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The first thing Darry noticed when he woke up was that his alarm clock sat completely silent on his dresser; he wasn’t even sure it had gone off. The second thing he noticed was that it was well past when he should have been up—which meant he was so, so late for work.
The third thing he noticed, upon shooting up and stumbling out of bed, was that it was raining so hard he had to double check and make sure it wasn’t hail.
No work today, then. Soda must’ve turned off his alarm; he was always going on about how Darry needed to sleep more, even though both of them understood how much easier that was said than done. Even with a day off, he had plenty of important things to do. There were rooms to be cleaned, papers to be filed, dishes to be washed . . . the list went on. Now that he was up, Darry might as well get a head start on all that.
He padded out into the kitchen, wary of the silence that preceded him. His house was never quiet, not even when Soda was at work and Pony was at school—inevitably, Two-Bit would be skipping or Dally would be hiding from someone he’d just pissed off. But today, no one was on the couch, in the bathroom, or complaining good-naturedly at the kitchen table. Instead, Darry found a note there, addressed to him, which read:
take a rest day. Bee back soon
-Soda
He scoffed. A rest day? Yeah, right! It was a cute thought, but him needing a break didn’t clean the rooms, file the papers, or wash the dishes. Would be nice if it did, though, Darry thought, making his way to the sink to wash away whatever biohazards his family had left on their only remaining plates.
At first, he thought that there was no pile of dirty kitchenware by the sink because no one had eaten. He hadn’t made breakfast, so it wasn’t entirely implausible that no one would be hungry more than they didn’t want to cook. But upon closer inspection, the stove was spotless and shiny, even though Darry was sure he hadn’t cleaned that area since yesterday morning.
Behind him, someone tried to open the door quietly, but all that resulted in was a loud, drawn-out creaking noise instead of the usual quick slam. Only one person who frequented this house actually cared enough to listen when Darry yelled at everyone not to slam the door.
“Hey, Johnnycakes,” he called out, not waiting for a response to continue. “I just got up, but I can whip somethin’ up for us to share real quick if you’d like.”
“That’s okay,” Johnny said as he walked in near silently. “Soda just sent me to make sure you weren’t gonna try to go to work in this.”
Darry chuckled. “Couldn’t if I tried—you saw what’s out there right now. An’ where is Soda, anyway? I thought he didn’t have any shifts today.” He checked the fridge to see if there was anything in there he could eat quickly and was surprised to find that it was completely full. He definitely hadn’t done any extra grocery shopping. There hadn’t been room for that in the budget for a long time.
Johnny shrugged, then pulled out a chair for himself. “I didn’t bother ‘im with that. He looked like he was real set on somethin’, so I figured it’d be best to let him run his course.”
“S’ probably wise,” Darry replied, rummaging around a bit before settling on a larger than usual slice of chocolate cake. He might not be able to rest like Soda wanted (even if the kitchen was suspiciously clean, there was a lot more for him to do before he could even think about relaxing), but maybe his kid brother wouldn’t be so upset at him if he could argue that he’d at least tried to take care of himself today. “You doin’ anything later?”
Johnny shook his head. “Nothin’ ta do with this kinda weather, anyway. The lot’s all rained out—I wouldn’t be surprised if it flooded, it’s comin’ down so hard.”
Darry glanced outside; the downpour had only gotten heavier as these past few minutes had gone on.
“How’re you not soaking wet?” he asked his completely dry companion, who shrugged again.
“Soda dropped me off.”
“Soda took the truck?”
“I guess he did.”
“ . . . huh.”
It wasn’t like that was a big deal or anything, but it was strange for Sodapop to do something like that without telling Darry—but he had been asleep. Soda probably just hadn’t wanted to wake him up, especially with this whole dumb rest day thing he wanted Darry to participate in (which was never going to happen, by the way, no matter how much he wanted it to).
Well, he could always ask Soda about it later, but right now there was still lots of housekeeping he needed to take care of.
