your memories of a girl at seventeen become as real and vivid as the middle-aged woman sitting in front of you. it is a happy sort of double vision, this seeing and remembering. to be seen this way is to be known.
It's weird being back in her hometown.
It doesn't feel like it's even her home anymore. Her mother is dead, Saw is dead, now her father is dead, gone mere moments after her hand curled around his on the hospital bed. She has Bodhi, she supposes. The rest of her school friends, most of whom she hasn't seen in years since she escaped into college and barely looked back. She'd seen everyone at the funeral, even Cassian, surprised at how well her school friends dressed up in dark wool and shined shoes. The outpouring of kindness should have made her feel better, but it didn't.
She doesn't know if she should even be accepting condolences for her father when she hadn't seen or spoken to him in over a decade.
It had been a nice service and then she slept until the next morning, rolling out of bed still in her black dress and changing into worn pants and an old flannel and a hoodie unearthed from the back of her closet before stumbling out of the farm house in search of coffee. It's not a huge town, it doesn't take long to follow the path to the coffee shop.
Having seen Cassian at the funeral, having even spoken to him very briefly, she isn't overly startled when she finds herself behind him in line, pushing her hair back from her face and huffing out a tired sigh before she pipes up, "Hey Andor."
i have an idea that this is what enduring love really means.
It doesn't feel like it's even her home anymore. Her mother is dead, Saw is dead, now her father is dead, gone mere moments after her hand curled around his on the hospital bed. She has Bodhi, she supposes. The rest of her school friends, most of whom she hasn't seen in years since she escaped into college and barely looked back. She'd seen everyone at the funeral, even Cassian, surprised at how well her school friends dressed up in dark wool and shined shoes. The outpouring of kindness should have made her feel better, but it didn't.
She doesn't know if she should even be accepting condolences for her father when she hadn't seen or spoken to him in over a decade.
It had been a nice service and then she slept until the next morning, rolling out of bed still in her black dress and changing into worn pants and an old flannel and a hoodie unearthed from the back of her closet before stumbling out of the farm house in search of coffee. It's not a huge town, it doesn't take long to follow the path to the coffee shop.
Having seen Cassian at the funeral, having even spoken to him very briefly, she isn't overly startled when she finds herself behind him in line, pushing her hair back from her face and huffing out a tired sigh before she pipes up, "Hey Andor."