Beckett
She calls from the kitchen doorway.
Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t look at any of us first. Just dials while Vaelor moves around her and puts the phone to her ear like she’s done it a hundred times.
She hasn’t.
It rings.
Vaelor turns the burner down without being asked. Rane stops mid-sentence. I look at my hands.
It keeps ringing.
Nova’s nose scrunches. She’s looking at the wall. Not scared. Impatient. There’s a difference.
“Are you kidding me,” she says.
She lowers the phone. Sets it on the counter. Vaelor puts a bowl in her other hand without a word and she takes it without looking. That’s new.
“Voicemail.”
“Leave one?” Trey asks.
“And say what?” She picks up a spoon. Puts it down. “No.”
“So we wait,” Kyron says.
“Guess so.” She’s already moving, restless, and then she stops pulling at the hem of her shirt. “I hate waiting.”
“We know,” Rane says.
“You’ve known me for—”
“We know,” we all say at once.
Not smiling of course.
She sighs, moves back to the table. Picks up her bowl.
“Okay,” she says.
Vaelor’s already moving. “Sit down. All of you.”
Nobody argues. That’s the thing about Vaelor with a dish towel — you just don’t.
Vaelor makes mashed potatoes. Said we needed comfort food.
Nova eats standing up.
She never eats like this. She’s stealing from the serving dish before everyone’s seated, spoon in hand, completely relaxed about it. Like food is just food.
Six months ago she’d reach for bread like someone might take it back.
Huh.
I look at my bowl.
Rane’s watching her do it. I catch him watching. He catches me catching him and grins into his food and says nothing.
The conversation goes sideways when Rane notices her eating.
Not in a bad way. He’s just watching her go back for seconds with this look on his face like he’s proud and reverent at the same time.
“I’m glad you can eat like that,” he says. Casual. Easy. “Outside of the bathroom.”
The table goes quiet.
Nova’s spoon stops halfway to her mouth.
Oh shit.
Rane realizes it half a second later. I watch it happen on his face — the replay, the oh no, the too late.
“Rane,” Kyron says.
“I — that came out wrong, I didn’t—” He looks at Nova. “Nova. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She sets her spoon down. Her face has gone carefully neutral and very, very red.
“Tell us,” Trey says quietly.
“It’s nothing.” She picks her spoon back up. “Really. It’s not a big deal.”
Rane opens his mouth.
“Rane.” She looks at him.
He closes it.
Nobody says anything. Vaelor comes around from behind the counter and I watch him take her in — the set of them, the way they’ve gone up slightly — and he crosses to her without making a thing of it and puts his arms around her from behind. Doesn’t say anything. Just presses his lips to her temple.
She goes still.
“Sweetheart.” Low. “We care. You know that. We just want to know.”
She doesn’t say anything at first.
Just looks at the table.
“I woke up the first night. I was hungry.” She shifts, Vaelor’s arms tighten around her. “I didn’t want anyone to see me eating so I took the plate to the bathroom.”
The plate I made for her.
She ate it…
“Nova.” My throat tightens. “Why didn’t you —”
“It’s fine, I promise.”
Locke is fuming, but I know it’s because he wishes she’d never felt like that in the first place. Same.
“It wasn’t—” Nova starts.
“Hey.” Vaelor’s arms tighten. Just slightly. “It’s okay.”
She stops.
“You’re okay,” he says again.
She exhales. And relaxes into him.
All of us seem to relax a little too.
Rane picks up his spoon. Sets it down. Picks it up again. “For what it’s worth,” he says carefully, “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to… I wasn’t sure… I just — closed the door.”
She looks at him and her eyes go soft.
“I know,” she says. “Thank you.”
He nods. Looks at his bowl.
Vaelor stays where he is for another moment. Then he presses his mouth to the top of her head and goes back to the stove and nobody says anything else about it.
She picks her spoon back up.
Starts eating again.
That’s what does it for me. Not the telling. Not Vaelor. Just — she picks the spoon back up and keeps eating at the same table with all of us and doesn’t disappear.
It looks damn good on her.
“These are incredible,” Nova says, scraping the dish.
“I know,” Vaelor says.
She snorts. “You could pretend ya know.”
“I could.”
Rane points his spoon at her. “Third serving.”
“Second.”
“Third.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re Vaelor’s mashed potatoes. And they’re my new favorite.”
She gets the last scoop directly from the dish. Rane looks at Trey. Trey looks at the ceiling. Locke’s mouth does something.
Vaelor reaches to clear the dish.
And Rane — because he’s Rane — gets a fingerful of what’s left along the inside rim and wipes it across the side of Nova’s neck.
The table stops.
Nova stops.
“Rane!”
“Mm.” Completely serene. “Accident.”
“That was not an accident.”
“Too much on my finger. The physics—”
She reaches for her napkin.
Locke’s hand comes down on her wrist.
Not hard. Just there.
She looks at him. Everyone looks at him. Because it’s Locke.
He looks back at her. Serious, but I don’t miss the smirk there.
“Sweetie.” Low. Certain. “I think we should let Rane clean up his own mess.”
Oh.
Nobody breathes.
Rane makes a sound.
Nova’s eyes move between Locke and Rane. I watch her breathing get a little faster.
“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”