Chapter Text
July, 2019:
It was raining.
Sara hated the rain. That was one reason she had moved away, moved to LA. She hated how gross and bulky raincoats looked on her frame, hated having to lug umbrellas around, hated wearing waterproof shoes, hated the feeling of raindrops down her back, hated wet ruined hair - all of it.
Today, not so much.
Because this was a beautiful city and today of all days, Sara didn’t want it to look beautiful. She didn’t want to see the sun glinting off the clocktower in the city square, or smell the fresh popcorn from the decades old vintage movie cinema, or hear the quiet rush of water down at the docks. Today, Sara appreciated the rain. She was glad that the fields on campus were flooding and the cars were speeding through overflowing gutters and the mechanics garage was dark and quiet and smelt like petrol while the storm raged endlessly outside.
Sara’s bottle of beer was cold, the dripping condensation falling onto her already rain splattered heels. She didn’t really drink beer anymore, but she put the bottle to her lips and took a long, bitter swing anyway.
The back door of the garage - the one Jax had never oiled the hinges of - creaked loudly. Probably Mick. (High heels clicked loudly against the concrete floor. Not Mick. Probably Kendra. Maybe even Amaya. Sara didn’t look up, just took another sip of beer.)
“Hey,” said Nate from his seat next to her, voice soft and hoarse with a warm affection. ( Had to be Amaya.) “Beer?”
“Please.”
It was like every raindrop falling from the sky in the whole city had suddenly poured down Sara’s back. Her stomach lurched. With shaking hands, she put the half empty bottle on the ground beside her and reluctantly let her eyes flicker up. There was a gentle but heartbroken warmth in Ava’s eyes as she took the beer from Nate and carefully sat beside him.
Sara had managed not to cry all day. The entire service - eulogy, the whole decorated veteran tribute with the bagpipes and the flag, everything. She had been fine. But now, Ava Sharpe walking into the damn garage and looking at Nate like they were friends - of course that did it.
They were friends. They were friends because it had been five years since Sara had been in this city, since she’d properly hung out with any of them, since she knew what was going on in their lives. And apparently, in five years, Nate and Ava had become friends. Nate Heywood (who had once been as good as family), was now closer to Ava Sharpe (who had once been the love of Sara’s life) than he was to Sara.
Sara stood up and walked out of the garage.
January, 2012:
“Look at this Aves. Look at all of this. It’s - it’s fucking incredible. I know I sound like the biggest nerd ever but God, can you believe that this stuff is real? This is history. Real, actual history, all of this stuff happened and we didn’t even make it up. How cool is that?”
Ava laughed, a soft, quiet, I’m-so-in-love-with-you laugh that made Sara glance up from her textbook and look over at her.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you, all high and mighty ‘I’m a freakin’ international relations student and I’m better than you -’”
“Sara,” interrupted Ava, easing the textbook from Sara’s hands with a wry smile. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re beautiful. And passionate. And so smart. And yes, you’re right - it’s incredible, all of it.”
Sara bit her lip, glancing down at her lap. “Never thought I’d be the kind of person to geek out over something like this. You’re making me soft, Sharpe.”
Ava rolled her eyes, ignoring the quip. “Where would you go? If you could choose one of these things to see, right now, jump on a plane. What would you want to see?”
Sara traced a finger over the textbook’s photograph of Petra in Jordan. She smiled. “Everywhere. I’d want to go everywhere.” She paused. “I’m going to go everywhere, one day.”
Ava let out another laugh, just as soft, a little more reverent, still just as in love. “I guess I’m gonna have to follow you everywhere then, aren’t I?”
Sara had assumed no one would find her here. It’d been years since she’d stopped climbing to the top of the library and curling herself away in the stacks, and she’d made her way here quickly enough to give no one the chance to follow. Not that she expected them to - they were a group, close-knit and mourning and focused on making sure each other were okay. A group she wasn’t part of, not anymore. She’d cut herself off, and they’d woven themselves back together, seamlessly filling the gap she’d left behind.
It was her fault. She’d given this up when she walked away, and she should’ve known better than to expect it to be here waiting for her when she came back. (Although when it came down to it, she hadn’t had a choice. She either stayed here, with Ava, every broken sentence and subtle glance a reminder of the world crumbling between them, or she left. She’d had to leave.)
