it probably wasn’t her place to say anything. All she needed to worry about now was herself.
She clearly wasn’t very good about worrying about others anyway.
As she approaches the front of the bakery, however, it’s not Mr. and Mrs. Baker that is manning the front of the store.
Instead it’s some kid with blonde hair in a chef's hat and apron, currently trying to rearrange a breadbasket with gloved hands so that the loafs inside… well– she doesn’t even really know, to be honest. Is he trying to build them up into some structure? Is he trying to pose them? Regardless, he looks to be distracted playing with them. He hasn’t even noticed her approach.
“Pardon me? Are Mr. and Mrs Baker–”
The boy suddenly startles as she tries to grab his attention, knocking over his monument of bread back into the basket. In an instant he’s glowering at her with narrowed eyes, puffing out his chest.
“Such insolence! Can you not see that I am clearly busy with something most brilliant?! If you need an order, you need to heed my words and take a ticket like everyone else!”
She can’t help the way her mouth hangs the slightest bit agape as she stares at the boy, mostly due to the shock of how… rude he’s being. There’s not even anyone else in the lobby right now, she’s his only potential customer, and he’s already yelling at her.
Normally she’d be upset at such a treatment more than she’d be just shocked, but… this is Mr. and Mrs. Baker’s store. They are most definitely not the type who’d hire someone like this so casually.
“...Uhm.” She opens her mouth and closes it, still feeling dumbstruck at the fact she’s facing such hostility at the most well renowned bakery in Faraway.
“...Starstruck, are you?” The boy's gaze tightens the smallest bit as he leans over the counter to peer at her, before eventually his frown curves into a triumphant smirk. “I’ll forgive your misgivings then! It only makes sense you’d be swooned by my culinary craft and alluring self! I am the fairest Head Chef in ALL of Faraway, after all!”
…She isn’t going to, and she’s a little ashamed to even really want to, but she really wishes she could smack the back of his head for assuming such a thing. She’s positively sure she hasn’t ever been less inclined to ‘swoon’ over someone in her entire life, least of all someone who’s so haughty and self righteous.
“Is this how you talk to all your customers?” She narrows her eyes, leaning on the counter as the boy blinks owlishly at her. She really shouldn’t stoop so low as to threaten, but really, she’s already had a bad enough day and isn’t feeling charitable enough to pretend whatever just happened was okay. “Because I can promise you if it is, Mr. and Mrs. Baker would not be letting you stand within 50 feet of the bakery if they knew it was.”
“There’s no need to tell Mom and– er– Mr. and Mrs. Baker!” The boy’s eyes widen as big as cylinders, as do hers in conjunction. “I was… testing your resolve in– appreciation! Of fine breads! Any bread nay-sayer would turn tail when faced with such a–”
“Mikhael?”
“Grk– I am to be addressed as HEAD CHEF! When I am on duty!” The boy, Mikhael, bristles as his cheeks go red. “My status is not to be disrespected!”
She hadn’t even recognized him with how much he’d grown and with… what was that? A wig? It didn’t look anything like his natural hair that she could remember, so it couldn’t be dyed…
Bowen and Daphne had mentioned he’d taken up the family business in their stead. He’d always been the troublemaker, from what she’d heard and seen… but to think Mr. and Mrs. Baker must have been so desperate for staff that they brought him into the business while he was acting like this… It was no wonder they needed to bring on Hero to the staff.
“Where are your parents at?” She sighed out, much more resigned to exasperation than she was angry now. Mikhael certainly didn’t mean any harm, even if he was clearly not meant for this kind of service industry role…
“Out doing important… things!” Mikhael tutted with a huff, which was clearly an alternative way of saying ‘I have no idea’. “But in their stead I am in charge of this fine bakery, so as it’s Head Chef, I demand respect for my–”
“Mikhael, seriously, you shouldn’t talk to customers like that.” She chided as he bristled. “You’re going to drive away business if you antagonize everyone that walks up like that, I only came up to–”
“You are the one antagonizing me, using such an ill fitting name for a baker of my wit and caliber!” He balled his fists, pointing at her accusingly. “How would you like it if I appointed you a name without your blessing?!” He glanced her up and down, squinting, as if searching for something. Eventually he snapped his fingers, pointing accusingly at her. “Mari!”
He startled, blinking in surprise. He’d recognized her that much more easily than she’d recognized him.
…It felt far more biting than it should’ve to be outdone in that respect by Makhael of all people.
“Look… I just want to ask your parents if there are any positions open.” She sighed out through her nose. “Do you know when they’ll–”
“Ask ‘your’? Ask ‘YOUR’? There are no ‘your’s in this bakery! There is only I, the HEAD CHEF, and if not addressed as such– I cannot entertain your babble, Mari!”
She scowled despite herself, unsure if his continuous interruptions are getting to her or if just his haughty manner of speaking. “Don’t say my name like that– and, again, don’t just boss potential customers around like that. Seriously. What would your parents think?”
When did she get so ill tempered that she got riled up by a rowdy kid like Mikhael? She used to be so patient, yet now she found herself very, very quickly growing frustrated with the antics she knew he had a patent for.
“They think my talent is as limitless as my potential! They’ve even displayed my brilliance as a new item!” With a pose Mikhael gestured to the display, which featured a new platter of more ‘artistic’ looking pastries decorated with colored frosting. It stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest of the display… which was probably why it was tucked more towards the corner in the back.
“I’m not here to question how good a chef you are, that’s not the point! I’m–”
“That’s Head Chef– no, Master Head Chef to you, lowly cur! If you cannot address me as such I have nothing–”
“Mikhael–”
She held her tongue, something more biting and bitter lingering behind as she sneered, then clenched her face into a sour expression, then swallowed it all back down as she sucked in thinly through her teeth.
Mikhael was giving her an odd look, like he was teetering between confused and anxious. She felt like she was teetering too, like something was just on the precipice of just– just–
Deep breaths. Mari paused, taking a breath that felt as vast as it did unhelpful, and rubbed at her face for a moment, as if trying to smother down all her unwanted thoughts, anxieties and frustrations back into her head before they could leak out.
“...Look.” She said with a slow, quivering breath, pressing her hands together. “I’ve just– had a rough day, and right now, I am really needing something.. Something to just do. Okay? I’ve worked with your parents before. They–” She paused, memories of those distant days fogging as she shook her head. “They like me, I’m pretty sure, so they shouldn’t have a problem with it, and I know they’re down staff right now. All I wanted to know is if there’s… I don’t even need an opening for a job, really, is there just something I can help with around the bakery with for an hour or two for some pocket change. Anything at all. ”
A moment of awkward silence stretches out in the moments after as she sighs, tacting on a pathetic sounding “Please.” as if in hopes it’ll alleviate the odd tension.
Mikhael won’t quite look at her, half turned away and stroking at his chin as if he had a goatee.
