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There are still tears clogging up her throat. Margo can’t seem to swallow them down properly, even though Bianca’s funeral finished half an hour ago, and she’s alone with Lars, and she’s daydreamed about walking together so many times, maybe around the lake, maybe- maybe around the mall, if he wouldn’t mind it being kinda busy. And yes, Bianca was a doll, but she was more than that, somehow, she… it feels like the town has truly lost someone. Margo isn’t the only one who cried at the funeral - she’d worried that she might be, other than poor Lars, of course, who was helpless to do anything else - which is kind of a relief, because if nobody else had been feeling it as deeply then she would’ve been embarrassed, but they were, so she’s not. Lars seems… he seems like he’s dealing with it pretty well, actually. Margo’s still trying to fight back tears, but he’s had this resolute, determined sort of expression ever since they left Bianca’s graveside. Margo isn’t sure what that means, but she thinks it’s probably good. Better than if he was crying.
They’re walking through the trees by the church, along the little winding path that meanders along the perimeter and then leads out into the woods proper. Bianca’s wake is still happening at the Lindstrom house, so they probably won’t walk the whole length of it, but it’s… it’s so nice. Even with the sniffling. The trees have thawed but they’re not growing again yet, bare branches reaching into the sky like spindly fingers. It’s really beautiful when there are leaves. It’s still nice to see the dirt and the grass without a layer of snow obscuring everything. The air smells like dirt. Bianca’s grave smelled like dirt, too. Obviously.
“Bianca’s, um, her family. They didn’t come to the funeral?” Oh, god. Of course they didn’t, Margo, why would you say that-
Lars shrugs, shooting a sad little smile in her direction. It’s as lovely as all his other smiles. “She didn’t have any family. They died when she was a baby.”
“Oh. I'm sorry.” Margo pauses. “That must’ve been very hard for her.”
“Yeah, she- she missed her mom a lot.” He scuffs his boot aimlessly against the ground, watching the damp dirt stick to it. “She never really knew her, or anything, but uh, she really wished she did. It was just me and Bianca.”
Bianca was very lonely, before Lars, Margo thinks. Well, technically she wasn’t anything before Lars - she was probably made specially for him, according to Cindy - but… in the backstory Lars created for her, she was probably very lonely. Lonely just like him. Lonely just like Margo.
“Well, I think that the whole town was kind of like her family. Or- I think a lot of us thought of her like family.” Margo pauses, a flash of anxiety zipping through her stomach. “Do you think she would’ve minded me saying that?”
Lars smiles again, but this time it’s a secretive little thing, aimed at the ground. His entire face goes soft and warm. “I think... I think she knew. Even without anybody saying it. I think- I think she realised. And I think she felt the same.” His hands are in his pockets. He doesn’t have his little blanket with him today, even though Bianca’s funeral must have been really daunting. Margo looks at the flower on his lapel, pink and bright and blooming. Bianca’s lips had been pink, at first. Margo liked when she started wearing a more subtle gloss, instead. It suited her. She wonders if Lars picked out her make-up himself, or if it was Karin’s choice. Probably Karin - Lars doesn’t really know about things like hair or make-up. He just likes people to be happy.
I wish I could’ve seen her smile, the way Lars did.
“I'm glad. That she knew, I mean. And that she loved us too. Did she see all the flowers, and the cards and stuff?”
Lars’ smile spreads across his face, showing a little teeth. His eyes crease up at the corners. “Yeah, she did. She, um- she was really weak, at the end there, but it made her really happy. Knowing that people cared.”
“I brought over a casserole, but I don't think- there were a lot of casseroles in the fridge, so I don't know if it got eaten.” Way to make it about you, Margo! “It's okay if it didn’t, obviously, you all had bigger things to- I don’t mean-”
“It's okay,” Lars interrupts. He looks at her sideways for a moment, the only sound their feet shush-shushing against the ground. He doesn’t look annoyed. “Thank you for doing that. Karin put most of them in, um, in the freezer, for when the baby comes. And Bianca wasn’t…” He swallows, his eyes shiny. “She wasn’t hungry.” Margo sniffles again, helpless. She’s gonna miss Bianca so much. “I didn't know you came over,” Lars adds, voice very quiet.
“Of course, Lars.” I’m your friend, she wants to say, but…
You know what your problem is, Margo? You’re too aggressive.
They went bowling together, sure, but maybe that’s something you do with a coworker. It might not mean that you’re friends - it’s just friendly, like signing a birthday card that gets passed around the office or bringing in pastries for the break room. If pressed, she’d say that going on a walk with someone probably leans closer to friends, but maybe Lars just didn’t want to be alone with his grief. Margo can be a very good listener, when she’s not being too forward. She tries really, really hard not to be too forward. It can just be so difficult to make friends, if you don’t try your hardest. It seems to come so naturally to everyone else, but it never has for Margo.
