Chapter Text
the late winter sun was blindingly bright piercing through half-cracked blinds, light bending across empty coffee mugs and neatly piled manilla folders. a desk chair creaked in the quiet, a clock ticked to an empty house.
half cognizant on the couch, taissa spent the rest of her mornings scrolling aimlessly through inboxes, the occasional business call trickling in after her workouts. lunch, dinner, tv, bed- wherever it ended up being, her office chair, her couch, the empty four poster with dog hair still mottling the comforter. she didn’t have the heart to wash it out.
taissa had gotten the call three months ago, stepping out of a taxi at JFK in a half-pressed business suit, rushing through security clinging to an old scarf and her wrinkled boarding pass. hours left, minutes, even. one funeral after the next, they had buried natalie on the sunday and simone was gone two weeks later on a snowy wednesday afternoon.
gone, like that. she was an hour too late- as usual, never, never on time. clipboard shaking, pen trembling in her cold hands, the watchful eyes of her own mother-in-law standing in between taissa and her late wife. to say they had taken everything from taissa was an overstatement.
she had gotten what she had deserved, deserting her dying wife and son for a past life she had shed like a second skin decades ago. she had taken the choice to run from it at every chance she got, yet at the jumping-off point decided the cliff dive wasn’t worth it. a set of arms enveloped her, pulled her back from the edge, back into the biting snow so warm she was hypothermic again. where it stung, the comfortable pain lodged in between her heart and lungs and felt real again.
deemed unfit to supervise simone’s will, taissa watched like a ghost as funeral plans drew circles in the dirt, family members she hadn’t seen since 2004 showing up on her icy doorstep shoving casserole dishes wrapped in tinfoil into her arms. she had nothing else left to do but let them in, vacantly welcoming them into a grand hallway with high ceilings and shiny wedding photos, unwilling and unable to tell them, i killed my wife.
dying bouquets, garlands, wilting leaves beginning to brown and mold still littered that same hallway, wicker baskets full of white lilies and wreaths of condolences sent from running mates and lawyers, senators and governors hung on the living room fireplace. the house stank of death, something not so uncommon to taissa. it was almost soothing, the recurring deja vu biting her awake every morning as she uncovered yet another pan of homemade potato salad, bread rolls beginning to stale, bland funeral food that began to taste the same morning after morning of sitting at her laminated dining table, a computer screen the only familiar face to greet her.
her bereavement leave had dwindled away, and she put in a deferral to take office, letting her secretaries handle her business. phone calls with sammy seemed to be the only light of her day, listening to that sweet little boy’s voice crackle over the phone as a smile worked its’ way onto her tired face, asking him how his favorite class went, and where his grandmother had taken him on the weekend.
“i’ve been getting good grades on my math tests, mom.”
“that’s great, sam-wich. i’m proud of you.” a genuine smile plastered itself across taissa’s face as she congratulated her son. she could hear simone’s mother in the background, humming.
“are you enjoying your time with nana?”
“yeah. but i want to come home soon.”
“i know buddy, i know.”
visitation was bi-weekly, provided taissa attended therapy sessions. she avoided long conversations with her in-laws, kept her head down, and signed papers when necessary. she wore jewelry and perfume on the days she had to, and held sammy tightly to her chest when she could, returning home to an empty house and stacks of legal folders on her kitchen table. returned to her cold bed, her 152 missed calls and 57 unopened voicemails.
therapist. doctor. lawyer. hospital. psychiatrist. psychiatrist. misty quigley. secretary. secretary. secretary. secretary. psychiatrist. lawyer. psychiatrist. psychiatrist. pharmacy. therapist. shauna sadecki.
taissa ignored calls like it was her full-time job. typed half conscious emails, photocopied bills and legal papers and idly ran on the treadmill, watching the last season of The X-Files on reruns and eating the occasional pint of ice cream from the half empty double fridge in her kitchen when she felt she had punished herself a little bit too much.
another frozen morning, laying half-awake on the couch, stiff, eyes burning.
“... alexa. alexa,” taissa mumbled quietly, throwing a pillow out of frustration at the small glowing orb on the shelf above her. she nursed her head groggily.
“how many.. unopened voicemails do i have..” taissa yawned, sitting upwards with bedhead from a cotton pillow. the robotic voice echoed against the high ceiling and taissa peered at the light seeping through the living room curtains, beige and dull.
