Work Text:
June 18, 1912
Margorie Jean Kess- soon to be Hardy sat in her parlor, attempting to complete the design for her most recent patent. The simple task was becoming quite difficult for the young woman as her mind and writing hand was drifting in two different directions. The five stone diamond ring was heavier on her finger than usual, weighing it down to the point she could barely lift her dip pen. While her thoughts couldn’t stop drifting to the last letter Miles had written her. He’d mainly written about how he and Gwendolyn were faring in New York. His art was selling splendidly and he even took up photography to add to his credentials. Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had just started teaching music to fill her days now that their daughter was old enough to start school. A simple note really, but Miles Morales wrote how he spoke and his letters always had a coquettish undertone to them. It was almost as if he was there in the flesh, flirting with her as he always did when they were younger. The New York native sighed as she began to reminisce her adolescence- the life she had before she’d moved down to Atlanta for a decent shot at an education. New York was insidious and Brooklyn had nothing for a girl of her background besides a dead end seamstress job. Unfortunately, in the past six years Margorie had fallen out of touch with most of the people she knew- even her communication with her parents were limited to three letters a year. Miles Morales, however, refused to let her walk out of his life so easily; insisting to write her as often as possible. The longest the two had went without writing the other was two weeks at maximum. When Margorie went back home for the holidays a year and a half ago, he (and his family) were the first people she’d paid a visit, accompanied by Felix who was merely her suitor at the time. Margorie repressed the recollection of Miles’ bright smile faltering the moment he noticed her hand intwined with Felix’s and how the artist wore a tighter, less natural smile for the rest of that evening.
When Felix proposed to her the following March, Miles wrote her a letter extending congratulations, but the ink heavy chicken scratch- abnormal penmanship for him- was nearly impossible to read. Margorie dismissed the possibility of of him being envious and knew for a fact that his chest didn’t ache nearly as much as her’s did when he chose to go steady with Gwendolyn. Margorie endured seeing them together until she made the choice to leave New York. Right around the same time Gwen announced that she was pregnant with their daughter. Her plan was to take advantage of her move down south, make name for herself, bring her parents some wealth- being that they only had one daughter, and use that time to unlove Miles Morales.
When Margorie thought about it, she had no business loving the man in the first place. Gwen had seen him first and in the end, he chose her. She’d left on a brisk autumn morning with no promise of if and when she’d be back, yet Miles was quite the stubborn bastard who- as stated before- wouldn’t let her exit his their lives completely. Now here they were six years later, being pen pals that never ran out of things to talk about and occasionally engaged in harmless, flirtatious banter. Margorie ended her last letter playfully scolding him for being too suggestive in his last message; stating that if Felix were to ever come across these writings she’d have a lot to answer for. The scholar was excited to see his response which she knew would be clever and hilarious. As if she’d willed it, Felix walked into the parlor with a stack of envelopes in hand- one of them likely being a letter from her friend .
“Mornin’ Cher,” his NOLA accent colored his low, raspy voice, giving it an alluring feel that Margorie picked up on the moment she met the Morehouse alumni . They had initially bonded over being non native Georgians, but Felix knew a bit more about the state being that he was from New Orleans and was familiar with the Southern region. Attraction formed because Felix thought Margorie as unique and he had a charisma that reminded her of Miles. After a while, she figured out that was basically where the similarities ended. In fact, Felix was Miles’ complete opposite feature wise. He wasn’t as tall and was much fairer in complexion. His freckles weren’t as subtle as Miles’ and spread more across his face. When they’d met three years ago, Felix’s dirty blonde hair was a mop of unruly corkscrew curls. In recent years he’d opted to regularly hot-comb his tresses (something Miles would never- in a million years do) and style it in a slicked back do. His new style emphasized his sculpted bone structure, but to Margorie’s dismay- also emphasized his eyes. Unlike Miles’ warm light brown gaze, Felix had piercing green eyes that could slice through the sturdiest human being and turn them into a puddle of nothing. It’s probably what made him such a good lawyer. Margorie’s seen many people crack under his admonishing stare and thanked the lord it was never directed to her.
“Oh! You still workin’” he noted “No worries, I’ll just put these aside-
“No!”
Her exclamation earned her a cocked eyebrow and questioning green eyes.
“I mean uhm,” Margorie cleared her throat “Those can’t wait. They’re probably reservations for the wedding.”
