❛ I know it’s not really my place. But - are you ok? ❜ for mary
“You would be correct. It isn’t. But rest assured, I am fine. I am perfectly fine.”
I am not fine. Not fine at all.
Mary’s lower lip trembles as she takes a long drag of her cigarette. The little balcony attached to the apartment that her brother shares with his wife and newborn daughter is crowded with plants. Most of them are looking decidedly dismal, wilting away from lack of water, weeds overtaking their pots.
It never used to be like this. These plants used to thrive, a lush green little paradise up on the third floor. If anything, their imminent demise is a sign of just how desperate things have become around here. There’s no getting away from it, is there? From grief, from death - it’s always there, always making itself felt. Even here, even now - in the presence of a new life.
She’s trying. She really is trying. Trying to be supportive, to be kind, to reach out. To bring some resemblance of order to the chaos into which her brother’s home life has descended after his daughter was born.
A little girl that won’t stop crying.
A wife who does nothing but lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of the bedroom.
Mary tries to help in any way she can - running errands, making cups of tea, stocking up the freezer, holding Stella when she cries.
Sometimes, she pretends that Stella is hers.
It isn’t fair.
It just isn’t fair, that Assire should have what Mary could not hold onto, and all she can do is to squander this precious, precious time. Mary can’t stand it, and she can’t stand just how angry it makes her to witness it.
And yet, here she is.
Helping.
Caring.
Being dependable.
Maybe she should leave for the day, go back home - to the big, dark, empty house, where she can still hear her mother’s footsteps in the hall, her son’s weak, high pitched cry.
What is worse, anger or grief? What hurts more?
She clenches her jaw, squares her shoulders, takes her cigarette case from her pocket, snapping it open and holding it out to Orion.
They do not know each other well, but Mary is coming to appreciate her. She, of all people, knows what it is like to watch so-called friends disappear as soon as life gets difficult. Orion isn’t like that. She’s made a point of being present, of doing whatever she can to make things more bearable.
“Want one? I don’t really like smoking while I’m here. It’s not good for Stella. But sometimes… sometimes it just gets a bit much, doesn’t it?” She gestures vaguely at the balcony door, careful to drop her voice so her brother will not hear.
“It’s a mess. They’re a mess. It’s hard on everyone, I think.”
It isn’t fair.
“I’m really starting to run out of ideas on how to help, you know? I guess we’re just going to have to...keep on being there.”
Mary finishes her cigarette, stubs it out in one of the planters.
“Thank you, by the way. For your help. For your presence. My brother doesn’t exactly have many friends to begin with and, you know what they say: when days are dark, friends are few.”