But when she’d packed she’d made sure to leave a piece of her heart here, assuming it would be safe and carefully protected, only to come back and find it nowhere to be seen.
"Sara?" Amaya asked, tone gentle and worried whilst implying she'd attempted to catch Sara's attention at least once already. (Sara knew that tone. Once upon a time, Amaya had been her best friend. She remembered that tone from Amaya’s daily fond exasperation with her when she zoned out in class, procrastinated their studying, or got distracted by attractive people walking into the library (in other words, by Ava Sharpe walking into the library)).
Sara blinked, dragging herself out of her thoughts, watching Amaya's open expression fall slightly in concern. Amaya hadn't changed. Her hair was longer, her clothes more sophisticated, but the kindness in her eyes and the way her hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to reach out and take Sara’s was all the Amaya Sara remembered, from back before she'd let her slip away. If they'd been younger she would've reached out in a heartbeat, pulling Sara closer to her and pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising her that she was there, and that no matter what was weighing down her heart, she would listen.
Amaya had always been there, before. She'd been the first one Sara would go to for help and the first one to pull her aside and ask her if she was okay.
Only this time when that once familiar question fell from Amaya's lips, Sara stumbled, a lie slipping from her tongue before she had the chance to catch it. “I'm alright.”
Amaya took a few hesitant steps closer, sinking to the floor and leaning against the opposite bookshelf, legs tucked neatly beneath herself. There was an unnaturally long pause as Amaya pieced together a response in her head, unsure how far she could push, hesitant to start a conversation that should’ve been had years ago, unsure how the familiar stranger sitting in front of her would respond. She sighed softly, eyes finding Sara’s no matter how hard Sara attempted to avoid them.
“You’re not. None of us are remotely okay right now.”
Sara leaned against the bookshelf, shivering a little. The downpour between the garage and the campus had left her soaked, and her jacket was in Ray’s car outside the garage. “Right,” she said in a small voice. “Yeah. I’m … not fine about … you know. That. Obviously. I’m fine about everything else though.”
Amaya’s lips quirked upwards slightly. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees and nudging Sara’s foot with hers. “Everything else?”
Sara glanced up, glaring at her. “Don’t patronise me Amaya,” she snapped, but she couldn’t hold her withering stare. Amaya was Amaya. Her smile was gentle and comforting, familiar, like her gaze was a hug all in itself and Sara couldn’t help but laugh a little, glancing down at her fidgeting hands in her lap. “Cut me some slack. Am I not allowed to pretend I’m okay about seeing my ex-girlfriend for the first time since college?”
Amaya tucked some hair behind her ears, making a pair of delicate, shimmering gold earrings sway a little. Sara’s throat dried. She’d given Ava those earrings for their six month anniversary. Ava must’ve given them to Amaya after they broke up. Amaya didn’t seem to notice Sara’s sudden distraction. “Of course you’re allowed to pretend. I just want you to know you don’t have to pretend with me.”
“We’re not us anymore,” said Sara before she could stop herself. “We haven’t been friends in a long time.”
Hurt flashed across Amaya’s face but she schooled it quickly. “No, we’re not,” she agreed, smiling a little sadly. She ran her fingers through her straightened hair. It was starting to curl from the rain, and Sara could see droplets of rain clinging to the corner eyelashes of Amaya’s eyes. Or maybe they were leftover tears. Sara knew that out of everybody, Amaya had stayed closest to Jax after his deployment, had been the one to check in on his mom, had picked him up from the airport when he came home. (Amaya was an avid Instagrammer, and even though Sara had lost touch with everyone, social media had been that one, thin, strained link back to everything she’d left behind.)
Amaya didn’t say anything more. Their time apart, the deterioration of their friendship, the clear, unbreachable distance between them so clear. They weren’t them anymore. But they had been once, a long time ago, and Amaya didn’t move from where she was seated opposite Sara.
And as much as it hurt that Sara didn’t know where she stood with Amaya after all this time, there was something overwhelmingly relieving that even though Amaya had stayed with Ava while Sara left five years ago, now, Amaya was staying for her too.
One week ago:
Saturday nights were good. The Saturday DJ had good music taste and was talented and god, a nine hour shift really sucked when you had to deal with creepy drunk guys, an overcrowded club, and last night’s closer not having ordered enough mixers to get them through the night all on top of bad music. Saturdays were good because there was good music and most of the creepy drunk guys were still too hungover from last night to have ventured to this end of town to find a girl to take home and Sara actually had some interesting customers to talk to.
