“Of course I remember.” Feeling awkward with his hand now resting on the table, Gideon found use by reaching for a chip. He didn’t eat it, though. Rather, he dabbed it into the gooey cheese, eyes glued to the movement as the cogs in his brain turned in an attempt to process. Too much time passed as he mulled over Marlene’s words, too much silence amidst a noisy pub. Finally, his eyes shifted upward and met dark blue orbs with the hope that somehow the answer would transfer into his mind.
Instead, Gideon met a blue as wild and mysterious as the deep ocean. It reminded him that so much of this witch felt foreign, equal parts homecoming and being plopped into a strange, new world. Perhaps that’s precisely why they would never be anything more than friends, because Gideon lacked the ability to truly understand her—not like Davey could, or maybe even Gilbert did. Gideon wasn’t deep nor mysterious, and he certainly didn’t reside just below the surface. In reality, Freddie proved to be the only aspect of his life that remained hidden, the rest always and unapologetically being viewable for all.
Gideon exhaled and then bit at the bottom of his lip as he finally abandoned the now exceedingly cheesy chip. He wanted to look away, for the hullabaloo of the pub to grab his attention, but he couldn’t. Instead, Gideon’s eyes remained locked on Marlene.
“I remember, I just—” Lips pressed together as he paused. “Can you try to explain it to me?”
Marlene offered a gentle smile. She was accustomed to being regarded with confusion. Her thoughts were often not the same as the majority of the public---rather, she at least didn’t think her similar thoughts in the same way. Frustrating though it could be at times to have to pause to explain herself, it seldom, if ever, felt that way with Gideon. Gideon, who wanted to understand her; who wanted to see all of her, as he had put it; who didn’t regard her with disapproving or offended eyes when she had finished speaking her thoughts aloud.
“Yeah, it just--- You know, people cry at sunrises, and the Grand Canyon, and all of these things that aren’t really that unordinary, like, in the grand scheme of the big picture and all that. But in the middle of the rest of their lives, when they see them, it just---” Marlene shrugged. Even she didn’t know how to interpret her own thoughts. But instead of feeling frustrated, she just chuckled; at least they were together in that.
“Sometimes, you come across something that just fills up your whole heart with warmth and hope and joy, and it fills up so much that it overflows out of your eyes, I think. Like, they say there’s always more room in your heart, but on such short notice, maybe there isn’t always room for it. Or maybe, it’s been clogged up with so much of---whatever the opposite of warmth and hope and joy is, that the happy little thing cleanses it all out. I’m getting too deep with it,” Marlene said suddenly, shaking her head. “But--- I mean, not just about the baby, but that you would tell me at all. It just--- This---”
Marlene paused again. This what? Friendship? Company? Marlene still didn’t know how to define the sort of comfort that being with Gideon gave her---the warmth, the hope, the joy. But truth be told, she had enjoyed it much better that way---allowing herself and Gideon to just be herself and Gideon. Marlene’s heart suddenly gave a rather dramatic, loud thump compared to the rest of its beats. Against her better judgement, in spite of the scared, screaming voice in the back of her mind, Marlene obeyed her instincts, reaching across the table for Gideon’s hand once more. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
“You just make my heart feel very full, Gideon Prewett.”
