#h: leah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 months ago

Text

Amor Fati--Chapter 8: Seism

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

CW: 18+ content (Smut adjacent) in this chapter.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

The waves crash into the shoreline, threatening to wipe away the lines, threatening to take back into the sea their boundaries of play. But it doesn’t really matter if the faux lines are washed away. There’s very few on the beach besides the pack. Everyone knows when they’d be out of bounds and with Embry as referee, order will be maintained. He wears a whistle around his neck, his black t-shirt taped with a sign that reads, Ref, in Leah’s sharp and clear cursive. The smoke ripples up into the air as Sam and Emily man the grill higher up, aluminum dishes bowing with the weight of the food they’re preparing. This is all in the background, amongst the tap of the feet against a soccer ball. Maelyn manages to fake out Seth, sending him tumbling just for a second. He won’t stay behind for long so Maelyn charges upwards, watching as Leah grins at her approach.

It’s healthy competition. No one's feelings will be hurt long term. But Maelyn, Quil, and Jared are already down one game. At the very least they need a tie against Leah, Seth, and Jacob. Paul and Jared swapped after the last game with Paul too pissed at the loss to feel safe enough to continue to play. Maelyn saw he wanted to play but he seethed, making the choice to sit in the sidelines rather than cause a scene. A choice she knows most likely hurt to have to make, but he made it and for that, she’s grateful. It’s progress that will carry them closer and closer to their goals and desires.

What Maelyn is not grateful for is Leah’s attempts to kick the soccer ball out from her feet. They’re not touching, but they do dance up the makeshift field and exchange heated grunts. “C’mon, baby, you can take her!” Paul shouts from the side.

Leah’s laughter is short and hard from the effort of her run and defense. “Oh, don’t make me sick now, please.”

Maelyn hears the tease, watching instead as Leah takes a step forward. Right at the outskirts of her periphery Maelyn spies Quil running up the beach, his arms brushing at his side and he lengthens his stride. Maelyn fakes right but Leah doesn’t take the bait.

“I know your tricks,” Leah laughs.

Seth’s behind, Maelyn can tell, can feel his presence and she makes quick to strike the ball in the direction she hopes Jared is in. The ball rolls, and Jared captures it. It narrowly avoids Leah and Maelyn exhales. Now it’s a foot race. Leah’s fast. Faster than just about everyone here. Maelyn is a close second but that’s not much when Leah can dust her with a whopping 5 second gap. Jared passes to Quil. Quil and Jacob laugh as they nearly collide but Quil’s a bit more graceful. No one is truly playing a dedicated game of goalie. Instead, it’s a job shared depending on who’s closest to the back quadrant and Maelyn slows just a hair should Leah or Seth attempt to come back down to score again.

Quil takes his shot, it arches and bounces after its descent, rolling through the orange cones to donate the goal, inching just past the tips of Jacob’s fingers. Jared roars at the score, chasing down the ball before it gets swept up into the ocean. Embry calls outs, “Time! A tie. Anyone care for match point?”

The beach’s air fills with their ragged breathing. Maelyn shakes her head. The tie is more than enough for her. She only played when Leah played and on the opposite teams to keep things as fair as possible. But four games under her belt has her tired. In the gaps of the cloud cover passing overhead, there’s just enough sun to make the day warm. Not that she can tell all that much by her own temperature but the few other kids with their parents further up the beach are dressed in shorts so she takes it as a sign. A white flash of light momentarily swirls in her eyes and she catches the faint winding of the disposable camera. Paul grins at her, the little preview box lined up over his eye. Another flash but she’s prepared this time, a soft grin pulling at the corners of her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” Maelyn asks.

“For prosperity's sake,” Paul answers, lowering the camera and pulling a bottle of water from his back pocket. It arches with the flick of his wrist and Maelyn catches it with ease. The camera seemingly disappears to the same pocket the water was from as it’s not resurfaced. “Proud of you. Last goal was tight but you managed unscathed.”

Maelyn smiles around the gulp of water. “Thanks. You all good now?”

Paul nods at the question, slipping one free hand into hers. “Yeah. I am. Emily did very cautiously hand over a couple burgers and that helped. A lot. Just annoyed I lost though.”

“Maybe you, Embry, and Jared and play a game or something.”

The hum is noncommittal, like Paul’s not deeply set one way or another. “We’ll see. I do have to stop by the Locklear’s before our date tonight and I’d rather not stink too much or have to shower twice.”

“What’s at the Locklear’s?” The family lives about a mile and a half from Paul, and only a half a mile from Maelyn. They were quiet, with their three kids, but nice enough. Maelyn and Paul were both a couple years older than the oldest child, so they weren’t strangers to each other.

Paul starts up towards Sam and Emily, Maelyn pushing into the sand to keep up as her stomach growls deep and low. “Just a leaky kitchen faucet,” Paul answers. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour at most. I think it might be a faulty part, or something’s just not tight enough. Mr. Locklear said it’s a slow drip so it’s not immediate as long as they can get it fixed here soon.”

“I hope it’s an easy fix,” Maelyn notes. She wouldn’t qualify herself as someone well versed in plumbing, but she is handy enough.

“I think so. And you’re sure you’re okay with a date at Shannon’s? We could go somewhere else. I’m not sure what movies are out, but we could head out there. Or maybe try the new pizza special at Annie’s?”

Maelyn takes the plate Paul extends to her, peering over the array waiting in the foil pan. She takes a fork to pluck up two hamburger buns and a hotdog bun from the stack. “I don’t mind. I really want a rootbeer float.”

“You say that but you are lactose intolerant.” It’s a low tease as he presses a kiss to her cheek, sliding over the bottle of ketchup after she gets her choices of meat onto the appropriate buns. It’s a rather light plate, but Maelyn makes a mental plan to come back for seconds while still having more than enough space for dinner later too.

“Oh, rich,” Maelyn snorts, shaking at the bottle to get the ketchup to fall towards the nozzle. “Sometimes I worry about what you’re eating. Last night was torture.”

The group howls, having caught the entire conversation between the two of them. Paul secures his arm around her waist, hoisting her up from the ground. It’s not true anger. Not even close. Paul’s face lights up with his amusement. “You take that back,” he hollers. His face is pressed into her back, pressing a kiss into her spine.

Maelyn laughs from above. “Never.”

“I’ll say it. I’ll reveal everything,” Paul warns, letting her slip gently back down. Her feet hit the ground first and she turns to face him. “I swear I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She smiles as she says it, knowing the worst Paul might be able to cook up is that she still slept with a teddy bear or maybe something about the way she slept. She’d been warned once that at times she talked in her sleep, but never consistently. Most notably when under a lot of stress, she’d pipe up from her sleep state with strange quips about taking ice cream from freezers or about carrots and rabbits. But nothing majorly offense.

Paul shrugs. “I could be convinced if you keep outing secrets.”

“Stinky farts do not qualify as secrets, baby. Not even in the slightest.”

“That’s what you think.”

The centimeters between them close, lips meeting in quick pecks. But it doesn’t seem to satiate Paul for long. His hands slip further down on her waist, inching ever so slightly down to her ass and Maelyn laughs into the kiss, pulling his hands back up by his wrist. “Not so fast there, tiger,” she whispers against his lips.

Paul’s teasing growl comes in return before pressing another kiss to her lips. This one is deeper, longer than the others, but tame after the warning. His hands now rest against her cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the bones that rest beneath the fat. Faller cheeks have been Maelyn’s curse since she was a baby. There’s a small commotion, a chorus of greetings that picks up behind them that’s just enough to break apart their kiss.

“I hope there’s enough for one more.”

Maelyn recognizes the voice, heart racing in her chest. She didn’t think Rachel would be coming back this soon. The end of Rachel’s last letter said that it most likely wouldn’t be until the middle of next week before she’d make it back. Her last final was tougher than anticipated and she’d wanted to get it turned in before making the trek back. It’s not so much Rachel’s return that worried Maelyn rather than the promises she made to Jake. She misses him, but knows how tortured he is currently at the state of things, how he’s still not with Bella like he wants to be, even though he keeps saying it’s okay. And Maelyn’s still hurt, still missing her mother, but the more the days pass, the more understanding seems to build between them.

Maelyn’s blink is slow as she starts to turn towards Rachel. But she notices the stiffening of Paul’s body against her, arms that were pressed so tightly into her flesh feel like now they’re hovering. “Hi, Rachel,” Maelyn calls out but she flicks her gaze up.

Paul’s head is hung. He clears his throat, throwing a rather soft, “I’m-I’ll be right back” towards Maelyn before pushing away.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Rachel hisses. The apology in her tone is evident. But Maelyn watches Paul make a beeline straight for Sam. Emily’s lips are rolled together, eyes growing larger before locking in on Maelyn. The entire pack is frozen. Embry, Seth, Leah, Jared, Quil, and even Jacob all stare with a bit of horror on their faces.

“Jake said that I could come and it would not be a bummer, but now I’m starting to wonder if he lied to me,” Rachel laughs.

But all Maelyn can do is watch. Each face that watches her carries a sadness that looks more and more like pity the longer and longer she watches. But why would there be pity? Kim clutches to Jared’s arm and even she too looks horrified. And if Kim is horrified, it must be awful.

“Paul,” Maelyn calls out.

He stiffens at his name, but doesn’t turn around. It’s not a great sign. Her heart starts to buzz at the thought. What happened in all of a blink? What could’ve happened in all of a blink? Sam looks up and over Paul’s shoulder. His voice carries as he waves at Maelyn to come in closer. “Mae, can you come here for a second? Rachel, get whatever you want. Sorry about all this. We got caught by surprise. It’s all good. You’re fine.”

“You sure? Because it does not look fine at all.”

“Eat, Rachel,” Sam urges. “It’s fine.”

Maelyn’s feet are carrying her, but she watches. The entire walk over to Sam and Paul she watches the eyes following her. Emily meets her only a couple steps out, hand outstretched for hers. And she catches it now, beneath the crashing waves, a sniffle.

Paul’s sniffle. His shoulder’s shake. “I-why’d this have to happen?” he hisses. It doesn’t appear to be directed at any one in particular. A general question to the cosmos at best.

Sam drifts his gaze, only for a second, over the pack. But when his eyes land back on Maelyn, they’re soft and full of regret. Like he wishes he didn’t have to say or do whatever it is has to say or do. Maelyn knows that look. It's the same one he gave her when Sam told Maelyn about her mother. It’s bad news. It’s always going to be bad news when Sam looks at her like that. “I think you two need to talk,” Sam notes to Maelyn.

Talk, but Maelyn knows what talk means. Yet, she wishes with everything in her that it’s not true. But why else would Emily be holding her hand this tight? Why would would everyone be staring at her like this? Maelyn tears her hand from Emily, turning now to see Jacob and Leah a couple feet behind her, moving in closer. “Lyn,” Jake starts. His voice cracks, eyes heavy with a kind of sadness that precedes awful news.

It’s just her nickname. One simple syllable. But it cracks at Maelyn’s chest. She turns back to Paul, who’s facing her now. “Baby, I-” it falls with a crack, a horrible sound from Paul’s throat.

Right in front of her. It all happened right in front of her and didn’t even see it. Couldn’t have stopped.

Maelyn turns back to Rachel. She’s being coaxed now by Jared and Kim to fix her plate. They’re promising her that everything is okay. But it’s not okay. Nothing is okay. They have to say that for Rachel’s sake, not for Maelyn.

“You, right then and there?” Maelyn questions. They have to be careful. Though, in the end, it won’t really matter. Paul will tell her. Rachel will be brought into the fold. She’ll learn about the vampires and the wolves. She’ll know everything that Maelyn does. Rachel will take everything Maelyn built.

“Baby,” Paul tries again, reaching for her hand.

Maelyn’s not a wild animal. Not always. But right now she can see the way Emily and Sam are slipping in at her side. From behind, Leah and Jacob are approaching. She is not a wild animal, and for damn sure, she will not be boxed in like one. “Not another step!” she bellows.

It stops everyone in their tracks, even the folks further up the beach stop, their laughter cut short and dying on their tongues. Maelyn blinks back her tears. But her chest feels like it’s caved in. Feels like her lungs won’t ever be able to expand deep enough for a full breath. Paul jumps in her vision due to the rapidly forming tears but she faces him, a singular digit singling him out. “Did you or did you not? And you answer me straight. Don’t make me ask again.”

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something else, a step forward but stops at the arch of her brow. Paul exhales. “I did, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s not even his fault. It’s not an intentional thing. Paul has no control over if or when he imprints or on who. But not wanting to hurt her wouldn’t save her from the blow. Nothing would. The threat seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Imprinting was the exception to the rule and that thought was a life line. After Quil imprinting, it seemed more common, but she still clung to hope. Maelyn thought she and Paul would tough it out. That the odds may have been in their favor in different ways. That it would always be just her and him.

But it’s gone. All that’s gone. She couldn’t even fight it.

“That doesn't matter anymore.” The words are bitter. It would matter--in a couple years once she was beyond this. Once she had more control over her phasing. Once she was out from this rez, Paul’s intentions would matter more. Not right now though.

All she wants to do is crumble, let herself fall into dust into the sand and be washed out by the waves. Paul moves, just a step forward and she takes a step back. “Don’t, please don’t do this to me. I love you, you know that?”

“No, no, you loved me. You did,” Maelyn agrees. Her voice shakes. Her skin feels hotter, but there’s very little buzzing. She doesn’t feel like she’ll explode. She feels like she’s imploding. Like every bone in her body is being turned into dust. All her joints are melting. She’ll be nothing at the end of this.