“Well aren’t you just somethin’,” drawled the pretty eyed, messy haired man nursing a beer in front of her.
Emphasis on some interesting customers to talk to.
Sara rolled her eyes. “Can I help you?”
The man grinned, an uncomfortable, nauseatingly predatory grin that made Sara want to smash a bottle over his head. “Not sure yet. Still just admiring the view.”
“Uh huh, sure,” said Sara, wiping her hands on her apron and reaching out to grab one of the taxi business cards a little way down the bar. “You’re cut off man. Finish your beer and call a cab home.”
“You comin’ with me gorgeous?”
Sara resisted the urge to visibly gag. “Absolutely not.” To her overwhelming relief, her phone began buzzing in her back pocket and she gestured to her coworker, Johnny to take over from her while she tugged out her phone and slipped into the back room.
“You skiving off Sara?” asked the chef, Pete.
“Don’t I always,” replied Sara without missing a beat, shooting him a cocky smirk. “Gimme five okay? Just gotta take a call.”
“You got two minutes. Tell your boyfriend you’re working.”
“Oh Pete, don’t you know I only have eyes for you?”
The other chefs laughed and Pete snorted with an exasperated but wry smile. “Three minutes, Sara.”
“I’ll marry you Pete,” said Sara, blowing a kiss his way and letting her gaze flicker down to her still buzzing phone to check the caller ID.
Incoming all: Amaya Jiwe.
Sara stumbled, grip tightening around her phone. It was a Facebook call, because Sara had changed number four times over the past five years and it was around the third time that she’d stopped updating Amaya on it because they hadn’t talked in months anyway. They hadn’t spoken in over a year now. Sara let her weight fall against the wall next to her as she slowly dragged her thumb across the screen to answer the call. “Amaya?”
A pause.
“Sara.” She sounded upset.
“What is it? What happened?”
Another pause. Longer. “Are you alone?”
“No, why?”
“Is there anywhere you can go?”
Sara exhaled. “Yeah. One sec.” She pushed open the back door of the kitchen, weaving through the admin office, the pantry, storage room and then stepped out the fire exit into the alleyway behind the bar. The night air was warm. It was always warm in LA. Sirens were wailing, obnoxious engines of expensive cars zooming on the freeway nearby. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke back here hung heavy in the air. “Okay,” Sara said, leaning against the grungy brick wall. “I’m alone.”
Amaya didn’t reply, but Sara heard her sniffle, heard the quiet crack of tears as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Amaya,” said Sara slowly. “What is it?” When Amaya again didn’t speak, Sara closed her eyes. A low, painful, aching resignation had arisen in her chest, accompanied by nauseating terror in the pit of her stomach. “ Who is it Amaya?” she said, barely a whisper.
Amaya let slip a strangled sob. “It’s Jax.”
Every little bit of breath in Sara’s lungs left her in a rush. “Jax.”
“I’m so sorry Sara, I - I can’t believe it either. We … oh god, we just found out. I knew you’d want to know, that … that maybe you’d want to come back -”
“Jax,” repeated Sara. There was a sudden hoarse, rasp to her voice and she realised with a jolt that uncontrollable tears were sliding down her cheeks. “Jax. He’s … he’s dead?”
“Yeah Sara,” said Amaya in a small voice, broken and trembling. “He was on another tour in Afghanistan. They had been told the town they were going into had a ceasefire but someone broke it and there was a fire fight and … he was hit. His … his mom called us this morning.”
Sara couldn’t speak. She didn’t know if she was having a panic attack or if she was about to throw up. Maybe both.
“Sara,” said Amaya softly.
“I gotta go Amaya,” croaked Sara. “I um. I need to go. I’ll book a flight back in the next couple of days okay? I gotta get time off work but … I’ll be there. Tell Jax’s mom I’ll be there.”
“She knows you will be,” Amaya said immediately. “Babe, are you -” She stopped before saying the word okay . “Is … is there anyone you can go to? A friend, a partner?”
Sara straightened, roughly wiping the the tears from her cheeks. She caught sight of the smudged mascara on her fingertips as her hand fell back down to her side. “Yeah,” she lied, curling her fingers into her palms. “I have someone.”
