#Too Much and Alot in some places (me basically rambling akjndsfasd) soz

[jupiterdrcps]

what died didn’t stay dead, you’re alive in my head ✗ malia jaiden.

the autumn chill that wakes me up you loved the amber skies so much, long limbs and frozen swims you'd always go past where our feet could touch and i complained the whole way there the car ride back and up the stairs i should've asked you questions, i should've asked you how to be asked you to write it down for me, should've kept every grocery store receipt cause every scrap of you would be taken from me watched as you signed your name marjorie, all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me marjorie—taylor swift.

When Malia’s mom got diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers it felt like the world was ending. She was young, both of them were, with plans for the future together. Malia had got accepted into Columbia on a track scholarship, her mom had talked about moving out there to be closer to her because Malia was her mother’s whole world. That was just an example of how close they had always been. Where one went so did the other. 

It was unfair knowing that one day her mom wouldn’t exist. 

The day that her mom died, it was an early morning. The first day of snow, if Malia remembers correctly. It had been one of the last times that she opened the window. They had all been closed ever since. 

It’s morning now and Malia has made herself a cup of coffee and taken it out into her mother’s garden swing. She takes a cigarette out and watches the snow fall, she’s cold, but it’s bearable with her winter jacket on. 

“Sorry,” She says out loud, as if her mom can hear her. “Some of your flowers died.” She’s looking at some of the wilted plants—they were never meant to survive the winter but Malia feels like it’s a loss anyway. 

By the time she’s finished her cigarette and drank a good half of her coffee she goes inside and looks at the home phone that she didn’t have the heart to disconnect with. There’s messages that have been piled up from the last few days leading up to today. Phone calls from people that her mom went to school with, phone calls from her mom’s old friends that Malia still sees in town. 

She shifts through them, deleting them on by one. She doesn’t need people to tell her how lucky she was to have a mom like hers. She already knows. She hears the doorbell ring and she opens it to see Gabe with a handful of flowers. They’re Dahlias like Malia had gotten from her birthday and blue Forget Me Nots. 

“I think you’re going to be having a day full of answering the door.” Gabe says with a small sad smile. 

Malia nods her head, thankful for the warning. 

“I think I’m going to leave for a bit.” Malia says with a shrug. 

“You can come by the shop and beat them to it.” Gabe says teasingly and it makes Malia laugh, closing the door behind him. 

Malia closes her eyes before opening the door again calling out to Gabe. 

He turns around and walks up to her again. 

“Did my dad…?” 

Gabe shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. See you later.” 

Malia puts the flowers on the table before running up to her room and getting changed into warmer clothes. She grabs the flowers again walking out the door and locking it behind her. 

She didn’t really know what to do with herself. This year had felt like Malia trying to find her footing in a place that she didn’t feel like she belonged in anymore. It’s not normal to tiptoe around your own house afraid to disturb something that was no longer there. She knew that she overworked herself this year, often preferring being at work to being at home. She knew that her house wasn’t haunted, and maybe it was weird to be sad that it wasn’t. Like it would give her some kind of right to be afraid of it. Because she was afraid of it. 

She was afraid to open up the windows to let the natural light in. She was afraid of turning on all the lights in the house, afraid of what she would see, or maybe afraid of what she wouldn’t see. She was afraid to go into her mother’s room, afraid that maybe it would just be what it already was now: empty. Malia didn’t want to go in and disturb that peace. But there were things that she needed to do, but she couldn’t let herself do them. 

She had only been able to tackle the attic and some of the living room. Putting things in boxes that had no use to her but so many more memories. It felt wrong boxing things up that belonged to her mother but what was she meant to do with it? Where could she put all of that now? 

What do you do with the memories of someone that gave you so much? 

Where can you put all that love after they’re gone? 

Malia looks back down the road at her house and thinks of how peaceful it looks with the snow. It’s own winter wonderland. She imagines that it would make for a good snow globe, this image of her mom’s house. Isn’t that what they’re for? To preserve something beautiful, it’s why so many landmarks are made into snowglobes. Malia shakes her head and turns around, thinking that’s stupid. 

She walks to the graveyard and says hi to her grandma, placing two flowers on her stone before walking over to her mother’s that now have an abundance of flowers from people in town. Malia feels touched to know that so many people loved her mom.

She feels guilty knowing that she will never live up to an ounce of what her mom was. She was kind, and Malia didn’t feel very kind. She was warm, when Malia was cold. She saw the good in everybody while Malia thought of all the ways that they could let her down. She was selfless where Malia was selfish. She was gentle where Malia was resentful. 

Malia wished that she had gotten some of the better qualities of her mother. She couldn’t find them. Malia might have looked like her mother, but she didn’t resemble her in any other way. 

She gulps, thinking about that, bending down to grab some of the onslaught of flowers and taking them to graves that look like they haven’t been visited in a while, thinking that they mattered too. 

She puts the Dahlias and Forget Me Nots under her name and wipes off some of the snow. 

“I miss you.” Malia whispers, “And I love you.” 

*

Malia finds herself at Kiran’s farm, holding a bottle of wine that she liked rocking on her heels trying to get the courage to knock on the door. 

Kiran beats her to it, he’s already opening the door looking at Malia surprised. 

“Hey,” He says, looking at her and then at the bottle. 