“But that’s over now,” Maelyn continues. “All of it. It’s all over.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Look at Sam, look at Jared. It’s exactly like that,” Maelyn croaks out. Even if she didn’t want it to be this way, it would. She wanted Pauls to be hers. She wanted to sleep next to him every night. That wouldn’t be happening now. Even if Sam had attempted to make it right with Leah, even if he’d been ordered by Emily to do so, there was no true resistance. The gravity of the relationship would win out in the end.

“We-we have plans. You going to school, me getting into an apprenticeship. The purple dress Leah joked about. The apron I found. I haven’t even made banana bread with you like I promised I would. I wanted to marry you. You think I want to throw all that away?”

It’s not even about what they wanted now but the bitterness rushes back up her throat. the past tense use of the verb isn’t lost on her. Even if Paul still loves her, he didn’t want her anymore. Not in the same way. She lets the bitterness coat her tongue as she hisses out, “You think I wanted my boyfriend to imprint right in front of me?”

Paul’s eyes flash--mouth setting hard with the anger taking over his face. He surges forward, hand wrapping around her biceps. “You think I wanted to imprint right in front of you? Hmm? You think any of this is fucking ideal for me either? I know what this will do to you, is doing to you. I know what I’ve done to you.”

“Don’t make yourself the martyr,” Maelyn warns. “It’s unbecoming.”

He inhales. Maelyn watches, counting the three seconds. Then he exhales for five seconds. “I-we probably should talk later. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. I don’t think you want to either.”

Maybe she already did say something she would regret. Would a fight even solve this? It couldn’t undo what the fates had decided. Nothing could probably undo that. Her eyes well again. She can feel the sting before the tears fall. All of her instincts tell her to settle into Paul’s chest, to wrap her arms around him. That he’d be able to comfort her. But Paul’s not safe anymore. He’s the person pushing her over the edge.

“I don’t know where else to go,” she confesses softly. Going home didn’t feel safe. Her father would have questions. She told him she’d be out all day. And she knows she can’t go to Paul’s, or at the very least shouldn’t go to his place. But it’s a comfort, to curl into his sheets, to have the smells of cedar and leather pressed into her lungs. It’s a refuge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Maely cries again. Because it’s always been Paul.

“Oh, no, please, baby.” His embrace is tight, cheek pressed into the top of her head. “I hate it when you cry.”

Though Maelyn shouldn’t, she gives into Paul, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart thumps in his chest against hers, the gemstones pressed hard into their chests. She hates it when she cries too. She hates that all she wants to do is commit to memory the smell of the Gain laundry detergent mixing in with his natural musk. She wants to tattoo it into her lungs, breathe him in every second of every day so today’s never the last time.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight, like we planned. Please, it can’t end like this. If it has to end, I want it to end well.”

Maelyn doesn’t think it’s supposed to be a question, but the uncertainty is laced in every single word. The request makes her stomach lurch. It would be their last. And that would haunt every second of it. But could she let things end like this? Right here on this beach? Maelyn peels herself from his embrace, arms folding up under her chest. The air is too light now, like it won’t be able to support her from falling over.

“Let me think about it, okay?”

Paul starts to say something else, but stops. He nods instead. “Yeah, of course.”

There’s no way to continue on now. No way to turn and pretend to Rachel or anyone else that she was fine. Maelyn motions over her shoulder with her thumb. “I’m-I’m going to go now. Home, I think,” she states and doesn’t wait for a reply.

Leah and Jacob are there, still, behind her as Maelyn turns. “Lyn,” Jake starts again. His eyes are so heavy, pushed down with a hurt that makes Maelyn wonder if somehow he’d been broken up with too in the midst of the ordeal as well. “I’ll kill him. You just give me the word.”

“Jake,” Maelyn says and shakes her head, effectively ending whatever rant he’s headed towards. She starts up from the beach, towards the parking lot, arms still pressed under her chest to keep herself together.

Leah slips in next to her, wordlessly wrapping an arm around her. They walk up the asphalt, hips bumping with their steps. Her car is unlocked. She’d left the key up behind the visor so that she wouldn’t risk losing it in the sand as she played. And she doubted anyone wanted to steal the old car anyway. The passenger side door creaks open and Maelyn slips herself inside.

Jake leans up against the door, head passing in through the rolled down window, as Leah slips into the driver’s side. “For what it’s worth Lyn, I’m here. If you need me, okay? Just call.”

By the time the words click, enough for her to consider a response, Jake’s gone. His stride fierce as he heads back down toward the rocky beach. “Thanks,” Maelyn whispers to the empty air.

The drive is silent between, but Maelyn’s ears fill with the whizzing crack of her ribs. The ache settles deep into her chest. There’s no noise to come from her chest, no sound that will ever truly encapsulate the feeling. The trees are just various shapes and blobs of brown between the speed and the tears. Maelyn can’t even hate Paul. It’d make things easier if she could. But it wasn’t his fault. And would having someone to blame change the truth of the matter?

The saving grace is that when Leah pulls into the driveway of her place the yard is empty. Her father is one less person she has to try and explain this too. For now at least. Maelyn’s not sure who opened the door, if it was her or Leah, but the moment her feet touch the gravel driveway, Maelyn heaves. It’s an empty and wretched sound. Nothing comes up, considering she hadn’t actually eaten anything. But still her stomach twists and churns.

“Nothing will be the same,” she sobs.

Leah rubs a hand over her back. “And this won’t last forever. It’ll feel like it. But it won’t. Get it out. All of it. The rage, the sadness. Get it all out. Because there’s going to be something else, something more for you out there.”

But Maelyn’s not sure if there is rage--the true kind of rage that shakes her bones and makes her think she’s going to burst. Right now it’s just sadness. The utter shock that everything she’d been anticipating wouldn’t come true. It’s all just gone.

It’s all gone.

Maelyn doesn’t make it further than the couch. Leah doesn’t force her anywhere else. She disappears for a few minutes, the rushing of the faucet cutting through Maelyn’s on broken sobs into the couch cushions.

“You’re going to want this later,” Leah notes, as the glass thuds against the coffee table. She settles onto the floor in front of the couch, right next to Maelyn’s head. Her ears are undoubtedly throbbing with the sound of Maelyn’s crying. Leah presses her forehead into Maelyn’s. “It’s not going to kill you, okay? Even if it feels like it is. It won’t. You’ll find a way through this all. We’ll find a way through all this.”

Though her lungs crave the smell of cedar and well worn leather, Maelyn inhales Leah’s scent. Leah’s always smelled like spring, a light floral that almost shares a similar profile to lilac’s. Maelyn wonders if she gets lost in a field of wildflowers, if that will ease the ache she feels in her chest.

When the shivers settle, when there’s nothing left in Maelyn’s throat but a rough and dry crackle, she reaches at the hand’s Leah’s kept pressed to her cheek. She’s still alive, however, unfortunate that feels for a fleeting second. And though Maelyn had a direct line to Leah’s though, though she knew it felt like, Maelyn’s still floored that it hurts this much. That Leah went through this all alone.

“Will you stay with me?” Maelyn asks. It feels selfish to ask. But Maelyn’s going to be swallowed up if there’s no one else to ground her.

“Have no other plans,” Leah nods. “Good luck getting rid of me.”

Maelyn has no plans to let go.

Her head’s not on the scratchy couch cousin. It’s the first thing she notices when she wakes. Instead now pressed into her pillow, she can tell by the soft satin cover. The second thing Maelyn realizes is that she’d actually fallen asleep. For the briefest of moments, it all feels too distant. Like maybe she had a bad dream but the throbbing at the back of her head makes her realize it’s not as distant as she wanted to believe. The blanket falls from her shoulder when she pushes up.

In front of her are Jake and Leah, a deck of cards split between them. Jake flips over a three of spades and Leah flips over a seven of hearts. As she does, she moves the entire messy stack between them closer to her. Jake sucks at his teeth and turns up a six of diamonds as his next card. Leah’s next card is a four of clubs. The sky’s a tad darker than before, a orangish hue versus the rather bright early afternoon sun they had earlier.

“Drink this,” Jacob states, lifting the glass from the coffee table. He drops his head back for a second into the cushion Maelyn just pushed up from. “You look like hell.”

The cup of water Leah fixed early. Maelyn takes it wordlessly and sucks down the entire glass in just a few gulps. Maelyn grimaces at how roughly the water goes down. “I feel like hell,” she whispers back, voice more raspy than she anticipated.

Jake takes the glass back and pushes up from the floor. “I’ll get you some more. One second. Don’t fucking cheat, Leah.”

“I’d never dream of it,” she huffs and then sets her portion of the deck down. “You’re not going to like this. But Paul’s outside. Has been for an hour and half now, I think. Wants to talk to you, if you want to talk to him of course. He called before showing up and I told him then to get lost. He doesn’t listen too well.”

The glass falls back just into the periphery of her vision. Maelyn takes the glass with a small thanks up to Jake. She hadn’t given him a clear answer about whether or not they were still on for the dinner date at Shannon’s. It almost feels trivial now to think about it. But she’d wondered then on the beach if she wanted to leave things like they were. And she doesn’t. If the universe was going to be cruel, she didn’t want to add onto the shit pile.

Her gaze slips to the front door. For Paul to walk nearly two hours must mean something. They had nearly a year together. In another two months it would’ve been a full year. Maelyn considered a weekend trip; she wanted to take Paul off the rez and out of Washington even if only for a couple days. It wouldn’t have been anywhere fancy, but it could’ve been nice. Not that it mattered anymore of course.

“I’ll talk to him,” Maelyn answers, still staring at the door. He can hear. The front door would mean nothing.

“You’re sure about that?” Jacob asks. “You don’t have to.”

Maelyn takes down half the glass of water. It starts to soothe the scratchiness of her throat. “Wasn’t I supposed to call you before you showed up?”

Jake laughs, one sharp bark of a laugh. “This is going on your tab. Besides, if I recall correctly, you didn’t necessarily wait for a call when diving in front of that leech alongside Leah, so I figured I really didn’t have to wait for you to call me either.”

“Do you want us to stay? While you two talk?” Leah’s question is direct but her eyes are soft.

Maelyn’s not even sure how to answer that. She didn’t want them to leave, but it would be undoubtedly awkward in front of both of them.

“We could,” Jake starts, “just stay on the porch too. The illusion of privacy and all.”

They’d hear, but it’d be less awkward for sure. “If you don’t mind,” Maelyn whispers, eyes darting between them--Jake above her still, Leah still sitting on the floor.

Leah nods, pushing up from the floor. The cards still lay strewn about on the coffee table. Maelyn looks away when the pair approaches the door. But she listens, fists clutching at the frayed gray couch cushions as the door creaks open. “Is she okay?” Paul asks.

Someone sucks their teeth. Maelyn concentrates instead on the thumping of her heart, trying to keep up with the erratic beating. She doesn’t know if she should slow it down.

“Sounds like a rather stupid question considering the circumstances,” Jake quips. “All things considered.”

“I know, I just-”

“Yeah, well, we’re right outside,” Leah’s voice interrupts Paul’s. There’s shuffling, a tense rumbling deep from someone’s chest and then the door shuts. Maelyn’s waiting. He’ll take those steps. He’ll move closer. But as the seconds tick pass, as her heart thunders in her chest, she doesn’t hear anything. Paul doesn’t move in any closer.

“Will-will you look at me, baby?”

Maelyn pulls at the blanket, bringing it up towards her chest. If she were actually bleeding the poor white blanket would be saturated in a dark crimson. The pet name takes her air, sucks the breath out of her lungs, until she has to remind herself to breathe again.

“Maelyn, please,” she begs, dragging her head up, inches up his body so slowly, she notices how neatly his boots are tied. The jeans are loose and splattered with grease stains that clearly won’t come out. The black t-shirt decorates his chest, where he’d been bare chested earlier. The Locklear’s, Maelyn remembers, who had the leaky faucet.

If she looks like hell, the red eyes and pink tinge to his cheeks match perfectly to the furrowed brows. He looks haggard, looks like he’s fought actual demons. She can only watch for a moment, mouth primed to speak but never actually getting the words out when her eyes fall back down to the chain around his neck. The tiger’s eye still adorned on his neck.

“Is it okay if I sit down?”

She’s not sure if she trusts herself with him that close. But there’s little in regards to sitting arrangements--the couch and a small loveseat. Maelyn nods, staring down at the left behind cards. It’s a mixture of face up and face down cards, diamonds, jack’s, and clubs mixing in with the blue paisley print on the back of the cards. She doesn’t know how was winning in Leah and Jacob’s game of War, but it doesn’t look like it matters now.

The couch sinks with his weight. “I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me,” Paul comments.

This close she can smell the smoke that’s still clung to his skin. She wonders if Paul grilled, taking over from Sam, after she left. “I liked it better when I felt something other than empty,” she whispers.

“We all know Sam still loves Leah. Maybe not like before, but it’s there.”

“But we all know Sam chose Emily.”

Paul winces, pulling the hand he’d inched closer to her away. “I don’t want you to be angry at me. And I know that’s selfish. But the idea of you hating me, I don’t like it.”

She doesn’t hate Paul. And then she thinks about it, how all Paul had to do was look up, one simple look shattering everything. “What was it like?”

“Ba-Maelyn,” Paul corrects, “do you really want me to answer that?”

Maelyn looks up, catching sight of the wobbly chin Paul’s sporting. He supports his weight on his forearms, which are pushed into the tops of his thighs, a couple inches up from his knees. Like he might be trying to shrink himself, but he looks at Maelyn. If the entire ground she’s been walking on for the least year has to crumble, she at least wants to hear it from Paul first. She doesn’t want to have to see it through his eyes later.

“What was it like?” Maelyn asks again. It’s a stupid question. The answer will only hurt her more. But she’d like to get it all over with now. She’d like to know how deep the stab wound goes.

“I’m not answering that.” Paul shakes his head as he speaks. As he does, the gem shakes around his neck.