Felix broke into a grin at the mention of their upcoming nuptials. Everyday since their engagement he’d say…
“I can’t wait to marry you.” Margorie wished desperately she could share his sentiment and because she hated lying to others and herself, she simply responded with a dazzling smile. Maybe Margorie wasn’t as excited as she could be to walk down the aisle- most brides weren’t. She still loved her groom to be; she loved him as much as she could love a man whose name wasn’t Miles Morales. Margorie’s smile soon faded as Felix began to shuffle through the envelopes.
“I’ll go to church ‘erry Sunday and Saturday for the rest of my life if Cousin Carlotta says she can’t make it.” He joked before suddenly stopping on an envelope with a postage stamp of the Statue of Liberty’s torch.
“Looks like your friends might be able to make the ceremony after all.” He said lightly.
“Yes, it’s set for mid August so the trip shouldn’t be too daunting.”
Felix opened his mouth with the intent to ask a question, but the grandfather clock in the corner of the parlor chimed, indicating it was now midday. Annoyance flickered across Felix’s face before he adjusted his jacket and waist coat.
“Geez Louise,” he muttered, grabbing his fedora.
“Everything alright?”
“I have a consultation with Mr. Dubois in the next twenty minutes. The ol’ bat got caught writing false bank checks. I’ll see you at my estate tonight? For supper?”
“Of course.” Margorie answered, getting up and placing a gentle kiss on Felix’s cheek.
“Swell! I’ll send a car and maybe you can bring some more of your belongin’s”
Margorie kept an easy smile and nodded as he bid her farewell. Upon his exit, her smile dropped and she deeply exhaled. On the nights they’d have dinner together, Margorie would bring a few articles of clothing, maybe even some books to avoid having to hoard all of her stuff in one move the moment they were married. Marjorie loved Felix, but the thought of merging lives with him was… stressful. It was rare for a working class New Yorker to marry into Southern aristocracy, but Margorie had built a stellar reputation as an intellectual prodigy in the six years she’d lived in Atlanta, so news of their engagement wasn’t met with much public scrutiny. However, Margorie knew close to nothing about being a socialite or mistress of an estate. In fact, that’s not a job she envisioned for herself at all. Still, the marriage was beneficial to her as she’d never have to take a job and could focus mainly on her research and activism. Sitting back down, she hastily put her notes to the side before ripping open the envelope containing Miles’ letter. Opening his letters always felt like opening Christmas presents, that’s how much he kept her on her toes. Margorie giddily unfolded the paper and felt contentment wash over her as she saw Miles’ tiny, yet precise handwriting. Naturally, she allowed herself to be swept away by his words…
My Dearest, Margo
Nearly fifteen months ago, you announced your engagement to that old-money mulatto and upon reading the save-the-date, I knew that the precious, unconventional dynamic of our relationship would eventually shift. You'll always be my rock, my muse, my candle in a dark abyss, but in two months time, I'll not be able to vocalize these feelings. The thought eats at me little by little and I know it does you as well. Still, i’d like to remind you that until the late afternoon of August 23rd 1912, you are a single woman and until the honkies down at the city clerk's office stop "losing" Gwen and I’s marriage license application, I am a single man.
For the time being- before you become Mrs. Hardy- can we just be us? You've always been one of the very few people who matches my wit and suggestive sense of humor. Lately, the only time I’ve been able to speak so freely is when I’m writing you and I'm not inclined to give that up anytime soon. I hope your fiancé isn't offended by this.
Speaking of which, I assume he's been keeping you safe? I know he's proud of his Southern roots, but the white folks down there are ruthless and commit the most heinous acts. The idea of you living in the South has been weighing heavy on me for the past six years. I'll never forgive the universe if anything were to happen to you. My disdain for the Southern region aside, I am open to making the trip down there for your wedding, but I can’t make any promises yet. We still have to find someone to look after Lottie as we feel she’s too young for such a long travel. She's doing great by the way, especially in school. It should be no wonder; I taught her how to read and write the second she started talking and she picked up on it in the snap of a finger. Now she's ahead of the other kids. Sound familiar? Sometimes it feels like i'm raising a little you. I don't mind it though, i'll take any reminder of you I can get.
Lately, I've been remembering the year I first moved to the city. I wasn't expecting to meet Gwen or Peter or you for that matter. But there was a way about you, Margo. Your curiosity and intrigue sparking up at meeting a Puerto Rican immigrant. There I was trying to get accustomed to New York and you took every opportunity to ask me about my old home and culture. Every single day, you demanded a new piece of information from me and I couldn't find it in myself to be annoyed. But it was a nice change, being able to teach someone something instead of constantly being taught and you helped cure my homesickness a little. My fourteen year old self stayed up at night, thinking of the ways to get rich so I could move back to Puerto Rico and take my ghetto flower with me. Turns out, you could make your way out of the jungle on your own. I'll always be proud of you, but sometimes I can't help but think about how differently things could've turned out. Either way, try not to stress about the wedding too much. Felix is a lucky man and he knows it.