Amaya hesitated. “Sara -”
“I’ll see you in a few days.” She didn’t wait for Amaya to reply before hanging up, shoving her phone back into her pocket and yanking the back door open as she walked back into the bar in a daze.
“Still got 56 seconds left Sara,” joked Pete when she reappeared into the kitchen. Sara didn’t reply, forcing herself back into the front of the club, into the thumping music and thick, alcohol and sweat laced air, the yelling and out-of-tune singing and low lights where nobody could see the tear tracks on her face. The man from before was still sitting at the bar. Johnny had given him another beer.
“You’re back,” he said, his eyes sweeping up and down Sara’s body. “Came back for me, didn’t ya?”
Sara looked at him. Pretty eyes. Messy hair. Nice enough smile. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “My shift finishes in an hour,” she said. “You stick around til then and I’m all yours.”
“The fuck do you think you’re doing Sara?”
Sara sighed, forcefully stuffing her funeral dress into her duffel bag and yanking the zip to close it. The seams made a warning, almost tearing sound - the bag probably should’ve given out years ago, but Sara had never really had the money to replace it with something high quality. Maybe she would when she got back. She turned, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
“What does it look like Zari?” she said, shrugging. “I’m going home.”
Zari scoffed incredulously. “It’s been one day,” she said, an accusatory tone in her voice that Sara wasn’t used to from Zari of all people. “We’re supposed to go for dinner at Jax’s mom’s place tonight. This is the first time we’ve all been together since graduation, you can’t just go - ”
“Watch me.”
“Are you really that selfish?”
Sara’s eyes burned and she turned, curling her fingers into her bag. “I came to the funeral. I said hello, I did the hugs, I came to the wake, I saw everybody. What good am I doing sticking around?” She could feel Zari step forward.
“Sara. Five years ago, these people were our best friends. They’re always gonna be family, Jax was our family -”
“They’re not mine Z!”
“Of course they are -”
“No, they’re not! They’re Ava’s!” Sara hands were shaking, even as they tightly clutched the worn, stained fabric of her duffel. She didn’t let Zari try and talk. “I left Z. Everyone else stayed. Ava stayed. The people who were my best friends five years ago are Ava’s family now, and as much as she is definitely not on my list of favourite people anymore, I’m not gonna ruin that for her.”
Zari sighed. “Sara,” she said softly, touching Sara’s elbow. “This isn’t about Ava. I know it feels like it is because she’s Ava and you haven’t loved anybody the way you loved her since, and none of us ever thought it would end like that, we thought that at least you’d stay weird, reluctant friends but everything just fell apart. I know how hard seeing her again is, especially seeing her with Amaya and Nate and Ray, but this isn’t about you guys. It’s about Jax, and we’ve gotta remember that.”
There was a lump in Sara’s throat that made it difficult to speak. “Jax isn’t here. Jax … Jax is dead.”
Zari’s grip on Sara’s arm tightened a little. “Then we owe it to him to stay.”
“I’m glad Z convinced you to stick around for a while,” Ray said softly, lightly nudging her shoulder before reaching across the table for the roast potatoes, spooning a couple onto his plate and passing her the bowl. “We missed you.”
Sara looked down, focusing on serving herself food rather than giving Ray her full attention. She’d heard those same three words over and over during the past two days, but coming from Ray, accompanied by his familiar, sincere smile was the first time she believed them. Ray hadn’t changed. Or perhaps he had, but somehow with him it didn’t seem to matter. He fit back into her life like a puzzle piece she’d been missing, a puzzle piece wearing the same thin woolen jumper he’d had on last time he called her, and the same easy-going attitude that she remembered from years spent by his side during middle school, then high school, then college.
Ray had called the most, tried the hardest to keep in contact with her other than Zari. He’d understood why she left better than the others, and in a way, he’d known it was inevitable. He hadn’t tried to fight her when she’d turned up at his door, just held her gaze until she cracked and admitted why she was running.
Zari caught her eye from across the table and smirked slightly, her barely contained ‘I told you so’ cut off when Sara looked away. She swallowed. “I missed this,” she admitted, soft enough that only Ray, Zari and Amaya could have heard. It was the truth - she had missed the effortless familiarity, the comfort and laughter and shared stories from people who had been part of the happiest years of her life. And yet at times she found herself wishing to be anywhere except here, with these people who appeared to know her better than anyone else but from a distance, through a hazy window she didn’t know how to clean. People who should have been her family, who used to be her family, but who seemed to fit together much better without her than they ever had when she was present.