“I’ll find out eventually. When we phase again and the thought creeps up, even if you don’t want it to, it will. When someone looks at me and then looks at you, they’ll think about the beach, and then you’ll think about the beach, and it’ll be all out there then.”

“You’re torturing yourself and for what Maelyn? We already know the answer.”

It’ll be torture for quite a while. But Maelyn’s not a stranger to torture. “What was it like?”

“I feel horrible, Mae. I saw Rachel and it’s like everyone says. It’s like everything clicks. You sort of know, I guess, when it’s happening. But everything shattered the second I looked back at you. And you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet. You didn’t even know, but I did. I knew. I knew instantly I was going to break your heart.”

Maelyn replays it---the kiss, how she smiled, satiated with Paul’s touch against her flesh, how his weight felt comforting. But he opened his eyes before her. He’d managed in just seconds, possibly even factions of a second, to look up and away and to see Rachel. Had he been pulled from the kiss? Had Rachel’s approach called to him unlike her?

It is torture. Her head throbs against her skull and Maelyn presses the heels of her hands into the sockets of her eyes. It wouldn’t matter in the end. None of it would, but there had to be a reason. There had to be something in this that would make it all make sense. She just needs for it all to make sense. And right now, it doesn’t.

“I want to do right by you, Maelyn. Please, if I can’t do anything else.”

He’s so close. Inches from her and he sings to her. Paul is all she’s ever wanted. And he’s right there, sitting on the other cushion, just to her left. Maelyn drops her forehead to his shoulder. It always made sense with Paul. Always. But the last words to him can’t be full of anger. They can’t be hostile.

She exhales, clutching at the blanket in her lap before pushing up to face him. “I’m not promising to be perfect.”

He grins, wobbly and hesitant. “When have I ever asked for perfection?”

“I’m sorry--for all the angry shit I said.” Because Maelyn won’t let this end bitterly. Not if she can help it.

“I wouldn’t take you any other way.”

“So, how do we do this? This last supper sort of thing?”

Paul hisses, rubbing a hand over his chest. “So I’m Judas now?”

“Well, I never said that. But,” Maelyn teases. Her face hurts as she pulls her lips up into a grin, but Paul nudges at her shoulder with his, a roll of his eyes. This is easy. This has always been easy.

“Could I pick out your outfit? While you go hop in the shower. Then we’ll go back to my place. I shower, you pick out my outfit. We’ll get dinner, like we planned? I feel like you deserve more than that, but someone wanted a rootbeer float and the only good ones are at Shannon’s. I ain’t naming no names though.”

The mention of food makes Maelyn’s stomach growl again. She’d left her plate behind, all too focused on just getting off that beach. Paul laughs at the sudden intrusive sound, “And I’ll heat up your plate from earlier before all that too, I guess.”

“My plate?” Maelyn questions.

Paul nods. “When Jacob left the beach after you and Leah did, I made him bring back a plate for you. I take it by the sound of your stomach, you didn’t actually eat any of it though.”

“I fell asleep.” Which is true, she did. But it’s not the full truth. She remembers Leah’s embracing touch, the press of their foreheads and the tears. So many tears. Then it went black, the dark descent of exhaustion until she woke.

“You mean you cried yourself to sleep. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She’s really lying to herself. Her face is tight. She can tell she’s cried her heart out and then some. But Maelyn’s not ready to put into words just how hard she sobbed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paul’s hand is heavy on her knee. “I’ll go heat it up for you.”

Before Maelyn can push her palms into the cushion, the front door creaks open. Paul’s already in the kitchen, dragging down a plate to place everything on. Leah’s thinly pressed lips enter through first before the rest of her fills out. Jacob’s just behind her. “I take it you don’t want us to hang around for the rest of this,” Leah quips. Her brow arches, filled with the questions she doesn’t verbalize.

Maelyn crosses the floor to them. “If it all goes downhill, I’ll call. Or you’ll hear me sobbing.”

“No one wants that,” Leah returns softly. “But if you’re sure, I’ll go. I’ll even take him with me.”

“I’m not that bad,” Jacob defends, focusing his gaze on the thumb Leah’s thrown over her shoulder to him.

“I’ll be okay.” Maelyn says it so she believes it herself. Maybe they’ll believe it too. Maybe this is all just a big mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t be.

“Call me, whenever,” Leah urges. Her hands squeeze at Maelyn’s shoulders, the embrace abrupt, but welcomed. “Please call me. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will.”

Jacob hovers, arms opening like he intends to go in for a hug, but he’s hesitant. She understands the concerns, so Maelyn steps into him, head nestling in at his shoulder. His exhale is sharp and the squeeze is long. “I’m sorry about all this,” Jacob whispers. “I know he made you happy and this just sucks, really.” His voice is full of the annoyance he doesn’t state.

“Are you saying that as my best friend or Rachel’s little brother?” Maelyn questions. Her tut of laughter is short as she speaks.

“Oh, it’s definitely both,” he laughs into her hair. “But as your best friend more than anything.”

The reassurance soothes her chest. There are still people in Maelyn’s corner. The entire world’s not ending, even if it feels like it is. The beep of the microwave is the only thing that ends the embrace. Jacob presses a kiss to the crown of her head and slips out the front door wordlessly. The plate clicks against the counter. Paul will be there, when she turns. The smell of hamburgers reaches her nose and just behind it, she knows Paul’s scent is there too. It won’t be a figment of her imagination, if she can stomach the reality. But her hunger wins out, so Maelyn turns. The ketchup bottle sits next to her plate alongside the jar of relish for the singular hotdog. Just the way she likes it, how she’d nearly finished assembling the plate earlier today. Paul tucks himself into a corner, the place where the sink and the last quarter of the counter meet before the fridge slips in, arms folded over his chest.

They feel like strangers, now, with the two feet between them as Maelyn stands in front of the sink to eat her pre dinner snack. But they’re strangers that know everything about each other. Like the way Paul takes his drinks with light ice at restaurants, and how he’ll bounce his knee or tap his blunt nails into the counter as the silence continues on. He knows she likes extra pickles and omits mustards off anything she can, how she can’t watch a movie without trying to guess the ending before it starts. Paul knows everything

“Promise not to fight me tonight? It would be deserved, or it is. But I just need you to promise me that.” Paul’s pressed into the door of her bedroom, having crossed inside, but hasn’t actually faced the innards of the room. He’s staring at her, as Maelyn’s pressed into the door for the bathroom. She inhaled the burgers in only a minute or so, leaving behind nothing but a few crumbs of the bun and Paul washed the plate wordlessly while she waited for him.

“You know me better than that.” She nearly adds baby but it catches in her throat.

“Which is why I’m making you promise me. I just, I want this to be as normal as possible.”

“I won’t fight you,” Maelyn promises and then slips into the bathroom.

She stands at the base of the shower head, watching the water fall into the basin. The splatters echo off the tile walls and it almost sounds like laughter. Like her laughter before today went to shit--easy and full. As the water falls, it slithers into the drain, a bubbling sound as it goes. Where the present is, a bubbling sound sucking down everything with it.

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. Her and Paul were done now. Though she agreed to this last date, to keep one last good memory, delaying the inevitable would not stop it. She lathers her soap onto the cloth, scrubbing the sand and salt from her skin. She focuses on her right arm first, then her left, over her chest, her armpits, stomach, back, butt, legs, feet. She scrubs circles one body part at a time. Just one thing at a time. One thing at a time. She washes her face, does a quick rinse with her mouthwash. Just one tooth at a time as she moves her toothbrush over the enamel.

Until there’s just her bedroom door, ajar, and she spies Paul rifling through her makeup bag on her vanity. Her clothes are already laid out on her bed. A cropped top, black and floral, and jeans. A pair of black heels rests on the floor beneath the ensemble. She spies a pair of red boots she got for her 17th birthday spilling out from her closet, like maybe Paul thought about them but then decided at the last second to go with a different pair.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maelyn asks, after a minute or so passes of him pushing through the bottles and tubes.

“What is half this stuff anyway?” Paul quips, holding up the bag for a second. He pulls out a black tube, reading the bottom of it out load, “Cotton Candy Girl? Like what is that?”

Maelyn snorts. “It’s a lipstick. It’s actually a shade of pink.”

His face widens, the realization dawning on him. “Oh.”

“Are you looking for a shade?”

“You have this red lipstick that I’m looking for. But if I’d known the little black tubes were lipstick, I don’t think I would’ve messed half that other stuff.” He points now to her vanity and a few tubes of mascara rest on the glass, alongside a few lip pencils, a couple lipglosses, and eyeliners. “And whoever names these things really needs a new hobby, Royalty Court? Like how do you know which color it is?”

“That’s purple.”

“I’ve never seen you wear purple lipstick.”

“It’s a purple eyeliner actually. And there’s been no need, with me being a wolf for half my waking hours and all.” Maelyn finally pushes through the threshold, pressing the towel to her chest though it’s already looped and tucked in. “Hand it here. You said it’s red, right?”

Paul nods, holding the bag up to her. Maelyn pulls out all three lipsticks she owns, a color her mother used to tell her she couldn’t wear until she was older. At the time she only had one but since added two other shades. One’s a bright true blue red, one’s a brick red, and the last one has a berry undertone to it, making it almost a purple but not quite. She holds the butts of them out to Paul and tries not to buckle at the brush of his fingers over her kneecap. She can hold it together, even if it burns. Even if she thinks it could break her.

Maelyn exhales before speaking. “The bottoms have a sticker that shows the color. So for future reference, you don’t need to know the name of the color unless you’re buying a replacement.”

“Are you serious?” he snorts, snatching up the pink lipstick again. He turns it up and there at the bottom is a swatch sticker, a light pink staring back at him. “This whole time!” he laughs.

“The whole time,” Maelyn agrees softer than Paul’s exclamation. “If it was a snake, it would’ve bit you.”

Paul takes the middle tube, the one that’s a brick red and sets it to the side. “I hope I would’ve been tasty. Is that outfit okay?”

Maelyn drops the remaining lipsticks into the bag, without sparing the clothes a second look. “It’s a great outfit.”

“I’ll take care of this.” Paul motions to the makeup he’d previously removed, reaching up for the bag.

It shouldn’t be awkward--the undressing to get redressed. The thump of her dresser drawers as she digs out under garments. It shouldn’t be awkward, yet it is, just a little, knowing this really is the last time. Maelyn’s thought a lot about last times, how she’d redo things over with her mom if she had known it was the last time. Now, she has that knowledge. She knows everything here that’s happening in this room, and on the drive to Paul’s place and on the date at Shannon’s will all be last. Yet she worries, if she leans in too much on the fear that Paul will be in everything more so than he already is.

*******************

“Here, let me,” Paul says, having watched Maelyn getting dressed from her reflection in the vanity mirror. He pushes forward now, to ease the zipper up on the back of the shirt, securing the choker and top to her body.

She doesn’t fight the request, instead whispering out a soft, “Thanks,” once the top is fully zipped up. The amethyst necklace still rests against her chest, as if she’d never taken it off. Paul wonders if she had. It’d been on when he was invited inside. Was the stone even doing its job anymore? Would it ever?

Maelyn’s face isn’t as puffy as before. Though her eyes are a tad pink, it’s fading. It’d be useless to blame himself. But Paul still feels guilty. He still can’t wipe the furious and heartbroken shadows on Maelyn’s face from his memory. How the tears flowed down her cheeks. He would’ve drowned himself in her tears if she asked.

“How do I look?” The question comes soft and slow.

The heels make her taller than him, only by about three inches or so he’d guess. But her gaze stays locked on the ground and she’s never looked smaller. Maelyn should never look small. She should never feel small either. “Hey,” Paul starts, taking just a step closer to her. “Look at me.”

He knows he probably shouldn’t but he takes Maelyn’s face between his palms. The weight…doesn’t feel the same as before. He’s much too aware of it in his hands. He remembers how light it used to feel; he remembers how right it used to feel. Paul aches for his fingers to carry the weight with grace. But it doesn’t change. So, he ignores that, for the time being, and waits for her eyes to drift up to his. They’re glassy. “You look beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

And the moment he returns with the answer, he wants to take it back. It wouldn’t be anytime, though he’d want that too. Paul couldn’t have it all. He knows that. But for the briefest of moments, when Maelyn slides around him to pick up the lipstick, Paul wishes he could have it all. He wishes he could keep the plans with Maelyn, wishes he could take back the hands of time and ask Rachel to never come. But the desire, the wish, doesn’t last for long. His gut lurches at the thought of Rachel never showing up.

How would he ever reconcile these feelings? How would he ever be able to look himself in the mirror again for not wanting to break Maelyn’s heart like this but feeling the need to wonder about Rachel too? Sam hadn’t talked about this. It was clear that he still loved Leah, just not in the same way. How had he managed to reconcile both those kinds of loves? Had he managed them at all?

“This red doesn’t really go with the necklace and all, you know,” Maelyn reports, straightening up from the bent over angle to get the lipstick on.

“Color theory isn't my strong suit,” Paul huffs.

“It’s a good thing I’m useful.” Maelyn turns now and the outer corners are darker--a brownish color--paired with muted red in the middle. It tones the brightness of the red down. Paul hasn’t tasted lipstick from what he can recall. All his aunts used to decorate his cheeks with kisses, leaving behind the faint stains. But he wonders what it might taste like off Maelyn’s lips. He hadn’t caught the name of this color, but hopes it isn’t food related or he might find out just how bitter the cosmetic item tastes.

“Aht, aht,” Paul hurries out when Maelyn reaches for her wallet. “I got it.”

“Root beer floats aren’t cheap.”

Paul takes her hand. It’s heavier too than he remembers. But at least the weight reminds him that she’s real. That she’s actually next to him. “I don’t care. Do you need anything else, not including your wallet?”

“House key, but that’s it apparently.”

“Damn straight it is.”