With Love,
MGM
Various emotions swirled with in her as she finished reading the letter: glee, flattery, nostalgia, longing, and a bit of mourning. Margo has trained her brain to read Miles' letters in his boyish effervescent tone. With his accent that changed over the years into something more similar of a New Yorkers', dropping his 'R's and using distinctive vowel sounds. A part of her wishes, he didn't bring up their not-so-platonic history. She didn't need help remembering how she all but catapulted Miles in Gwendolyn's direction. Margo always had a strong sense of right and wrong and she firmly held onto the belief that it would have been wrong of her to accept Miles as a partner knowing that Gwen loved him first, knowing that she herself had dreams of leaving the city and forging a more meaningful path. Now, Miles and Gwendolyn were parents and Margo accomplished what she set out to do. Everything was right in the world, but Margo's tummy hurt and she decided to reread Miles' letter to self sooth. When her eyes skimmed back to the top of the page, something stood out in his salutation. It wasn't the use of her nickname, no. It was the comma in the middle of the phrase.
My dearest, Margo...
...was what he wrote. The comma after 'dearest'. A noun in apposition. And it could've been inconsequential, a simple unintended mistake, but Margo couldn't lie to herself because she knew better than anyone that Miles compensates his unusually small handwriting by having perfect grammar. Margorie read the phrase again and rested her chin in her palm, sighing dreamily like a school girl. Had she not been in her own head, she’d have noticed the piercing, suspicious green gaze from the hallway.
~
Six days later, Margo stood on a makeshift fitting platform while her soon to be lady’s maid: Celia made the necessary alterations to her wedding dress. Although Margo didn’t love the idea of having a lady’s maid- or any kind of maid really, she liked Celia. She was only a couple years older her, was sensible, and always knew the right things to say. When Margo saw how little she was originally being paid, she convinced Felix to raise her pay. She had plans to grant the entire staff a fairer wage once she became mistress of the estate. Margo didn’t see it as charity or doing anyone favors. As the daughter of a laundress and a factory worker, she knew how hard it was to live off such wages. If Margo was going to climb her way up the social ladder, she swore she’d do it with integrity.
“You’ll have to be extremely careful with a white this pristine, Miss Margorie. It’s beautiful, but dangerous.”
Margo immediately stiffled the need to run her slightly ink stained hands on the stark white satin. She pouted as it began to dawn on her that she likely wouldn’t be able to eat at her own reception. Staining the dress would be inevitable and she was to wear matching gloves too- she was doomed!
“Don’t make that face, you’ll make the most beautiful bride.” Celia beamed “Mister Hardy won’t know what to do with himself.”
Margo let out a small ‘hmm’ in agreement, as much as she liked the idea of dazzling her soon to be hubby she couldn’t stop herself from flushing at the thought of a certain artist being left speechless as well. The two women heard a sharp knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Margo called. Felix’s voice answered.
“It’s me. Can I let myself in?”
Before Margo could even open her mouth to respond, Celia bristled and turned towards the door.
“No, Mister Felix, you can’t. You were informed earlier that we’d be altering her wedding gown!”
“That was two hours ag- y’know what…never-mind. Cher, I went back to yours to get your research journal like you asked. Got it right here.”
“Thank you, love. I’ll come down when I’m done.” She called towards the door.
“Your mail was also delivered, I thought you might want me grab those too.”
“Hmm…” she mulled “…those might be more reservations. Celia, would you please?”
The young woman nodded sharply and briskly made her way to the door, opening it ever so slightly. Margo inched her body more to the left where the door would keep her out of her fiancé’s view.
“Stop tryna look past past me!” She heard Celia’s high admonishing voice.
“I’m not! I’m just tryna get the book in this tiny sp-
“Nonsense! Put it in my hand!”
Celia gripped the ledger and pulled her arm back in before swiftly closing the door, almost crushing her employer’s hand. She and Margo chuckled at the awkward interaction as she passed her the journal. There were about five envelopes wedged inside. Margo shuffled through them as Celia got back to work on adjusting her bodice. The creole woman let out a huff, her light brown curls bouncing as she did so.
“Penny for your thoughts, Celia?”