“you have twenty five unopened voicemails. earliest message, recorded at fifteen forty five and thirty one seconds on monday, january the third. from: van palmer. continue?”
fuck. a month and a half ago. taissa quickly gained her bearings, blinking in shock as she held her head.
“open message,” taissa frantically called, swinging her legs over the end of the couch, the cold air of the living room against her bare legs.
“tai, it’s van. shauna called about your wife. i’m sorry. i’m visiting lottie every few weeks, she’s stable, i just thought i’d let you know. and uh… last one of my doctor’s appointments a day or two ago, i can’t remember…” van’s voice trailed off for a moment, the line growing foggy.
“things are getting worse on my end. i have at the most three months. i don’t know any other way to tell you, but there it is. i’m doing fine. call me back when you can.” the line clicked shut, taissa’s heart pounding in her ears.
“delete voicemail?”
“repeat.”
“tai, it’s van…”
van’s voice cracked at the edges, that small scrap of desperation wavering as her voicemail cut off, sounding as if she was cold and alone and afraid. a month and a half ago, an entire month. where could she be now? taissa gathered her bare knees to her chest, dragging the blanket up to cover her shoulders as she hunched over- what if van was already dead? what if she locked up the store for the last time, laid down, curled up and quietly passed away? what if it took her, snuffed her out like a candle, drew the light from those sea blue eyes and left her to rot into the floorboards of her apartment? tape boxes collecting dust, magnets falling off of her fridge and shattering on the kitchen floor. cradle of long, red hair, pallid scarred skin, chain constricting her clavicle.
what if it really was too late? too late for taissa to kiss each scarred knuckle in reverence, graze her fingertips up and down van’s freckled arms, braid her hair before bed like they were in high school. where was van now? bones cold, eyes frozen open forever on her couch. or did she go while she was asleep? did her nose twitch, shallow snores before a painless eternity, dreaming of endless summers on the lake and her head nestled in the lap of a girl she knew once. was she picking wildflowers somewhere in a field, was she running through the woods carefree; the sun on her scarred face, her vision restored, relieved of her suffering. was she bathing in the river, flowing mountain water warmed on her pale legs, was she lounging in between branches, arm dangling lazily, sunlight filtering through the foliage just waiting for the smell of woodsmoke to waft by, teenage laughter echoing. was she with nat? did they get there together? were they skipping rocks somewhere, passing a bottle of aging whiskey back and forth? was sweet laura lee chasing small chirping sparrows across the front porch, palms open, cotton nightgown dusting her ankles? jackie, combing her hair flat in front of the wash basin, lips rosy pink and blooming with life. all of them winding through the birdsong filled forest on that warm endless day, alleviated of all burden, young again.
taissa drew her cold, trembling knuckles to her mouth, biting down on them. she finally, finally allowed her eyes to fill and brim with tears, splashing down her cheeks hot as she cried for the first time in almost three months. shoulders slumping and rising with each sob, her head fell onto her knees as she curled herself up into a frail ball, grief overpowering every other rational emotion that had been ruling her body for the past four months. her autopilot was quietly handed over, switching commanders. taissa listened to the message once more, and once more again.
//
“welcome aboard the five fifteen flight nonstop service from newark to cleveland hopkins, flight time one hour and thirty two minutes…”
taissa promised herself every single time, she’d never fly again. she never listened to herself. early march newark rain pelted the small oval window, and she pulled the shade down. the sun was already setting, the cabin filled with the dull cries of a newborn and the sound of the taxiway thundering underneath them, lights flashing against the wings. she didn’t let go of the armrest until the ground had disappeared and they had glided above altitude, the sunset disappearing below the thick blanket of dark clouds against the horizon. she already felt as if she was losing time, what if these were her last moments, just slipping away? that same morning she’d booked a flight to cleveland, rented a car. she wouldn’t have slept another night, insides gnawing at her to do something. for once, she wouldn’t lay vacant and empty, watching van disappear from her life day by day. just when she thought she’d rid herself of the dimpled smiles, her sunken in cheeks, the anguished cries as she cradled van when she was so close to death. so many times. if she did nothing else, let this be it.
she lifted the window shade for barely a moment as the plane started to come down, her stomach in her throat. bile resided there for a moment, clenching every nerve and muscle in her body as the altitude dropped, and the familiar tilled cornfields of rural ohio came into wintery focus, coasting over farmhouses and tiny headlights on the interstate. taissa only released her held breath as the plane touched ground, the sound of phones switching on all at once as they pulled up to the gate, lonely deserted terminal waiting for them.