“...If you’ve previously practiced in our family tradition then maybe you have potential.” Mikhael sniffed, nodding once. “Alright! You may help me with very important matters in the back and be my temporary assistant while the other one is on break!”
‘Other one’? Who else is even here? Hero said he wasn’t working today…
“Come!” Mikhael clapped his hands together roughly as Mari flinched back. “Jump the counter and join me in the storage room!”
“What?”
“A Head Chef doesn’t repeat himself!”
She sighed out, pursing her lips and muttering out an ‘Ok’ as she started walking around.
“I said jump the counter!” Mikhael huffed, hands on his hips as he flourished the blonde wig on his head with the swish of his hand. “That’s the initiative I need to see in an assistant chef!”
She gave Mikhael a look– an old one she hadn’t used for a good, long while. The type she used to save for Kel when he was over at their house and put his muddy shoes on the couch or spilled orange joe onto the rug before trying to cover it up. The teen locked eyes for a second with her before stilling.
“...Er– or walk around! I don’t care!”
Good. Cause she wasn’t jumping the counter– and thankfully he said nothing more as he fled into the back, with her walking after him.
The storage room was standard fare, just as packed with boxes of plates and utensils as she recalled, alongside cabinets and pantries full of different foodstuffs tucked away by a couple ovens and a sink. Mikhael was fidgeting by a homemade cookbook, toying with his oversized chef hat as he tied an apron around his waist, a second one haphazardly thrown over the nearby counter.
“...Are we baking something?” Mari raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “I thought Mr and Mrs Baker baked everything fresh on request?”
“We are and they do– but we still need daily displays and samplings, and they’ve trusted me as the Head Chef to make all of it!” Mikhael puffed out his chest proudly, for a moment, before turning away to push open the cook book. “I’ve already done basically everything, naturally! But there’s one recipe I’ve yet to perfect and require an assistant's help with!”
It was clear he was a little full of himself, but she couldn’t say she was disappointed by the task at hand. Cooking was something she was desperately out of practice on, but it was almost like riding a bike. You never really forgot… you simply had to get back in the seat and go. Working up the muscle memory of old habits would probably be a good exercise for her brain… and a decent enough distraction.
Wordlessly she grabbed the spare apron and put it on, instinctually finding a hairband ducked into the front pocket as she began to wrestle with her own messy hair to throw it back into a ponytail. In the meantime while she washed her hands, she peered over Mikhael’s shoulder to glance at the cookbook.
“Rosemary garlic pull-apart bread…” She read aloud, an odd feeling settling in her chest– she’d had that before, ordered dozens of times alongside Mom and Dad when she was younger. It used to be a great bread to grab for picnics with how easy it was to share and divvy up portions among everyone…
“I know how to make it from scratch very easily, the book is here just for tradition!” Mikhael sniffed, tone betraying that he seemed to not at all know how to do that. “A good Head Chef never leaves home without a cook book!”
“Mhm…” She sighed out, pausing as she brushed by him slightly to take a better look at the recipe. “So what are you getting stuck on?”
“I never said I was getting stuck on anything! My natural talent at cooking scoffs at the very thought!” Mikhael harumphed.
Mari simply settled for giving him an awaiting look, saying little more as he squirmed in place slightly, shaking his head.
“I will prepare the dough balls in preparation for… what is next, and–”
“You’ll want to knead the dough first before you even divide it up into balls or circles for the batter.” She interjected, ultimately a little satisfied in how Mikhael seemed annoyed by her interception but not unresponsive to her suggestion. “Do you know why the kneading is important?”
“...”
“It’s okay if you don’t, I’m not testing you or anything.”
“...For the shape.” Mikhael crossed his arms, hauling over the proper ingredients for the dish alongside a bowl and a whisk already set out. It was clear he’d been contemplating trying to start this for a little bit since they’d been open. “It makes the… shape better. Yes!”
“Partially.” She gently took the bowl from him, a decent chunk of dough already inside that she moved to pull out. “These counters are clean, right?”
“Uhm… yeah.”
“Alright.” She pressed the clumped up dough onto the counter, starting to knead at it. “It does help the overall shape of the loaf or pieces you make to knead it, yes– but it also helps lessen how dense the bread is so it ends up with a more fluffy texture. It’s kind of like… giving the bread a nice massage, so it relaxes a good bit, if that makes it any easier to understand.”
“Alright…”
“It’s not just about stretching it out, either. You’re trying to properly mix in some air. That’s what really helps give it the kind of ‘fluff’ most people look for in bread.” She continued kneading at the dough, glancing at Mikhael every so often to ensure he was paying attention– which he was, thankfully. She was used to working with younger kids watching over her as she worked. When they were younger, everyone was always so eager to crowd around her to see what she was baking, asking questions about when it would be done or how it was made. Her brother most of all…
…She wondered, idly, if Daphne and Bowen had ever had moments like that– like this– with him. Mikhael.
“...And how long do you have to do that for?”
Mari blinked back to attention, glancing at Mikhael briefly.
“Oh, not too long. It’s mostly a matter of getting a feel for it and knowing when it’s good… typically you can tell one the dough starts to feel looser and less solid.” She instructed, finishing up the kneading. “But once we’ve got the dough kneaded to a degree we think is enough, that’s when we’ll start rolling chunks up into balls… not that they have to be balls– but that’s how the display does it, so… that’s how we’ll do it, I guess”
“We’re not doing it that way ‘cause of the display. It’s because it’s how I want to do it, as Head Chef.” Mikhael corrected, to which Mari just shook her head with a slight hum.
“Right… right.”
“But– uh– when do we add the butter and cheese?”
“Butter and cheese?” Mari parroted, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows as she glanced back at the recipe book, repeating the ingredients to herself like a chant before finding the step. “Oh! Oh, ok– no– we’ll want to flatten out the dough balls a little, add a light butter spread and sprinkle on a little cheese, then roll them back up into more circular balls. So… here– take some mounds of dough and try to press them all out into a good size, yeah?”
“An assistant isn’t supposed to typically boss around the Head Chef… but I’ll allow it for the sake of… testing your knowledge!” Mikhael, of course, had to come up with an excuse to follow directions on his own terms. It was the type of childish antics she was used to dealing with in the past. Mari, of course, said nothing in favor of simply moving the process along faster rather than arguing, finding it almost amusing if anything by this point.
The process from there wasn’t too difficult– the bakers had taught her a fair bit during her employment with them, and unlike the other evening with the Rodregiezes, she didn’t have to hunt about for any of the supplies… that and she wasn’t as nervous about screwing any of the steps up, considering her audience was just Mikhael, who wasn’t much more knowledgeable than the cook book she was referencing.
