#steviexrivers

[islaricci-a]

closed | @steviexrivers​

Isla was excited to meet up with her friend for a little brunch over the weekend. She was out of things to eat at home, so having anyone over was out of the question right now. Besides, the diner down town offered great breakfast options. Their lemonade was also to die for in her opinion. She arrived at the agreed location before making her way over to a free table, taking a seat and scanned the menu and its options while she waited.

[islaricci-a]

closed | @steviexrivers​

To say Isla was excited, is an understatement. After she had received the news that Stevie had had her third baby, she had immediately wrapped up the presents she had gotten for the two the week prior. After having given her a couple of days to settle in, she couldn’t wait any longer and made her way over to  her house. With a set of gift bags in hand, as well as a bouquet of flowers and a couple of balloons, she rang the door bell and waited patiently, which in true Isla fashion was anything but as she was stomping back and forth on the porch, in anticipation to greet her friend and the little one.

[veritywagner]

Closed | @steviexrivers

“Did you have lots if cravings at this point?” Verity asked Stevie before leaning back slightly in her seat. She was incredibly grateful to have her in her life at the moment, even more so than she already was. Outside of Nicole, there wasn’t a lot of other people she had told about her pregnancy, with the exception of her family. There was even fewer that could relate and advise her on things, which was why she was currently asking lots of questions to try prepare herself for what was to come. “I had a point where I was craving pickles, which is weird because I usually hate them.” She laughed. “But recently my craving have more or less stopped.”

[vinnysantiago]

@steviexrivers

Feeling an awful lot like a deer in headlights, Vicente continues to stand in place. Part of him wants to turn tail and run, but he knows full well that will only invite trouble. Scuffed up boots, dusty jeans, he feels unclean–like a stain on polished marble. Out of place. Foreign. Fiancé. “Oh, uh congratulations–” and she’s inviting him in, chance to run becoming narrower by the minute “Are you sure?”

She insists. 

He hadn’t eaten much since this morning’s coffee and protein bar and while he did try to stomach (ha) his appetite, she was being…so very kind and she had such a warm and welcoming everything. He felt like he would be so very rude to decline, as if his being here already unexpected nonetheless wasn’t already rude. He didn’t used to be like this, overthinking and worrying–

Nodding, he steps into the house and its beautiful foyer removing his hat as he goes. Wiping his boots off on the rug and hoping to god he didn’t get dust on anything important “At work?” he asks, remembering that his old friend had talked about working at a University–a local? 

“What are you, I guess we, having…?” he asks as he bends down to start unlacing his boots.

[vinnysantiago]

@steviexrivers

The last correspondence Vicente had had with Johnny Wagner had been prior to his discharge, the envelope is well loved with a firm crease down the middle from its time kept snugly in his BDU pockets. It had a home now in his jeans, something a summer home in his wallet when he could fold it small enough to be tucked within. One day he would perhaps forgo the envelope entirely, what with its ink long since faded and smeared; he swore he could still find grains of sand within. 

Maybe he could write off his own relocation to Maple Hill as something of a desperate chase after what was. Something familiar that wasn’t so…overwhelming. While Johnny and he were not related by blood, their bond was just as strong; and in all honesty, his connections with his family had never been what one would call strong. Middle child. Not quite the black sheep but perhaps a smokey grey one. 

He’s hesitating. Looking for some excuse to not exit the vehicle and cross the street up the frankly beautiful slice of suburbia. Vicente was well aware that he had changed. Not necessarily for the better, since Johnny had left the service. What memories he had of the other, further coloured by the words starting to fade from too many times spent reread; felt almost alien. 

Someone more qualified probably had a lot to say about that. 

With that note, he opens the door and swings his legs out. One hand reaching out for his hat as he does and planting it on his head. After shutting the door behind himself, he doesn’t bother locking it (the truck was old, beat up and bought secondhand from secondhand; out of place in such a gorgeous place) and crosses the street. The neighbourhood is pleasantly quiet, comfortably so. 

He feels small. 

Tucking the well loved, well worn, slice of safety; into his back pocket. His hands worry one another, twisting together before he jams them into the pockets of his jacket before he makes his way up the drive at a brisk pace. Before he can think better of it. Maybe he should have called–everybody seemed to know everyone here he was sure someone around the farm would be able to know something. 

He doesn’t let himself look around too closely, knows that it will overwhelm him to the point of further hesitation. If not worse: a retreat. Jamming a digit to the button twice, cutting the first pleasant chime of the doorbell off with a second. There’s a moment, then another; he swore he heard someone come to the door and–

It’s a woman. 

He freezes. 

He…recognizes the woman in a way, a sense of familiarity he can’t quite place. A name comes slowly to mind and he grimaces internally before trying to put on his best smile; a crooked almost awkward kind of thing “Hi uh…”

Stevie.

Eyes widen and he stands straighter in place, almost as though at attention “Stevie right?” he should have planned for this–expect the unexpected, prepare for the worst (this was hardly the worst) “I uh, shit,” smooth “I’m sorry to just drop by unannounced but I’m uh a friend–old friend really, kind of old kind of friend, of Johnny’s.”

Pulling a hand from his pocket he offers it forth “Vicente Santiago, I served with your…” were they married? He looks to her hand, catches the glint of a ring “...Husband…?”