Nate was laughing, listening intently alongside Wally as Jax’s mom, Maria, regaled them with long-forgotten tales of Jax’s high school adventures, pranks and sports games and long days spent chilling together in the summer once they’d all come together at college. It was clear that Nate had found himself, since she’d gone away. Wally too. They’d changed and grown and formed new connections, replacing the ones that had gone missing in the middle of the night before they’d even noticed them fading. Sara was happy for them. There was a part of her whose heart was bursting with pride to see her boys - her goofy, disastrous, protective, kind, ridiculous boys all grown up with real jobs and lives and having found their place in adulthood in ways she always knew they would. But the other part of Sara’s heart ached because she wished she could’ve seen it, that she could have been there to cheer them on and listen to their fears and hopes and actually have some kind of idea about who they were now, and it hurt so much to be on the outside in a way she never thought she would be.
Sara sighed, pushing a piece of asparagus around her plate.
“How’s the clinic going Amaya?” asked Maria. Her voice was weak, a little shaky and hoarse after endless crying over the last few days, but she was a mother first and foremost and Sara could tell she was trying to be that to all of them as an attempt to fill the hole that Jax had left.
“You say that as though I run the place,” said Amaya with a laugh.
“You might as well,” Wally pointed out. “You have more of an idea of what’s going on than your boss half the time.”
Amaya rolled her eyes, flushing a little. “It’s going good,” she said in reply to Maria. “I think I might even be in line for a promotion soon.”
“20 bucks says Amaya will overtake her boss within the year,” said Nate.
“I’ll take that action,” said Mick with a grin. “No offense Amaya.”
“To you betting against me succeeding at my job?” said Amaya with a challenging arch of her eyebrow. “Oh none taken Mick.”
“I’m with you Nate,” said Ava with a grin. “Amaya, I know you don’t really want that kind of responsibility but you could definitely handle it.”
“All she needs is a few key Ava Sharpe seminars in terrifying leadership and she’ll be sorted,” said Wally, nudging Ava with a wink and Ava rolled her eyes, tossing her napkin at Wally.
“Is that why you never took up a temp position at my firm when I offered you one?” she fired back, smirking.
Wally was suddenly very interested in his plate of food. “No,” he said quickly and everybody laughed. Maria’s eyes flickered across the table and landed on Sara, on Sara who was smiling a little tightly but was quieter than she had ever been when around this group. Sara met the older woman’s eyes and any tiny hint of appetite she had left vanished at the warm but sad, pitying look on Maria’s face. Sara silently hoped, desperately hoped, that she wasn’t about to ask her about her life. She had nothing to tell.
“What are you up to these days Z?” asked Ray, and Sara glanced across at him. His eyes darted to her, and she knew that he’d diverted the conversation purposefully. Sara sank back into her seat, avoiding glancing towards Maria, instead letting the conversation that picked up around the table wash over her, focussing on anything but the questions she knew Maria would have for her.
Jax would have told her, about everything. She always seemed to know what was going on in their friendship group, and Sara had spent enough time hanging out here throughout high school and college that she tentatively dared to assume her presence had been missed after she’d left. When she had the chance, Maria would ask about LA, about Sara’s life there and her job and the friends everyone seemed to expect her to have, and Sara didn’t have an answer to any of it, not now. Or more to the point, she didn’t want to answer it. She didn’t want to think about what she’d done with the last five years, or how little she’d accomplished. How hard she’d fought against herself, how far she’d fallen, how everyone else in this group seemed to have grown up and changed and found themselves, whilst she’d spent her time running from anything which reminded her of home.
Jax would have called her out on it - he always had, even from across the country on a blurry skype call because the wifi in her apartment was just as terrible as the apartment itself - but he wasn’t here. And yet the sinking feeling in Sara’s stomach was a repeated reminder that even though Jax was gone, the part she played in his life still remained, shimmering and distant but connecting her to everyone he knew, everyone he had cared about, and above all, his family. And, as usual, Sara had no idea how to unpack that.