What he lacked in knowledge he made up for in natural talent though. When he wasn’t complaining about her ‘bossing’ him around simply trying to read out the next step, he seemed to have a good handle working with the ingredients. The small mounds of dough he rolled together were even better put together than hers were, and once they’d gone through the trouble of baking it all until it was a delightful golden brown, he did an excellent job of translating all the pull-apart bread from the pan onto a decorative plate in an arrangement that looked professional, but artistic. It wasn’t at all hard to understand that he enjoyed working with his hands and arranging the food– he was good at it, even. It was just following along with the recipe that he seemed to have trouble with…
Annoying as the trait was to deal with in the moment, she was pleasantly surprised by how helpful he had been during the process despite having roped her into helping him get started. And the result looked and smelt great!
“And… there!” He flourished the plate of pull-apart bread, held high with one hand, as if to boast. “Another exquisite creation both unmatched in its brilliance and wholly unique in its presentation made by the revered Head Chef of faraway!”
“And his temporary assistant.” Mari felt the need to tact on, earning a snide look from the arrogant baker.
“...Only slightly!”
“‘Only slightly’.” She rolled her eyes with the shake of her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her face. “Alright. Go ahead and put it down already, Sunny. We have to clean everything up before we put it out on display.”
“What?”
“We have to clean up.” She matched his gaze, maintaining eye contact even as he stared at her as if she’d grown a second head, gesturing to all the mess left. “Your parents are going to expect a clean back room when they check up on the bakery, aren’t they? I know I always cleaned up before when working under them, so I doubt that’s changed.”
Mikhael continued to stare at her, brows knit in confusion and slight agitation– as if adverse to the very idea of cleaning up after himself. With an exasperated sigh she offered a small smile.
“Any proper head chef knows to keep their cooking area clean between dishes– and you’re a proper chef, aren’t you?”
“...Of course.” Mikhael said slowly, narrowing his eyes before huffing with the stomp of his foot, standing up straighter. “I knew that! I just– again, reiterate, that I need to be addressed as Head Chef! Not… whatever other names you speak…”
Ah, she forgot to call him by his ‘title’, right, that was the problem. She rolled her eyes with a soft, dramatic sigh.“Right… Well, let's hurry up and get to it then. The faster we’re done, the sooner you can put your bread up on display for people to see.”
That seemed to put a measurable bit of pep back in his step, because soon enough the Baker’s youngest was gathering up all the bowls and utensils they’d used and tossing half of them into the sink while she handled whipping off the counter of spare crumbs and spills, the dish they’d prepared looking quite good, honestly. To do this again– baking again, she meant…
It was…
…Satisfying was what she’d have liked to say, but it wasn’t really much of anything. She almost felt like she was… floating, in a sense. Or at least her mind felt ‘floaty’. Kind of like she was on the precipice of waking up from a dream passing her by, prepared to let this moment in time pass her by into a fog of loose memories.
It was an empty, hollow sort of feeling… not unpleasant, but not pleasant either– it was simply… numbing. Like comfort food that didn’t make her feel any fuller. Just a sensation for the sake of having one.
She paused and took a look at her phone. 12:44 PM was what it read. It hadn’t even been little more than an hour… but it felt like it had been so much longer, hadn’t it?
She couldn’t very well go home after this. Could she draw this out anymore, maybe? She didn’t want to be a nuisance, and Mikhael wasn’t the easiest company to keep, but… maybe he wants more help?
Regardless, by now the counters are spotless and Mikhael’s already taken out the pull-apart bread to put on display, leaving her alone in the back. Though now that she’s listening… is that talking she hears from the front? Does he have a customer, maybe?
She makes an effort to finish cleaning herself up quickly, washing her hands and taking off the spare apron as she leaves it in the back, fiddling with the hair tie now tangled up against her scalp as she returns to the broader bakery to find something surprising.
“I just– I don’t think y-you can keep bringing on new ‘assistant’s, Mikhael, Mr and Mrs. Baker told me–”
“Head Chef!”
“Oh! Right! Sorry Head Chef! I didn’t– oh! Uhm!”
The shorter girl with teal hair looked slightly shocked to see her, her large bangs positioned just above her eyes with two strands of hair braided back into small loop’d buns on either side of her neck. The black and brown work attire she was wearing looked almost unsightly on her, compared to her usual pink uniform. It was the same type of clothes Bowen and Daphne used to wear at work…
“Curtsey?” Mari blinked, and the girl seemed even more surprised. “You’re working with the Bakers now?”
“Uhm– that’s–” Curtsey looked like a deer lost in headlights, an anxious smile on her face as her eyes darted between her and Mikhael. “Y-yes! I do, it’s… good to– uhm– see you… Again…?” The girl wrung her hands nervously, notably not addressing her back. Mari wasn’t exactly surprised, offering the anxious girl a disarming, somber smile as she gave her an out.
“It’s Mari.”
“Oh! Gosh, I didn’t even recognize you! Not that that’s a bad thing! I just– I mean based on what Hero has said before I just wasn’t expecting–” Curtsey scrunched up her face with a wince, sticking out her tongue as a faint blush tinted her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m talking over myself! I’m so sorry! It’s just… it’s been a while!”
“It’s fine, you’re fine. I know I look different.” For worse, probably. She wondered if Curtsey was mentally trying to piece together just how different she looked in her head. She mentioned Hero– had Hero painted some unrealistic depiction of her? She probably didn’t look nearly as nice as he played her up to be. And he’d been wanting to talk to her today, too, hadn't he? She hadn’t done that yet, and if she did, she’d have to explain the matter with Aubrey…
Mari’s smile strained a little at the edges, but she pushed past it. Best not to dwell on it. “Soo… you’re working for the Bakers now?”
“Right! Yes! You asked that!” Curtsey nodded quickly, looking to relax– if only a little. “Yeah, I– they had some openings come up semi-recently due to, uhm, family reasons, and I wanted a… change in scenario, you know? Or– scenery. A change in scenery, I mean.” Curtsey glanced behind her shoulder, hand messing with bangs as she seemed to glance towards the hall leading to the candy shop, as if worried something might pop up from behind the corner. “Not that there was anything wrong with my old job! Just… you know… change can be nice.” She sucked in a breath. “And Mr and Mrs. Baker, for that matter. They’re nice. It’s… nice.”
“...Ahem.”
“Oh! And Mikhael, of course!” Curtsey added with the clap of her hands before cringing and snapping her fingers. “Er– The Head Chef, I mean! He’s very… lively! And I enjoy working here a lot more than– I mean not that I disliked Ms. Candice! Or working for her! I just–”
Curtsey paused, running a hand through her hair as she let out a terse breath.
“Anyway! I’m getting off track! Point being, uhm– are you his assistant? The one he mentioned? Like, the one who helped him bake the pull-apart bread???” Curtsey asked pleadingly, a mix of apprehension and guilt on her face. “Because if he promised you money, he doesn’t have any to give you– h-he keeps trying to bring on girls to work under him using money from the tip jar, and his parents really want me to stop letting him do it, but I just got back from my break and realized he did it again– and it’s also, uhm, Illegal? I think??? Like it breaks labor laws, I’m pretty sure. Not that I’d know about that from experience– But– Uhm. Yeah…”
…She really shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not like Mikhael had any actual authority with which to hire her, or anything. She’d just been kind of desperate in the moment for a distraction more than anything.