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By eleven, Darry had gone through the whole house looking for something to do, only to find that every single chore had already been crossed off his mental list. The laundry? Folded. The bedsheets? Crisp and neatly laid out on every bed but his own. The shelves? Dusted. He only grew more frantic as his search continued. The bathroom? Scrubbed spotless, just like the oven. The bills? Well, they’d all been sent off yesterday, so he wouldn’t have had to do those today to begin with. Had Soda planned for that? Did he wait until it was fully in his power to take away every incomplete task? He would do that. The middle Curtis, while fairly mild-mannered most of the time, refused to let go of something once his mind was set on it. He was just as stubborn as the rest of his family.
Maybe Darry could just pretend to relax, then, since there was nothing for him to actually do around the house. Then Sodapop would get off his ass about taking a break and things could get back to normal around here. Over the past few weeks, Darry had been getting more worried glances thrown his way than he was comfortable with, including ones Pony and Soda thought he couldn’t see. He’d grown up with those kids their whole lives—and even if he hadn’t, they were not as slick as they thought they were.
But any thoughts of that plan went out the window the second Sodapop made it back from wherever it was he’d taken the truck to after dropping off Johnny.
“Good morning!” his brother called out, letting the door slam behind him. Darry glanced at the clock—it was still morning (albeit barely), and his arms were full of bags, so he let it slide.
“Hey, Soda,” Johnny said when it became clear Darry wasn’t going to respond. Soda nodded at Johnny, then turned his focus right back to him.
“You don’t look very relaxed,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you’re—agh! What the hell, Sodapop?” Darry squawked at him when he unceremoniously dumped out each bag onto the kitchen table.
“Relax, I’ll clean it up. But first—” Soda snatched up a bottle from the still settling pile. “—gimme your hands.”
“What?”
“Just do it, Darry, it’ll go faster if you agree!”
Darry sighed and did as he was told. Sodapop squirted out some sort of lotion onto his hands, which were so worn and calloused the skin around his knuckles had cracked in some places.
“Rub that in and go sit on the couch,” his brother demanded. Clearly, Darry was going to have a rest day whether he liked it or not. The chores were all done, there was no work to show up for—he’d really outdone himself with the planning this time.
With another, heavier sigh, Darry dutifully trudged over to the couch and sat down, but he was still stiff as a board. His back muscles were in their usual tense state and his shoulders were even more hunched in than usual.
“Glory, Dar, look at the state of you!” Soda yelped. “Lay down, lemme work out some of those knots. I can see them from here.”
Soda most definitely couldn’t see shit, because Darry had both skin and a shirt covering his muscles at any given moment (including now), but he flopped down anyway. This wasn’t a fight worth winning—not against Sodapop, and certainly not when he’d be asking for this same thing in a few days anyway.
The second Soda’s thumbs started working their way down his shoulders he let out a hiss of pain. It was always like this at first, but the way he felt afterwards made all the discomfort more than worth it. Darry’s brother had long stopped apologizing for it, too.
“Easy, big guy,” Soda said when he flinched at a particularly tight spot. In lieu of nodding, Darry just sighed and gritted his teeth. It would be worth it come morning, he tried to remember. It always was. He tried to focus on the soothing sound of the rain pattering against the window above him instead of his body’s protests.
Massages always had a way of lulling him. If he had to guess, it was because of the way his body felt like it was melting afterwards—The sensation was just too similar to sleep for his subconscious not to confuse the two. Time and time again, his brothers had recognized and weaponized that tendency. Distantly, Darry knew that was exactly what Soda was trying to do here, but at this point he was too relaxed to care.
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When he opened his eyes again, Ponyboy’s backpack was on the floor by the kitchen table, which meant he’d been home at some point. The thing was still wet, so it was probably a recent thing—and checking the clock confirmed it. It had been four hours since Soda came home, but the rain was still coming down hard as ever, so he supposed track had been cancelled. Blearily, Darry propped himself onto his elbows, noticing a blanket folding off his shoulders that definitely hadn’t been there when he fell asleep.