All the keys go on the wall next to the coat rack in the living room. Paul’s watched her hang those keys many times; he’s grabbed those keys in a rush once or twice for her. So he’s confident as he weaves them both to the front of the house. Each room or hallway they leave, Maelyn clicks off the light. Paul carries them all the way to the keys and grabs the only remaining set, hanging off a green lanyard but doesn’t hand them over, not until they’re out on the porch so Maelyn can lock the front door.

The entire drive Paul keeps his hand on Maelyn’s knee, even though the drive is short. The material of the jeans is rough, the thick strong construction holding up during all the washes it’s been through probably. But Paul’s never realized that just beneath that he can feel a raised scar. Had it always been there? And if so, why hadn’t Paul noticed before? Maelyn’s fingers dance over his veins, the touch lighter than it’s ever been before and he thinks even if she promised not to fight him, she’d have to fight herself.

He reaches up, when her fingers come back down to his knuckles, he turns his hands up and takes her fingers. She doesn’t pull away and Paul threads his fingers through hers. He just keeps trying to remember how all this used to feel right. It doesn’t feel wrong. Maelyn’s touch is still comforting. But he just notices it all more. There’s something that’s so conscious about all these touches. It irks him. He doesn’t want any of these last moments to feel tainted, to feel off from their normal. And yet it does.

“Was it bad? At the Locklear’s?”

Maelyn’s sudden question almost startles Paul. He’d somehow gotten so lost in the weeds of his own thoughts, he’d forgotten she was there. “Fine. Just a clog, actually. Wasn’t anything hard,” Paul answers. “Was rather tame though getting into the damn pipe was the hardest part.”

“Hard, with those muscles?” she teases, squeezing around his bicep.

He laughs, incredibly thankful that for the first time in the last half hour that he’d been with Maelyn that she was managing a joke. “Don’t bruise a man’s ego, please,” Paul scoffs as he pulls into the driveway.

“I think it’s my specialty.”

His house is quiet and dark when they arrive. A heaven sent sign, though in the back of Paul’s mind he does wonder if his father is okay. Paul slips out of his work boots before heading further into the house but Maelyn doesn’t hesitate, heads straight for his room. Her heels click against the hardwood floors, a sound that carries even as she goes deeper. By the time Paul gets the last of the laces undone, he hears the drag of the shower curtain over the metal rod.

A pair of boxers rest on the bathroom counter, neatly folded which Paul knows is not how they looked in the drawer. He’d been apprehensive about wanting to go digging that deeply in her drawers. Not that he didn’t know which drawers her bras and underwear were in and not that it really mattered which underwear she wore, but it felt a bit too intimate for him to have that level of involvement when it was him pulling the pin on the grenade. It’s not lost on Paul as he showers that pair of boxer briefs that wait for him are the dark green pair that Maelyn complimented him on once.

Paul only has a few pair of good jeans left--two work pair, and two nice pairs. The black wash jeans rest across his bed paired with a crisp white dress shirt that he only has for weddings and funerals--which are few and far between. Maelyn’s leaning against the closet door, arms folded under her bust. “You’re picky about shoes so there’s a couple options,” she warns, nodding down to the floor.

There’s a pair of black sneakers--a pair of shoes Paul doesn’t even remember having and yet somehow they’ve materialized in front of him --and a pair of dress shoes. “Those dress shoes are for weddings and funerals and the last I checked no one died.”

“Not yet anyway,” Maelyn whispers, but picks up the black dress shoes and places them back in the closet.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Her headshake is small after she turns back to face him. “It’s fine, really. It’s true at least. No one’s dead.”

“You’re not. Gonna die, I mean. I’ll--” Paul pauses, reaching for his small jar of lotion. He’d really only kept it handy because of Maelyn’s insistence but now the ritual is so far ingrained into him, he can’t undo it. Could he really promise that he’d still be there? What would life even look like after this? Would all his plans still turn out the same? “Leah and Jacob won’t let it happen. Against your wishes and all.”

“I think I’ll have to write them into my will at this point.”

“Maybe just Leah,” Paul returns. There’s a surge of jealousy. Paul can admit that, but he knows he doesn’t have much ground for it anyway. But still Paul had been there. He’d been there for Maelyn and would always want to be there in some capacity.

Maelyn snorts, stepping in closer as Paul works his jeans up. “Is that jealous I hear? Didn’t take you as the type.” She holds the shirt open for him to slip his arms into the sleeves.

“I’m not,” Paul snips. Because someone would come in after him. Someone not Leah or Jacob would come into her life now. He’s now opening the door that he so desperately wants to keep that close.

Maelyn’s fingers are swift to fix the collar of the shirt. “If it helps you sleep,” she whispers. Her exhaled tuft of laughter brushes behind his ear and the shiver is slow as it crawls down his spine. Would that still happen? Would Rachael know that he loved that, the tickle of breath just behind his ear? Would Maelyn be the only one to trigger it?

Paul’s spinning before he can stop himself, hand cupping at the back of her neck. Maelyn stiffens for a second, just long enough for Paul to feel it and he loosens the hold a hair. This close, watching the lightning strike of fear flash over her face, Paul realizes that he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t be worried about who comes next. He shouldn’t be thinking about what comes next for him. But he can’t fight the need, can’t tamper down the voice in his head begging him to leave a mark.

“Paul?” she questions softly.

“You’re going to always matter to me, Mae. You’re always going to be the first. I need you to know that.” It’s so incredibly selfish, but Paul’s glad he is the first for her too. Knows it without needing her to confirm it. Maelyn’s chin quakes but she nods. He moves to hold her face steady now, but beneath his palms he can catch the shaking.

“Say it, for me, please.” Paul’s not above begging. He’s not. “Say you know.”

“I know,” Maelyn returns. The whispered phrase falls so softly from her lips, Paul’s not even sure she said it until he catches the whiff of her minty breath. The first tear is slow down her cheek. But the second one comes faster.

He really fucking shouldn’t, but Paul closes the centimeters between them and seals a kiss to her shaky lips. Not even the kisses feel the exact same. Like there’s missing something missing from them, but Paul can’t put his finger on what it is exactly that’s missing. It’s like when a recipe has everything it’s supposed to have it, but not the right amounts. Could he make this work? Could he get used to the ache and run away with Maelyn tonight? “I’m sorry. About all this.”

Their lips brush as they speak, hushed voices in the still room. “I know you are. And I wish I could say the apologies felt like something.”

They probably don’t mean much right now. They’re probably the last thing Maelyn wants to hear, but Paul’s tongue burns with them. Apologies are all he has left. “I’m sorry.” He’s sorry that sorry doesn't help. He’s sorry that this is even happening. He’s sorry for being this selfish in the end. But he needs this too.

Paul kisses her one last time--short this time, almost as if testing if this kiss will be like the last. And it is. It’s still almost right. The slight hollowness lingers even as he situates the last of his clothing--rolling up the sleeves to the shirt and lacing up his shoes.

“Paul, Maelyn.” Paul’s father greets as he shuffles past the door. Not dunk this time, but clearly tired. “Looks like you two are headed somewhere fun.”

Maelyn’s wince is unmistakable. But his father thankfully doesn't push it, though he does arch his brow at Paul. Paul shakes his head. It won’t stop the comment, but Paul wishes it would. The arched brow never lowers and Paul can imagine now how that conversation will go--the thump to the back of his head undoubtedly and his father’s disgruntled murmuring about Maelyn being a good person though he’d been the one to tut about how all women are the same.

“I’ll be back later tonight,” Paul informs.

“Don’t make any more trouble,” his father warns and then continues on to his bedroom.

It’s much too late for a warning like that. Paul’s already made too much trouble, the kind of the trouble that will haunt him each time he looks at Maelyn. But Paul can’t undo this. And it’s hard to accept—hard to swallow down that this kind of shift came with no warning. But Paul’s not sure he’s the type to heed warnings either. If Paul somehow had a warning that today he would’ve imprinted, he would’ve run. He would’ve taken his chances with Maelyn any day of the week.

But perhaps, it’s a good thing that Paul doesn’t get warnings about his own fate. Maybe there’s something good in this in the end. It only seems murky now, unclear waters that they’re treading in though they’ve both witnessed a tragedy like this already. Sam and Leah as a blueprint didn’t mean much though. Because Paul’s not Sam and Maelyn’s not Leah. They knew what they were getting into and they chose to take the risk anyhow.

They’d gambled and unfortunately, lost.

“Shannon’s doesn’t close for another three hours,” Maelyn quips, squeezing at his fingers on her knee.

Paul looks down and sees the speedometer teetering up and over 70. He eases his foot off the gas, pressing into the clutch to bring the gear down to handle the cruising space they should be at. “Sorry.”

“We’re both a bit distracted, I guess, it’s to be expected.”

“Have been so scared that I was going to the person that would be left behind,” Paul starts with a tuft of laughter pressing out from his lungs. “Hadn’t even thought about what I would do if I was the one initiating the leaving.”

“Life’s funny like that, isn’t it? We’re so scared of what we want or so worried about our own anxieties, we never really prepare for all the possibilities out there.”

“I guess it is,” Paul murmurs.

Shannon’s isn’t all that busy when they enter. The bell chimes, per usual, above head and Laurie, the eldest granddaughter of Shannon’s smiles at their entrance. There are plates in her hand that she holds with ease, though the tension in her tendon shows how much weight there is in her hands. “Hi Paul, Hi Mae. Settle down anywhere. We’ll be right with you.”

Paul leads them over to a booth, one down from their first official date. Paul knows that booth by heart, now, watching it each time he came to visit Maelyn on a shift. It currently houses an older couple so Paul doesn’t throw a fit about wanting to get the exact spot and lets her settle in first before sliding in next to her. Maelyn plucks the menu’s from the waiting rack at the end of the table, next to the window.

But Paul doesn’t really need the menu and he doubts Maelyn does either, not in terms of selecting her food. She clutches onto it, like one would a lifejacket. And maybe it is. But Paul wants that to be him, so he reaches up and takes her right hand to thread their fingers together. “Oh, if it ain’t my favorite lovebirds,” Shannon teases.

Her voice reaches them before she does--a big and booming voice from such a small frame. She’s not taller than 5’2’’ but that’s never stopped the older woman win her graying hairs and dyed ends. She wears a deep purple now at the ends, and taps her pencil to her pad. Maelyn tenses again at Shannon’s words. “Oh,” Shannon softens now. “Rough day, there?”

“Yeah,” Paul nods.

“I love you Paul, but I was talking to Maelyn.”

He snorts and nods. “Yes, ma’am.” Tact is not a word Shannon cares to know, so she doesn’t. And given as long as she’s been around, no one really calls her out for it either.

“Yeah, rough day,” Maelyn answers. Her voice is thick with the emotions she doesn’t put into actual words.

Paul can only watch the tense moment both women lock eyes. Shannon’s eyes dart towards him and then back to Maelyn. He’s sure something--if not the whole truth--is painted on both their faces, staining their eyes a shade red.

“Root beer floats fix rough days. Come to think of it,” Shannon hums, “they can fix a lot more than that too. Broken hearts, stomachaches. All sorts.”

Paul will wear the brand on the rez for a while. But he won’t try to dodge the burden. It’s the least he could do.

“Can I get extra ice cream, please?” Maelyn asks. And somehow the request stings. Is double ice cream code for just how bad the heartbreak is?

“Honey, you can get whatever you want here.” Shannon spins, her bright white Keds squeaking as she turns.

Maelyn tugs her hand back and Paul lets it go, though she’d promised not to fight, he understands the discomfort. The loss of her weight isn’t sudden. But he notices it, how part of him still wants it around. “I don’t--”

“You don’t what?” Paul asks after the thought falls into silence.

“This was a bad idea. Shannon’s going kill you now. And then me next for showing up tomorrow too.”

Paul bites back his grin. “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, baby.”

She shrinks into her corner of the booth even more. Paul sighs, knowing the second the petname falls, that it’s a mistake. It’s just easy. It’s what he’s always called her. It’s just what they use for each other. “Please.”

“Maelyn,” he corrects, “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, Maelyn. That’s going to take a bit to get used too. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” It falls hot. There’s a pause as if more is to come but nothing does for a moment.

Paul reminds himself that Maelyn’s hurting a lot more than he is, in different ways than he is. But still it hits his core. He’s not spitting in the face of everything they had. He’s not intentionally setting it on fire. He’s not basking in the warmth of the fire from the wreckage. “You know,” Paul starts, spinning the lamented menu on the table with his fingers. “I don’t think this analogy about gravity shifting is correct.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as Maelyn curls her fingers into fists. She’d ask about this. And maybe she did deserve an answer, more than what Paul had tried to spare her from. “It’s not?” she questions through her teeth, the ‘S’ consonant coming out with a strong hiss.

“No. There’s a tug. Something in your gut that just sort of nudges you along. It’s probably why I broke the kiss first. And when you look at them, in the eye, it all goes quiet. Every thought you’ve ever had leaves for a second. Any anxiety you had just disappears. But that only lasted about a second for me. Because right behind that I felt so fucking angry. Or maybe it’s shame. I don’t know. I just felt awful. Wasn’t sure if I’d keep my cool which is why I booked it to Sam so immediately. I still feel awful.”

Paul exhales, palm pressed firmly into the top of the menu. The lamented paper stops its spin. He looks over to Maelyn who’s only blinking at him. There are tears tracking down her cheeks. Her eyes are swimming with tears. Or maybe she swims in his own vision now. The sting’s catching up, can feel how it makes his face hot too. But he won’t stop now. He still needs her to understand.

