08 | Running In Circles
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It's been three weeks since I moved back to Ivefield and I'vealreadyseemed to adopt the mind-numbingly repetitive pattern of this place.
I wake up in the same apartment, check my emails, edit photos, go to the gym, occasionally end up back home.
You could convince me I'd lived here for years.
And I know it's crazy to complain about, no one forced me here, no one dragged me back, but it's like there's some unspoken weight dragging me down with every day. But I guess life has always felt like that for me, this weird amalgamation of patterns that blur into one.
It's how I ended up stuck with shitty people making shitty decisions, I let life wear me down and complained about it instead of pulling myself out.
But even on days like today, where my daily routine is interrupted by something, it doesn't feeldifferent enough. It doesn't help that I'm going to see my mom, a task I need to do but can't fully find the want to. I don't even want to figure out what emotion is preventing me.
Understanding how your brain works is overrated.
When I pull into the driveway my mind flits back to Ava's words from the other day, when I was making a half-assed attempt at fixing shit I know nothing about. She was frowning in that way she always does, pink lips a little parted.
You act like you hate this place, like you'd rather be anywhere else, but somehow, you're always here.
She's not wrong. I don't know why I keep ending up here either.
I mean, I do, it makes sense, but I still feel like I'm not welcome, like the ghost of my past still haunts every room I walk through. I haven't even been in my childhood bedroom, the one place I can't stomach. It's stupid, really, it's just a room.
I make a quick glance over to the quiet Quinn household, lights off and car not in their driveway. It's still, like it always is, the two of them never really making themselves known. The complete opposite to my car crash of a family.
I slip my keys into the door, listening for any noise.
I know dad will be working at this time, thank fuck, because seeing them both together is so awkward it makes me want to blow my brains out.
I can deal with mom as much as I need to, at least she listens to me, is less of a brick wall.
I don't like how she insists on me coming over to this house though.
After wandering a little aimlessly I find her in the backyard, tending to something she's planted in her little garden. She loves being out there, even a week before December apparently.
"Hi, mom," I say, pushing open the door. My breath floats up into the cold air.
"Oh, hello."
She turns a little, flashing glassy brown eyes and a half-smile, like she tried and couldn't fully get all the way there. Her hair is piled in a bun above her head, a thick knitted jumper over her torso.
"What are these?" I ask, gesturing to whatever is hiding beneath the soil she's watering.
"Carrots..." Her breath is soft, maybe even older than it should sound at her age, "And kale... never grown it before but it's supposed to grow well in winter."
I nod, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
"You used to love the carrots, you know, you'd help me cut them up and put them in stew. You must've been about five," She almost laughs, eyes away from me like they're finding the memory.
I can't place it myself. I can't place a lot of memories. It's like the blurred mess of my adolescence decided to wipe about anything before that too. It's things like this that make me really, really not want to understand anything going on up in the scattered mess of my brain.
"I'm sure I'll still love the carrots," I mutter back, throwing a smile.
She shakes her head gently, "You went off my stew... all my cooking actually."
I almost wince. Jesus.
"That's not true... I like your food, mom," It comes out too flat, like I'm convincing myself.
She doesn't say anything, sighing weakly before angling down her watering can again. The noise of water trickles into the air and my ears, everything stiff and awkward like it always is.
"Your sister's up for a promotion," She speaks eventually, "It's got her bouncing off the walls of this house like a three year old."
"When isn't she bouncing off the walls?" I mutter back.
Riley hasn't told me about the promotion. I can't figure out if I should care about that. I hear her words again, she thinks I'm cold, heartless. Maybe there is some weird shell that's not quite dissolved, a layer that came up when protecting myself against the things I used to feel.
"You... busy?" My mom's voice is hesitant, like she doesn't know the right words, "You know, with your work?"
"I have a shoot for a brand next week, nothing crazy but different to what I usually do. It'll be me and some other photographers," I explain, "After that I'll do a few portraits in my studio... then break for Christmas."
"That's good, I'm happy it's all working out for you," She says back, that twitching smile gracing her face again.
"Thanks."
It's not much, but it's a bigger compliment that I'm used to from her so I happily take it. Lifeis working out for me, that's what matters right now. I'm doing something with my life, pushing myself away from the past and (hopefully) repairing these very broken walls with my family.
"Oh," She says suddenly, eyes glancing past me through the back door, "I made a few too many cookies earlier, would you mind taking them next door?"
I nod gently, "Yeah, sure."
My parents have always liked the Quinn's.
Ava and Riley's friendship was the main catalyst for their meeting but our moms found their own similarities, got along well through the slew of school events over the years.
That tipped over into a stronger bond when Ava's dad left.
My mom went into full on care-taker mode and made them enough meals to last a lifetime.
They never talked about it though, still never do. Ava especially, I haven't ever heard her utter a word about her dad. Though suppose it's none of my business, I'm the last person on this earth she'd tell anything to.
"They're in a container on the kitchen counter."
I nod again before turning around and heading inside, picking up the cold plastic as I make my way through the kitchen. My feet cross from wooden flooring onto frosty, cold concrete as I traverse over to that house next door, its door familiar.
For a moment I wonder if Ava is in. I'm sure she won't be, from what Riley's rambled on about she works full shifts most days at a cafe, hence why the car is no longer in the driveway.