“It’s okay.” She held up her hands, offering an awkward smile. “I… just stepped back for a little bit to help him with that one thing. I don’t need any money.”
“I-I can pay you for your troubles.” Curtsey began to fidget with her pants pocket, like she was aiming to fish out her wallet. “I don’t want any bad blood or for you to leave upset and go to the Bakers over this or anything! How long were you–”
“Curtsey, really, it’s fine.” She urged with a sigh, hesitating for a moment. “I mean– if you really want to do something for me then… I was actually curious if the Bakers might be interested in taking me on board again, at least for a bit during the summer break if they were still hiring. Do you think you might be able to… I dunno– pass it along, maybe? If they’re in later today?”
Upon floating the question, and noticing Curtsey’s clear discomfort with it, she was quick to add– “You don’t have to mention anything with Mikhael." She amended at the same time he let out an indignant ‘Head Chef!’ behind her. “Just… if you could let them know I stopped by and might be interested in a position?”
“Ah, yeah– y-yeah. That– I can do that. That should be fine!” Curtsey nodded eagerly, looking a little meek as she scratched her cheek. “I mean, I think Hero might be able to put in a better word for you though– I’m newer than him, and, ah, he’d probably know how to talk you up to them better too… You could always ask him too, if you want!”
The idea of having to come to him just for an in for a job irked her for reasons she couldn’t quite explain– though, again, she didn’t want to talk to him for more than just that right now. She hadn’t even told him anything about what went down with Aubrey yet, after all, and she didn’t know how she was going to.
Did he even suspect that they’d already talked? She’d floated the idea around last time they were together, after all. He was off work, where was he right now? Was he expecting her to swing by? To send a text with some sort of update on how she was doing or what the plan was? Because she already had a plan, and she’d failed it. Spectacularly. How was she supposed to tell him about that? He was Aubrey’s friend too– or, he just was Aubrey’s friend now in a way she wasn’t.
What would happen if he heard about what happened from Aubrey first? Aubrey had heard she was in town in the first place from him, after all– what if they talked daily? What if he already knew how terrible things had gone? What if he took Aubrey’s side?
“...O-or not! I can– I can just… mention it myself! I didn’t mean to stress you out!”
“H-huh?” She stammered back to attention, heart thumping a little in her ears as she furrowed her brows. “You didn’t– I’m not stressed out. I–” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Sorry, my head's just… somewhere else right now. I should head out.”
“You don’t have to! I mean– I know I made a big stink about it, but it’s– nothing that happened was your fault! You don’t have to leave!” Curtsey urged, as if convinced, somehow, that she was still stressed out over the whole thing with Mikhael– who was just pointedly ignoring the both of them now leaned against the back wall, as if used to tuning out these kinds of lectures.
“Curtsey, really, it’s fine.” She stressed a little more firmly, planting the most convincing smile she could onto her face. “I just… skipped out on lunch, so– I was meaning to get going for food anyhow.” Food was the last thing on her mind right now, but Curtsey didn’t need to know that. “I only really meant to stop by for a second, anyway.”
“Oh! That’s– of course! I’m sorry!” Curtsey cringed, looking put out as she gripped the loose ends of her bangs. “I didn’t mean to keep you either– I’m– I’m just so frazzled today. A-and here I am yapping on and bogging you down–”
In lieu of talking in circles and having to, again, frustratingly reiterate that she wasn’t upset, Mari cut off the ball of nerves before she could talk herself into a fit. “We should catch up some other time, okay?”
Curtsey blinked owlishly at her, as if surprised at the very idea, before smiling brightly, if not nervously. “Uhm– okay! That’s– yeah! If you want to!”
“I want to.” It would be a nice distraction if nothing else, or at least a good excuse to get out of the house.
…That was a mean way of looking at it– she did want to catch up with Curtsey, genuinely. She was sure she did. She’d lost touch with far more people than just her immediate friend group, after all. Where was the consideration for any of them in all this? She probably hadn’t immediately thought about Curtsey in years before today, despite the fact she used to regularly go to the candy shop and catch up with Curtsey whenever she did.
There were probably dozens of people around Faraway that used to be part of her day to day that she hadn’t even had a passing thought or consideration of in years. It was that same kind of attitude that had made Aubrey so indifferent to her existence right now. How everyone didn’t already hate her was beyond her– or maybe they did, and she was just being needlessly presumptuous about how much people gave a shit about the washed up, recluse of a pianist that used to live downtown and virtually disappeared without a trace the same moment her brother had.
…God, her head was just– she needed to stop thinking. Right now.
“I’ll see you around, okay?” She threw out loosely while walking away, Curtsey babbled something after her, sounding almost excited, but it didn’t really register. She was more focused on just finding something simple she could focus on– something she had no attachments to, something that wouldn’t require any thought.
Fix-it was her first thought– they usually had listings for odd jobs needing to be done around the town. They’d probably have something for her to throw herself at, she was sure– or at least she was hopeful.
She never made it the short distance between Othermart and Fix-it though. An old woman in a brown overgoat and oversized glasses hunched over on the ground trying to gather up old soda cans with a trash bag in hand caught her attention first. On instinct she found herself sauntering over, leaning down to help pick up the piece of trash the old lady was reaching for.
“Here, I got it…”
“Oh? Thank you deary, aren’t you sweet!” The woman took the can gingerly from her hand, a bright smile on her wrinkled face. “Give me just a second to get you your dollar…”
“...I– you don’t need to give me anything?” Mari paused, confused. Pursing her lips a little as the old woman began to rummage through a small purse. “Seriously, it’s… you don’t owe me anything.”
“Oh, and so modest too…” The woman chuckled, shooting her a curious glance. “Didn’t you come to help after seeing my stand?”
“...No ma’am, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Oh I set a little something up by the park. Just offering a little incentive to the younger generation to pick up a little after themselves… a dollar per piece of trash they pick up off the street and turn into me.” The old woman smiled faintly to herself, cupping Mari’s hand and patting her knuckles softly. “But I suppose you came to help just out of the kindness in your heart, didn’t you deary? It soothes this old soul to see you younger generation doing good for goodness sake.”
It was a compliment, all things considered– she hadn’t helped in expectation of anything inherently good, nor any rewards, yet Mari didn’t feel deserving of the praise. She hadn’t done it out of the ‘goodness’ of her heart, most certainly. She wasn’t so selfless. She just wanted an outlet to be productive.
“R-right…” She sputtered a little in the face of such earnestness. She felt more guilty than good. And maybe because of that, or maybe because she was selfish and just wanted that outlet she was seeking, she couldn’t help but ask–
“Actually… Do you maybe have a spare trash bag?”
Mari felt terrible.
Walking felt like dragging around lead weights attached to her ankles at this point, and her bum knee made no effort to hide how weary and aching it was from being forced to walk up and down Faraway town, continuously bending down along the ground to pick up old cans, wrappers, cigarettes and bags. She wasn’t even into her 20’s, and yet she felt perhaps as frail and lethargic as a woman 4 times her age.