Paul continues on, “Right behind what most people have recounted as a pretty magical moment in their lives was the worst wave of emotions I’ve ever met. Didn’t know if I wanted to die right there or not, but God, Mae, God, I wanted to not exist anymore. Because I still and will always love you, Maelyn. I was the wrecking ball. I am the wrecking ball. And I know that. But I will always care about you. So, don’t get snippy about this with me. As someone said, making yourself the martyr is unbecoming. I am guilty of breaking your heart. Sorry doesn’t fix that but I wish it did. And fuck everything if you don’t think I wish it did.”

He turns now, to face the empty side of the booth again. His own lower lip is wobbly. “Paul,” Maelyn whispers. Her palm is firm against his cheek and he allows himself to be turned to look at her again. “I know it’s not your fault. I wish I had someone or something to blame this all on. I’m sorry. You’re not the one to be blamed.”

Luckily for Paul sorry does mean a lot. It means he won’t always be the bad guy. It means maybe in time he can still be there for her if she wants it. He takes hold of the hand on his cheek and presses a kiss to her palm.

The glass hits the table first—Marlyn’s root beer float, the extra scope of ice cream nestled almost to the brim—and right behind it is the red plastic cup that fizzes. “I didn’t forget about you, Paul, this time,” Shannon warns, placing the straws down on the table. “I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.” The sentence is punctuated by a stack of napkins.

Not even the spoon rattles as Pau hands her the glass. Maybe there’s more ice cream and heartbreak than ever anticipated. “Want a bite?” Maelyn offers.

“O, it’s okay.” He normally would. Knows he’d take a spoonful or three and grin at her about how it’s the boyfriend tax.

Maelyn cuts apart a heap of ice cream and then holds it out. “My tab’s already long enough. I don’t want one last boyfriend tax added to it.” Her smile isn’t right. Like she’s fighting back even more tears.

“Something tells me that tab’s gonna get forgiven anyway.” He takes the heaping spoonful anyway. The vanilla’s a mild taste—the only thing that feels mild even though the dinner’s a such familiar place.

“I don’t want the necklace back,” Maelyn notes pointing with the flat end of her spoon to his neck.

“Good, because you weren’t getting it back,” Paul laughs. “Maybe over my dead body. And maybe not even then.”

Maelyn slips the glass over to him when he motions for it. “I knew you’d be back for more.”

“Sue me,” Paul huffs before getting his second scoop.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Paul’s tempted to tempt himself, teetering on the edge of an idea that’s only ever going to leave him not fully satisfied. He’d do it for Maelyn. Instead, he shovels more ice cream into his mouth. It hadn’t worked all that well for Sam when Emily ordered him away. Though Paul’s not Sam, he thinks Maelyn wouldn’t entertain the possibility. “I’m sure you think it’s cursed now. But I’d appreciate it if you kept your necklace too.”

Maelyn’s grip on the glass as Paul passes it back tightens. “I’ll give it one more shake and see what it’s really made of.”

“More than I can ask for.”

“What are we doing today?” Shannon asks. As promised she’s returned, but her face is pinched like she’s holding onto thoughts she’d much rather release. “Usuals, something new?”

Paul turns to Maelyn first, a habit now to let her order first. There’s a lag, the silence as she blinks up at Shannon, before she actually speaks. “Uh, is the fish sandwich still the dinner special?” Friday’s, Paul has learned, is the liminal day on specials for the week, they usually get switched over by Saturday given the shipments that come in on Thursday and Fridays in preparation for the weekend.

“Can be for you. Want extra fries on the side with it and the tartar sauce on the side?”

“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Maelyn, you’re never any trouble. And you, Paul?”

“Usual for me. But can I add a pickle spear on the side for her?”

Shannon pops her tongue from the roof of her mouth, lips twisting in contemplation. The seconds drag for a beat, then two, and then a third. “I can do that.” She slides in close, eyes darting over Paul’s face. The skin is tight from the tears that have dried on his cheeks. “Was it by choice or by the cosmos?”

Not everyone’s meant to know, Paul knows that. He’d been ordered by Sam not to tell anyone unless it was an absolute need to know basis. It’s the same order everyone has in the pack. But Paul wonders if Shannon grew up with the legends, if she knows the same way that the rest of the older people on the rez do. In the not-so-quiet open secret way that she tells her grandchildren about the histories. Maybe it’s just a story to them. But to Shannon, to Paul, and to the rest of the pack and counsel, it’s much deeper than that. Shannon’s eyes are piercing--a dark brown they look like the night against her light skin. She doesn’t look a day past fifty though Paul and the rest of the rez knows she’s in her seventies, almost eighties. She holds Paul’s stare for just as long as he stares back at her.

“Cosmos,” he answers softly.

The fierce line of her lips soften and she pushes back into the open side of the booth. The seat catches her easily. “Damn,” she whispers. “Damn it all. That’s cruel. And how close to home is it?”

Did it really matter who it was? The fates decided for him. He’d have no say in undoing it. Shannon looks at Paul but Maelyn answers. “Rachel.”

“Jacob’s sister?” she hisses. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry you two. I’ll stop mean mugging you Paul. Well, maybe,” she laughs before pushing back up from the booth. “And missy, I better not see you here tomorrow. You’ll cry into coffee mugs and no one wants salty coffee.”

“Did you cry into coffee mugs?” Maelyn laughs as she asks. But Paul hears it, the way she’s searching for something. The way her voice turns up with hope.

“No, I didn’t cry into coffee mugs.”

“Oh,” comes the deflated response.

“I cried into ice cream cones. Which is just as bad.”

Paul watches her leave, her step just as bouncy as it always is. But the words still feel like they’re clattering to the ground after her, I cried into ice cream cones. No one had ever talked about Shannon dating a werewolf. Though maybe the werewolf part wouldn’t be part of the story. Maybe it would only be about the breakup to the outside world. Fingers dig into his thigh, not hard, rather a quick two squeezes. Paul finds comfort in the gesture, knowing it’s Maelyn’s trying to get his attention.

But then like a child being reprimanded, Maelyn snatches her hand back. “Sorry, I--I need to get out for a second.” Her eyes are a tad wide. He can see now how the skin’s got just a faint flush under the brown, not even noticeable really except at the right angle. “Bathroom,” she whispers.

Paul takes her hand, placing it back on his lower thigh, but above his knee. Paul would rather she keep touching him. He’d rather hold her hand than not. But he does understand if it’s all too strange, or too much. “You’re okay, Maelyn. I don’t mind you touching me like that.”

The food arrives before Maelyn does but Paul’s okay waiting. In fact, the more the seconds pass, the more he realizes the longer she takes, the longer this lasts. He just wants this part of their lives to last a little bit longer. So Maelyn can take all the time she needs. Here nothing else matters. Doesn’t matter what’s happened before or what happens after. There is only what’s happening right now in the present. The click of her heels alerts Paul of her arrival and he promises himself to keep his focus on the present as much as he can. It only matters what’s happening right that second.

“Get off my plate,” Maelyn laughs, smacking at the tips of his fingers. He drags a few fries off successfully, but takes the light tap from Maelyn regardless.

“You were just on mine,” he counters.

“You ordered that pickle for me!”

“Still on my plate,” Paul mutters before snapping the fingerful of fries in half with his teeth.

Maelyn shoves at his shoulder, reaching for the stack of napkins between them. “Only as a technicality. Besides, you have two sandwiches on your plate right now, I only have one.”

Paul stares down at his double chicken sandwiches, no tomatoes with added mustard and red onions swapped in for the usual white diced onions that are usually on the sandwich. He never really goes for fries, knowing Maelyn goes for an extra order and nibbles off those when he can sneak them of course. “This is basically a snack.”

Maelyn’s crunch is audible as she takes a bite of the pickle spear. But she’s gesturing, curling her fingers for Paul to slide his plate over. So he does. Between both sandwiches, she dumps a quarter of the fries onto his plate. “Now it’s a light dinner.”

“Can you pass me the ketchup please? Since apparently now I’m responsible for consuming fries.” The bottle is light but has just enough ketchup for Paul to get a decent size portion out.

“Embry’s birthday is in two weeks. Do you know what you’re getting him?”

“No, it’s not that soon.” The bite of last corner of his sandwich hangs in the space between his plate and his mouth. There’s no way Embry’s birthday was that soon. “I don’t know what to get him. Maybe we can--”

“There’s an album from a band he likes that comes out next week. The record store up in Port Angeles always manages to stay pretty well stocked.”

“Right,” Paul returns, remembering that they probably wouldn’t do anything besides show up at Embry’s place or at Sam’s and Emily’s separately with separate gifts. Maelyn would absolutely not want to do a joint gift.

“If you call tomorrow, I’m 80% sure they’d hold a copy to the side for you.”

“But I don’t want to take anything away from me if you already planned to get it.”

Maelyn shakes her head, the last half of her sandwich in her hands but with no movement from her to take an actual bite. “It’s already in your name--the hold I mean for the CD. You just need to pick it up.”

“My-my name?”

There’s little humor in the tuft of laughter she releases. “I called yesterday to see if I could get a copy held for Embry. And I put in your name because I wasn’t sure if I’d be working or not the release day, so I was going to ask you to pick it up and give you the cash for it.”

“Oh,” Paul returns. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. Just don’t forget to pick it up next week.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Paul.”

“But what are you going to get him? It still feels wrong.”

Maelyn hums around the bite she’s taken. The tartar sauce runs just a little and without thinking, Paul uses his own napkin to clear the corner of her mouth. She makes quick work of the bite. Paul wonders if the food he’d grabbed had done much of anything to touch her hunger. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry about it.”

Paul’s going to worry about it though. That’s the thing. That’s what they do--they worried about each other. Much like Paul’s going to worry after they’re all done. He’s going to worry about the drive back home. He’s going to worry when he lays down tonight, when it’s just him alone, where all the thoughts can creep up. Every single last one. Paul’s got plenty to be worried about. He’s sitting next to the woman he thought he’d marry, but knows now that he won’t.

Shannon shoos Paul away when he walks up the register to pay. They never got a check, though Shannon had come by and cleared away their plates and cups. She turns back to the bucket of silverware. “When I look up, you better be gone.”

“Who was it?” Paul asks instead. He can’t get her words out of his head, about how she cried into ice cream cones. How she warned Maelyn that no one would want salty coffee. She knows too much not to have been involved but Leah and Maelyn are the first girls to ever be in the pack, so he knows it’s not that.

“It’s a good thing I turned out to be Laurie’s great grandmother and not Sam’s.”

“Sam Uley?” There’s no way. Paul would’ve heard about it. Or at least Sam would have and if Sam did, then it would come out eventually. But maybe that’s a part Levi keeps to himself, has buried down so that only he and Shannon take it to the grave. Besides Paul now of course. And maybe Maelyn.

Shannon looks up, eyes narrowing just a hair before she grins. “Didn’t I tell you to be gone when I looked up. Hard headed, just like your daddy. At least you came by it honest.”

Paul unfurls the bills from his pocket. The Locklear’s paid him forty bucks to help with the leak, so he peels three tens from the stack and drops into the tip jar. “Don’t be too hard on Maelyn if she shows up tomorrow, please.”

“I won’t.”

The night’s wind is sharp. It carries up the ends of Maelyn’s hair as they walk back to the truck, hand in hand now. Paul can smell the freshly cut grass off her skin in the gusts. If he had to be honest, he’s scared, more so now than ever before. There would be no way he could convince her to spend the night with him, to spare him just a little bit longer from the realities that await them both. The sky is relatively clear, in patches, over their hands and Maelyn pauses just a few steps from the truck to look up.

“Do you think stars know they’re dying or does it just go out for them?” she questions.

“You’re not dying, Maelyn.” But something is, their relationship definitely is. Paul will talk about dying stars until the sun comes up and then even longer.

“But do you think the stars know that they’re dying? Do you think they care to know that their light is far reaching after their death?”

Paul looks up again. A thicket of clouds pass overhead and cover up the specks of light in the sky. “Maybe stars don’t need to know they’re dying. I don’t see how it might matter to them. In the end, they have to die, right? In order for us to get the light?”

She shrugs. “I mean nothing truly exists forever. Everything has an end. Natural or by force. Maybe the stars don’t care that they’re giving off light. They are just stars.”

Paul shakes his head, tugging at her arm. Maelyn looks down from the sky at the motion. “I thought I told you you’re always going to be important to me. You’re always going to be the first.”

“And you’ll always matter to me too. But--”

“No, no buts here. The stars don’t know that they’re dying. The stars don’t know what comes next. They just exist. Like they’ve always been created and dropped into the sky to do. They still matter. You still matter.” Because Paul can’t stand the thought of what comes next.

“You have onion breath. And my breath reeks of fish and pickle.”

Paul’s not sure where this train will head. But his heart roars, feels it beating against his chest as he steps in closer to her. She turns to face him fully. “And the stars don’t give a shit about that, right?” Maelyn whispers.

“No,” Paul answers, cupping her cheek against his free palm. “The stars don’t give a shit.”

Their lips are brushing, just barely, but not sealed in a true kiss. An exhalation that becomes an inhalation. Maelyn grips onto his elbow and he holds her weight easy. This part is so easy. “Stay with me tonight? Please?” she exhales.

Paul presses forwards, presses a kiss to Maelyn’s lip, taking her waist now into his hold. The ache is easy to ignore for the time being. As they kiss under the hazy streetlight of the parking lot, Paul can forget that this kiss doesn’t feel like all the others. He can forget about the fact that she won’t feel like she’s always felt. Because he’s clinging to the thing that’s always been there. Maelyn’s been a constant for nearly a year and he’s not sure what to do or where to go without her. Doesn't want to think about that. So he focuses instead on how soft her lips are and how she still feels mostly right against him.

Maelyn laughs, pulling his head out of her throat. Her thumbs brush along his chin and cheek. “That’s a pathetic excuse for a beard, you know?”

“Someone here’s cruising for a bruising with words like that.”

“Take me home, please. And stay with me.”

