Chapter Text
“Chocobo Song!”
Ruvie Tuesti looked up from her newspaper. She had been absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the table, reading the newspaper to distract herself from the heat. It had been an unusually hot spring in the grasslands. A sack of groceries leaned against her knee. She should have put them away a while ago, before the heat and tinny song from their scratchy speakers has washed over her with a comfortable laziness. Shinra had just broken ground on a city in the grasslands and Ruvie had become absorbed in reading what she could about the construction. Perhaps it would mean more work for Marco.
“Ma! I’m right?”
Reeve pouted at her from across the table and pointed at her hands. He put his own on the table and tapped out a similar sequence.
“’S the Chocobo Song!”
He puffed out his chest with confidence. Ruvie couldn’t help but smile. She nodded.
“It’s.”
“It’s!” he replied with glee.
She placed emphasis on certain words with a continuous wish that Reeve would learn how to enunciate properly. Kalm’s school was small and Ruvie often found herself subconsciously scanning the papers and old television in the centre of town for some sort of miracle, one that would allow her to send Reeve to Shinra Academy in Junon for the chance at a proper education.
“Da’ll be home!” Reeve crowed. He sidled up to her with a smirk. “You tap an’ e’s home in an hour.”
Ruvie hadn’t realized she did this. Of course Reeve had. He was a smart boy, smarter than she had expected she would admit after a few drinks with the neighbourhood women. The wind chime in the window let out a faint tinkling sound. It hadn’t moved all day and the heat had become more oppressive. She removed her glasses briefly and rubbed her temples to stave off an oncoming headache. Perhaps it would rain soon. Ruvie hoped that the swamps between here and the mines wouldn’t flood. Marco wouldn’t come home for weeks if that happened.
“C’mon Reeve, let’s put away the groceries.”
Reeve insisted that they set up an assembly line for “‘ficiency” which was the latest overused word in the four year-old’s vocabulary. He had learned it, he told her proudly, from Bridget’s older brother Hadrian. With each item she placed in his hands, Reeve sounded out the name.
“Pi-kled ra-dish,”
“Pickled.”
They were a bright yellow and Reeve wrinkled his nose at the sharp smell. She arranged half of them in a semi-circle on a plate and handed it to him.
“Take these over to Ma Lauria, okay?”
“Ma Lauria’s scary,” Reeve whispered, looking around as if the squat older woman was somehow peering over his shoulder. Ruvie fought back a laugh. Ma Lauria was gruff and loud but the most kindhearted woman in their group.
“I’ll tell you a secret about her,” she whispered.
“If you make nice with her, she’ll protect you for life,” Ruvie said solemnly.
It was a truth exaggerated for childlike emphasis. When the Tuesti’s had moved to town with no money and Marco’s job days away at the mythril mines, Ma Lauria had showed up on Ruvie’s doorstep the first day with a coarse, “‘ere!” while shoving a large bag of rice into her arms. After Ma Lauria’s visit the other neighborhood women, as if they had been waiting for their leader to make the first move, had showed up in droves with food, spare baby clothes, and discarded toys from when their children were babies.
Reeve looked at her, squinting suspiciously.
“Just go!” she said, pushing him out the door with a quick tap between his shoulder blades. He was bonier than Ruvie would have liked him to be with shaggy black hair that fell past his shoulders. She should cut it soon.
“Ask Aubrey if her mom wants some too!” she called out the door after him.
“kayyyyyy!”
***
Marco returned that evening. He filled the house with a booming laugh, lifting Reeve up onto his shoulders and placing his hardhat on his son’s head. Reeve cackled, shrieking with joy as the construction helmet fell across his entire head. As he twirled Reeve around, Marco winked at Ruvie, full of promises for later that night. Ruvie blushed in spite of herself.
Removing the hardhat from Reeve’s head, Marco traced Reeve’s stubby fingertips through the fine green dust. It glittered on his cheeks and hands.
“Can ye read it kiddo?” Marco asked, tapping on a piece of worn adhesive taped across the back.
“Mar-co-ni Tu-est-i,” Reeve sounded out. His accent dragged over their family name.
“E’s so smart,” she wept later that night when Reeve was sound asleep in the corner of the room. Marco buried her face in his chest and stroked her hair. Ruvie never bothered to perfect her speech if Reeve wasn’t around.
“Send ‘im to Junon,” Marco said. “I’ll find a way to pay fer it.”
She didn’t look back to see the wide eyes of Reeve, peeking over from his corner bedroll.