(Later whilst clearing dishes after the meal, Sara found herself alone in the kitchen with Maria, and momentarily braced herself for the inevitable questioning that was to come. A pause hung in the air, thick and heavy, and Sara shifted her weight to the other leg. Through the walls, she could hear the clinking of spoons as Ray stacked bowls on top of each other, muffled by the ongoing conversations from dinner, the house filled with the bittersweet laughter it had been missing since the funeral.) Maria smiled, a little sadly, eyes creased at the edges with a weight that hadn’t been there five years ago. “He would have been happy to see you back here,” she said quietly, thick with an emotion Sara had no name for.
Sara didn’t have to tell her that if not for Jax, she might not have come back at all. Inexplicably, and heartbreakingly, she already seemed to know.)
June, 2014:
It had been a long time since Sara had slept on a different mattress. In a different bed. In a room that wasn’t safe, familiar, comforting.
Alone.
She’d been in LA for barely a day, but she liked it so far. Busy. Warm. Dry and sunny and sparkling with new possibilities, fresh beginnings, anything and everything that wasn’t Star City (wasn’t Ava). But now it was late and the night was cooler and Sara lay on her bed - new, second hand from an old friend of Laurel’s, comfortable but different, and far too big.
Saras snapped her eyes shut. God. She wanted to be angry, or frustrated, or fed up, or indifferent. She was the one who left. They’d been off for weeks anyway. Maybe months. But even then - even when they hadn’t spoken all day and both knew something was wrong, even then, there was something quiet and peaceful and safe that they could just fall into together at night in their bed. And the ache Sara felt as she lay here, in a new city, new apartment, new bed, was the furthest thing from angry or frustrated or fed up or indifferent. She just missed Ava.
She missed the softness of Ava’s skin when she could tuck her face into the crook of her neck. The feeling of Ava’s fingers across her back, delicate and gentle and a comforting, lulling rhythm. The little sleepy murmurs and breaths and the reassuring warmth of someone there , of Ava there, of the smell of this bed, this room, the leftover hints of Ava’s perfume, the rustle of shifting feet and tugged blankets and a bubble of calm that made it so easy to drift to sleep.
Sara shoved her duvet off herself. It was too warm. She’d always complained about the low chill that crept into the night air in Star City, the one that always kept a thick, heavy duvet on every bed even in the hottest summer months. Now though, she wanted it. She wanted it, with someone to curl up next to who kept the cold at bay.
Sitting up and pushing her hair off her face, Sara reached for her phone. She opened Messenger, stomach swooping at how far she had to scroll to find Ava’s name. The last messages were ones she had sent, and Ava had seen but not replied to. Before that, arguments. Sara didn’t have strong enough internet yet to load anything before that, to find a time when their messages were filled with affection and emojis and I miss yous and I love yous. It was like they’d never happened at all.
Maybe she should pretend it didn’t. Maybe then it would be easier to move on, to hate Ava the way she wanted to, to stop lying here with a painful hurt that Sara just wanted gone . She tapped out of the app, opening Facebook instead, finding Ava’s profile too instinctively than she liked. A lump appeared in her throat, thumb hovering over the ‘unfriend’ button.
Like ripping off a bandaid. It would be easier.
Like it had never happened at all.
Sara tapped, watching as Ava’s posts disappeared, her privacy settings fired up like a sudden, finally visible wall between them. Sara stared at it for several moments, long enough for the vaguest little inklings, wonderings, anxieties, regrets to flicker in the back of her head. With a sharp exhale, Sara shook her head, locking her phone and tossing it onto the other side of the mattress.
It was going to be a long night.
It was like being asleep in her own body, coming back to this city. Sara knew every turn, every brick and sidewalk and broken lamppost and hipster coffee shop, sans the few places that were in a constant state of transition - the place on the corner of Marks Rd that always had a new restaurant open up every six months because nobody could afford the exorbitant rent on the place, or the massive warehouse space three blocks down from the university’s Biology building that had been a coffee roastery, then a gym, then a night club, then a yoga studio all over the four years that Sara had been at college. Now it was foodcourt. Star City wasn’t one for big, insane change. If it did happen, it was once every five years.