She was sure it was some combination of being physically unfit, a lack of proper, deep rest, and poor nutrition that was causing her such horrible exhaustion… And the fact today had already been somewhat stressful and she’d only eaten a light breakfast surely wasn’t helping.
…She couldn’t really remember what it was she had for breakfast, but… she did have something, didn’t she? She was sure she did. Probably…
Regardless, physically she felt close to collapse. The hour or two she’d spent meandering around in search of garbage to fill up a trash bag had been fruitful but exhausting– and it didn’t help matters that she felt chilled by this point as well. Despite the mild, sunny weather and very light breeze– she still felt cold, like the wind pierced her jacket and sunk right through her skin into her bones. It certainly felt awkward seeing so many residents going about their daily lives in t-shirts and shorts while she was in her white button up dress for church with a t-shirt underneath and her jacket on top.
But despite all that, she almost felt… relieved.
Masochistic as it was, being so tired and having such aches made it hard to focus. Her brain was a lot more ornery about trying to find someplace to sit down for a moment to rest than it was about thinking about everything cataclysmically wrong with her life right now.
But, still… running off fumes could only last her so long, and she really did need a break. Probably a late lunch, too, if she could work up any sort of appetite beyond the gnawing feeling in her stomach… but she could figure that out after she’d sat down for a bit.
She began to hobble towards the bench on the far side of the park, which was mostly destitute of people besides some older folks taking up all the picnic benches and some kids on the court playing amongst themselves. Though, as she approached the bench she came to find, unfortunately, it was already occupied by a familiar face.
The artist girl she’d met at church was slightly hunched over, scribbling in her notebook as Mari peered over the back of the bench. She considered, if but for a moment, about asking if the girl might be okay with sharing. They were at least acquainted better than she was with any of the people by the picnic table– and they seemed to be having some sort of event anyway, so… perhaps the girl wouldn’t mind sliding over and letting her sit by her again– not to distract her again, but just to rest her legs for a bit.
Though Mari never really got far enough along that thought process to consider if it was a good idea. Instead, though she felt a little bad, her eyes subconsciously trailed onto what the girl was drawing. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, but she hadn’t even known the girl had been seated here until she’d already walked up behind her– and by that point, her eyes had already caught on the page.
The girl looked to be drawing some sort of angel– one dressed in a white toga, posed as if hovering in the air with an imbalanced scale in hand and a blindfold around her eyes, the small amount of shading the girl had already done illuminating the angel from above. It looked to her like something inspired by the roman god of justice…
Though, the one thing that really caught her eye about the drawing and led her to snoop in the first place…
“Is that… me?”
The poor girl startled, head whipping around as her eyes widened in shock, Mari holding up her hands defensively as the girl rushed to cover her notebook.
“W-what?! I– why were you–” The girl stammered over herself, eyes darting around nervously as a flush blossomed on her face. Mari tried her best at a disarming smile.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, or watch over your shoulder! I just came up from behind to use the bench and didn’t see you until I got closer, and then my eyes caught on your notebook and… well…”
“I’m sorry– I wasn’t– I–” The girl still looked at a slight loss, some mix between anxious, mortified and humiliated before eventually clamming up entirely, still clutching her notebook to her side as if worried Mari might snatch it from her.
“Really, it’s… you’re fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have peaked. I just wanted to sit down, really.” She shuffled awkwardly. “I’ve… distracted you enough today. Just– don’t even worry about it, okay? I’ll go find somewhere else to sit. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Wait.”
She didn’t even make it a half step away before the girl from church found her voice, a more guilty, meek look on her face as she squirmed.
“You– you can have the bench. I’ll go somewhere else. I-I didn’t mean to hog it.”
“No, no you were here first.” Mari shook her head with the purse of her lips. “I can go.”
“But I’m just waiting for a friend to show up anyway– w-we probably aren’t even going to hang around at the park, so…”
“Well… when will your friend be here?”
The girl looked unsure, averting her gaze as she shrugged her shoulders. Mari paused for a moment, mulling over the solution in her head before settling on what to do.
“Well… how about we just share the bench for a little bit then, that way you don’t have to get all re-situated while waiting for your friend, and I don’t have to swing back around after you’re gone. How’s that sound?”
That was her initial proposal before things got so awkward anyway, but that was neither here nor there– and the girl, though still embarrassed, looked to relax at least a little at the idea. Wordlessly, she scooched over on the bench.
Mari offered her a placating smile, set down her trashbag to the benches side, and sat down. Her body melted back into the bench as she collapsed back into it– the relief of being off her feet instant and palpable as she let out a soft sigh.
She closed her eyes for a moment– the background noise of wind rustling the trees, the chatter of adults by the picnic, and sneakers squeaking against the court pavement filling her head… yet there was no scrawling of pencils or pens.
It made her feel bad, to have intruded and made the girl feel so awkward as to stop. She seemed to have a penchant for showing up and unintentionally causing situations and degrading relationships today, didn’t she? And yet she sat seated anyway, too tired to bother moving or mending the situation– just like she was with Aubrey. Half the day was gone, and she was still looking for ways to prevent herself from dwelling on the topic rather than fixing it.
…Maybe it wasn’t even unintentional at this point. Maybe she secretly just reveled in being selfish, and she didn’t know how to admit it to herself. Everything she’d tried to do to simply stay afloat these past few years had just been perceived as her making distance and hunting the people she cared about anyways…
Maybe life would be easier if she just admitted to herself she was selfish, and consciously choosing to be so. At least then, she’d have some semblance of control over her life, rather than walking on eggshells worried about the next time she’d unintentionally, irreversibly ruin something, or someone.
After all… wasn’t it better to hurt someone knowingly, rather than accidently? At least then, everyone would know to steer clear of you. Everyone would know that was just what you were like, that you were simply sadistic by nature, rather than trying to justify how you didn’t mean to hurt them through misunderstandings or misconstrued intentions. Better to have control of one's self and be loathed, than to aimlessly try and fail again and again to be better.
Everything would be a lot easier if the people you loved just admitted they hated you and were disappointed by what you’ve done and continue to do, rather than pretending they have your best interests at heart while leading you along into more pain and heartache over and over and over again…
“...What’s in the bag?”
Her eyes fluttered open, mind lagging a little behind on her own self-loathing as she stared at the girl, who was looking at her curiously– if still a little awkwardly. The girl shifted in her seat, gesturing vaguely behind her.
“The– uhm… the bag, there. The trash bag.”
“Oh.” She said lamely, pausing for a moment. “I mean… It's trash. I was just collecting whatever I saw around the area. I saw some older woman cleaning up around Othermart and offered to help, so…” Mari shrugged, unable to muster the energy to push more pep or sincerity into her voice.
“That’s… cool. That’s– that’s cool. Good for the community, too.” The girl averted her eyes for a moment. “You’re… you seem really nice.”
