for @kvating
francine. it was a name fit for a grandma, or a bohemian boutique shop--not a category two hurricane. it sounded much more delicate in concept, but waking up to part of a fence nearly lodged into her bedroom window didn’t evoke a particularly fragile feeling. little pieces of the outer banks had been blown haphazardly around the petrov-garcia estate, reminding thalia of just how much unrecyclable plastic was just floating around their coastal paradise. the place could be flooded with rich people and second-homers for the summer, but it still managed to look like a living landfill. that was a pet peeve of hers--just one out of many.
another annoying part of hurricanes--besides the climate change behind them--was the disappearance of cell service. as much as she wanted to pretend like she could go off the grid instantly, out of her true appreciation of the earth — thalia couldn’t go anywhere without her phone. she needed to be connected to her boys, to be able to check up on them every five minutes. but thanks to stevie, she had to make her rounds in person today. which meant getting behind the wheel of one of alexie’s vehicles that just screamed eat me, i’m rich!
so thalia, wrapped in a soft, oversized hoodie, sat in her car, perpetually glancing at the ziplock bag full of blueberry muffins strapped into the passenger’s seat. she pulled up to rome’s place around eleven am--it was always a little strange showing up there, alone, like she used to in high school. but rome was something of a hurricane himself--thalia knew, maybe better than anyone, that there was always something sensitive stirring inside of him, just waiting to blow up. she found herself keeping a close eye on him. and that’s why she sucked it up and hopped out onto the curb, a muffin in one hand and her useless phone in the other. lia peered down at her sandals as she waited for him to answer the door, quickly growing impatient. “ rome ! i come bearing baked goods. open the door, asshole. ” she hoped to god that nobody else was home.
it’s not out of laziness or even his dislike for the outer banks that he doesn’t aid in the post-francine cleanup; it’s out of pure spite. high and mighty, before francine was even finished wreaking havoc, atticus keating demanded his family partake in their civic duties; under no circumstance were they allowed to bail. cyrus, ever the suck-up, saluted. he raised his hand to his forehead with a quick movement that made their father nod his head in respect. roman’s been holed up in his childhood home for an entire week and he’ll be damned if he spent another minute with his father five feet away from him.
evading his so-called ‘mandatory’ assistance outside of two whales was hardly a feat. it took one look at mayor winthrop and the words came easily: “my father wants me to help out around the station. i figured he would’ve talked to you already.” though he wasn’t going to be caught dead doing that either, it’s a stellar excuse and earns him pat on the back from the older man. he knows their paths will never cross. to keep some good conscience, he couldn’t say no to mrs. babcock — not when she startled him by clutching his forearm after the town meeting and more or less begged him to help clean up her yard later in the week. his promising answer to her came with a dazzling grin and his hand covering hers, “i’ll be there this weekend.”
he’s shoving a spoon full of cinnamon toast crunch into his mouth when the interruption causes him to groan in detest. it registers as one of his sister’s coming to drag him by the ear until lia’s voice echoes through the door. he debates with himself on whether or not he should even get up to answer, just let her believe he’s sleeping or out with the rest of them. he knows she knows better ( always does ) and the idea of eating something other than stale cereal appeals to him. with the swing of his front door, he greets her, “is that any way to greet your favorite asshole, lia?” now that she’s returned from california, it hits him that he’s missed her presence. when he allows himself to think about it long enough, it was never the act of thinking he didn’t miss her. he just didn’t think he had the right to anymore.
being back in town, on the keating family’s porch of all places, made thalia a little dizzy. she felt like she was getting whiplash, remembering all of the times she had climbed through the window on the side of the house rather than entering through the front door. lia didn’t particularly enjoy the feeling of those memories reentering her brain after they had been locked away so neatly for months, conveniently forgotten by two and a half thousand miles. but she couldn’t say she hated it, either--she was fond of that much simpler time. when the thought of college hadn’t even crossed their minds yet, for all they knew was each other. that was much easier to get lost in. and part of her had understood that back then--understood that she had to really know herself before she could dissolve into another human being. sometimes, thinking of that made her feel less guilty for leaving the outer banks behind in the dust.
“okay, you got me there.” she admitted, waving the muffin in the air. lia held it out in front of her, as a peace offering. “so, how ya been?” she asked casually. in an attempt to try not to look at him for too long, she slipped behind him and inside of the house, an eerily familiar skeleton from her past. suddenly, she was eager to go back to keeping her gaze on roman. “francine do a number on you?” maybe it was selfish, but lia didn’t really care about his answer to the question. these post-hurricane check-ins were merely an excuse for her to gauge how the gang was doing--and how they had been doing these past eight or so months.
thalia’s eyes narrowed at the sight of rome’s half-eaten bowl of cereal, glad to have brought him something with more sustenance. that wasn’t to say she wasn’t a fan of cinnamon toast crunch. but he knew that already. “did you miss me?” she pried, turning back on her heel to face him. it was her final question, a test that was nearly impossible to pass. lia didn’t really know what she was doing here, trying to breathe life into something that had laid dead for so long. she didn’t even know what the answer was to that question. all she knew was that she had gotten in her car, and somehow ended up on roman’s front porch, without even thinking about it.