There's a part of me that hopes she is here, I'd be able to revel in the little insulted look on her face as she saw me.
I reach up and press my finger to the doorbell.
There's a slight wait before the door finally opens, a tired-looking woman pulling a dressing gown tighter over her pyjamas as she takes in my appearance. There's confusion in her eyes momentarily but then it softens. Ava's mom.
"Nolan?" She says, a cautious smile on her face.
I widen my eyes a little. Shit. I'd forgotten she worked night shifts, I probably interrupted her catching up on sleep.
I clear my throat, "I'm sorry if I woke you up Ms Quinn, I-"
"It's no bother," She interrupts, waving a dismissive hand, "And call me Janet, you've known me long enough, don't you think?"
Her tone is friendly, face radiating some sense of warmth. Despite the fact we've never interacted much, aside from her guiding my stumbling younger self off her property, she's still kind. That always struck me, her kindness, mainly because it's non-exist between me and my mother.
"My mom made cookies," I explain, offering the box out to her.
She looks at it for a moment, rolling her eyes before taking it, "Your mother... always making something for me. Remind her I can cook myself, hm?"
"I'll let her know," I mutter back, flashing a smile.
"How have you been?" Janet adds, tilting her head gently, "Ava mentioned you'd moved back but it's hard for me to pry information out of her these days."
The thought amuses me. What does Ava say about me? She's clearly never told her mom much, at least not that she sort-of, partially hates me. I doubt I'd be met with such an accommodating attitude if she knew that.
"Good, yeah, I've been working mostly, but good."
She nods, "It's photography, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Nice, that suits you," She asserts, voice sure.
"It does?" The words fall from my lips, a genuine surprise in my tone. I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before.
"Of course..." She glances at me a little harder, "You've grown into a handsome young man, haven't you? I told Ava you would but she never wanted to hear it."
I chuckle slightly at the compliment, the switch in conversation catching me off guard.
I don't really ever get embarrassed but something in me stills, perhaps it's her cadence, her abrupt outspokenness.
The cold wind graces the open skin of my now empty hands and I thread them back into my pockets.
I don't even have time to come up with a reply before she speaks again.
"Maybe we'll have to set you two up, hm?"
Oh? I really don't know what to say to that. I've dealt with compliments in my time but this is a step further than flattering. Me and Ava? Maybe if she'd suggested it a month ago it'd be completely laughable but with Riley lecturing me it's not as outlandish as it should be.
It is still extremely insane. That would never happen. Because Ava doesn't exist in that space in my head, because I've never seen her like that. She barely tolerates me and I find some joy in teasing her, we're far off anything like the people around us keep trying to suggest.
Besides, it confirms the fact Janet knows little of my past or she really wouldn't be trying to set us up. I fucking wouldn't be.
Words don't seem to form in my mouth, brain buffering, so I just laugh it off again, eyes flicking down to the step I'm perched on for a moment.
"Well, thank you for the cookies," She sighs with a wide smile, "I'll see you around, you and your sister should come over some time."
"Yeah," I nod back, "Maybe we should."
I don't think Ava would agree with that.
She throws a few more fluttering goodbyes my way before the door is shut, leaving me alone again. I hover on the step for a moment before turning to head back home. I only make it to my family's driveway before my spinning thoughts bring me to a stop.
I dig in my pockets, dragging out my phone. Ava would hate that her mom called me handsome, she'd get all embarrassed, maybe even throw me one of those new insults she's found a voice for. Her cheeks would flush that hollow pink as a little irritated frown flashed over her face.
The hypothetical is so amusing to me that I've slid onto our text conversion, fingers about to type something. It doesn't really matter what, anything to elicit a reaction, feed that part of my brain that gets a small kick from it.
Your mom called me handsome.
The words are written out, there and real on my screen. I'm so close to pressing send, my breath hovering and visible in the cold air, but I catch something out the corner of my eye before I do. My last message.
I don't remember sending it. I only saw it the next morning, when I woke up late with a hangover from a party I didn't even fucking attend.
It was clear that alcohol doesn't agree with my body a long time ago, it barely even numbs the things it used to.
Fuck knows why I still drink, old habits die hard or something like that.
The message is just that photo I took, the one of Ava.
A distracted, unfocused look on her face, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and away from the lens.
Black and white. It's the one that made me pause, made my eyes linger and freeze still.
It capturedsomething. Whatever simmering glow bleeds through her under the eye of the camera.
It's good enough that I very stupidly sent it to her. I think I might've told her it was my favourite too. I mean, there's no harm in her knowing, but it almost felt wrong to tell her. It felt like I was admitting something larger than it was.
God. This doesn't even matter, it's just a fucking photo.
Still, a low sigh hums from my chest. Suddenly, those words I've typed out don't seem right. I shouldn't be teasing her, thinking of her even. I told Riley I don't think about her friends and that's true... mostly.
Ava doesn't need to know I had a five minute conversation with her mom. I don't ever need to interact with her unless forced to by Riley, I'm sure she doesn't want our paths to cross either.
I need to get her out my head before I'm accused of trying to hit on her again.
I backspace, deleting every key until the message bar is blank again. It's better this way, more normal. I don't want to overstep a boundary, push my way into her new life. Getting those little, predictable reactions out of her is fun, but that's all it is, fun.
I shove the phone back into my pocket, heading back to the door.
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