“I guess so.” Mari closed her eyes again, seeing no point in arguing against that. She did seem really nice, didn’t she? Though how this girl she’d continued to bother and inconvenience came to that conclusion she couldn’t possibly know– people who knew her far better seemed to think far worse of her, after all.
The silence stretched on for a good while. Maybe a minute– or two– or five– she somewhat lost track of the time, sitting there with her eyes closed. But eventually, something brushed up against her arm, and she opened her eyes, glancing down at what had bumped against her.
It was the girls sketchbook, open to the page from before, presenting the angel from before.
The angel, who had long, flowing black hair and a face sculpted like her own.
She glanced the other girl's way, catching her nervous expression as she shifted in her seat more.
“I-I wasn’t trying to draw you. I usually go to the church to study the murals, but it’s hard to do that outside unless I want to go sit on the sidewalk or across the street near all the cars– and I’d started sketching the angels in one of the murals before I left the service– and then I saw you– and I picked up the sketch and just kind of drew what felt right and fitting after that and– I-It just turned out like that. I wasn’t trying to be creepy.” The girl fiddled with her pencil, seemingly unable to keep still as she took a moment to catch her breath after the eruption of words that’d stumbled out of her mouth. “...Sorry, I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea. People… usually do, when they see my drawings.”
Mari didn’t say anything right away. She simply kept looking over the drawing, now better able to see the detail. The anatomy was really impressive, and the posing was rather dynamic. Though the shading wasn’t done, it looked promising too.
“...You don’t have to apologize, I don’t think it’s creepy. I was just… surprised, is all.” She lightly held the sketchbook back out towards the girl, who was looking at her as if anticipating something. She offered the ghost of a smile. “I mean, I think it’s sweet that I inspired you if anything, even if just loosely. You incorporated my features well into the drawing there… and I’d struggle to think of something more flattering to be depicted as than an angel. I don’t really get how people could think less of you for such good art.”
“You don’t have to play it up to make me feel better…”
“No– no really, I think it’s beautiful. Which– I mean hopefully that doesn’t sound narcissistic, since I guess I was kind of the muse… but, again, you made me look actually kind of pretty.” She pursed her lips, shifting over to sit up a little straighter and pay closer attention to the girl. “Do you regularly have this kind of problem? Where you get inspired by strangers and people think you’re weird for it?”
“I– not all the time, no. It’s just… a small town, you know?” The girl sighed, lightly thumping her pencil against her sketchbook. “I kind of loiter around and see lots of people going about their business, and I’ve been trying to work on my anatomy for my portfolio– so… sometimes I kind of use people as muses or references subconsciously without meaning to, but since everyone kind of knows everyone, people are usually able to figure out who the inspiration was kind of easily…” The girl casted her glance downward, looking downtrodden. “It’s usually just awkward, but I’m pretty sure I’ve made some people uncomfortable with it… probably because a lot of my early sketches were really ugly. They probably thought I was making fun of them, or something…”
“I’m sure they weren’t ugly!”
The girl offered her a shy, if kind of bemused smile. “No, they were pretty ugly… I just started trying to draw people recently, because my portfolio needs to be diverse, you know? I don’t like drawing humans that much… but if I’m ever going to be an artist one day, I need to be comfortable with drawing things even if they’re not what I’m interested in, or nobody’ll hire me.”
“I suppose that makes sense…” The world wasn’t kind enough to afford most people the luxury of strictly doing what they were passionate about as a career, even if their career was their passion. She doubted every construction worker enjoyed every house layout they had to build, or every script writer enjoyed the characters or story they were brought on to bring to life. She studied the girl's drawing for a moment more. “Is that why you made me an angel, then?”
The girl blushed softly, scratching at her cheek with her nail. “...I like drawing wings. And… I mean, I’m not really even religious, or anything. I just go there to draw because I think the sermon has nice background noise, and everyone is quiet and respectful for the most part– and I’ve been studying the murals recently, like I said before…”
“Well what else do you like to draw, then?” Mari paused, mulling over if she should test her luck. “...anything I could see?”
The girl looked to hesitate for a moment before she glanced back to her sketchbook. She subtly shifted it to the side, out of view, as she began to flip through the pages, using her body to block what Mari could only assume were sketches she wasn’t confident enough to show… before she pushed the sketchbook back.
Before Mari was what looked like the town plaza, or at least something based on the fountain in it. It was a still life of the fountain and a few surrounding benches and bushes, with the twist being the water being gushed from the fountain was rectangular and sectioned, pieced together in interlocking shapes– like the panes of stained glass in the murals at church.
“Oh wow! That’s so cool!” Perhaps it was a bit much, but she earnestly did find the execution of the idea really pretty and visually stunning.
“I-I was going to make the whole piece stained glass, but by the time I finished the water I realized how much work coloring everything in like that was, and then I thought it almost looked kind of cool with just the water being different…” The girl explained, looking a mix of shy and prideful over her work. “I like to do still lifes and reimaginings of landscapes a lot…”
“Well you’re very good at it! This is the kind of thing I’d pay money for, you know.”
“Stop it.” The girl laughed out, fidgeting with her hair.
“No, really! It’s great!” The girl she’d met at the church had seemed so much more reclusive and dejected… probably from the stress of whoever she’d been sat with inside making her uncomfortable, and thinking Mari was just going to be another person to think her art was weird or ugly. In reality, the kid was nothing more than a shy sweetheart with oodles of talent. “I can’t believe there are people who don’t like your stuff, honestly.”
“I mean… I don’t really intentionally show most people my stuff… nobody but my parents.” The girl pursed her lips, letting out a sigh. “They don’t really think it’s bad, or anything. But… they don’t think art is a realistic job.”
That seemed to be quite the common occurrence, wasn’t it? Hero’s mother had wanted him to be a doctor instead of a baker, the Bakers didn’t approve of Daphne and Bowen wanting to experiment with other types of cooking jobs outside the bakery… and now this girl's parents didn’t believe she’d make it as an artist. She could only imagine they wanted her to go into a more traditional office or security job– Dad certainly wanted her to get something revolving around the new technologies.
“...There are lots of successful, great artists out there able to make a competent living. I’m sure you can be one too.” She leveled the girl a firm look, mustering up a bit of conviction. “You shouldn’t let people dictate what you want to do– whether or not they’re strangers that think you’re weird, or your parents thinking they know what's best for you. The people that actually care will support you in doing what you want to do… you just need to be your own advocate.”
“I know.” The girl looked a little eased by her words, if not even slightly emboldened. “I… just need to keep working, I guess. It’s hard work, but… I’m willing to put in the effort. I just want to get confident enough in my work to be able to show it off without feeling… stupid. B-but I’ve got a friend that supports me, so… he really helps me keep up my confidence.”