“You’re really doing the lord’s work marrying that man. He’s always so sly and smirkin’”
“Well… that’s just his facade. He can be sweet when he wants to be.”
Margo said absently as she took account of her letters. She’d received word from Gloria, Peter, even Hobart who was all the way in London.
“I don’t doubt that. He’s… decent and he’s head over heels for you. He’s just always trying to have his way.”
Margo knew that Celia had a point and appreciated her honesty. Felix could be wily at times, but she thought there were worse qualities he could have as someone born into money.
Margo shuffled again and was met with a letter from Miles. She immediately broke into a grin, anticipating this letter to be confirmation that he and Gwen would attend the ceremony. However, her smile began to fade as she read the lukewarm greeting.
Dear Margo,
I hope this letter reaches you well and that you are at a better place in your wedding preparations than you were when we last spoke. Unfortunately, we won't be able to attend your wedding ceremony. It’s been difficult finding someone to care for our daughter and a lengthy travel to the south with her is not an option.
Now there is no easy way for me to breach this next topic, but it’s long over due. I won't be able to continue my correspondence with you. After deep self-reflection, I realize that I’ve been treating my partner unfairly by writing you the way I have. You were right before, I would never want Gwen to stumble upon our letters where I constantly toe the line of platonic and romantic. Her heart would break.
There is only room in my heart for one woman and that is Gwen. I apologize if my past letters made you think otherwise. Still, this isn't your fault and I take full accountability, which is why i'm ceasing all contact after this letter. You are a woman whose already promised to another man who adores you; and I am a man with a family that needs my undivided attention. I pray you have a blessed marriage and at the same time, I’ll be trying relentlessly to legitimize my family by obtaining a marriage license. In a way, I am preserving our friendship by severing communication. I’ve been selfish and inappropriate to you in the past and I hope you one day find it in yourself to forgive me. Until then, this is goodbye.
Forever your friend,
Miles Morales
As Margo finished the letter, she now realized how hard it was to breathe in this stuffy, pink guest room. She was always a woman who theorized and looked for possible out comes in every single situation, but she never anticipated this. The thought of losing Miles- entirely- was something she never bothered to contemplate and if Margo was being honest with herself, she knew that moving to Atlanta six year ago wouldn't deter Miles from keeping his claim on her. In fact, she knew his unwillingness to lose her made him adamant in writing her as often as possible. Margo thought if their friendship could survive a long distance, it could survive anything. She began to reread the letter and quickly realized that she did not like Miles’ tone in the third paragraph.
I apologize if my past letters made you think otherwise…
An onset of embarrassment and anger ambushed Margo. Had she really been that obvious and desperate? Out of the two of them, Miles was the one who shamelessly brought amorous tones to their communication. Margo always made sure to be more subtle and pragmatic, constantly bringing up the fact that both of them had respective partners. The switch threw Margo off kilter. Everything he’d written to her, was it really just meaningless flirting? Margo’s throat was tight and she felt very bit of the discomfort from the Georgia heat.
"Miss Margorie...?" Celia asked concerned as she saw her future employer hastily pry herself out of her wedding dress.
"I'm fine." Margo bit out "It's goddamn hot. I can't be in this dress."
Celia rushed over and began to properly undo the fastenings before the distressed bride ruined the material. Once the dress was safely off and Margo was left in her cotton chemise, she plopped down on the closest chair with her head in her hands. Though in emotional anguish, she was coming up short on tears. Margo felt Celia's comforting hand rub circles on her back.
"It's all that stress no doubt. You’ve been doing most of the planning on your own." The young lady’s maid picked up the white gown and carefully draped it over her arm.
"Imma put this away for safe keepin' and send for some tea to calm those nerves. You stay right here, Suga."
Margo wasn't left alone for long because as soon as Celia left, her fiancé popped his head in the door. Instead of seeing her in her wedding dress as he'd hoped, Felix saw his bride-to-be sitting in the chair, looking downright miserable in her undergarments. The lawyer quickly entered to room and shut the door behind him, not noticing the way Margo used her feet to sweep the opened letter under her chair. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.
"What's the matter, darlin'?" he asked, cupping her delicate yet defined jaw in one hand and sweeping her loose hairs back with the other. Successfully lying to Felix was difficult; and with her feeling so despondent is was basically impossible.
"The Morales' won't be coming to the ceremony." she answered honestly.
"You call them that as if they’re married." was his attempt at a joke however, it only earned him an eye roll.
"I know how much you love your friends, Cher. But the only two people needed to make this wedding worth somethin' are right here in this room. Even if we eloped, our marriage would be special."
