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Oona is doing quite well, all things considered.
She’s only 10 minutes late to work now, instead of 45. She still hangs out with Annie and Sully. She keeps up with the house boat maintenance as the days get colder. She takes Gordon’s old car to drop off Maple at school every Monday and picks her up every Friday, abiding by every traffic law. She even goes to her sister’s parent-teacher meetings, for fuck’s sake.
And maybe she was smoking way too much weed, and maybe she was going out every single weekend and getting way too drunk.
She tells herself this time it will be different, that she can move on.
But every time was always the same. She finds herself pressed up against a bathroom stall, or the back seat of some random girl’s car, or the trunk of a tree, and they always make out. This part is good, always good, because Oona can close her eyes and maybe just pretend the girl is someone else. Someone with intense, big hazel eyes and an even bigger heart, long blonde hair and a shy smile. Even for a couple minutes, she can convince herself. Then they would try to touch her, and it would violently jolt her back into reality. And she can’t do it. So she runs.
Which was ironic, because that was what Ramona does. What she did.
Most days Oona half expects her to come shuffling into the house boat like usual. She goes to Gordon’s cabin and finds herself surprised that her bed is vacant. She catches blonde hair out of the corner of her eye and turns to find nothing there. Most of all, she just misses her.
She pretends she doesn’t.
It culminates when Oona comes home one Saturday evening, agitated. She couldn’t even pinpoint why. Maybe it was just being here, where they grew up, where they fell in love. Oona can’t get away from it. She is not sure if she wants to.
Maple is posted up in her usual spot on the couch, book in hand. Oona’s stomping around the boat.
She burns Maple’s grilled cheese, curses, and slams the pan back down. She pushes a piece of her hair out of her eyes and covers her face with her hands. She hears the pad of her sister’s feet approaching.
“Its just a cheese toastie,” Maple says from behind her, quietly, because she definitely knows its about so much more than the fucking cheese toastie.
Oona bites her lip, rubs her eyes, and turns towards her sister. She looks so young, standing in her socks and one of their mom’s left behind way-too-big t-shirts. Bienvenue à Paris! It says. Maple’s eyes are big and thoughtful, pitiful, as she gazes at Oona.
“I know- I know that.” Oona says. She sucks in a deep breath and moves towards the exit, ruffling Maple’s hair as she goes, trying to keep it together. “Let’s just get dinner in town, yeah?”
So end up back at the Little Gem. Oona’s just sort of pushing her food around her plate, and both are quiet.
Maple breaks the silence, reaching across the table for her sister’s hand. “Oona,” she says, sounding so grown up in a way that makes Oona’s heart hurt, “You know you don’t have to be fine.”
Oona laughs, squeezing her hand and pulling away. “I’m okay.”
Maple just shakes her head and takes a bite of her food. “You’re doing it right now.”
“What?”
“Pretending.”
They look at each other, and Maple’s mouth is set in a flat, angry line but her eyes are sad. For a second she looks so much like their mother that Oona’s heart skips a beat.
“It might help to talk about it.” Maple shrugs.
Oona lets out a breath, emerging from her trance as she puts her head in her hands, pushing hair away from her face and smiling a little sadly. “There’s nothing to talk about.” She shakes her head.
“You broke her heart.” Maple says flatly. “But I think you broke your own heart, too.”
It's Oona’s turn to look like their mother, as her face goes flat and she squeezes her hands together.
“Maple, dude, I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
And that’s that. Maple doesn’t bring it up again. She forces Oona to watch a movie with her that night, and they curl up together in the dark. Oona doesn’t fall asleep, for once, and when Maple sees a tear roll down her cheek, she doesn’t mention it.
She goes out the next night, even though it's a Sunday and she has to get up early to drop off Maple at school the next morning.
But it has to go differently this time.
She tries, she really does.
She finds a girl, who’s there with some guy, but that’s besides the point. She’s beautiful. Her hair is long and blonde but her eyes are blue, not hazel. She’s a little too tall, a little too feminine. She doesn’t hold herself in the right way, doesn’t laugh the same.
Oona kisses her anyway, and she tastes like a vodka cran.
Oona’s got her pinned against the door of a coat closet, licking into her mouth, when she starts to get a little too handsy. Her fingers find their way beneath Oona’s top, she brushes the underside of her breasts, and she whispers, breathily, into Oona’s mouth “You’re so hot.”
She tries to stick it out, tries to let herself enjoy it. She closes her eyes and imagines Ramona, that night at camp. She’d certainly enjoyed herself then.
But then the girl drags her fingernails down Oona’s sides, and she’s too rough where Ramona would be gentle, her hands are too cold and soft where Ramona’s were warm and calloused.
Oona yanks herself back, breathing hard.
The girl stares at her, confused. “What’s wrong?”
Oona swallows, feeling dizzy. She tells herself it's just the alcohol. “I need to go,” She says, shoving past her and back through the party, into the cool night air.
Her jacket's still inside, she thinks blearily. There’s absolutely not a chance she’s going back in to get it.
So she stumbles home, aching inside. She tells herself it's just because she’s cold.
Maple is curled in her bed, fast asleep. Oona collapses into her bunk.
This is just pathetic. She thinks, and pulls out her phone. She searches for Ramona’s contact clumsily, blinking away from the too-bright screen.
She traces over the letters of her name with her thumb. She always liked how Ramona’s name looked, almost as much as she liked how it sounded. Ramona, Ra-Mona, ‘Mona.
She clicks on her profile picture, or at least tries to, because her thumb slips. It takes her drunken brain one entire ring to realize her error. She sits up straight, panicking, but Ramona picks up on the second dial, like she’d been waiting for Oona to call.
There was a long stretch of silence, but Oona can hear her inhale, all the way in New York City.
“...Oona?”
“I’m sorry,” Oona starts at once, yanking on a strand of her hair, “I didn't- I didn’t mean to call, I didn’t-”
“Are you drunk?”
Oona closed her eyes, twisting at the rings on her left hand.
“It’s okay.” Ramona says before Oona could answer. She sounded quiet, far away. “I miss you, baby,” She breathes.
“I’m sorry.” Oona replies. For all of it, she wanted to say, but there is a click, and she realizes Ramona hung up.