“Hi.” Malia holds up the wine. “I came to drink.” 

“It’s like not even afternoon.” Kiran says with a small smile. 

“Has that stopped you before?” 

Kiran rolls his eyes nodding for her to come in. 

“Okay we can drink after we feed the chickens and goats, come on.” 

Malia follows him to the barn, the last time that she was actually properly here was a while ago, he had produce to give her but she didn’t get to spend time with the animals. She’s a little excited to see the goats knowing that Kiran puts them in sweaters this time of year. 

He hands her a bucket of fruits and veggies for the chickens, when she finishes she takes photos of the goats in sweaters and sends a text to both Henry and Ben thinking they’d appreciate them. 

By the time all the feeding is done it’s thirty minutes later and they’re in Kiran’s living room with two cups of wine. 

Kiran looks like he has several questions to ask Malia but she’s just happy to sit in the silence with someone who gets it. 

“Why me?” Kiran asks, taking a drink. 

Malia looks down at her wine glass, noticing the small little bubbles forming at the top. 

“Because I saw you at your lowest at your dad’s funeral, and now you get to see me at mine.” Malia shrugs. 

“I don’t think this is your lowest moment.” Kiran says with a small smile. “I think it’s just grief.” 

Malia swallows the knot in her throat. 

“I’m so angry.” Malia whispers. “I’m so angry at her for dying. And I’m angry at myself for being angry at her for dying. I’m angry that I still have resentment for not being able to go to New York. I’m angry that I can’t seem to let that go. I’m angry thinking that maybe this is it for me. Like where I am now is all I’ll ever be. I’m not passionate about anything. I’m just. Here. I never got to leave. I never got to experience anything like the rest of my peers because I decided to stay because my mom was fucking dying, and that’s not her fault. It’s not my fault. It’s no one’s fault. It just happened.” 

Malia takes a deep breath, feeling guilty for saying it all out loud. 

“I get angry at my dad for dying too. I get angry thinking that it could have been prevented somehow. But I think that us thinking like that will eventually drive us insane, because we’ll just go in circles thinking of how things could have been different instead of just dealing with what is.” 

Malia taps her fingers against her cup before finally looking up at Kiran. 

“Living in a world without your favourite person sucks.” 

“I’m sorry you lost your favourite person.” Kiran says, reaching out to touch her shoulder. 

Malia looks at him reaching out to touch her shoulder and then they both snort. 

“Ew, what the fuck was that?” Malia kicks him with her foot. 

“I know. I regretted it once I started reaching out to you.” 

They laugh again, both taking a drink. 

“If it makes you feel better, my favourite person is still alive.” 

Malia gives Kiran the middle finger. 

“You’re an asshole.” Malia smiles into her cup. 

“I know, it’s why you’re friends with me.” 

Malia smiles again, shaking her head. 

“You’re not actually an asshole. I think you really want to be one but you’re not.” 

“Thank you, that means a lot coming from you.” Kiran says and Malia rolls her eyes again. 

“Fuck you.” 

Malia spends the rest of day at Kiran’s, she watches him paint, trying to make her own creation but she wasn’t a painter, it’s just a blob of greys and blues. They finish the wine, and Kiran makes them grilled cheese before Malia decides it’s time for her to go home. 

They don’t hug goodbye, neither of them are huggers, but Malia does stop to try and say something before she goes. She reaches out and touches his shoulder, kind of laughing at doing it but there’s something somber with it this time. 

“Thank you. For letting me talk about my shitty feelings about my mom. I um. I’ve been holding in some of those thoughts thinking they weren’t worth saying because of whatever reason. I don’t think it was ever really anger at my mom for dying. I think it was just. It was just misplaced love and grief with no place to go.” 

Kiran nods. “You’re allowed to be angry without a reason.” 

“I know.” Malia smiles now, wrapping her scarf around her neck. 

“I’ll see you at the Saloon probably.” Kiran smiles as he closes the door. 

When Malia gets home, she is no longer overwhelmed by the fact that she’s alone in this house. She takes the silence, and it doesn’t scare her anymore. She doesn’t feel the need to try and create sound to fill the emptiness without her mom being here anymore. If she closes her eyes she can take herself back to being a kid, she can remember what it smelt like to come home from school hungry and her mom making homemade soup from her grandmother’s recipe book.

But most of all, she can remember what it felt like to be loved so fully and so fiercely like her mother loved her. She knows that no one will ever love her like that again, but there’s something beautiful about the impermanence of it all. 

She texts Henry if they can meet up tomorrow. She texts Jillian a funny memory she remembered winters ago in the snow. She texts Ben that she’ll bring him coffee in the morning. She texts Elaine a happy first day of snow and that she’d like to see her soon. She texts Koa a picture of the goats with sweaters knowing that he would like that and that they should go sledding soon. She texts Alex that she misses him but knows that he’s busy. She texts Finley a bottle of wine that she hasn’t opened yet and says that it’s got their name on it. She texts Sloane that she finally found a good place for the prints that she got from fae a while ago, next to artwork from her mother.

She knows that she’s not completely alone anymore. She has people. She thinks of what her mom said, before she got sick, “People are all we got Malia. Find your people.” She thinks that she’s found hers.

Malia opens a window and let’s the last bit of sun stream in before it’s gone.