“That’s…” Mari paused, a familiar feeling welling up in her– she was surprised by how assured the girl seemed to be in her path, despite her reservations and shyness. It was just like Daphne and Bowen… so sure of what she wanted to do, despite the difficulty of the path ahead. Was it really so easy that even children could figure it out with such conviction, even when she couldn’t? Even Aubrey seemed so sure of what she wanted and needed– and it wasn’t her.
Did nobody but her struggle with this? Was she just broken in some way?
…What a stupid question. She already knew the answer to that, of course.
“...Good. That’s good.” She nodded slowly, her energy not quite matching the girls as she swallowed something down, clearing her throat as she forced a smile. The average person probably didn't have to ‘force’ anything to muster up happiness for another. “Is– uhm… is your friend the same one you mentioned earlier? The one you’re meeting with?”
“Yeah… we were probably just going to head back to his house and hang out. I like to draw stuff from his backyard and garden, sometimes.” The girl paused, looking at her sketchbook for a moment, then back at Mari. “...Thank you.”
Mari blinked owlishly. “For what?” For bothering her? For distracting her? For continuously pestering this poor kid simply trying to draw, standing on her soap box to spout useless information everyone already knew, and envying a child's ability to be more mature than her?
“For… supporting me, I guess. And not thinking I’m super weird for… using you as a muse, I guess.” The girl laughed lightly, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m… surprised I haven’t seen you around before, kinda wish I’d met you at church earlier…”
“Oh…” Mari couldn’t help the odd, pulsing sensation in her chest– what an odd feeling it was, to feel valued. Undeserving as it felt, it felt… almost nice. If not painful in the same sense. She cleared her throat, fighting off an intense feeling of awkwardness. “Well, I’ve been out of town for a while, and I honestly don’t go to church much anymore anyway. I’m just back home from college for the rest of summer break, is why, but it’s really no big deal! I’m glad I could help you… uhm…”
Mari trailed off, pursing her lips for a moment before mentally facepalming, a white hot embarrassment coursing through her as she groaned.
“I’m– geez, I’m so sorry, I just realized I don’t even know your name! I don’t even think I’ve introduced myself!”
“It’s okay, I didn’t do it either.” The girl smiled brightly. “I’m Mincy though… it’s nice to meet you!”
“Mari, and likewise.” She offered a soft smile. “It’s been nice to–”
“Mari?”
Mari stopped short as the girl interrupted her, swallowing down a moment of frustration as she found herself more focused on the perplexing look Mincy was giving her.
“...Yes?” She smiled thinly.
“Mari…” Mincy repeated, expression shifting into something more… anxious. Why did she look anxious? “A-and you– you’ve been at college?”
“Yes? I mean… maybe I don’t look it, but I just turned 20.” She repeated, her own smile dropping as she watched the girl’s expression shift again– as if she were mentally piecing together a puzzle that was frightening her, for whatever reason. Why did her name invoke such a reaction? Had they met before, and Mari simply failed to remember it, or something? “Why do you ask?”
“I-is your last name Suzuki?”
Mincy was fidgeting now, as if having just asked her a life or death question– all while ignoring Mari’s own. It undeniably made her feel a little irritated, if not hollow– a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. What was it Mincy said earlier? Something about this being a small town, where everyone knew everyone?
“Why… why does that matter, Mincy?” She said slowly, that sinking feeling growing as Mincy glanced away from her, eyes glancing around the park as if trying to find something. Why did just her name invoke that kind of reaction? What could Mincy possibly know about her that would warrant this kind of anxiety?
…Mikhael had recognized her too, actually. Did people gossip about her, or something?
Did… people talk about what happened all those years ago? The situation with her family… her brother… was that what–
“I-I think I should go.” Mincy said suddenly, standing up from the bench.
“I– what?” Mari let out a short, breathless laugh, almost in disbelief.
“I just– I need to go meet my friend, and–”
“You said you were meeting him here.” Mari cut Mincy off, a bit of heat in her voice as she shook her head. Why would those kind of rumors warrant a reaction like that? They– people didn’t know about– they couldn’t, right? “Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong just because I told you my name?”
“Y-you haven’t!” Mincy was quick to assure, sweat bullets as she glanced around again. “I just– I need to go. I don’t want to upset you, you seem nice. I– I-I just– I don’t want to upset my friend.” Mincy began to hurriedly gather her supplies, and Mari was at a loss– ugly, pained, complex emotions floating up from the pit of her stomach and constricting her chest.
She didn’t even do anything wrong this time– at least she was fairly sure she didn’t! What did she do to deserve being shunned and sent off by everyone today? How was that fair?! Doomed to be alone because… because what? Because her namesake had some baggage tied to it? Because of situations out of her control? Because she wasn’t the perfect little doll that could mediate every little situation and all of her emotions? What was the solution to all that– to be psychic, and just avert all that happened without any hindsight?!
It’s not like she chose any of this intentionally! She hadn’t wanted the day of the recital to go down in infamy! She hadn’t wanted her parents to split up and make things so messy! She hadn’t meant to burn bridges with all her closest friends just because god forbid she needed a little break from everything!
She never intended to push Sunny to kill himself and leave her with– with all of this! She– she never–
“I-I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Mincy began to move away from her. “I just need to–”
“Mar… Mari?”
Mincy stopped short, and Mari’s mind grinded to a halt as she peeled her eyes off to the side, and catching onto a certain someone.
A boy with blonde hair, tied back into a longer, braided ponytail that rested over his shoulder. He had light brown, baggy overalls that cut off over beige boots and a green undershirt underneath it with white, floral outlines decorating it that stopped at his biceps– they had more definition than she remembered, and he was taller than she remembered. Still small, relatively… but not as scrawny anymore, and he was staring at her as if he was looking at a ghost.
Their gazes caught, Basil presumably looking over her for a good few moments as well, before something in his gaze hardened– he saw it in his face.
His expression turned from shocked, to anxious, to unsure, to almost sour all in the span of a few seconds– before settling somewhere between disappointed and adverse, like simply staring at her was upsetting.
The silence was overwhelming, the air so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife.
“Basil it’s not– she’s not–” Mincy started, but she stumbled over herself, seemingly at a loss for what to say as her mouth simply gaped.
“...I-it’s fine.” Basil swallowed, still glowering at her for another moment before he turned. “Lets– lets just go.”
“But I…” Mincy looked between the both of them, lost for a moment, and it all simply… clicked.
Hero implying there was tension between them… Aubrey refusing to discuss him, claiming they shouldn’t care about him, because he didn’t care about them– how unsure and anxious Mincy was acting, how cold Basil was acting…
He’d found new friends– or a new friend, maybe. A friend he inevitably spent more time with now than he did his old ones. Maybe he’d abandoned them all too… maybe he was bitter too, bitter at her– but he was much more willing to show it than Aubrey had been.
Probably much more willing to tell someone like Mincy about how someone like Mari Susuki was someone to steer away from, if she had to guess. Because everyone probably thought Mari Suzuki was just terrible, right?