He didn’t want to leave the couch (it was just so cozy there), but since Pony was back he probably needed someone to check over his homework.
So Darry heaved himself off the worn cushions and pulled a pillow up off the floor. Had he knocked it over in his sleep, or was Soda just overly concerned about him walking himself up? Either way, it didn’t matter, because the pillow was now back in its rightful place right next to the rumpled blanket. He just left that one alone—folding it would come later, after all the boys had left for the night. It would be useless to straighten up too much now.
He walked into the kitchen, which thankfully wasn’t as silent as it had been that morning, to find Johnny, Soda, and Pony all huddled up by the pantry. It seemed like none of them had noticed him yet, so he cleared his throat softly. Johnny still jumped.
“Hey, Dar!” Soda’s face split into a grin at the sight of him. “You enjoy your nap?”
“I can’t enjoy naps. I’m unconscious,” he replied in complete seriousness.
Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “We’ll just take that as a yes.”
“Are y’all done tryna make me relax?” The question itself didn’t have a direct target, but Darry shot Sodapop a pointed look so he knew it was about him.
“Actually, we’re just getting started!” Soda chirped. “Don’t even worry about dinner tonight. We got it handled.”
That was quite possibly the most worrying thing he could’ve said about dinner, but Johnny must have seen the look on his face because before he could get a single word in, he said Two-Bit was bringing them burgers. Darry felt his shoulders slump back down. Soda just went on with his day, not even realizing that he’d almost undone all the work he put into loosening his back just a few hours ago.
“Glory, maybe start with that next time,” Darry sighed. “Who’s payin’ for the food?”
“Not you,” Sodapop said immediately. “We’re all pitching in. No extra budgeting this week.”
“This week? Soda, it’s Tuesday,” he protested.
“And you already paid all the bills. We have plenty of groceries. The world ain’t gonna stop turning if you let us handle things for a few days. It’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” Darry replied, turning to his youngest brother. “How’s your homework coming along?”
“I did it at lunch,” Ponyboy told him. “Got a teacher to check it in the afternoon. You don’t have anything to do today.”
Did he actually just fucking say that?
“Show me,” Darry said. Pony, presumably expecting the pushback, quickly whipped out a sheet of math problems covered in red corrective ink. He couldn’t believe it. Just how far did these people go to force him into this corner?
“Go enjoy something,” Johnny piped up. “Two said he’d be here around six.”
Dumbfounded, Darry was struck with the realization that his only option was to comply—so comply he did.
Well, it would be more accurate to say comply he tried to. It had just been such a long time since Darry had the opportunity to think about his own wants that he didn’t know what to do with himself. There were so many things he wanted—more money, fewer hours, more hours, a magic wand that left everything it touched perfectly clean—but none of those really required him to enjoy something. What did he even like, again?
He tried to ignore the creeping sense of doom that question brought on, deciding on taking as long of a shower as he wanted for once. He’d do his best not to think about how much hot water they had left, even if that was ultimately an impossible ask.
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Darry had to admit it—that shower felt nice. He was in there for well over thirty minutes, first cleaning himself, then scrubbing at his hair, and then just sitting on the tiled ground and letting water and steam wash over him until it was too hot to stay in there any longer. By the time he got out, it was close to five, and the lack of anything to do throughout the whole day was making him really antsy. It felt like his nerves were buzzing underneath his fingertips, begging them to move around and just do something.
But his mind, for once, was almost . . . quiet. It was strange, to say the least. The last time Darry had gotten to feel this way was well over a year ago—long before his parents died, if he was being honest with himself.
He decided to save that train of thought for tomorrow. If the gang was forcing him to take it easy, he might as well not ruin it for himself. Ignoring the way his eyes looked in the mirror, Darry threw on whatever he saw first that wasn’t made of denim. Pajamas before six p.m.—He never thought he’d see the day.
