Chapter Text
Ramona comes back for Thanksgiving.
She does this because Christmas prices are absolutely astronomical, even by Steven’s standards.
That’s what she tells herself. And then Connor, and then Steven. And then Annie, who asks five whole times, though she has the decency and decorum to spread them out.
She mentally thanks Ellis, even when she isn’t sure he’s responsible. Maybe his near obnoxious calm is rubbing off on her.
Ellis does not ask, but she hears through the grapevine, aka Annie, that he’s excited to see her. She thinks that’s because he’s already come to his own conclusions, which only makes her want to throttle him about thirty percent. Which she thinks is appropriate, and proportionate, considering she wants to throttle herself at least eighty percent most of the time. (Connor is at around ninety-five, but it’s offset by how she can tell he’s really trying. In his own … Connor sort of way.)
Sully, who she talks to most often as a result of the time he spends at his moms shop and within walking distance of an internet connection, sends her a paragraph of emojis. Everything from literally all the party ones to the praying hands to, for some reason, a dolphin. That’s the only one she really can’t make sense of, considering by the time she gets there swimming will be less of an activity and more of a suicide attempt, but she assumes he has a reason. She also assumes she’s supposed to ask. For that reason precisely, she doesn’t.
She knows all of their reactions and plans and hopes for the trip a week before she steps on the plane. She knows Annie’s two weeks ahead of time, but she believes that’s because you can take the girl out of New York but you can’t take the business planner out of her hands.
She knows everyone’s responses. Except for Oona’s.
And, as a result, Maple’s, who she hopes someone has told. She thinks she could do without the second semi-family member popping up unannounced on an important holiday. Especially because the first is unlikely to show.
She tells herself that’s fine. That she hasn’t talked to Oona, not that her mother is still out there somewhere finding herself like she’s still seventeen with no responsibilities. That’s fucked. Always has been, always will be.
But she tells herself that because it is. Because you aren’t supposed to be breathing down your ex’s neck, especially when it’s complicated and especially when she told you to fuck off and see the world after one comment. Which, with the power of hindsight, she can see was deeply regrettable (see: has been fucked, will always be fucked) and hurtful and she wishes she hadn’t said it but – that doesn’t change the fact that Oona broke it off.
Which is fine. When and if she sees her over the course of the trip, and she’s not ignorant or delusional enough to pretend it’s never going to happen, it’ll be fine. They’ll deal with it. And if it’s awkward, and she knows that it’s going to be awkward, they’ll just avoid each other.
It’ll be fine.
Yeah, totally fine.
-
The airport is a fucking nightmare. She’s not sure what it is about New York people, tourists, workers – citizens at large that grates so deeply on her nerves, even months later, but she knows that it’s worse at airports.
And in crowds. She thinks it has to do with everyone trying to get where they want (see: need) to go at the speed of fucking light, at the same time, with no regard for anyone else because where they need to be and when they need to be there is obviously more important.
In moments like this, she wonders how Annie and Connor have survived eighteen years here.
She checks her phone, which she regrets to report has become a very frequent habit, while she waits. Connor made her commit to Instagram, “for the brand bro”, and insisted she allow it to bother her for every trivial update about every insignificant person on Earth. For instance, at this very moment, Cynthia from math is getting in from a long night of god knows fucking what, because all she posted is a half eaten platter of fast food and a thumbs up sticker. It’s 5am. She thinks she could bludgeon Cynthia from math to death, shortly before tossing her phone into the Hudson and watching with a particularly sadistic thrill as it sinks out of sight.
That’s the one upside of living here, she supposes. Threatening to throw everything into the Hudson at the mildest inconvenience. That part is actually pretty fun.
No one from home has posted anything, of course. Because they don’t really use Instagram and they’re asleep, like normal people, at 5 in the morning.
She used to feel she was a morning person, but the city has twisted that into something acrid. The mornings arrive with car alarms and screeching tires and the most ungodly amount of noise for a suburb. She didn’t understand Annie’s ungodly insistence on having a sound system that screams at her for her every whim but after a while, it made sense. Better to listen to dolphins and rain than someone screaming at their neighbours for breathing.
What is it with dolphins anyway? Maybe that’s why Sully sent her one.
Steven insists on putting her in business class, which she thinks is just the fancy, rich way of apologising for the fact that Connor isn’t joining her. Because he has a new girlfriend, and also she’s pretty sure he’s failing at least two classes. Then again, that could just as easily have been a ploy to get his new girlfriend to notice him, and quite possibly tutor him. She still wonders if everyone in New York is that simple.
Business class is nice, though. They offer her champagne, which makes her feel a little icky for some reason. Maybe because she’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants she hasn’t washed in a week and a half because she was too obsessed with packing. Also, because she’s definitely not old enough, but maybe that doesn’t matter in the richer circles of the world. She asks for coffee, which they present to her in a porcelain cup with a delicate stirrer, a pint-sized pitcher of milk and a multitude of packs of sugar. Truly, like an unhealthy amount of sugar. It’s good coffee, though.
They, like Annie’s sound system, seem to be hired to attend to her every will and whim. She wonders if she could ask them to do cartwheels and they’d move the actual carts aside to oblige. It’s a short flight, though. So, that’s nice. It’s fine.
