Chapter Text
No matter how hard you tried to hang onto the past, certain things had a habit of slipping away. Memories of smells, the taste of your mom’s lemonade on a summer afternoon, the color of your best friend’s bike. It was the things you really wanted to hold onto that seemed to fade the fastest.
Stef Steinbrenner had heard that, from grandparents and parents, mostly, and once from her sister, ten years her senior, but she’d waved it off as something that old people just said. There were things she’d remember forever, things like the sight of the sunset over the docks, the sound of her best friend’s laugh, her first kiss, but it wasn’t in the way she thought she would. It was through a fog, trying to reach for the visceral moment that seemed to slip away the moment she tried to make it real.
It didn’t help that the memories she tried to hold onto the most were the ones that were the strangest, the ones that were so outlandish they must have been dreamed.
It had been seven years since Stef had helped save the Goondocks, seven years of realizing that her life had probably peaked at fifteen years old. It was honestly kind of embarrassing, being asked what the highlight of your life was during all of those stupid college icebreakers and having to tell increasingly abridged and nonchalant versions of a story that boiled down to: “I discovered a pirate ship, complete with treasure and booby traps.”
She really couldn’t blame her classmates and roommates for not believing her, or at least being skeptical. She could technically pull out the newspaper articles and the photographs, but that would probably seem a little attention-needy that she had those on standby, even though now it was more to prove to herself that it had happened than it was to anyone else.
Those pictures fueled her memory, kept the spark of it alive. As time had passed, she’d been sure she’d never lose the vivid, tangible feeling of being shot at, being chased through dark tunnels and caves, stumbling over skeletons and discovering buried treasure, but those memories seemed to fade as naturally as almost everything else had, a fond anecdote that nestled between high-school boyfriends and her first job.
Stef didn’t want the Goonies to fade. Some memories she wanted to stay as vivid and fresh as the moment it had happened, frozen in time, everyone and everything so young and new and shiny.
Somewhere in the back of Stef’s head, she was aware of the fact that time had passed inside Astoria as much as it had passed outside of it. She knew that of course, her parents were ten years older, that Andy, her best friend, was a young adult as much as she was. It added up, she supposed, that in the time it had taken for her to graduate from college in Rhode Island, it made sense that Andy had also graduated college, and was just as much twenty-five as she was.
Nevertheless, it still felt like a sledgehammer between the eyes when Stef received the invitation to Andy’s bridal shower in the mail, beckoning her back to Astoria.
You are cordially invited to a bridal shower in honor of
Ms. Andrea Carmichael
October 17, 1992
RSVP by….blah, blah, blah…..
Stef’s fingers rubbed over the familiar print, tracing them subconsciously as she stared out the window on the bus as the plains of Washington faded into the familiar woods and hills of Oregon.
The sight tugged at something old in her chest, old and slowly waking up as memories shook the dust off of themselves and rose up before her, obscuring the view of the tiny pink and white card in her hand. Despite having received the invitation nearly a week previously, something about it still didn’t quite feel real. Even now, maybe especially now, watching the landscape change, it felt like a blow more than ever.
It wasn’t exactly like she was stunned by the announcement, mind you.
Brandon Walsh and Andrea Carmichael had been a given since tenth grade. Nobody had been surprised when Brand had taken her to the prom, or even when Andy had chosen a college close enough to commute to in order to avoid a long distance relationship. Even this announcement wasn’t so much a surprise as was the realization that Andy had made a decision, a huge decision, without Stef knowing before everyone else did.
She supposed that sort of thing happened, as one got older. Somehow, she’d forgotten that as she got older, everyone back home had also.
Then again, the mountains hadn’t changed. Maybe Astoria hadn’t, either.
Stef glanced down at her hands. For years, she’d helped her father on the docks, with her hands bearing the marks: weather-beaten fingers and calloused palms. In the past few years, those marks had slowly faded as her hands became more accustomed to deskwork, typing and writing. She’d have to have her nails done for the wedding, she thought absently.
She wondered if Andy’s hands looked different, too.
The bus rolled to a halt at a familiar stop, faded green boards surrounding a lonely bench, wind whipped and dust-beaten. Slowly, almost in a daze, Stef stood up, clutching her bag like it was her most prized possession, jumble of half-folded clothes and toiletries that it
was, ambling her way to the door and stepping down, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Stef was standing on Astoria soil.
The moment’s spell was only slightly cracked by the exhaust billowing from the bus as it trundled away. Stef stood, transfixed by the sign, the wave of memory cresting. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh or both at once, so she settled for neither.
She just stood for a moment, taking it in.
It was odd, how a place could live and breathe, could change with age, grow tired and contemptible, frightening and dangerous, then back to dull. Every season of her life had reflected back in the old buildings, the docks, the windy mountain roads, up to right now. Now everything looked fresh and beautiful, like an old friend, or a postcard found in the bottom of a drawer. Familiar and new, all wrapped into one.
She hadn’t told her parents when to expect her, just what day. She knew it was expecting a lot to anticipate a welcome committee, her parents with the old Volkswagen, maybe even Andy herself. Still, she found herself somehow disappointed by the emptiness of the bus stop and the sidewalk around it. Astoria wasn’t a big town, she used to bike it all the time, but still, she wasn’t looking forward to the walk, especially with a suitcase. She eyed the payphone a few feet away, sighing before digging into her pocket to pull out a handful of loose change.
“I’m here, Mom. I’m in town. Right now I’m at the bus stop.” Stef shifted on her heels, glancing over her shoulder.
“Already? We weren’t expecting you until tonight!” Her mother’s voice was just left of shrill, a hint of aggravation of the loving variety.
“Well, I’m here now. Do you want to send Dad to come and pick me up?”
“Your father is still at work.” There was some shuffling on the other end of the phone.
“Well, could you come pick me up then?”
More shuffling. Vague hemming and hawing noises.
“Mom?”
“I’m thinking, Honey, I’m thinking. I’ve got to get your room ready. We’ve been using it for storage…I’ll send someone along in a minute.”
Someone?
Stef pressed her lips together, breathing out a huff through her nose. “Mom. I don’t want someone. I want you or Dad to come get me, or I’m going to start walking. It’s cold out here, I’m freezing.”
It wasn’t the thought of a ride that bothered her quite so much as it was the questions.
How’s school? How have you been? Are you looking for a job? How are your roommates? Do you have a boyfriend yet?
That last one especially had become an increasingly large thorn in her side. As much as Stef wanted to see her old friends, as much as she wanted to see Andy, she didn’t want to answer all those questions just yet, especially from her very engaged best friend.
“Just hold your horses, alright, Stephanie?” Her mother was the only one who called her ‘Stephanie’.
“Holding,” Stef grumbled. “Bye, Mom.”
Last she knew, her parents were only about ten minutes away from the bus station, eight if her father was driving. It shouldn’t take that long for someone to arrive. Stef just hoped it wasn’t one of her mother’s friends, or one of the people that her mother thought was a friend of Stef’s. It would be nice to wait a few more hours before she, and Astoria, ripped the bandaid off together.
Stef hung up the phone and sat down on the hard, paint-stripped bench, her bags by her ankles and her shoulders by her ears, and resigned herself to wait.