Margo giggled because she'd considered eloping once or twice whenever the wedding planning became too overbearing. He ran an affectionate hand along the plane of her pined up hair. Felix’s hands were so smooth, you’d think the man wore gloves to bed. It was another one of his stark differences from Miles whose hands were lightly calloused from handling pencils and pastels.
“Don’t get yourself too upset, now. Everythin’s gonna be alright.”
Because it seemed like the thing to do, Margo gently brought her lips to Felix’s. He wrapped his arms around her in response. As they kissed, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was all worth it. The handsome husband, the status, a soft life- all that in exchange of having lost Miles Morales. And could she even lose something that was never even her’s in the first place?
~
Later that night, Margo lay awake in her bedroom- enjoying the coolness the night brought. Still, her emotions would not let her sleep. If Margo didn’t let her thoughts out- she would combust. So she sat up in her bed, grabbed her research ledger from the bedside table, and began writing a letter she’d never send.
August 23, 1912
Miles Morales laid arms crossed behind his head on the bed he shared with Gwen. It was only a few hours ago when the blonde picked up on his despondent behavior. Technically, he’d been experiencing a low grade depression for the past eight weeks- he just did his very best to hide it well. Getting up in the mornings, going to work, coming back home to give Lottie more writing lessons, helping Gwen with supper, working on some commissions, turning in for bed, and repeat. With a set schedule like his, going through the motions was fairly easy and he was able to express his sadness through his art. Miles prayed that how he felt today was rock bottom and once the day came to an end, he’d start to feel like his regular self again. Margo was to tie the knot today. When her received her letter eight weeks ago, he tried his best to push the date of her nuptials out of his mind. Unfortunately, Gwen wouldn’t let him forget. Feeling guilty for not being able to attend, his common-law wife was relentless in finding the perfect wedding present for Margo and Felix. When Gwen suggested he curate a painting to gift the couple, Miles flat out refused which resulted in a petty fight.
“If you two had a disagreement that’s fine, but remember that she’s still our friend and this is one of the most important days of her life.”
Miles couldn’t even form an argument being that the situation was so much more complicated. He let Gwen have the last word, she ended up sending them a brand new scrapbook to document their first year of marriage, and that was the end of that… until today, when the emotional anguish he’d been suppressing hit him like a ton of bricks. Miles grabbed his sketchbook he left lying on his bedside table and opened it to retrieve the folded piece of paper in the ledge. With a deep breath, he reread the words on the page…
Dear Miles,
I appreciate your concern for my safety down here, but it’s unnecessary. I insist my fiancé is a force to be reckoned with around these parts and no matter what, I know I’m safe with him. I can admit that I’m just as lucky as he is. That being said, in two months time I’ll be Mrs. Felix Alexandre Hardy so as of now I am done entertaining your dallying behavior. Felix is the love of my life and your previous letter was slighting towards him. What I thought was harmless flirting is starting to seem like infatuation and I have to put an end to this. Unfortunately, I have to retract your invitation to my wedding. I’m not cruel, I won’t force you to watch as I marry another man. Maybe if enough time goes by and you no longer harbor these romantic feeling or me, we can be cordial friends. For now, I have to sever our communication. I hope my actions will inspire you to focus on your own family. Our partners deserve better.
Sincerely,
Margorie Kess
Miles had no idea what to make of Margo’s letter when he first read it. It didn’t sound like her at all and he had no choice, but to assume that she was under a lot of stress and that she’d been harboring these feelings of discomfort and guilt for a while now. He even considered the possibility that her fiancé discovered the letters he sent and gave Margo an ultimatum, but that was unlikely. Having the utmost respect for Margo, he had to accept that she made her own choice and adhere to her request. Refraining from picking up a pen to write her back had been hard, but he knew that laying his feelings out bare for her on a sheet of paper would make the situation more embarrassing and painful than it already was. With a huff, Miles shoved the letter back in his sketchbook and crossed his arms behind his head once more. As he closed his eyes, Miles allowed his mind to drift. Thinking about all of the ways things could’ve been different. If only his art started making money earlier in his life, if only Margo was willing to stay in the city, if only she was a selfish woman who had no problem staking her claim on him, if only he was more relentless in his pursuit of her. How many ‘if only’s’ needed to be present before he accepted that things weren’t meant to be? Being so used to getting his thoughts out on paper, Miles got up, hastily opened his sketchbook and began writing a letter he’d never send.
Fin
(A03 and Tumblr saw this pic first)