she called van, phone shoved in between her ear and shoulder as she pulled her overnight bag from the overhead compartment, shuffling out of the plane with the other families and businessmen returning to whatever suburban home or hotel room they had for the night. no answer.
it was sleeting as taissa coasted down I-480, hands gripping the wheel of her rental as the city disappeared behind her, snowy county roads opening and welcoming her. green signs highlighted oberlin in big white, glaring letters, and taissa took the exit with the lone gas station and the dilapidated barn on the corner. it was familiar, arriving in the sleepy college town in less than ideal circumstances the last time she decided to take a spontaneous unconscious trip to visit her old flame. this time, it was urgent.
the neon sign was still brightly lit when taissa pulled off of the main road into the potholed parking lot, tattered rainbow flag fluttering in the wintery breeze. seven fifteen at night, the store was closed, its’ lights off behind a locked storefront door. open tomorrow at nine am sharp, the sign read pasted on the door. heart a lump in her throat, she stepped back gingerly from the overgrowing path that led to the front door. she peered upwards, squinting. a light was on upstairs, glowing faintly from the window. rushing forward, taissa began to pound on the glass, a desperate, hopeful breath escaping her lips.
“van!.. van!..” taissa cried out, banging her fist against the door with an urgent clamor. she’d knock and knock until her fists bled, until she broke the door in, until someone unlocked it for her.
a light flickered in the stairwell behind the counter, a figure hurrying down the stairs and past the curtain, flashlight bouncing across the shelves of vhs tapes. the aged, tired face of van appeared behind the streaked pane of glass, and taissa’s shoulders finally slumped as she let herself relax, shaking hands dropping from the door in relief.
the lock clicked and opened, a look of shock registering across van’s sunken face.
“oh god van,” taissa cried in a low voice, rushing towards the other woman, enveloping her in a deathly tight hug, the first time taissa had clung to van since they embraced on that cold night at lottie’s compound, giving into old passions.
“god… thank god you’re alive…” taissa mumbled, breath catching in the back of her throat as she gripped van’s frail shoulders, reminding herself of how it felt to hold her. her stomach lurched for a second, van’s frame so thin so breakable like she was starving. just as skeletal as she was twenty five years ago, chewing holes in her sleeves to remind herself she was still living. taissa was almost at the brink of tears, her fingers digging into the cotton button-up van was wearing. van let her, she stood still and carefully brought her hands up to rest on taissa’s back, secretly relieved that she had seen taissa at least once more. van had resigned herself to solitude, drinking herself stupid because what would it matter in a month? living for each day, knowing there was nobody she knew to clean up after her when she had inevitably died on her floor, probably brushing her teeth or staring out the window.
“i wasn’t expecting you,” van mussed quietly into taissa’s hair, managing a half joke with the trembling taissa still clinging to her. taissa finally let go, stepping back in wild desperate defense as she always did, hands resting on van’s shoulders.
“i tried calling, there was no answer, i came as soon as i could, i thought…” taissa choked out, brown eyes stormy and frantic, an anxiety bubbling and spiking in her usually cool voice that van hadn’t heard in years.
“come on. come inside, tai. it’s cold.” van hushed taissa and stepped aside, wrapping a frail arm protectively around her shoulder, extending the other to let her in.
//
taissa and van stood opposite one another in van’s clean, almost empty kitchen. van offered taissa a cup of coffee and she took it, and watched as van turned her back, swallowing a hefty set of colored pills from her palm, shuddering.
“i can’t expect that it’s easy for you…” taissa trailed off, wanting so desperately to say something, to comfort van, but when her own estranged wife had died a few months ago and they had buried natalie in the frozen ground and nothing felt real anymore, what was she going to say?
“i can’t expect it’s easy for you. with simone… and everything.” there we go, mention of the dead wife. the tension cut after that, the elephant in the room a significantly smaller one.
“i’m in therapy. grief counseling. for sammy’s sake, more than mine.” taissa took a long sip of coffee, bitter and hot in her mouth.
van scoffed, a rueful smile on her face as she turned back to face taissa, leaning against her kitchen counter. “and… are you attending these sessions?” van questioned, eyebrows raised knowingly as she lifted her own mug to her lips, maintaining eye contact that taissa met with her own, guilty.