“I was gonna come upstairs and see you both, but Karin said that you and Bianca wanted to be alone, and I didn't want… to intrude, or anything.” Margo glances at him, nervous. What if she should have gone upstairs? That nice doctor said to leave them be, but doctors aren’t always right. Karin had seemed pretty certain, though.
“Thank you,” Lars says, voice soft. His eyes seem very far away. Maybe with Bianca, at her bedside. Dang it, Margo’s made him sad again. She takes a deep breath.
“I thought it was lovely, that you were so devoted to her. Loyal.” People like compliments, and this one is extremely true. It’s one of Margo’s favourite things about Lars, the way that he stands by his family. The way he stood by Bianca. Even when they were fighting, and it wasn’t very good - Lars came into work for a couple of weeks kind of… stompy, and tearful, and then very quiet and withdrawn, kind of how he’d been before Bianca arrived. Margo hadn’t really known what to do. She’d left her teddy, resuscitated by his kind, careful, big hands, on Lars’ desk with one of the nice brownies from the vending machine tucked in its lap, and he hadn’t said thank you but he’d eaten it, and he’d seemed a little happier. But the photo of Bianca pinned to the wall of his cubicle had never moved from pride of place, even when looking at it made his shoulders slump and his face twist up.
“A man has to be loyal to his woman,” Lars says, like a mantra. “It’s… it’s important.” He’d said the same thing at the bowling alley, and with the same careful seriousness. Margo nods.
“I remember,” she says simply.
They’re not walking fast, but they’ve been walking fairly steadily, and the church is barely visible through all the bare trees. There are a couple of birds singing somewhere. Margo looks up at the pale blue sky, the sun almost white in the middle of it. It feels nice - winter is lovely but she likes the spring best, when everything starts to bloom and come back to life, and the sun is like kisses on your cheeks and your nose. She follows the impulse to stop and close her eyes, focusing on the warmth and the slight breeze that tempers it.
“It’s nice that the weather is warmer now. I think Bianca would’ve liked it. the sun being out for her service.”
“Yeah,” Lars says. His voice sounds a little rough, but when Margo opens her eyes he’s just looking at the sky too. “She loved sitting in the sun. She said it reminded her of home a little bit. But it never snows in the tropics. Weather like that was such a new experience for her.”
“Yeah?” Margo’s a little warm, now. She takes off her mittens and pushes them into her coat pockets, where they form little bumps in the fabric.
“Yeah.” Lars is looking at her sidelong, his eyes on her hands where they’re clasped in front of her abdomen. Margo can’t help but reach up and smooth her hair down, a little anxious at the attention, but Lars’ eyes don’t move, so maybe he’s not looking at her. Maybe he’s just thinking, and that’s where his eyes happen to be resting. They flicker to her face, and then to the side. “But she never complained. She wanted to see and experience everything, even when her hands went numb. I had to remind her to wear gloves all the time - she just wasn’t used to needing them.”
Margo imagines Lars gently - so gently, she’s sure - maneuvering mittens onto Bianca’s stiff fingers. Talking to her quietly, in that sweet way he always did. It makes her chest feel so full that she might burst. “That makes sense,” she says, a little breathlessly.
“Her hands were always cold. Because of her condition, y’know.” Lars takes a deep breath, blows it out again. They’re sort of facing each other now, because neither of them has started walking again, and he looks so handsome in his sweater and suit jacket. A jolt of panic startles her out of her admiration.
“My hands are kind of cold, most of the time,” she blurts. “Not- not because of a condition. I just get- my hands and feet get cold pretty easily.” They’re a little bit cold now, but she really doesn’t want to get her mittens back out and put them back on. There’s been a lot of mittens-wearing, in the biting cold of winter, and the nip of early spring is very bearable in comparison. She’s a little tired of being wrapped up all the time.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Your hand- when we shook hands, after bowling, your hand was really warm. But I didn’t know if that’s just because the bowling alley is warm.”
Lars looks at his hands. Margo isn’t sure what his expression means. His eyebrows are scrunched together slightly, but he doesn’t look upset. He looks like he’s thinking very hard. “I- I don’t know.” He flexes his hand. “Your hand was soft.”
Margo brightens, proud. “Thanks! I use a special hand cream. Yours, um…” Well, she’s started the sentence now. “Wasn’t,” she finishes, lamely. It’s a fact, but it probably sounds like an insult. She doesn’t mind that his hand wasn’t soft. It felt solid, and safe.
