Chapter Text
If she was being honest with herself, Mabel couldn’t say what possessed her to ask Theo to the gallery showing.
Some of it was desperation. Charles had plans with Lucy—Oliver, with his son and grandkids. Art had never been Oscar’s thing, and this felt too much like ‘date’ territory to invite him anyway. That exhausted her list of close friends—friends in general, really—and as much as Mabel loved her Mami, bringing her to Mabel’s first gallery showing post-murder solving didn’t seem like the smartest choice.
There might be a bit of spite involved too. Mabel and Alice were amicably split, and it was Alice that got Mabel into this high-class gallery through her artists' collective, but that itself was the problem. Alice still looked at Mabel with that unmistakable intensity, while several other artists looked at Mabel like she was the gum stuck to the bottom of their designer shoes. They weren’t all like that, but she wasn’t always listening to music when she had her headphones on either. Creative types tended to carry chips on their shoulders and form cliques like any other group, and she’d overheard the theory of how Alice invited her new ex-girlfriend just to win her back—as if Mabel were that easy to win over.
If she were being honest with herself, maybe it was more that Mabel wouldn’t say why she asked Theo. She wouldn’t say she enjoyed their day on Coney Island or had a desire to see another genuine smile on his lips. She wouldn’t say that she wanted to be the reason for Theo’s smile. She wouldn’t say she’d been learning ASL on YouTube and practice apps in her free time.
It’s a good thing Mabel wasn’t used to being totally honest.
To say Theo was surprised when Mabel texted him was an understatement.
They’d exchanged numbers after escaping to his car after Coney Island—Mabel said something about an alibi if the police came asking questions—but the only message in their conversation read:
Hey, this is Theo
Mabel had entered her number as “mabel from 12e” and told him to text her. He’d panicked briefly, perhaps unnecessarily—what were you supposed to text someone that accused you of a murder you didn’t commit, got you caught for one that you did, and recently lit up a room filled with carnival lights just because she smiled? His name? Hello?
Theo made the mistake of glancing up from his phone screen, only to see Mabel raise her eyebrows and press her lips together to fight a smile. Theo felt the tips of his ears warm and was grateful for his hat. He sent the text, and Mabel reached for her phone a moment later. When he looked toward her again, she was smiling.
“Wonder who [it is could] be.”
While Mabel typed on her phone, Theo started the car and tried not to wonder what name his contact would be listed under.
Several weeks later, the murder of Bunny Folger was solved, and Theo had yet to receive any correspondence with Mabel from 12E. Apparently, no one had been interested in how she came across personnel folders from the Coney Island security office; his own parole officer simply nodded at the map of his location during their weekly meeting and said she was glad to see him breaking up his normal routine.
Then, Theo gets a text late one Tuesday night.
mabel from 12e: are you free this saturday night?
Theo tapped the side of his phone, rereading the message. It felt deliberate, suspiciously vague. Before he could decide how—or if—he should answer, another message came through.
mabel from 12e: no breaking and entering this time, promise
He couldn’t resist.
Where’s the fun in that?
Kidding. I work till 4
mabel from 12e: want to go to a gallery showing at 8?
Gallery showing?
mabel from 12e: a friend invited me to join her art group and my first showing is this saturday
Theo remembered seeing Mabel sketching when they were kids, but he hadn’t realized she was that serious about art.
mabel from 12e: it’d be nice to have someone in my corner
Don’t take this the wrong way, but wouldn’t Charles or Oliver make more sense?
mabel from 12e: they’re busy
mabel from 12e: and i’m not sure either of them is intimidating enough for this job
Does that mean I’ll get paid?
mabel from 12e: in fancy crackers and wine
Seems like a fair wage to me. I’d love to go
mabel from 12e: cool
mabel from 12e: i’ll text you the address on saturday once it’s released to the public
A secret location? Sure this isn’t b&e?
mabel from 12e: i can lock the door behind me if you want to try your key trick again
I always have my kit on me
mabel from 12e: i don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned by that statement
mabel from 12e: but thanks. really.
Of all Mabel’s texts, that was the one that stumped him. He started typing, stopped, started again, and watched Mabel’s three dots flash on the screen.
Always happy to help
Mabel’s typing bubble remained firmly absent for the next minute, and Theo figured that was the end of the conversation for the night. He tossed his phone toward the other end of the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, through his hair.
Weeks had gone by without a word from Mabel, and now Theo agreed to see her first public art showing. A prickle ran up his spine at the thought of a trap, and he pushed it back, pressing his fingers down more firmly through his hair. Mabel trusted him at Coney Island and kept his illegal activities there a secret—just as Theo had hers. She could easily have sent him back to prison—with only minor consequences for herself—and didn’t. He had no reason not to trust her and wasn’t surprised she trusted him to some extent in return.
The real surprise was Mabel seemed to want to trust him.