✦ @dakusutori // plotted starter
They had orbited the same sprawling, eclectic group of friends for a lifetime, but never had they been in the habit of hanging out one-on-one. Standing beneath the shade of a lime tree as she waited, Annie twisted a takeaway coffee cup in her grasp, the dregs of her macchiato cold.
Four years and an unspeakable amount of alcohol had lent that night a certain haze. Annie didn’t drink, but she had made an exception then, if only to prove that she could be normal, that she could have fun in the usual ways, rebellious in the knowledge that while her father was abroad she could do whatever the hell she liked. Alcohol had made it easier to be around so many people, it smoothed out her rough edges and dimmed her anxiety. Unfortunately, it also meant the party existed in her memory only as disconnected scenes and feelings, as garish splatters of fake blood, leering jack-o’-lanterns and the cheap polyester shine of Halloween costumes.
One lasting snapshot saw her bouncing on a large trampoline in the garden, swallowed by the dark, far removed from the oppressive heat and noise of the party. Whoever shared her company had made her laugh in a rare, vaguely hysterical way, each double-bounce launching her dangerously high. They had talked shit, about everything and nothing, bonding in a way that was gifted only to the inebriated, and only after midnight. Eventually, breathless and swaying, she had kissed him beneath the stars – him, definitely him.
In another half-formed flash of a recollection, she had stood in the crowded kitchen, one hand clasping his, the other clutching an alcopop in a toxic shade of blue, while the room went on spinning. Partygoers hid beneath the masks and face paint, a disorientating blend of the camp and the macabre. From them, her companion coaxed great roars of laughter. He was good at that, making people laugh. Heady, boozy kisses – he was good at those too. They made out in whatever quiet corners they could find, hands wandering, tugging at the ridiculous clothes they each wore as they retreated from his place in the spotlight, fading into the shadows of some cramped, unfamiliar bedroom.
Annie’s face burned at the recollection as she fished her phone from her pocket, and swiftly began typing:
[ TEXT : Ms. Waring ] Hi Lucy. Just a reminder that Nina is staying for after schools club today and will be collected by her childminder Zoë Appelberg. – Annie L.
When she looked up from the soulless black screen, he was there, framed by the vivid greenery this slip of parkland, buried at the heart of the gentrified city centre. Annie greeted him with a small, shy wave, her other hand tightening around her coffee cup. He was taller now, but his growth over the last few years paled into insignificance next to another observation. If there had been any doubt before, if she had been able to convince herself otherwise, it evaporated when her gaze settled on his amber eyes – the very same shade as her daughter’s.