“Was my kiss not an obvious enough answer? I’d follow you damn near anywhere.”

And even then, once Paul helps her back into the truck and he starts out for the road, Paul’s sure that’s a lie. He’d follow Maelyn anywhere. He’d follow her through hell and high water if she’d let him. Paul would follow her through a meat packing plant blindfolded if she asked him too.

He’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go. Even if it’s only to her house and only to her bedroom. And even if it’s only them, unzipping and unbuttoning tops, Paul would do that too. Even if it’s only them topless and kicking out of shoes, Paul would follow her to that end as well. It feels right enough that he could make it work. This wouldn’t break him. Because how could Maelyn’s sweet sighs not be enough. How could the heat of her not be enough. How could the taste of her not be enough. How could anything of this, hot flesh and biting groans not be enough. How could it not be enough?

“Oh, ssh, it’s okay,” Maelyn whispers, taking his face into her hands. “No, it’s okay.”

But it doesn’t feel okay, not anymore. He wraps her up into his arms, face pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Paul inhales her scent, the body wash faded and that sweet smell of freshly cut grass invades his senses. The bed shakes for just a second and Paul knows now he’s crying. A wracking kind of sob that demands to be let free. This is the place he’s called home for almost a year. How could this not be enough when it had been for so long?

#paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote series #h writes #paul lahote x black oc #the twilight saga #twilight fanfic #twilight fic #paul lahote smut #twilight series #sam uley #leah clearwater #jacob black

9 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 28 days ago

Text

Amor Fati: Chapter 15--Granulation

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

The airport isn’t as busy as Maelyn expected. A byproduct she’s sure of the recession, though things are at a tortoise’s pace as things crawl back upwards. Her conversations with her father have all been focused on how his health is doing, and the fears surrounding his ability to maintain employment. Thankfully, now the meds are working well along with his lifestyle changes, so her father’s managed to maintain his work. Even the deli’s seen more than its fair share of slow days, shifts that are spent mostly studying for Maelyn than they are serving. There’s just enough money from kids who clearly are well off to keep Maelyn on and for that she’s beyond grateful.

Alasie managed to keep her job at the local bookstore, but getting into a school for teaching experience has been a dream placed onto the backburner. Right now, there’s only survival. For now they are surviving. Even if it feels precarious, they are alive. Alive leaves Maelyn here, scanning the faces of the rather thin crowd in the Austin airport. That is until something raises up into the air and Maelyn spots the postcard she sent nearly two and a half years ago.

Leah grins as she picks up her stride, not a full on sprint though even her jog is quick paced. Maelyn continues on, up the waiting area with a laugh bubbling from her chest. The two meet in the middle, Leah dropping her hold on the suitcase to wrap Maelyn up in a hug. Maelyn hoists Leah up, laughing as she does. Much too long, though they talked semi-regularly, Maelyn’s happy to have a tiny piece of home back, to see Leah in the flesh.

“It’s not the same,” Leah offers softly after being put back down. “With you gone, it’s not the same.”

“Move here,” Maelyn returns.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

The trip is only for three, almost four days--Maelyn’s spring break is a week, but with the anticipation of possibly a mild influx, she the majority of her shifts on the weekend, so Leah agreed to come on a Monday and stay until Thursday, where she had an evening flight back to Washington. A trip long time coming, but Leah took Maelyn’s advice and started at Shannon’s while Seth finished up his last year of high school. Life dictated that Leah would stay a little bit longer on the rez. The monotony is broken up by work to help pay for courses in her goals to earn a certificate and start with Medical Billing and Coding as a full time career. It could take Leah far from the rez, if she wanted, and Maelyn’s hopeful that soon the opportunity does open for Leah to move on, go where she wants.

“So, where to first?” Leah asks, settled into the passenger seat of Maelyn’s car. The drive to the apartment isn’t terribly long but the traffic is still thick around them.

“Anywhere you want to go really. There’s a mall not too far. We can take a walk around the campus. There’s some art museums too.”

There’s a grumbling, a deep guttural sound and Maelyn laughs at the sound from Leah’s stomach. “Or maybe food, if you don’t mind,” Leah laughs.

“Never. I made some fried fish last night. If you’re okay with leftovers.”

“Is it Mom’s recipe?”

“It might be,” Maelyn laughs.

“Good, Mom hasn’t made it in a while. I’ll be the judge on if you’ve perfected it or not. “No pressure or anything,” Maelyn snorts.

“None. Why would there be pressure?”

The apartment is still and quiet when the girls return. There’s a note on the fridge, held up by one of the magnets from a local art museum. Leah pads back to the front of the apartment, after ducking into the bathroom to find Maelyn holding the piece of notebook paper out to her. Leah takes it with a laugh.

“ ‘Dear Leah,’ ” Leah starts, reading through Alasie’s note. The handwriting is distinctly tiny and nearly all caps, though a few letters are lowercase--a mixture that Leah knows is not Maelyn’s in the slightest. “Sorry to miss your arrival. Duty calls and bills must be paid. Maelyn’s been excited about your visit. Please accept whatever’s in the fridge. We’re happy to host you. Be prepared. Tonight, you see what makes Austin the best place on earth. Love, Alasie.” Her laughter is soft. “This is so cute.”

“I managed a halfway decent roommate,” Maelyn teases as she plates the remaining leftovers out. It’s much more than that. Alasise’s a great friend, someone Maelyn’s glad to have landed with amongst the craze of the cosmos.

“Now, the truth will still be revealed about what Austin holds in store for us though. Alasie has a lot of faith.”

“She always does,” Maelyn laughs. A trait that Maelyn’s glad someone has amongst them. “But you’ll love Austin, I think. It may be misplaced faith though, so trust Alasie more.”

The apartment lights up with the smell of the fish fry and Maelyn watches Leah’s first forkful with intent. The recipe tastes good to Maelyn, tastes as close to Sue’s as she can recall it. But memory it a fault thing. It’s warped by time and distance and with the two years and four months between Maelyn and home, she’s sure she’s lost something in the stretch, that somewhere along the way she’ll imperfectly recall the measurements of something.

Leah’s chew is slow, but her hum is thoroughly pleased. “If I had them side by side, I don’t think I could tell them apart. But of course, there’s still the chance that I do.”

Maelyn doesn’t expect anything less. However, it’s the kind of compliment that Maelyn knows few people would be graced with, so she takes it in stride, while she knows the truth underneath. “You’d always be able to tell your mom’s cooking apart.”

Because that’s what mother’s do--leave the behind pieces, impressions that cannot be erased or overridden. Maelyn can only hope, now, here in the kitchen of her own apartment that her mother is proud of her, that in all the life Maelyn has lived after her mother’s death that there is something good and great in it and to come.

Leah and Maelyn venture to the campus after their lunch. Maelyn shows Leah all the lecture halls, points out where she sits in her classes this semester and the girl’s laughter trail behind them over the sidewalks. The campus can feel a bit big at times, when Maelyn has to get from one end to the next in the limited ten minutes she has on her days where she has back to back classes. But now the stroll is leisurely and slow. There’s a briskness to the March air that promises of a warm summer. A long awaited summer at that too.

“Any idea where we’re going tonight?” Leah asks after they pause and rest under a shaded tree.

“Sixth Street most likely. A friend of ours is off tonight, so we’re going somewhere new that I’ve never been before,” Maelyn answers.

“Is this person nice?”

“Brenda’s a ride, but she’s cool.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust anyone with the name Brenda.”

The disgruntled scrunch of Leah’s nose causes a fit of laughter, a bubbling echoing sound. “I swear she’s nice,” Maelyn promises.

The thing Maelyn can’t predict for is just where her promise lands her. Brenda promised to meet the trio at Maelyn’s and Alasie’s apartment, considering she lived a little bit past them and would have to pass by the complex on the way to the bars anyway. From the first crack of the door, to now under the thunderous bass of the music around them, Leah’s seemingly thick and immediate distrust has all but melted away. Not in a way that makes Maelyn think Leah’s imprinted, because Maelyn is sure if Leah had, the look would be less coy, less like a minx attempting to lure in it’s not victim.

But Brenda and Leah sway together on the dance floor, the hold Brenda has on Leah’s waist is firm without seeming overbearing. A possessive hold, but laxed, like Brenda’s more than sure Leah won’t be going where, like she’d have everything she could ever want in Brenda. Maelyn’s not left watching though. In her grasp in some twenty something box dyed red head Maelyn can’t lie and say the girl’s not gorgeous. She’s all legs and her soft brown skin looks sun kissed. Her eyes are a soft brown, hooded over in a way that Maelyn knows she shouldn’t get sucked in by. Maelyn doesn’t have this girl’s name, doesn’t truly care to get it, just takes hold of her hips and lets the music guide her. Though it is fun, it is not by any means permanent. But none of them need permanency anyway. In the game of survival, permanent does not mean much of anything.

“Want a shot?”

It’s Alasie’s voice pressed right up against Maelyn’s ear. Alcohol doesn’t do much. Can’t even create a buzz without an excess amount of it. A fact that Maelyn’s learned months ago and though she watches her other friends and these strangers take their drinks and lose themselves in the self described buzz, Maelyn’s not incredibly keen on herself. She likes a drink, won’t turn it down but never tries to push her boundaries lest she have to explain to some poor bartender why she’s multiple shots deep and not even the slightest tipsy.

“Sure,” Maelyn calls back, body still working in time with the back thrusts of the girl she’s dancing with.

“Single or double.”

“Oh, you rich now?” Maelyn laughs.

“Fuck you. Double it is.”

It’s most likely the only thing Maelyn will drink tonight and though she did agree to pay for Leah’s drink Brenda’s been all too happy to pick up the short tab herself. The night passes in a blur of sweat and bodies. Maelyn’s redhead bounces away with an empty promise to return. Not that Maelyn’s upset by it. Because the second she leaves, another girl slides in. And then another, and then another. And Maelyn dances with them all, takes each one of them gently into her hands and allows herself to bob and sway until she spins herself around and around back to Alasie.

Alasie shimmies herself out of the hold of her dance partner into Maelyn, arms slipping around Maelyn’s neck. “I think your friend’s been thoroughly hypnotized.”

Maelyn looks over to see Leah and Brenda still locked in, kissing now rather than just dancing. Maelyn lets out a whistle, a sound that no one but Leah and Alasie will hear. It earns her a middle finger but the amusement is thick and bubbles up warm in Maelyn’s chest. “I think we should be more worried for Brenda. Leah’s a bit of a hurricane when she wants to be.”

The four of them stay out well past the original anticipated time--all the last calls have been called, all the bars are shut down. There’s nothing left but the thinning streets, the last remnants of drunk rambles and shambly walks. The four girls are well and upright, arms linked in pairs--Maelyn and Alasie, Leah and Brenda--so no one gets left behind.

“I’d love to see you again,” Brenda remarks, at the door of Maelyn and Alasie’s door, to Leah.

“I know we don’t have a solid plan tomorrow. Would you be free?”

“A picnic for lunch?”

“See you then.”

It’s more luck than Maelyn’s had, but Leah’s shy smile tells Maelyn all she needs to know--that Leah’s needed something like this for a while now. And it is rather endearing to watch them. How they smile at each other with a kind of unabashed excitement. The kind of look that Maelyn’s going to get lost in if she watches too much, for too long.

Brenda’s kiss to Leah’s cheek is swift and they finally unlink arms. “Sleep well,” Brenda whispers and then carries on, her black jeans and white muscle tank a beacon in the dark night.

“I thought you wouldn’t trust anyone named Brenda,” Maelyn teases now that the front door is closed.

“I trust one Brenda, just one.”

“So a picnic date? Let’s see what outfits you’ve got,” Alasie suggests.

“Oh, fuck,” Leah groans. “I do not have much to wear.”

“Borrow something of mine if it fits,” Maelyn suggests. “Boutique de Maelyn is always open and happy to serve our most loyal customers.”

“And then after the picnic we go to that museum you were talking about, that’s close by the piercing shop?” Leah offers up, referring to their earlier discussion of what to do tomorrow. Maelyn continued to go back and forth on the idea of a nose piercing. But the crash changed her tune and instead she focused on saving for Leah’s trip and keeping herself alive. The idea never left; it was only placed further and further onto the back burner, further and further pushed so that the essentials were taken care of. Maelyn assumed if she wanted long enough, she’d manage to talk herself out of such an idea, that it was a bit of a bridge too far.

Yet the idea remained, circling and circling. Much like Paul did. A new theme in her life, Maelyn starts to notice.

“And all the while, I demand the details of your date, in tedious and microscopic fashion. Every second.”

“You’re actually worse than my mother,” Leah laughs, but nods at the request.

****************

He doesn’t need the boxes just yet. Paul knows that. That doesn’t stop him though, when he manages to spot a box big enough to move with and sturdy enough to handle the drive, he pulls it aside, breaks it down on his lunch and then places it into the truck. It’s just preparation, the kind of thing that gives Paul just enough motivation to see it all the way through. But habit enough now that his name rings out at least twice a week. He answers the call each time and there, with a wave or jerky point, a colleague or his mentor will point out some box they’ve shoved into some corner. “That the right size?”

So Paul always looks, inspects the box thoroughly and if deemed appropriate nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course. Not going to be the same once you leave.”

“I’ll visit,” Paul returns, knowing that it is a promise he intends to keep. He does want to visit, and he will.

He just has to follow first.

“Come see me before you leave today.”

The warning falls short and with a hint of something like sadness, but not true sadness dipped in beneath it from Paul’s boss. Paul nods. “Understood.”

And the exchange ends there, with Paul trekking back to his assignment, the toolbelt tapping against his thighs with his careful steps. The budding fall only means one thing--November will come before Paul can really blink. November 7th etched into his memory like a tattoo, a date that he can’t forget, won’t let himself forget it really. It still feels too far away to be real, but it’s only six weeks away. Only six weeks away but there’s still much to be done until then.