She feels more relief than she can comprehend when she steps out into the cold and her teeth chatter a little. It’s too warm in New York. Either because of Steven’s overly expensive internal heating system, which he and Connor both use with impunity, or because everything is packed so closely together – she has no actual base of research to back that up, but it seems right.
Ellis waves before he even reaches her and she waves back.
She never thought she’d be so happy to see a seaplane.
-
“You get in okay?”
She turns away from the window and towards Ellis, who has been quiet for the first five or so minutes of the trip. She’s pretty sure he’s operating on direct instructions from Annie, who has told him to leave all the bombarding and interrogation to her.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was fine.”
She can practically hear Sully telling her that’s an alarming response in her head, but she combats it by telling him he isn’t really here and a figment of her imagination, so she’ll do as she pleases.
“Cool.”
Ellis nods, lips pursed, and she stops to appreciate how very Ellis of a response that is.
She presses her lips together to stop the oncoming laughter that starts from nowhere, which is unsuccessful. He doesn’t look over, because that would be very dangerous, obviously, but she can see his shoulders starting to shake.
“What?”
She can hear the laughter in his voice too.
“Nothing it’s just – that was so you.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No!”
It comes to her so quickly, with such certainty, that she has to confront how she’ll feel when she does see Oona. It occurs to her like a cough. Unstoppable and a little painful on it’s way out. It hampers her laughter a little, dampens it down to a smile, and she turns back to the window.
“So your flight was –”
“Are you gonna ask me about my flight the whole time?”
“Sorry.”
She can hear that he isn’t really sorry, about that at least. Maybe sorry for not asking what he really wants to ask but not for asking what it’s like on one of Annie’s fancy jets from New York.
“– They gave me like… a really small pitcher of milk.”
“For like – fun?”
“For coffee, but like – I mean, yeah probably.”
She adjusts in her seat, sitting back, still focused on the window.
“Is that like an amenities thing or…”
“Yeah, I guess. They offered me champagne too.”
She thinks she sees his head turn for a fraction of a second.
“Did you take it?”
“Obviously not. It was like 5am.”
“Right.”
The silence hangs for a few moments, and she rests her elbow on the windowsill. Her chin on her hand as she watches the buildings disappear.
“Did you… want to take it?”
“Oh my god.” She pulls off the window. “Will you please just ask what you wanna ask already?”
Ellis considers that question, which she thought had a really obvious answer, for longer than makes her comfortable.
“… Annie’s just worried, that’s all.”
She puffs out an exhale, her lower lip vibrating with it, and sits back.
“Annie’s always worried. That’s her state of being.”
“No, I know it’s just – she’s worried about you, specifically.”
“I will tell her you gave me the message, big boy. Don’t you worry.”
She shuts her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Wait, are you – going to sleep?”
“I’m not flying the plane,” she shrugs.
She’ll be getting a lecture from Annie later, but at least she’ll be getting it on 20 more minutes of sleep.
-
The lecture comes a few seconds after she walks through the door.
Annie picks her up, with strength that shouldn’t be possible and though it’s more of a hover it’s incredibly disconcerting, and squeezes. Excitedly telling her she's missed her, she’s so happy that she’s back, she has so much to tell her. And she appreciates it, even if her first request is to be put down.
Then, of course, the evil question comes.
“Have you seen Oona yet?”
Ramona feels her eyes bug out of her head.
“I just got here.”
“I mean, sure, but you didn’t see her at the marina or like - accidentally cross paths? Nudge hands, share intense glances?”
See, Annie, she never wants to throttle. Or at least, when she does, it’s like a measly three percent. Like holding someone in a chokehold with all the strength of a five year old.
But on this occasion, for a brief moment, she really wants to kill them both.
Annie seems to sense this, because her eyes go wider and her hands go out in defence. Or surrender, but she thinks defence is more likely.
“Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”
She drops her bag with a glare she knows could cut cinder blocks, watching as Annie dances back and forth nervously on her heels.
“But like – if you did want to see her –”
“Dude.”
“I’m just saying. Like if you did. Not that you do, or that you have to –”
“Annie.”
“She just knows you’re coming and I’m sure she’s excited so I figured–”
“Annie!”
She feels a little bad at how easily she raises her voice, and a lot worse about how relieved she is that Annie stops talking. She’ll blame it on the last few months of Connor training.
“– I’m gonna get you some coffee.”
“That would be incredible, thank you.”
Annie seems pleased to have smoothed the waters over. And she fills her cup right to the brim. So, you know, all is forgiven.
It’s only when she’s sitting on the couch, shoes off and coffee in hand, that she falls back on something she said.
“Did you say Oona knew I was coming?”
Annie looks like a deer in the headlights.
“Well– I mean, she found out.”
“Did you tell her?”
“I think Sully told her. Aaaaafter I told him.”
“Right.”
She can see Annie’s anxiety bubbling over her coffee. She decides to have mercy on her to apologise for earlier.
“I’m not mad.”
The breath that Annie exhales is so great she feels like it could shatter all the windows and make them need to move. Oh no, what a terrible thing that would be.
(She thinks about it. She thinks plenty of terrible things about Sterling Point. But she’s not blind. She’s noticed how much better she’s felt since they landed. How much closer to herself. She’s just not ready to say it out loud.)
“Do you still not want to talk about –”
“Nope.”
“Got it. Fair.”
-
Oona, who has never been particularly big on planning and always very, very big on spontaneity, has decided to do something incredibly stupid.
She’s decided to trust Annie Jacobson.