But fuck it, he was supposed to be relaxing.
Instead of heading out to the kitchen like he normally would’ve, Darry made a beeline for his nightstand. Just under his alarm clock, there was a book that had been collecting dust for the past eight months. He still had at least another hour until it was time for dinner; making some more progress on it didn’t seem like a bad of a way to pass the time. Maybe Soda would disagree, but it was his day, wasn’t it?
Ponyboy would get it. He’d talk him down.
Darry lay flat on his stomach, propped himself up on his elbows, and flipped to a few pages before where the bookmark was slotted to jog his memory.
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By the time Two-Bit came barreling into the house, Darry was so enthralled with his book that he almost didn’t hear the door slam shut.
Key word: almost.
But he didn’t feel like yelling about it, so he let it go for today. Darry stood up, pushing his bookmark all the way back into the spine of the book, and crept closer to the tantalizing scent of fried food.
The conversation in the kitchen made him freeze dead in his tracks.
“Is that everything?”
“No, we need a few more minutes, Dal’s not here yet—”
“When do you want me to get him?”
“Just wait a few more minutes, honey, then we’ll bring him out.”
Whatever those guys wanted to do, him showing up too early was bound to mess it up; Darry slipped back into his room, shutting the door as quietly as he could before laying back down and pretending to read some more. He’d just stay here until everything was ready and cradle the warm feeling his eavesdropping session left in his chest.
Sure enough, around five minutes later, the door slammed again and Dallas Winston’s voice could be heard floating down the hall. Darry was so focused on the way it sounded that he didn’t notice Ponyboy’s arrival until the sound of his knocking filled the room. He started.
“Come in.”
“Food’s here,” Pony said simply before leaving.
No time to waste, then. He wouldn’t want all their hard work to end in cold burgers—that would just be sad for everyone.
He was pretty hungry, too. Doing nothing took a whole lot more work than Darry thought it did.
He followed his brother down to the kitchen.
The table was completely set. There was even a tablecloth, which made the whole thing feel way too fancy for something like takeout burgers, but Darry wasn’t about to ruin anyone’s fun. He felt more like a kid on his birthday than he did on his actual birthday, which wasn’t saying much, but still felt like the right comparison. When else did people gather around and work together to give him his very own day?
He paused to take it all in, then allowed himself to speak.
“Y’all know you didn’t have to do this,” Darry told them, grinning ear to ear.
“We wanted to,” Soda replied. “Now sit down. I’m starving.”
Dinner was anything but a quiet affair for the Curtis household on a normal day, but this one felt extra rowdy in a way Darry didn’t know he’d been missing. When was the last time the whole gang was together like this? Really together, too, not just coexisting in the same house as each other. He hadn’t felt this connected to his family in a long time. Too long of a time.
They really needed to do this more often.
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Darry was already full from dinner. Two hadn’t skimped out on those burgers—they had double patties and vegetables stuffed in them that made them stack up so tall someone stuck toothpicks through them on their way out the kitchen. But Dally, at Soda’s insistence, rolled his eyes and took something out of the fridge, and all of a sudden he had room for another full course meal in him.
Because now, resting on the table and looking like it was a slice of heaven, was an honest-to-god funnel cake. Where had they even managed to find a funnel cake? When was the last time Darry had had a funnel cake?
“Go on,” Soda urged, “It’s all yours.”
Darry looked around at his family. They had gone through so much effort today just to give him some time to himself, some time to rest—and now they were giving him even more? He was about to cry. He was about to cry over a damn funnel cake.
“Hell no,” Darry said. “This thing was made for sharing.” He took a sizable piece for himself, then pushed the plate to the center of the table.
“Dig in, boys.”
With that, the dessert’s fate was sealed—and everyone spent the rest of the night basking in each other’s company. By the time Darry flopped down into his still unmade bed, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.
Damn Sodapop, always being right about things.