Chapter 4
After rushing home, I go straight to the bathroom, ignoring the chatter of my family in the background. I make eye contact with no one as I lock myself behind the flimsy door.
I head straight into the shower, which is cold, but that's the norm. I need to scrub off my day. I grab the little bar of soap, a luxury we don't always have. I scrub and scrub until the memory of Giles' lingering fingers on me fades and the pipes groan; the water running out.
Sighing, and feeling much better, I get out and grab my ratty towel in favour of heading to my room to get dressed in fresher clothing.
I walk out of the bathroom to the sound of laughter and turn my head to our dinette. Big brown eyes stare back at me from across the room. Deacon is sitting at the table with my siblings, cards in hand, with a mischievous smirk on his face.
"Looking good over there," he jokes, not even trying to hide the fact that he's lazily perusing my half-naked body. My face heats.
"I didn't know you were here, you heathen! Stop looking at me!" I shout, running to my bedroom. The room erupts in laughter as I dramatically slam the door.
Embarrassment is quickly swapped with a warmth that grows in my chest as I hear the three of them playing a card game, Willow's giggle floating through the house.
I suspect my little sister has a crush on my best friend, but if I'm honest, there are few people who don't feel this way about Deacon.
His sunny demeanor is infectious, especially around here.
I get dressed more quickly than usual, throwing on my thicker tights and the only dress I own that is both warm and decent looking. I cinch the swarthy material around the waist, the draw string already fraying with age.
My patchy clothes are variations of old fashion made new again by the markets.
The buttons down the front of shirts are always mismatched.
The government is desperate to reuse and recycle material, hoping to get the land back to its previous fertile glory, forcing people to get creative with old fabric.
I stomp out to the living room theatrically.
"Who do you guys think you are, playing cards without me?!"
They all turn to look at me. Willow, of course, comes back with a snarky response.
"We don't like playing with you, Mae. You're too good. It's annoying."
I wander over. Putting my little sister's head in a hug that's more like a headlock. "Watch it, kid."
I use the opportunity to peer at Willow's cards.
"Ahh, going for a royal run, two fire sprites too, I see. Smart move, rookie." I drop the bomb as Willow erupts.
"NO FAIR, REDEAL! SHE RUINED MY HAND!"
I'm cackling in the kitchen, trying to boil water for the tea as Deacon argues they have to continue, and she was a fool for keeping her cards up around me. Linden is shaking his head quietly while leaning over to pick up all the cards, knowing the game is over.
"I actually have to head to school for a bit and study... In silence." He says this like it had been the plan all along, ever the peacekeeper.
Deacon nods his head, smiling at Willow. "We can play again soon. I'm back for a while now."
She concedes, never able to fight with him like she does us.
"Fine, I actually have some reading to do, anyway," she mutters.
"See ya later, sprout," Deacon offers warmly.
I'm standing in the kitchen, silently watching them all. Deacon turns his attention to me.
"You are such a little shit, you know that, right?" he says, shaking his head with a chuckle.
"Isn't that exactly why you love me?" I muse, passing him his own cup while I saunter over to the couch.
Linden collects his things and says a quiet goodbye at the door.
"See ya, bud. Don't be out too late. I'm heading for another shift later," I say, reminding him.
"I know, don't worry," he waves, scooting out the door.
"I love you too!" I yell at him, knowing he probably didn't catch it between the roaring wind and the slamming door.
Deacon laughs, plunking himself down beside me on our relic of a couch. He throws an arm around me, pulling me closer for a hug.
"It's so nice to be home," he sighs, taking a gulp of the bitter tea.
"I'm glad you're back. Tell me all about it. Anything interesting happen on the road?" I ask, allowing myself to sink into his warmth for a moment.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, really. The roads are definitely getting rougher.
There are signs now everywhere saying not to venture off the main routes.
It seems like some rebels, or resisters––whatever they call themselves––are lurking closer to The Centre, raiding.
But we already knew that. We're lucky the council allows us to be armed during travel now. "
He says this casually, like having modern technology or weapons is something that happens often. The truth is that both have been outlawed for some time, but there are always exceptions.