“I don’t use anything,” Lars says, easy and unoffended. “And I, um, I chop wood. Axes can give you callouses. My hands are probably rough.” He does sound a little dejected at this, which is not good at all.
“It’s not a bad thing!” Margo insists, as earnestly as she can. “Texture is interesting. It’s, y’know, shows that your hands are strong. That you can work with them. That’s, um. Appealing.”
Oh my god! Stop thinking about his hands! His big, strong, gentle hands! Why on earth did she say appealing? That’s not a normal thing to say to a friend. It’s far too honest. She can feel her ears getting hot.
“It is?” Lars asks. He looks thoughtful, but his ears are a little red. She’s embarrassed him. Ugh, Margo!
“Mhm,” she manages, trying not to sound too strangled. She averts her eyes, pretending to look at the trees so that she doesn’t look back at his handsome face, or his cute boots, or his lovely hands.
“Okay,” Lars says.
There’s a moment of silence - it feels awkward and heavy to Margo, and she can only hope that it doesn’t feel that way for him. She wrings her hands together, trying to pretend that her palms aren’t sweating with nerves.
“I like that your hands are soft,” Lars says, voice suddenly firm. “That’s nice too.” He halts, visibly torn. “Appealing,” he echoes, a little stiffly. His ears are very red now. He’s looking away from her very, very intently. Margo can’t help but take the chance to run her eyes over his face; the bump on his nose, the soft curve of his jaw. It’s all so… appealing. She wants to kiss him so badly, all of a sudden, that her mouth goes dry and she has to swallow before she speaks.
“Thanks,” she says, and Lars takes another deep breath before turning his head to look her directly in the face. His full attention is as warm as the sun on her skin. His eyes are like magnets, bright and laser-focused, impossible to look away from.
“Do you- would you- are your hands cold now?”
She isn’t expecting the question. “Oh! A little, but it’s okay.”
“I could warm them.” Lars says, all in a rush. “If you want. Maybe- mine might be warmer than yours. Like the bowling alley.” He’s almost vibrating - he glances away and then back at Margo, full of nervous energy. He looks kind of similar to when Margo saw him pick up that kid’s toy and put it on the pew, and then it fell off; like his lungs are full of air and he’s holding it in with all his might. She feels herself light up, even as she tries to suppress it - she’s always been a bit much, even as a child, and she’s never managed to grow out of that. All of her emotions just bubble up into her expression.
“I’d like that. I’d really like that.” Other than that time at the bowling alley, he doesn’t really touch people. “If you’re sure?” she adds, in case he wants to take it back. All the air rushes out of him like a deflating balloon.
“Yeah,” he says, breathless but firm, and sticks his hands out, palms upwards.
He had lingered, before. They shook hands, and then their palms had dragged against each other for a second before they pulled away from each other. At the time, Margo had been sort of happy and sad - it was the most they’d ever touched, and he’d initiated, and it had felt wonderful, but she knew he would never like her the way she liked him, because of Bianca. It had been bittersweet.
She’s not sure how she feels, now. Warm and soft and scared and hopeful all at once. Even if Lars never loves her, she thinks she’ll probably always love him, and she’ll be glad for anything he gives her. Since she broke up with Erik, nobody really touches her anymore, or at least not in ways that soothe the loneliness living inside her bones. Not tenderly, like she’s something to be cherished. Even Erik didn’t really do that - he’d teased her, and jumped at her, and pinched her waist, but he’d never stroked her face, or softly touched her hands. He never made her feel the way that watching Lars perform CPR on her teddy, his face intent and somber, made her feel.
Margo lays her hands in his, her palms facing upwards too. His hands are bigger than hers, and they are warm, and when he brings his hands together with hers sandwiched in between she feels tears well up in her eyes.
“Your hands are warm,” she says, embarrassed when her voice comes out thick. Lars frowns down at her, eyes darting between her face and their joined hands.
“It’s good?” he checks. Margo nods, closing her eyes to focus on the feeling. Her palms are a little sweaty, and so are his, but it’s the best thing she’s felt in a long time.
“It’s wonderful, Lars,” she tells him. Her voice is shaky. She clears her throat. “It’s just wonderful.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Lars says, “You don’t feel cold, y’know.”
“I don’t?” Margo says, opening her eyes. Lars is looking at her face, his expression soft and warm and open. He shakes his head, lips upturning at the corners. Margo smiles back, lets out a wet little laugh, helpless to resist. “It’s good?”
“It’s wonderful, Margo,” Lars says, barely above a whisper. “It’s just wonderful.”