Is this a Ronancetober prompt from October 2024? Yes.
Is it January 2026? Yes.
Trying to get myself to write a little bit, so here's this very short something.
Ronancetober Day Six: Autumn
Pure Fluff. With trees.
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The car is quiet, as it has been for the last ten minutes, except for the occasional…
At the sniffle, Nancy’s lips twitch, a tiny, tell-tale jump at the corner, and it’s nothing, really, but it’s enough for Robin to throw a wadded up tissue at her.
“Oh my god, stop gloating.”
The rasp in her voice is even more pronounced with the tears, and it’s disconcertingly attractive, but Nancy does not share that information. She might later, in front of the fireplace of the cabin that they’re renting for the weekend, because it will make Robin that especially fun combination of smug and flustered, smirking even as her freckles disappear into the red spreading over her cheeks.
That’s for later, though. For now, Nancy angles her face just slightly so that Robin can see her raise her eyebrow and dip her head in the direction of the used tissue that has landed between her right leg and the center console.
She gets a scoff but the tissue disappears, and Nancy says, eyes steady on the road again, “I’m not gloating.”
And she’s not. She’s really not. She’s just…
“You absolutely are.”
Nancy lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Okay.”
It has the intended effect.
“Oh my god. Okay. You were right. You were right about the leaves. I am sorry that I suggested that I would not enjoy looking at leaves.”
She had suggested it. Several times. With a lot of confidence.
“Nance. I know we hit 30 but like…this is a bit much. Leaves? In New Hampshire? Should we go to the bingo hall next week? Maria’s grandmother is there every Wednesday.”
“They did have trees in Massachusetts, you know. A lot of them, actually. But I guess New Hampshire leaves are different.”
Nancy had known Robin would like it, and not just because they had a cabin to themselves and a long weekend. Nancy had been right.
She can feel Robin’s eyes on her, but she does not meet them. She does, however, let her lips twitch again. Three tissues this time, pulled freshly from the box, crumpled and aimed high enough to make their point but low enough not to get in Nancy’s face. The mountain roads are winding and it’s getting dark and Nancy appreciates the intentionality even as she says, “I can give you some tips.” A beat. “To help with your aim.”
Three more tissues and Nancy’s smiling outright, not bothering to hide it.
“You’re having such a great day.”
It’s true, and she lets it be true. “I really am.”
Robin’s hand spreads over her thigh, warm and familiar.
“Me too.”
It is quiet again, peaceful and good and then Nancy cannot help herself, because she is having such a great day and Robin is right there and it’s so easy.
“Glad to hear it. I was worried. What with all the crying.”
The hand disappears and Nancy doesn’t need to look to know it’s now tucked under Robin’s arm, the scowl on her face almost the same as it was more than a decade ago in Hawkins, the attitude performative and the face sharper, small lines now showing at the corners of her eyes. Signs of their age.
Familiar waves of gratitude and a brief sharp tug of grief pull at her, and she lets them for a second, because it’s good, she has begrudgingly realized, but then she shakes it off, because it’s good, too, to be exactly where she is.
“You good?”
She squeezes the hand that has appeared on her leg again and nods and Robin takes her at her word, squeezing back before moving to reach into the snack bag. She starts to hum as she opens the bag of gummy bears, offering it to Nancy, who takes one as Robin turns on the radio.
It’s dark now, the colors of the New Hampshire leaves shifted into silhouette, and Nancy listens as Robin sings, tries her hardest to remember everything she can about that overlook: the gravel under her feet, the little girl in the blue jacket whose whisper kept shifting to an excited yell as her parents walked her back to their car, and Robin, somehow the only one left standing at the railing in her leather jacket. Robin, whose eyes had traveled wonderingly over the reds and yellows of the leaves, the pinks and blues and whites mirrored on the lake as the sun drifted lower. Robin, who had stood quietly with Nancy until another car pulled up, others hoping to catch the very last of the light.
When they were back in the car, when the moment was well and truly broken, Nancy had silently reached into the back seat for the box of tissues, and Robin had realized, shoulders stiffening, exactly how much crow she would need to eat.
Nancy will enjoy that memory, too, she’s sure.
But for now she thinks of the colors of autumn and Robin’s shoulder pressed to hers and how beautiful even the most familiar things can be.