It seems the rules are only ever rules when it suits those in charge. I nod absently, running my finger along the lip of my mug in circles. I wait, hesitant to ask for what information I'm really hoping to hear.
He eyes me knowingly.
"I asked around, Maple. No one has seen him. I'm sorry," he says softly, dipping his head.
I sigh, nodding. I knew that's what he was going to say, but tears still sting at the backs of my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mae. Come here." He puts his own mug on the table before pulling me in closer.
I resist at first, but his strong arms keep pulling until I relent. He puts my mug down and I allow him to scoop me up. I lay with my face against his chest.
Suddenly, I'm overcome with disappointment that feels a lot like grief.
A sob threatens to burst from me. He must feel my body stiffen because his hand brushes my back in soothing circles.
The tender act breaks me, and I let out a silent, slow sob, trying to hold on to some semblance of my dignity and failing.
I bury my face deeper and grip his shirt as I try to hide my tears.
It strikes me how long it's been since anyone has held me like this, comforted me. I rarely allow myself to feel this despair, mostly out of fear that it will consume me if I'm not careful. I watched it consume dad; I won't allow myself the same indulgence. Willow and Linden need me.
I've always felt things in overwhelming waves, feelings that threaten to take me under. I hate it. It feels a lot like weakness in a place like this, so it's easier to box it up.
Until my best friend shows me an inch of kindness and breaks the box wide open. Damn him.
"Shhhh, it's ok, nothing has changed, we'll keep looking," he soothes through my soundless sobs. I'm pretending he can't tell I'm crying.
Relief hits me as my body slowly releases tension.
"I'm sorry," I sniffle. Pulling away slightly, I busy myself pulling at a thread unraveling from my sleeve. "I feel silly. I know he's not coming back. Sometimes I just allow myself to think maybe...." The whisper dies on my lips.
Deacon puts a finger under my chin, lifting my face to his.
"Hey, it's not silly. It's not silly to wish one of your parents was here. They would be so proud of you, Maple. It's ok to feel things sometimes, you know." His eyes bounce over my face. The sincerity in his tone is too much. I feel overwhelmed by his thoughtful perceptiveness, too exposed.
I break the tension before I do something stupid, like kiss his big, beautiful face.
"You didn't have time for a haircut on the road? You look like an animal." I say while wiping all the tears and leftover emotion off my face.
"You are such a little.... You told me you liked my hair long. You said it made the red stand out, and my eyes pop," he scoffs, smiling at the ceiling and raking his hand through his hair.
"I did? I might have been trying to make you feel better... because you look insane," I laugh.
Deacon releases me, grabbing his mug again, chuckling.
"You are the worst, you know that. No one is as mean to me as you are. Remind me why you're my best friend?" He raises his eyebrow at me.
My eyes narrow with feigned challenge.
"You once said I keep you grounded. I keep your big, inflated ego from swallowing you whole." I joke, leaning back and throwing my legs over him.
I often wonder if this is normal bestfriend behavior. It always seems like we float the line. Something more, but not quite. At the end of the day though, I don't actually care. As long as he's here.
"So.... How's she doing?" he nods towards the closed bedroom door.
"About as good as she can be. The meds seem to work. We've had to space them out, but she had a dose not long ago, so she's well right now. Hopefully these dust clouds ease up soon, so we can worry about her lungs less." I shrug.
Deacon looks away, worried. Willow is practically his family, too. He's known her since she was born. We both cried the first time she got sick, as we listened to her lungs fill up with fluid and prayed to every god we could think of as she struggled to breathe through the night.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asks.
I shake my head while taking another sip of my gross tea.
"I don't think so. We're doing everything we can. Unless," I hesitate, "you know of any material you guys might have picked up I can make into a makeshift air filter?" I say this, scrunching up my face.
"Maple..." he warns. Deacon is many things, but rarely does he want to break the rules.
His family doesn't see the government's restrictions as something that should bend.
The latest slogan from the Council, "Reuse and recycle to rehabilitate the land," is plastered everywhere for all to see.
They truly believe that if we can all hold out long enough, the Gods will see our worthiness and either grant us the magic or repair the land needed to grow a turnip or two.
I have my doubts the Gods care at all whether I use some extra materials for an air filter, but here we are.