He doesn’t linger on that thought though. He returns to the wires, and grounds, and focuses on the tasks at hand. Until the day ends and Paul takes himself back to the office, knocks on the wooden door to gain the attention of the older man behind the desk. His graying beard gives away his age, but the man holds only a few wrinkles on his white skin. “Said you wanted to see him,” Paul offers up when his boss looks at him.

“Yeah, take a seat.”

Only once Paul’s crossed over the threshold does he start to worry if it’s bad news. Paul can’t recall being in trouble recently. His mentor checked over all his work, and had to give a few pointers and remainders, but that’d been months ago--things that Paul is sure he can do now in his sleep. He settles into the seat though, fingers winding around the fabric of the chair and prays that it’s not something bad.

“So, I got word back from Texas. Your transfer’s approved and finalized. Your first day will be November 9th.” Paperwork slides across the desk and Paul reaches out for it with an exhale. “You’ll notice that your take home will change--different tax laws and such. It ain’t much but there’s a twenty-five cent pay differential too. Wanted to give you more since you're a great employee and I had to fight hard just for that. Economy and all. Finish up strong during this apprenticeship and then I do recommend moving on from where you’re placed. You can find better work, and hopefully by the time you’re done things will have bounced back a little bit more.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

“Oh, don’t go thanking me. If I had my way, you’d be staying here,” he laughs. “The address is at the top there, on the first page. You shouldn’t have to do much besides bring that packet in for your first day. A lot of the other stuff is handled or will be handled on your first day. But your last day is already logged too--on the 23rd of October--so all you have to do now is just keep showing up.”

“The easy part,” Paul laughs. Because it is easy. He likes the work. The classes and theory are all good to have, he knows that. But there’s nothing like him using his own hands to do it for everything to click. So far, each day is better and better. It’s easier to recall the information he needs, the steps and the order they go in. Doing the work feels right to Paul now.

“Good luck out there. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll go far out there, kid. You will. I’m proud of you.”

The words sting--not in the way that it hurts because it’s mean spirited, but in the way that Paul’s never heard them lately. He knows people care about him--it’s why Emily still cuts his hair when he asks, mostly to trim up the ends. It’s why Embry and him go to the movies. It’s why Tyler invites him to hang out. It’s why Sam checks in on Paul if there’s been a couple weeks since the last time he’s shown up at the house. There are plenty of people that care about Paul.

But there are only a select few, not even a full hand of them, that have said they’re proud of him. Paul’s not even sure the last time he’s heard that from his father--even though his father had wanted to see him do well, there hadn’t been the utterance of the phrase, I’m proud of you. The sting of the tears is immediate and rather than telling himself not to feel this, rather than locking down and tightening the bolts of how good it feels to be seen, Paul nods instead. He lets the wave of emotion--heavy and sudden-crash over him and exhales.

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Paul whispers.

“Shit, if you start crying, I’ll start crying.” The laughter doesn’t hide the shakes. The laughter doesn’t hide that both of them reach for the box of tissues on the desk. The laughter doesn’t hide the swift hug.

Paul’s proud of himself too. He can hear the soft voice in the back of his mind--Maelyn’s voice he knows by the cadence--that tells him he should be proud of himself, that above the approval of others, Paul should be seeking the approval of himself. Yet, the external validation still helps. It still means a lot to hear it from someone else.

He keeps collecting boxes though and takes his days off to go to the library, and there, when he searches through various ads for housing leads, and goes to work when he’s supposed to. But all the while Paul is watching as his father dives deeper and deeper into bottles. A push further and further away, but it still hurts. They can’t keep living like this, hardly talking, but rather than being angry at his father, now all Paul has is sadness.

There’d been no resolution on Paul’s theory--if this is just a tactic to make Paul leave faster or if it’s his father’s actual attempts to take his own life one sip at a time. But this is not the way he’d want his father to. He’d rather his father clean up his act, get his life together. The can falls into the trash behind him with a clink, hitting the other cans already resting inside. Paul doesn’t turn to the sound. Paul only has two weeks left before he sets out. His room is a haunting hole--his bed and his sheets left, his work clothes, the bare necessities that remain.

“Dad,” Paul starts, still running the block of cheese over the grater to coat the stuffed peppers waiting to go into the oven. “If you’re trying to kill yourself, there’s faster ways to do it.”

“I take it you’re still going. To Texas.” The words are slurred, but they almost always are now.

“Yes.” Either his father didn’t hear him or has elected to ignore him and Paul wonders which one of those realities is best.

“People been saying you’re good at that electrician stuff. Ran into your boss the other day--or was it Tuesday? What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Paul answers.

“One of ‘em days. He said I should be proud of you and the good work you do. And I told him I already was and already had been. And that you was leaving anyway.”

It’s not the same, but it’s pretty damn close, to have the implied proud. But the slurry speech and half finished thoughts that come and go as his father speaks undermine the spark of joy that Paul has. Because he’s not sure how much his father is aware of what he’s saying. If his father truly means the context of those words, or even understands them.

The oven beeps to signal it’s finished pre-heated stage and Paul slips the two dishes of peppers inside. He winds the chicken shaped timer and sets it down once the steady ticking echoes. When Paul turns, Paul finds his father splayed out in the chair, bones liquid and muscles too drunk to contract and hold him upright. One of these days Paul figures he’s going to get a call about his father turned over in a ditch somewhere, truck flipped over. It will leave him wondering if Paul could’ve done more or should’ve done more to save his father.

But how does Paul help a man that doesn’t seemingly want help?

Paul pushes off the kitchen counter and walks to the small dining room table. His father lifts his head at Paul’s approach, eyes dancing. Paul takes his father’s face in his hands, praying that the words will actually stick, that they’ll actually make it through the muffle of the alcohol. “I want to be proud of you, Dad. When I come back to visit, I want to be shocked that you’ve got your life together, that you’re sober, you’ve put weight back on, that you go to the doctor regularly. But I know that when I come back it’ll be for your funeral. Because you didn’t get your act together. Because you flipped your truck, or hit something, or maybe because you fell asleep one night and didn’t wake back up or maybe you choked on your own vomit with no one else around to help in enough time. I need you to prove me wrong. Prove me wrong, got it? Because when I leave, there won’t be anyone else but you left.”

But his father’s gaze is too unfocused, eyes blinking close before snapping open again and Paul knows that’s probably no real use. He waits though for a few more seconds, but no intelligible answer comes. So Paul turns, heads back to his room to collect the last remnants of his laundry so that Friday after work he can do laundry. The peppers still have about twenty minutes so that the cheese on top is thoroughly melted. Paul just hopes his father’s managed to catch even the faintest fraction of what Paul is asking for, that there’s enough lucidity that something manages to get through.

Paul wants to tell his father about the going away party that Sam and Emily have put together on Paul’s behalf. But that might not be worth it either. There may be no actually getting through to his father until his father faced the consequences. Until Paul’s not there anymore to keep everything from falling apart. It hurts, knowing that his father’s fate could be coming at any second and he didn’t seem to care to stop it.

Paul pauses his hurried clear when the old gray towel swirls in vision and he hears now the ragged breaths he keeps trying to pull in, but his chest is too tight. Would his own desire be pulling the pin on his father’s death? Would it be his father’s blood on Paul’s hands?

Would the answer ever be enough to stop Paul? The question floors him and Paul sits on the bathroom floor, listening to his own wheezy breaths, only broken twice by the shaking sob that cracks through his chest until the kitchen timer shrills through the air of the house. All his tried and true breathing techniques do nothing to stop the truth, the crumbling reality around them now.

There’s nothing left to stop Paul. And there’s certainly nothing left to stop his father’s own demise. There are immovable forces that have not found their unstoppable objects.

It’s a shockingly clear day on the Saturday Paul sets out for this drive. The last of his truck is packed up, with Sam, Embry, Jared, and Emily standing around him. There’s a gentle breeze, but no rain and plenty of sun breaking in through the passing clouds. What his father decides to do or not do won’t stop Paul. He still has a life to live. Paul’s father would have to want to get better himself and though Sam asked--or more like volunteered to keep an eye on his dad--Paul wanted to tell Sam to spend his time more wisely. Instead Paul thanked Sam, but did ensure to tell Sam to not put in more effort than was being shown in return.

“Call us when you stop along the way for the nights, okay?” Emily breaks through the silence first. She smiles as she makes her request, but it’s wobbly.

“Em, I will call each time I stop for the night,” Paul returns in a promise. “Don’t worry about me. I turn into a literal wolf.”

“Yeah, but a wolf won’t stop a mechanical problem. Or a wrong turn.”

“I’ve got a map. I studied this route,” Paul reassures before motioning for a hug. Her hug is tight and she shakes, but Paul holds tighter, tries to press into her bones just how safe he will be on this journey. This isn’t the kind of reaction he anticipated, but Paul knows it’s because she cares. “Now Sam will have to be the first to try all your new recipes, so take it easy on him, alright?”

Emily nods. “When you see her, tell her we love her, okay?”

“I’ll let Maelyn know.”

Paul doesn’t let go until Emily does and when she peels herself away, wiping at her cheeks as she goes, Sam’s there to collect her. Sam looks to Paul, a hand soothing over Emily’s back as he warns, “Take your time on the road. You’ve got a heavy load.”

“I plan to. Thanks.” The bed of the truck is pretty full, but it’s strapped down well, thanks to the makeshift topper they were able to put together with some help of some welders that Tyler knows. Paul has extra straps in his backpack in the cab. He hopes though that he doesn’t need them.

Embry’s slap against his back isn’t hard, but it’s just enough. “I’ll miss you, man. I’ll have to come visit.”

“That would be nice,” Paul agrees, slipping into Embry’s embrace for a quick hug.

Jared sends him off with a wave. “Tell us how big the world is. Or at least the states you’ll be crossing,” Jared laughs.

Paul keeps his word, when he pulls into the motel lots and gets a room, the first thing he does is dial Sam’s and Emily’s. She always answers with his name, like she knows it’s him, or maybe it’s a prayer and thankfully Paul answers. He calls from Portland, Boise, Twin Falls, Salt Lake City, Moab, Albuquerque, Lubbock, and on the last day, when he pulls finally into the parking lot of his apartment on the East side of Austin, with his keys in his hands for his unit, he dials one last time from his cellphone--acquired just a couple days before he took on the week long drive. The call rings once, then twice.

“Paul?”

“It’s me, Em. I made it to my apartment.”

“Good, that’s good. I’m sure you’re tired. Have you been able to shop around for a bed yet?”

“I just got the keys. I’m going to take a look around inside, drop off the valuable stuff and clear the bed out then do some shopping around. It’ll come together.” He doesn’t have much time to make it come together. His first day is in a week. But it wouldn’t have to come together all the way. He’d need to take it room by room. Get his bedroom settled first and the kitchen. Then piece together what he can for the living room.

“If you ever need anything just call us, okay?”

“Will do.”

Paul had a feeling when he called in to inquire about the studio apartment that it probably wasn’t on the best side of town. But there’s an odd comfort watching the hodgepodge, people sitting on their stoops, the blasting of music from the opened window. Sure Paul would keep his wits about him, make sure he wasn’t being taken advantage of, but there’s some pieces of anonymity that would find him here amongst the mixture.

He secures the ponytail again, his hair still long and confirms the number to his apartment written inside of the folder he was handed after he signed copies of the lease. The two teenage boys scoot just enough for Paul to take the steps up, nodding at his approach. Paul returns the gesture and then carries on up to the end of the first second floor walkway to find his apartment near the back. There isn’t a lot to it. A fridge, the stove, minimal counter space, a microwave. But it’s all Paul’s so that’s the only thing that matters. Paul is here, in Texas, the purple gemstone and all her cards and letters folded up neatly inside of the box--that he’s going to return to Maelyn.

It takes Paul too many trips, though the two teen boys offer to help Paul, to get the boxes into the apartment. It’s not hard work, but takes coordination to get up the steps given how high Paul makes the stacks. But when the bed is clear, Paul exhales and takes in a survey of the area he has left for the mattress, where and how he can section off the sleeping quarters. Right now Paul does sort of wish he had someone to help him. But perhaps the pieces would all come together once he started getting the furniture.

Just as Paul figures he could survive on a twin for a little bit longer, given that he already has the sheets for one, a soft knock rings out against his door. It strikes him odd, but he pushes onward and takes a peek out through the peephole. He can just barely see the top of the person’s head, the hair a grayed and white mixture. He cracks open the door and an older woman smiles at him, her face tanned in a way that Paul knows only sun can do.

“Welcome,” she states. The housecoat is a light blue. Her white sneakers are well worn. Paul should respond but he’s a little shocked by her greeting, as if she waited for his arrival. Her face widens though. “Oh, lo siento,” she starts and then the words fall in rapid succession that Paul understands is in Spanish but he can’t understand what the individual meanings, can’t dissect what she might be attempting to convey to him. He’d barely passed the class in high school and certainly his rudimentary understanding would not ever keep up with her rapid pace--clearly her native tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not--I don’t speak Spanish. You just shocked me, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She laughs, the kind of sound that shouldn’t strike Paul’s chest like it does, but he wonders if which apartment is hers, if she has grandkids that will be around. “No, no, no, it’s okay. I just wanted to welcome you. I saw you moving boxes. Figured you were moving in. I’m Gina.”

“Paul,” he returns and then steps aside out of habit. Then he laughs, the action finally catching up with him. “I-I just started to offer a spot inside but I don’t have a spot.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I appreciate it. I’m two doors down from you,” she points and Paul follows the direction for a brief second before nodding. “Now, tell me, if I brought you something, would you eat it? You look healthy, strong, but oh I don’t want to impose you know.”

