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A truce, that's all it is and Vess knows it, a temporary standstill, both parties agreeing to hold their hostility in favor of some good old-fashioned quiet, simmering resentment.
She knows what's broken can probably never be completely mended, she and Roscoe cannot go back to tree forts and sleepovers in each other's rooms. She hurt them and that relationship might never recover.
But she's willing to put her anger aside for once. She's ready to be the bigger person and open her arms. She's ready to heal as much as she can so they don't go back to hiding from each other after games. She’s ready to stop being selfish.
So here they are. On neutral ground, the perfect middle point between Wapakoneta and Mexico City. Waxahachie. And they, for the love of God, are going to get a cup of coffee.
She walks in. Her usual confidence was replaced with something heavier. Something that bogs down her steps as if she was attempting to wade through water in jeans. Not quite fear.
Roscoe is sitting at the booth in the far corner. Vey’s looking out the tall glass window, frosted over but with little fingerprints and drawings left by the kids sitting there previously.
They nod when they notice her. They know this isn't about coffee.
“Hey.”