“oh come on, grief is hard. you know… i know…” taissa spun her argument but lost steam, trailing off with a sheepish shrug.
“yeah. i do know. surprise, surprise.” van rolled her eyes. ever the sarcastic arsenal ready to fire, regardless of how close to death she was, as she found herself once again clinging onto the hourglass which threatened to shatter, gutting itself and spilling her trickling sands everywhere.
“where’s sammy?” van asked when her last snark yielded no answer, no usual bite-back from taissa. she was a different woman, in the same shape as her usual taissa.
“he’s with his grandmother. he… ah… he’s better with her, at least at the moment. i speak to him every day, i see him when the court allows me to… he needs someone who can be present for him. i can’t do that right now. one day, i hope to.” taissa was looking away now, voice wavering in her throat as she gripped the sides of the counter, like her knees were going to give out from underneath her.
“i’m sorry, tai.”
“yeah. me too.”
…
“lottie, she’s okay. doctors say she’s making some real improvement. they may be able to move her out of the hospital and into a group home if she continues, misty handles her finances in the meantime. i don’t know who the fuck decided that, don’t ask me.” van shrugged, shoving her hands in her pockets.
“god, i should have known this wasn’t going to last. we should have known not to trust it,” taissa blinked back tears, sucking in a sharp breath to keep herself from growing too emotional.
“what do you mean, taissa? we knew i was dying. there’s no changing that.”
“but-”
“nat died and it might have been in vain, i don’t know. but i’m dying. i know that.”
van was always the believer. the divine, one true follower. each and every miracle that was prayed for was given. van was the lucky one, the queen’s right hand man, the one who always made it out. what had changed? the empress was dead, the high priestess was a fool and the hierophant was wasting away.
“there’s… there’s nothing we can do? nothing?” taissa reasoned, following a quiet van into the living room, watching her fiddle nervously with empty boxes on the coffee table.
“nope. just wait.” van nodded to herself with a sigh, hands on her knees as she winced, bending down with an ache as she gathered a few stray tapes in her arms. cleaning, housekeeping, as she always did when taissa was in a room with her. permanent nesting, primping, keeping things neat. even in high school, when taissa used to sit on van’s bed and let the incense waft, hazy in van’s room after they’d smoked out of her window, watching her rearrange her desk, kick clothes into her closet- hoping taissa wouldn’t notice a thing.
“then let me take care of you.”
van paused, nearly dropping the boxes she was about to carry downstairs. she stopped dead on the living room rug, a puzzled look flashing across her face, before turning to face taissa, eyes narrowed.
“excuse me?”
“i said, let me take care of you.” taissa added urgently, nodding. she had made her decision.
“tai. you can’t even take care of yourself, your wife just died, your son-”
“van, we just lost natalie. simone is gone. sammy has his whole life planned for him. for christ’s sake, let me take care of you.”
van stiffened, taissa’s pleading roughening her rigid stance around its’ edges.
“i wanted to die a dignified death. alone, taissa.”
“let me help you. i owe it to you. you decided to help me, even after-”
“you owe me nothing.”
van’s anguished screams were not lost on taissa, locked away tightly. crackling fire and sterilized sewing needles, helpless whimpering, blooming black and blue bruised skin and long sustained fevers, rust stained washcloths, sloshing in metal buckets, mopping van’s sweating, scarred forehead.
“van, i love you. i always have. you died twenty five fucking years ago, in my arms and i willed you back to life. i carried you, i carried your body for hours, days- just let me give you what you need, i can give it to you,” taissa began to plead, desperately. if she could have clung to van’s frigid, tense frame, she would have, letting the other woman drag her for miles until van finally shook her off.
“what we never got,” her voice wavered, split and cracked, raw emotion spilling out into the air between them as her face burned, and she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
“fuck you, man.” van inhaled sharply, voice trembling as she came undone. her back was turned, away from the softening figure of taissa trying to catch her breath, to stop herself from falling to her knees, breaking down in the middle of her goddamn ex-girlfriend’s living room. van’s knees felt weak, boxes trembling in her arms as she closed her eyes, listening to the whoosh of blood that was running through her ears.
god knows the two of them both owned far too much black.