Although by that timeline, Sara mused, perhaps something big and unexpected and new was due about now. The last big change in Star City had been the grand opening of the ancient history museum that Sara and her graduating class had spent most of their undergraduate degree pushing for. The opening had been the last proper date she and Ava had gone on. Five years ago, just before graduation. Dressed to the nines, new dresses, heels, extravagant hair and make up and slow dancing and laughing under the twinkling lights of the beautiful, lavishly constructed building with stone pillars and high, arched ceilings.
Sara was so distracted by the marvellous stone steps, the banner advertising the expertly curated Ancient Egypt exhibit, that she didn’t see the pedestrian crossing light flicker from red to white until she was jostled by the others crossing the street.
Star City. Everyone had a place to be.
Sara made it just as the crossing light counted down to 0. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, let her feet guide her on instinct as her eyes took in this place. This place that was so familiar to her, it was as though it was engraved deep in her bones, was an element in the makeup of her own body. As though her fingers called out to the door handles she tugged open, her feet tapped an old hello to the alleyways and sidewalks and stairs, the uneven ground that the city never fixed that Sara dodged without even remembering they were there.
She came to a stop in front of an organic grocers. It had a second storey balcony covered in ivy, succulents hanging in front of the ground floor windows, a different variety in each pot. Sara drank in the sight of the place. It had taken her two busses and a twenty minute walk to get here from Ray’s place. It would’ve been closer from her hotel. Of course, there were supermarkets near Ray and Nora’s apartment, and god, Sara definitely couldn’t afford to be stingy and organic and ethical with everything she bought (though she tried to be, even when she was at her brokest because it was one thing Ava had in instilled in her that she’d never quite managed to shake, and never quite wanted to.) But this place had this one type of coconut butterscotch rocky road slice that Sara had been craving since she first stepped off the flight from LA and she figured that if she was going to go against every instinct she had that was screaming at her to leave Star City, the least she could do for herself was track down this damn slice to feel a bit better about everything.
It smelt the same. She wasn’t sure what that smell was exactly - fresh and clean and bright and sweet and sharp - but it smelt like five years ago. Everything about this city felt like five years ago, except the people it seemed.
The bakery section was on the other side of the store. For the first time all day, Sara let herself get pulled into being present where she was, rather than enveloped in memories of the footsteps she was taking. Most of being in Star City had felt somewhat resembling terrifying, but this odd little place made Sara feel as though she could breathe.
Of course, apparently the universe would only allow it for a second, because Sara made her way down one aisle only to see it. Her. Her. A familiar bun on a familiar head (Sara had tugged that hair out of that bun more times than she could count, curling her fingers into it as leverage when leaning into a kiss). Long, endless legs that she would know anywhere. (She loved those legs - had loved those legs, a long time ago, had loved when they were wrapped around her waist.) Those weird embroidered flat brogue shoes that Sara felt belonged to old men but somehow looked good on her , on the woman now wearing the same dark green cardigan that Sara had stolen years ago when rushing out of the apartment to study during exam season.
Reality hit in a crashing, overwhelming split second.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sara muttered under her breath, making a move to spin round and high tail it the hell out of the store, only to slam into the man behind her, almost knocking his basket of groceries to the ground. “ Shit ! I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t see you -”
“Sara?”
Sara snapped her eyes shut. She never thought she’d hear that again. Her name coming from Ava’s lips. She hated that it was coated with hesitance, disbelief, and just a touch of dread. Sara sighed, shooting the man giving her an unamused look an apologetic smile before very slowly turning around. “Ava. Hi.”
Ava’s expression was unreadable. “Hi.”
Silence. A long silence. An uncomfortable silence. Sara had never thought there would come a time when she would feel this awkward around Ava, and yet.
“What uh …” Ava cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Sara slipped her hands into her pockets. Defence mechanism. She didn’t want Ava to see her hands shake. “You mean why am I still in Star City here, or why am I at this grocers here?”
Ava frowned. “This grocers here.”
Sara nodded, glancing down at her feet. God, she really hated Ava’s shoes. “Right. I um. Wanted some rocky road.”
Ava arched an eyebrow. “You’re staying at Ray’s aren’t you?”
“Mm hm.”
“This is a long way to come for rocky road.”
It was clearly meant to be a joke. Something to lighten the mood. Instead it felt like an accusation. Everything here was wrong.
“Yeah well,” said Sara with a shrug. “Nobody makes a coconut butterscotch rocky road like these guys.”
Ava bit her lip. “You know they import it, right?”
