Work Text:
Prologue
I really loved grandma. Her shoulder long white hair and her smile that made everything seem less threatening, no matter how scary the world seemed. She had wise eyes that yet always had a humorous spark. It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it but certain people have that gleam in their eyes that promised they know more than you'd guess. she had that something. Even as a child I always begged her for stories or tales. She never refused, even when it was way past my bedtime.
As I got older, I had less and less time to visit her cottage in the countryside of Britain.
Now I regret that.
Maisie stood in the empty living room that was once filled to the brim with old books and magazines. The scent of paper and Grandmas perfume still clung to the air like an afterthought. Maisie still didn't fully register what had happened. Just the week before she'd visited her Grandma. They had a cup of Earl Gray as the girl explained all the events she had had experienced the past month. She could still clearly remember her hearty laugh when Maisie told her about her failed exam.
And now she's gone.
A few boxes still stood in the corner, waiting to be carried away. Maisie crossed the room in a few steps and crouched down next to them and peeked in. Books with old leather covers. her fingertips ran across the imprints on the side as her eyes stopped at one that seemed out of place. It wasn't old or had yellowed pages. In fact, it looked new. As in, relatively new and not from the last century. The girl picked it up to inspect. It was a notebook like the ones grandma used to write in. Maisie opened it carefully. Indeed, it was Grandmas cursive handwriting. It seems to be recent as well.
Right on the first page, it had written:
For Maisie - my favorite granddaughter
Tears formed in her eyes. How the fuck did she know? As she stood up, a letter slipped out of the pages. Maisie quickly caught it. She thought of opening it when she heard footsteps. The girl quickly closed the notebook and slid the letter in her pocket. Not that she was scared of getting caught, she just didn't want to have to explain herself. Maisie turned towards the doorway. A moment later, Aunt Liz entered. Her brown hair fell across her shoulders as the sunlight met her from behind.
"Everything alright?"
Aunt Liz was the only family Maisie had left now. She had moved to Britain when Maisie's parents passed away to look after her since Grandma was to old to do it alone They are somewhat related. She's her grandmas sons daughter. At least, thats what Maisie remembered. She was never that good with family terms anyways. Liz had wanted to move back to New York for a while now. She missed the skyscrapers and sticky air, she sometimes told Maisie with a wistful gaze in her eyes. These Americans. Now, after grandmas death, aunt Liz told Maisie it was good to have a fresh start. If Maisie stayed here, everything would just remind her of her grandmother. Every cup of tea, old poetry book and leather-bound notebook would remind her of her lost family.
"Yeah. as alright as everything can be."
Maisie motioned around her. The empty living room. There was no point in lying to Liz. She wrote songs that could make a grown adult cry simply because of the lyrics. No matter what was wrong, aunt Liz could find the words for it. God, she probably even had a song for it. What was wrong with these songwriters these days.
"I just feel like I should've been here more often. Especially before.."
Maisie gazed at the walls she had grown to know so well. Aunt Liz sighed, stepping next to her. She put a hand on her shoulder, her thumb rubbing the fabric of Maisie's shirt.
"You couldn't have known, Maisie. None of us did."
Maisie stayed silent. How come she was the only one feeling guilty? Grandma had spent her last days alone. Liz patted her shoulder.
"I'll wait by the car. 5 minutes, alright? We have to pack for New York."
Maisie nodded. After Liz's footsteps had faded, she crouched down next to the box where she had taken to book from and closed lid again. She kept the notebook in one hand and the other on the lid as she looked out the window for the last time. Maisie wasn't sure if she would ever be able to return to the cottage. Would it be sold? She couldn't bear the thought of any new people living here. When a searing pain shot through her hand, Maisie snapped out of her thoughts. She flung her arm away, cursing. A small spider flew off her hand and tumbled somewhere in the dust. Maisie stood up, patting her jeans as she stepped to the door. These damn spiders. She shook her head. Aunt Liz was waiting. A new city was waiting. And maybe, Liz was right. Maybe New York would help.