//
taissa’s chest rose and fell peacefully, curled up on the side of a wide, wooden carved bed frame full of patchwork quilts. eyes raw and red with dried tears, she sniffled in her sleep. van wondered momentarily when the last time another woman had slept in her bed, when she had allowed someone to breathe next to her, without tossing them out and locking the door behind them. it had been a long time.
van’s bedside alarm clock read 12 AM, red dots blinking in the darkness of her small bedroom- even smaller than the one her and taissa used to sleep in together, in high school. when van used to nestle herself in taissa’s arms, the smell of laundry and taissa’s lotion mixed with safety. sat at the edge of her bed dressed in boxers and an oversized t-shirt, van watched the deserted road outside of the shop- traffic lights reflecting through the snow onto an empty street. taissa rolled over in her sleep, wrapped in a bundle of van’s clothes and blankets. taissa looked small for a moment, helpless even. like she had finally put down all of that weight she was carrying for decades, dropped it by the side of the bed, and curled up and went to sleep. van couldn’t tell if she cried herself to sleep every night, or if tonight was just in particular. taissa cried so much more often than van remembered.
van finally climbed into bed, the last dose of oxy having kicked in and the weight in her stomach soothed by the greeting of warm sheets for the first time in eons. taissa breathed next to her, and van closed her eyes, trying now to grasp for the memories she had boxed up years ago and tried to sell in her mental garage sale, never being able to rid herself of them. dusty, old, waterlogged with tears and alcohol. antiques by now, two aging lesbians carrying around all of this pain with nowhere to put it. van swam through the sea of longing, hands outstretched, grabbing for the long tresses of ponytailed hair the color of strawberries, the round, freckled face, the dimples. wherever that van was, that little, small van, so young and so naive; what warm corner of the ocean she was floating around in, walkman plugged in playing Cranberries tapes, holding a pretty girl’s hand. van pushed hard against the current to find wherever that place was, the place where her former selves went to heal, tucked away and protected behind the top layer of herself that always seemed to scald and burn off with each bump and scratch. when van finally found her, yanking her by the hair as if to say, ‘there you are, i was looking for you,’ a pair of arms met with her waist, tugging. a sweet, irresistible dragging into a depth van hadn’t gone to in years, fingers gently slipping under cotton, skin against skin. familiar hands pressed against her stomach, soft in places it had always been, since the very first time someone had put their hands on van.
taissa’s face pressed into the back of van’s shirt, cotton fresh on her mouth, the strength of van’s back an intimate, close curve. half asleep in bed with her first love, taissa mumbled breathily and settled, van’s heart racing and pounding like she never realized it could after all of these years.
1996
“you sure know how to make a girl swoon,” van’s smirk audible from under taissa’s shirt, soft laughter muffled as the two rolled around in taissa’s baby yellow cotton sheets, in her big, beautiful bedroom with her big, beautiful white french doors and a rug so plush van could have spent all day laying on it, letting taissa braid her hair. letting taissa do other things.
pretty, pretty hands, all over van’s shoulders, pretty nails dragging across her freckled skin, her back raw and arms red. lips resting in between collarbones and clavicles, bruises and hushed giggles, shushes and hands curved around lips. there was something so enticing about being so secretive, it made van want to carry taissa up her staircase bridal style, chase her around a party in masks; claire danes in romeo + juliet had absolutely nothing on van’s idea of taissa in that angel costume. girlfriend was a word so lovely, and girls were something so magical, van’s face pressed so far into taissa’s chest she could feel the indent of the little bow on her bra into her nose. the two fooled around consistently, fumbling in the backseat of taissa’s jeep after fall football games, wandering hands sliding under van’s boxers in the locker room after the others had taken their leave- taissa tapping on van’s window at night and climbing through, van catching her, tai pressing van against her bedroom wall by the collar of her shirt. it was enough to make van faint, all cartoon perfumed hearts and rosy, flushed cheeks.
experimentation entangled with sweet spoken pet names, soft coaxing, van begging under taissa’s sheets at night while they were supposed to be studying. taissa hushing a trembling van to sleep, entwined in whatever bed they found home-
‘shh now, baby. shh, now.’
‘shh now, baby. shh, now.’ the soothing van would never hear again, no matter what arms she found herself laying in, tangled in, trapped in, night after night with faceless woman after woman. no words sweeter, no voice the same, no hands could touch, could even grasp where van needed it, where it ached and burned and hurt for something that would never return. until it did, those same soft palms resting on her abdomen. like they had been made to rest there, like it was taissa’s first instinct to hold her lover again, after years of being asleep without her.
van drifted to sleep, and for the first time since she was seventeen, a wholeness filled itself inside of her.