“I would, but don’t feel like you have. It’s really okay. I appreciate you just here, now, knocking at my door.”

She waves at Paul, laughing again as if he’s somehow lost all his marbles to suggest such a thing. “No, no, don’t flatter me. I’ll be back tomorrow with a little something. Poke me if you need anything okay?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Gina. And I’m supposed to be offering if you need something to get me.”

Gina taps at his forearm, another laugh falling from her. “Handsome devil and polite. Don’t open that box if you don’t mean it. I’ll be knocking.”

“I mean it, so knock. Anytime.”

“Hmm, we’ll see how long that lasts. Now, before I go, you’re not allergic to anything, right?”

Paul shakes his head. “No, no allergies.”

“Good, good. I’ll be seeing you Paul. Tomorrow.”

Paul knows where Maelyn lives at least, in West Austin, relatively close to the campus, and he’s made sure in the week he’s been in town to avoid that side of town as much as possible. Classes are in session that much he knows, but still, during the day when he can, he tries not to be over there if he can’t help it. It helps though that most of this day is spent driving from thrift store to thrift store to furniture store to help get the items he needs.

He even spends his evenings in Mrs. Gina’s apartment, taking in the photographs she has splayed over her wall--the Virgin Mary and other religious iconography also thrown into the mixture. He spends most evenings helping her with small projects around her apartment, dusting the high to reach shelves and areas for her, pulling out and putting back the tubs of various decor and family heirloom items. Paul learns, as he hangs and rehangs, and rehangs pictures about her only daughter who married and set out behind the husband due to his constant relocations during his extended contract with the Air Force. With them, Mrs. Gina shares, the children go too. So her time with her family is limited, but clearly cherished as she works now to get everything that she needs out for Thanksgiving though it’s still weeks away. Her husband passed away a couple years ago, so now it just leaves her in the apartment.

“You’re quieter than usual, Paul. Everything okay?”

He has his own countdown, the realization that tomorrow he’ll have to breach the invisible barrier he’s had up for the last eight days now. “You know how you asked why I moved and I told you for a job?”

“Sí, sí, I remember.”

“There’s also someone I moved for, Maelyn. And I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow.”

“Oh, oh,” the understanding dawns and she shuffles over to him, urging him away from his work at the top of her cabinets bringing down the good plates down that she requested and doing a swap so the non essential drinkware and plates are up and out of the way. “Tell me about her, hijo. What is she like?”

The thing about it is that Paul doesn’t know what she’s like now, only knows what Maelyn was like before. “It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen her. But she’s incredible and I’m hoping things go well.”

“They will. They will. Show up with flowers. That’s always a good trick.”

Flowers aren’t a bad idea. Paul marinates on the idea well after he finished helping Mrs. Gina, laying on his full sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplates the whole night. He had more space than he thought and opted for the full which then needed new sheets, but Mrs. Gina, being the ever present angel in his life, found an old set of full size black and gold ornate bedding she intended to give away and Paul was the perfect candidate. He’d use it for the time being. It may not be his ideal set, but with only the costs of him receiving another two mason jars of pozole and helping with the wobbly dining room table Paul would readily take the bedding.

By wee early hours of the morning, Paul has a plan: he’ll go for his usual morning run, return home to shower, grab the box, find a floral shop in West Austin, and somewhere in all of that actually eat something too. He’d heard about a deli on that sound of town from a couple of his neighbors, who Paul managed to small chat with when bringing in groceries one day. The deli’s only a few minutes from Maelyn’s apartment, so he could eat and then head to her--enough time to help him build his confidence, but so close that he wouldn’t be able to chicken out at the last minute. Especially if he went to the floral shop first.

But a late morning start sends Paul spiraling, in all his time contemplating, he watches nearly every hour on the clock pass. By the time he’s up with enough sleep to make him functional, his plan feels like it’s crumbling. It’s still only 9, plenty of time. But Paul rushes to get up and get out of the door for his run. There’s no time limit. Maelyn never said it had to be early in the morning or late at night. She just agreed on the 7th of November. But in Paul’s head, he’d planned to be up early, possibly even call Maelyn before showing up so that they could make a solid plan and make sure that she was actually home and actually still in Texas and still wanted Paul.

All of which can still happen, but now he feels like he’s scrambling. He calls it quits on his run sooner than normal, but 2.5 miles is better than no miles. Now that panic’s settled in, Paul wonders if he should even go to the floral shop. Not until he at least calls Maelyn, gets confirmation that she’s free to meet today and wants to meet him. He’ll call from the deli, after he’s eaten or while he eats to help him make up for lost time. Because Paul can’t back out now.

He cannot back out now. So, the plan must change, but that wouldn’t ruin it at all. Changed plans aren’t ruined plans, Paul tells himself. At the light, he feels for the box and it’s still wrapped up in the orange flannel shirt, still there and this can all still happen.

****************

Maelyn never intended to be working today. She’d instead wanted to be off, be near her phone in case Paul called, if he’d call. But in the midst of her early wake and before delving into her studies, the assistant manager of the deli called--not who she wanted to hear--and asked her to please cover a shift. Megan called out sick and with the impending lunch boom they couldn’t really afford to be short staffed. Though she shouldn’t have gotten the call, Maelyn’s still relatively grateful she did.

It’s painstaking to sit at her job and watch the clock. But at home she knows she would’ve absolutely gotten no work done. With Alasie gone most of the days on the weekend, still taking any and all shifts at the bookstore, Maelyn’s ability to have distractions would’ve been zero. No distractions would’ve driven her mad, would’ve sent her up the walls of her apartment. So at the very least, here at the deli’s there’s still work--orders to take, orders to serve, customers to greet.

It’s not as busy as a Saturday can get, but it’s still busy nonetheless. The 8 top is the biggest table yet that Maelyn’s seen or witnessed, but the day is still relatively early, just a little past 11 now. “Hi, my name is Maelyn and I’ll be your server for today,” she greets, pulling out the well practiced smile from all her years of food service. “Can I get you all started on drinks? Or do we still need a minute?”

The drink orders come--lemonade, iced tea, iced tea, water, iced tea, Coke, Sprite, iced tea-- and Maelyn nods. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

The iced teas are common and she’s not shocked it’s the majority but as she waits, filling cups with ice, pulling at the drink tabs, she wonders if her phone’s rang. If somewhere in the break room, Paul’s called her and she’s been here, waiting on her third cup of ice tea to fill. With the number of drinks, Maelyn loads up the serving disc, working it up onto her shoulder with ease. “Behind,” she calls out, not wanting to chance for a single second that someone else thinks they’re clear to take that step back and she is directly behind them.

The front of the house is lively as ever, a chatter that she drowns out, weaving in and around the chairs and people to get to her table. There’s little thought as she slips the tray onto the empty table behind them and starts placing drinks down. She goes in the order in which they rattled them off--lemonade, iced tea, iced tea, water, iced tea, Coke, Sprite, iced tea--so she doesn’t miss anyone and doesn’t mix them up.

The parking lot’s growing though, when she hazards a glance out of the window. And when she does, he’s there, slipping out of the truck--the same lightly rusted blue one he’s had since Paul got the title signed over to him. Maelyn blinks, once, then twice, a third time. And each time she does, Paul doesn’t disappear from the parking lot.

Instead he grows closer.

But she has her table.

But Paul’s there in the parking lot.

The orange flannel she reworked for him slipped over his arms. Fits him better now somehow than it did when she first gave it to him. His hair is longer, pulled back now from his face. There’s a scruffy start to a beard decorating his jaw. He looks good, but still like Paul.

But she has her table.

“Are-are you ready to order?” Maelyn questions to her table, still glancing out of the window. There’s a grumbled exchange, a mixture of yes’ and no’s. Maelyn can’t believe Paul’s here in Texas. “I can give a few more minutes, would that help?”

There’s a larger consensus yes and the second the group agrees to the extra time, Maelyn nods, sliding the black tray onto the empty table and takes off for the front door. Paul is here, in Texas. He followed just like he said he would. Chosen again, but more than that, more than Paul following through what Maelyn wants is to choose him. Take him back. Because it’s always been Paul.

“Where are you going?” Charles calls out.

“Just give me two minutes,” Maelyn hollers back. “Two minutes I swear!”

Just two minutes that’s all she needs. Just two minutes and she takes off into a sprint around the corner, hoping she can beat Paul to the punch. Because he fucking came, traveled all the way from Washington to Texas just for her, and for the life of her, Maelyn can say without a doubt that maybe beyond the imprint there is something more, something better.

**************

“You have something I’ve been looking for.”

Paul knows that voice anywhere. The voice that’s been playing in the back of his mind for the last three years, but never presently. The same voice he hears when he reads through the cards. The same voice that used to make his innards melt. And still does, even now, three years later. He looks up from the rather crowded insides of the deli, part of him cursing his late start yet again.

And there’s Maelyn.

Maelyn looks the same, roughly. The cascading waves of her hair are still short, though the ends are dyed a bright copper color like Shannon used to do. Her nose is pierced, a thin gold hoop hugging her left nostril now. But she still looks like she always did. The same umber brown skin, the sharp eyes. the same. The nose ring fits her face, it’s not too large that it overpowers and it’s not too small that it disappears either. The black t-shirt sports the deli’s logo over the breast pocket. The black apron around her waists tells Paul she is definitely still working, but she’s standing there, in front of him.

“You came and I really hope you have the thing I’m looking for,” she laughs.

“I told you I would,” Paul returns, reaching into the pocket of his jeans--the good pair of jeans that he owns, not his work pants that are dusty and worse for wear. His hands shake, as he opens the box, to prove that he’d meant it when he begged to have permission to follow behind her.

Paul imagined that he’d have to find her, convince Maelyn to meet with him again. But like magic, she materialized. She rounded that corner. She appeared in front of him. She’d asked him about the gemstone. Chosen--that’s what it is. She’s chosen him, even though it may not be perfect or may not always be perfect in the future.

Maelyn’s chosen his back.

The gem rattles in the box but Paul finally get the top free and there still resting like it has been for the last three years-save for the times Paul’s polished it--is the amethyst gemstone. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the chain still around her neck.

Maelyn nods, slipping the chain off. Paul doesn’t miss the ice cream charm still hanging. Though, he’s not shocked that it hasn’t changed. Jacob would always be important to Maelyn in respects that Paul would never be jealous of, not anymore. Paul threads the gem back through, careful to make sure the moon will face the right way on her once it’s on again.

She even smells the same--that freshly cut grass smell low underneath the smell of the oil from the food cooked around her. Maelyn spins back around to face him--the two of them nearly perfectly matched in height--Paul’s boots give him an inch of advantage but none of that seemingly matters when Maelyn closes the gap, runs her palm over his cheek and laughs. Paul’s knees nearly give out at the touch.

Before it’d felt off, not complete in the way Paul knew it used to feel. But now Paul can’t imagine how that might’ve happened. It’s still different, not like it used to be, but it’s comforting. It strikes at Paul’s core in a way so familiar that words like right and wrong, or complete or not complete are inadequate. Maelyn’s touch feels like a return to home. He feels cradled in the caressed, loved for in a way that’s about him and not what he can do for the other person. It’s love that's not about some sort of genetic code. It’s love out of choice. “That’s a new look.”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Pot meet kettle. I noticed the nose ring and the hair is still short and now dyed. You can’t hide from me.” Because he would always see. He’d always choose to see Maelyn.

“Fair,” Maelyn laughs. “Fair.” She runs her hand down his chest, as if touching him will keep him from disappearing, but Paul has nowhere else to go. “I have to get back. To work and all, but stay. Eat something. Just please stay. I promise to tell you those stories.”

“Don’t get fired because of me, okay? I’ll stay. For however long you want me to.” Paul doesn’t just mean at the deli, but he can start there. He can start there and together they can build up to something more.

She takes only a step and then pauses. “Thanks for bringing this back.”

“Always,” Paul returns. “Now, again, do not get fired because of me. I am still too young to be a sugar daddy.”

Her grin is sharp and devious. “But I’m just young enough to be a sugar baby.”

It doesn’t really matter that she’s older, Paul’s unable to hold back the hearty laugh as she leads them both back inside.

“Mae, you can worry about your love life off the clock.” The man’s shorter than them both, a thick mustache on his upper lip. Paul glances down to the nametag: Charles, Assistant Manager. “And that was longer than two minutes!”

“Please do not have a cow, Charles.” There’s one last squeeze to Paul’s hand before she pulls away. “Put him in my section please, Anna,” Maelyn calls out, going back for a black tray and turns to the rather large table of people with a sincere apology on her face. “So sorry about that. Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right back to get your orders.”

“Do not sit him in her section,” Charles retorts. “No love on the clock.”

Anna, the short woman at the entrance, smiles up at Paul. “Maelyn’s section only has a booth right now, but I like her. So just for one?”

“Uh,” Paul laughs. “Yeah, just me.”

“Excellent. Follow me.”

“This isn’t going to cause trouble now is it?” Paul follows behind Anna, not a full stride so he’s not ahead of her, given the drastic height difference between the two of them.

“We all give Charles a hard time. Do not fret,” she returns, pushing up the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “He loves us anyhow.” She waves to the booth, slipping the menu onto the tabletop. “Maelyn will be with you shortly.”

Paul slips into the booth. It’s soft and more modern than the booths at Shannon’s diner. He’s not worried about the wait. Maelyn could take as long as she needed. This could take as long as it needed. Time means nothing now. Maelyn returns, pen poised to take orders and Paul finds himself only watching, relieved to spot the purple stone tapping at her chest, matching yet again to the tiger’s eye resting beneath his black t-shirt.

#paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote x black oc #paul lahote series #h writes #twilight #the twilight saga #leah clearwater #jacob black #sam uley #emily young #jared cameron #embry call #quil ateara

3 notes · View notes