Sara didn’t know why that hurt as much as it did, because it was the stupidest little know it all Ava comment to make, so tiny and insignificant and of course Sara knew they imported the damn rocky road, this was a grocers, not a bakery, they didn’t actually make anything fresh, and a wave of frustration surged through Sara’s body. She scoffed, glancing away. Something flashed in Ava’s eyes - indignance perhaps - and she opened her mouth as though about to argue, only to be interrupted by someone falling into line with her and placing a gentle, far too intimate hand on her shoulder.
“Hey babe!” said the someone, kissing Ava’s cheek.
Sara wanted to the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Of course.
The someone was a woman. Almost as tall as Ava. Dark brown hair, warm, hazel eyes, cheek dimples and a bright, radiant smile that overflowed with sincerity and genuine kindness. She was beautiful. And she was wearing Ava’s old Star City University sweatshirt. Sara had been the one to convince the whole gang to get them - tacky and overpriced and obnoxious but so, so worth it at the time. At the time.
“Hey Jordan,” said Ava, a tight, tense smile on her face. Her eyes were fixed on Sara, and again, Sara couldn’t discern her expression. Jordan caught sight of Sara and turned to face her properly, offering a warm, hello smile. “Sara,” Ava continued, and for the first time, she glanced away, almost involuntarily. “This is Jordan. She’s …” A breath, barely noticeable, but Sara knew Ava, “she’s my fiancée.”
Okay, now Sara wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“Oh,” she said stupidly. “Um. Hi. Hi Jordan. I’m Sara.”
Ava looked down at her feet. For an odd reason, Sara wondered if she was thinking about how much she knew Sara probably hated those shoes.
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Jordan, reaching out and shaking Sara’s hand. “How do you guys know each other?”
Sara almost laughed. This was insane. Absurd, ridiculous, insane. She was being introduced to Ava fucking Sharpe’s goddamn fiancée. How the hell did she end up here? All she wanted was a damn slice of rocky road. She swallowed. “I’m um … a …”
“Friend,” interrupted Ava, the lie falling quickly from her lips and her gaze fiercely avoiding Sara’s as she said it. “Sara’s a friend from college.”
It was almost hilarious. Every part of the word was a lie. They had never been friends. Not really. They hated each other until they fell into bed together and then suddenly they didn’t hate each other, suddenly they were in love. Then they broke up, and all that was left was the hatred all over again. (Sara knew it was more complicated than that, but the details were too painful. Even after all this time, they were far too painful. So instead, she smiled as widely as she could manage and nodded.)
Jordan didn’t seem to catch onto the weirdness, and if she did, she didn’t let on, just smiled again. “Oh really? I thought I’d met all of Ava’s friends from college. It’s like you’re all under some kind of spell to stay in the city.”
Ava cracked a rigid smile and Sara laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as flat as it felt.
“Yeah, not me,” she said, rocking on her feet. “I was outta here as soon as I could be.” Ava’s expression hardened just a fraction.
“We better finish shopping,” she said, a little cooler than before but not enough to draw attention. “It was … good to see you Sara.”
“Yeah,” said Sara. “Ditto. Nice to meet you Jordan.”
She turned, thankfully not attacking any other innocent bystanders behind her this time, ready to make an absolute beeline out of this shop and literally never step foot in it again. Except -
“Sara.”
Sara clenched her jaw, glancing back at Ava. Ava reached into her basket and handed Sara something in a plastic box. Sara reluctantly took it, bringing it closer to read the label.
COCONUT BUTTERSCOTCH CHOCOLATE ROCKY ROAD SLICE - 4 PACK.
Sara looked up in surprise she forgot to hide. Ava shrugged. “It’s the last one,” she said. “You came all this way for it.” Sara nodded, clutching the box far too tightly.
“You don’t want it?” Ava still bought them. They were Sara’s favourites and she still bought them.
“I live here. I can buy them whenever they make more.”
“ Get more. Imported, remember?”
“Right. Yeah. Well, they get them in on Sundays and I wasn’t sure how long you were staying so in case you’re gone by then, thought you might as well take the last box.”
Sara wanted to fling the box across the store, but she was enough of an adult not to. “Thanks.”
Ava nodded as a you’re welcome and a goodbye , slipping her hand into Jordan’s and tugging her away.
Sara barely remembered to pay at the cash register before basically running from the grocers.