Basil took Mincy’s hand, and Mincy didn’t pull away, even as he moved to start tugging her off.
“C’mon…” He murmured, just audible enough for her to hear. “We can… w-we’ll talk later, can we just go? Please?”
Mincy didn’t say anything, but she didn’t resist either. Nobody did– was that fair?
Mari wasn’t sure that was fair.
“Basil.”
Before she could think better of it, she muttered out his name, and he turned to her– eyes like that of a frightened animal, almost. Prepared to flee, but maybe not afraid of a fight.
“If you’ve got something to say to me…” She said slowly, gritting out the words as she leveled him a stern, neutral look. “You can just say it.”
Basil looked at her for another few seconds, gaze hard and distant as he seemed to mull it over.
“...I don’t.” He huffed out, a slight shake to his voice as he turned back. “C’mon, Mincy. Let’s… l-let’s go.”
And they did. Mincy muttered something out under her breath– but Mari didn’t hear it clearly, and Basil didn’t respond to it. The two simply walked off in the opposite direction of her, neither looking back as Mari stood rooted in place.
Alone. Again.
She stood there for a while, something hollow and empty settling in the place of the heat and frustration pooled within her mere moments prior as she stared off toward where Basil and Mincy had disappeared too– even long after they were gone.
Wordlessly, she moved back towards the bench and sat down, staring down at her own lap.
That dull, aching tiredness from before seemed stronger than ever– pulsating through her. Up from her legs and into her head between her ears.
She isn’t sure why she’s surprised with how things turned out– why should she be? Of course they’d turn out like this. It only makes sense. It’s only what she… deserves.
She… deserves this…?
…Yeah. That sounds right.
She deserves this, it makes sense. She doesn’t have any reason to really be upset, or angry over it.
She doesn’t feel angry over it. She deserves it.
Mari takes in a deep breath through her nose.
She deserves it– she should’ve expected all this. It makes sense. She deserves it.
There was nothing else she could’ve done. There never is. Not when it comes to this– not when it comes to others. You can only control yourself and the actions you take, not those of others.
That’s why it’s… better. Better if she… doesn’t.
Doesn’t have others…?
…Right. Doesn’t have others– because she deserves this, and that’s what’s easier for everyone.
Better for everyone.
If she’s alone. Because that’s the one thing she can do.
That she can control.
Because she deserves–
“You’ve got quite the haul there, dear. I’m impressed!”
Mari blinked, taking a moment to react as she glanced up.
The old lady from before was standing near her, offering her a polite smile.
She didn’t say anything. She simply stared, the subtly, pained pulsing between her ears too distracting. It felt like static.
“You’ve done a great deal of service in picking up litter. I couldn’t fill up my bag nearly so big.” the old woman gestured to her ‘haul’... right. The trash bag. “Seeing the youth putting in so much effort over the environment... Oh It warms my heart…”
She didn’t, but she didn’t say anything. Her gaze simply lingered on the trash bag.
“May I sit, dear? These old bones of mine don’t do fair good standing up for so long.”
Wordlessly, she scooted over to give the old lady some space.
“Thank you dear. You’re awfully sweet.”
She wasn’t, but again, she didn’t say anything. The old lady sat beside her, and silence dragged on for a minute.
“You’re awfully lost, aren’t you dear?”
“...I’m fine.”
“Oh I didn’t ask if you were fine– and I wasn’t asking if you were lost, either. I can just tell.” The old woman crooned. “What is it that’s eating at you, dear?”
She hesitated, if but for a moment. Why shouldn’t she answer? Why shouldn’t she give someone else a reason to leave? She deserved to be alone, after all. It was better that way.
“...I didn’t pick up trash because of the environment.”
“Oh?”
“I just… wanted a distraction.” She shook her head, voice hushed. “I don’t think I’ve consciously thought or cared about the environment at all today. I only did it because it was a convenient way to fight off… boredom.” She paused. “I’m not a good person. I’m sorry.”
A brief silence followed.
“So?”
“...So?” Mari parroted, turning her head to look at the old woman. She was still smiling.
“Who cares why you did it? You still cleaned up all that trash, didn’t you?”
Mari glanced over at the trash bag, pursing her lips.
“But I… I didn’t do it for the environment. I just did it for myself.”
“Sweetie, the environment doesn’t care about that.” The old woman coo’d. “If mother nature gets cleaner parks and forests, and you get a task to keep off boredom, or some youngins get some money for picking up cans– what does she care? She’s cleaner for it anyway, and everyone participating gets a little something out of it.” The old woman let out a soft, airy laugh. “And you may say you didn’t… but of course you did it for the environment. At least a little.”
“I… I really didn’t, though…”
“There’s some people I couldn’t pay any amount of money to waste their day walking around picking up garbage, yet you did it for free– and I didn’t even have to ask you.” The old woman nudged her shoulders, offering a smirk. “If you wanted any old task to distract yourself, you could’ve picked anything… but you picked something that helps out the community, didn’t you? I doubt a bad person would care enough to do that.”
Mari went quiet, staring back down at her lap.
“Lots of folks think the world is dog eat dog out there, dear. As if one person has to lose so another can win… But I don’t think it’s so simple.” The old woman took out her purse, humming. “I think there’s no good reason why you can’t feel nice for doin’ a good deed, even if it only ‘cause it benefits you, ‘cause there’s a lotta people out there who don’t care enough at all to even try and pretend. Everyone does a little something just for themselves sometimes, even if it seems like nothing but selfless intentions.”
The old woman placed a stack of bills on her lap– 25 or so dollars, straight from her purse, as Mari blinked.
“I– I can’t take this, I don’t–”
“Hush hush, of course you can.” The old woman shook her head, pushing the money toward her when she tried to hand it back. “Between you and me… it makes me feel good to hand out some spare cash– my kids are too old and stubborn for chores money anymore, and I like spoilin’ good youngins like you. I’m havin’ my fun helping the environment too.”
The old woman stood up before she could put up any more of a fight to give her back her money, zipping up her purse, putting it back over her shoulder, and grabbing Mari’s trash bag from beside the bench.
“You’re too hard on yourself, dear. There’s no shame in rewarding yourself for a good deed done. And if you need a little help getting over that shame… you just talk to someone that cares about you, and they’ll tell you just the same. I know a girl like you has to have people that care a whole awful lot about her..”
The old woman began to shuffle away with a soft hum, leaving Mari with a stack of bills in her hand and that advice on her mind, echoing through her head.
She hesitated for a good, long while– against her better self, against what she thought she knew, eventually, Mari pulled out her phone, opened it up, and painstakingly dialed up a number after minutes of deliberation.
It rang once.
Twice.
Click!
“Mari!” Hero’s voice rang out from the other end, sounding surprised. “Hey! I was hoping I’d hear from you! What’s up?”
Mari took a deep breath, voice quivering as she let it out.
“Can we…” Her voice cracked as she swallowed thickly. “C-can you come to the park? I… I think I need someone– I… need to talk to you.”