//
“so, what are your plans?”
“jesus christ, taissa. can i please eat first?” first thing in the morning, taissa and van had driven out to the local diner for breakfast. van was living off of nothing but protein bars and energy drinks, insisting she wasn’t going to go grocery shopping when she could have just dropped dead any day.
shaking the crusted bottle of tabasco onto her scrambled eggs, van hungrily eyed the stack of pancakes that rested in between the two as taissa carefully twirled a small silver spoon around in her coffee. taissa was already on business, an unsuspicious legal pad and a ballpoint pen resting on the scratched table, waiting to be filled. hair let loose around her shoulders, taissa looked almost picturesque in a soft white sweater, and van let herself gawk as taissa glanced out the window absently for a moment.
“you were asking me what my plans are?” van asked across the table, muffled by a mouthful of toast and scrambled eggs. she was already making quick work of the pancakes.
taissa snapped to attention, nodding. she took a sip of her coffee demurely, and placed it down, quickly picking up the pen and pad of paper.
“go on,”
van chewed, swallowed, placed her knife and fork down, and cleared her throat.
“nothing.” van smiled cheekily, arms wide open.
“van, please.”
“no, tai. i’m serious. i never had any plans. as far as i’m aware, who the fuck is coming to collect my body? no idea. i have no idea who is going to handle my shit when i’m gone. i’m dead. like, how would i know?”
“me.”
“oookayy… as of… yesterday? last night, even?”
taissa rolled her eyes, glancing down into her spiraling coffee. for a brief moment, taissa held back a smile, a glimpse of old van settling like dust in front of her, so full attitude and snark she could have spitballed something into taissa’s hair and leaned over a desk to flirt with her.
“you must have slept well last night,” taissa scoffed, with a playful smile.
“like the dead.” van winked, watching taissa groan with exasperation, covering her face.
“okay, well. since you don’t have any plans… how about we make one?”
“i hate this shit. i had to do it with my mom, figuring out where she was going to be burie-”
“van, we don’t have to figure that out now. i’m talking about what you want to do with the rest of your life. you don’t have a bucket list?”
van paused, chewing slowly. after a moment of deliberation, she shrugged silently.
“we can go. anywhere. anywhere you want,” taissa’s politician smile was in full presentation.
“anywhere i want?” van pointed her fork at taissa across the table, narrowing her eyes.
“anywhere you want.” taissa nodded matter-of-factly.
van nodded, an impish smirk on her face. folding another piece of pancake into her mouth, van held up a napkin and shook her head.
“now, tell me. what the fuck am i going to do with everything? my bills, my shop, my apartment…” she trailed off, counting on her fingers.
taissa smiled, scribbling onto the legal pad.
“i told you before. i was a real estate lawyer for a long time. i have connections. we get everything sold up, we take the money, we get you a will instated with everything you want, and then we can go. go somewhere new, exciting. go on a trip, whatever you want to do.”
“i don’t… i don’t have insurance, tai. i have a driver’s license that’s expired,, overdue bills… i don’t have a high school diploma. i don’t even have my own fucking birth certificate.”
“that’s fixable. all of that is fixable. we pay off your bills, we sell your shop. we sell the car, even. i can get your legal documents from the bureau. we get everything renewed.” taissa soothed, watching van’s brow knit at the thought of paperwork.
“but… why? why now?”
“what i’m saying is, i want to help you out. we can have it all figured out, after all of these fucking years, don’t you think you deserve to rest? we’ll… we’ll buy a beach house. i’ll sell my house and we’ll go upstate, and we’ll watch the fishing boats leave every morning and come back every evening from our front porch. hell, maybe the air will do you some good.”
van smiled ruefully, shaking her head. she let out a sharp laugh, stabbing into her soft pancakes with a fork.
“yeah, take our long sandy walks on the beach like some old, geriatric retired couple. dying like a victorian poet. funny.”
“i’m serious, van.”
“and when i die?”
“... you die.”
“that’s it?”
“uh huh.”
van’s suspicion waned for a brief moment, the cloudiness disappearing from her stormy complexion. van wanted to trust taissa like old taissa, who carried her through explosions, through attacks, who had slain wolves and held broth to her dying, feverish lips, breathing life into her night after night.
“come with me, van.”
van settled her knife and fork down onto her plate, folding her hands in her lap. a silent truce.
taissa had calls to make.