From the moment her plane touched down in New York International Vivienne knew this place was not her home anymore. Getting back to London felt like an impossible dream, something she had to sacrifice for the sake of justice, for Ivan. She couldn't answer if she would change things if she could- all this, her entire existence had been for him since the day he died for her. Vivienne's life had been on pause since then- and just when it was feeling like it would begin again, she paused again to go home, to relive the nightmare.
When all was said and done she made her way quickly back to London, she couldn't, shouldn't have expected Theo to have been waiting on her return. She had hoped- but the funny thing about hope was how fragile it seemed to be- she took everything as a sign. When her cab stopped just outside of his home, traffic seemed like another sign and before she could talk herself out of the potentially crushing moment Viv left the cab, ran through the rain and despite the thundering her chest gently knocked on his door. She was meant to be meeting a realtor, meant to be putting the makeshift bones of this life back together again- but her heart had always been pulled towards Theo, and it likely always would be in some significant grand way. He'd once said she could come anytime- the offer she hoped was still there as she stood out there with all her unspent love making an ache in her chest.
She buried her ears into the calm of his heartbeat, and in a matter of seconds: fell terribly in love with the way her loneliness fell softly and suddenly, asleep, in his chest.
“Accounting. Maths. No. Never had the brains for that. I only do things that are easy.” Another one of those Theo Bailey’s absolute truths. “Of course, easy is a rather complex concept in itself. Yes, I think you’re easy to charm, but not always and certainly not by everyone. But it’s not hard… for me.” His eyes sparkled with something as he watched her closely, wishing to never depart. Their pinky fingers connected and he couldn’t help but allow the corners of his lips to raise in a grin. “Wars have been started for less, Miss Fonseca.” He tightened the loop of their fingers. “Be sure to mean this pinky finger vow.”
Vulnerability was a feeling all too common for Theo. Aside from the physical one, he also operated on feelings, not logics. Never logics. He often loved too much and felt too much, and was never very quiet about it. He supposed that Chiara had never liked that side of him. From the moment he’d laid on her living room floor, cold and shaking from his first seizure in almost ten years, an engagement ring on his pocket, when the woman’s eyes darkened and she made the decision to break things up, from that moment on, he thought that maybe he should keep himself a little more guarded, a little less vulnerable, a lot more careful. But without even trying, Vivienne managed to tear that down. He wasn’t trying to hold back, either.
It still hurt, however, to admit that he saw himself as little more than damaged goods. His parents certainly wouldn’t like to hear that from him, and he guaranteed they never did. But he couldn’t help but feeling that it was his party tricks that lured the Baileys into the trap of the century by adopting him. A party trick and nothing else, one that landed him a family, because, after all, why else would the Baileys have spared him a second look? No one else had. In his deepest corners of his mind, loomed the fear that as soon as he stopped being brilliant, as soon as they found out that there was nothing special about him, they’d leave. He’d come to terms with that, mostly. But now learning that his mother, his birth mother… “I did. See her, I mean.” Her face flashed before her eyes. “Not for long, but I looked at her — we have the same eyes. I always wondered…” He bit his tongue, holding back, choking on his feelings. “But yes, I saw her. I couldn’t talk much. Like a coward. What a sight. She’s a bloody nun, Viv. There’s a joke here somewhere, I just can’t laugh at it yet.“ He tried to flash her a smile but wasn’t successful. He really felt like he was about to be undone by Viv’s touch.
...
"Like figure drawing classes," Viv replied, the humor in her tone as she spoke about it, remembering it and him on the first day they'd met. His drawings were not like those of the artists there for the hope of some future in art. Nonetheless, they'd been her favorite. One of the few things from her home her life in Brooklyn that she'd taken with her from country to country and state to state. They were her pieces of him, and she cherished them with a great deal of admiration. Viv's eyes danced across his face, her smile dimpling her cheeks. She wasn't easily charmed by most- but there were those who managed to endear her to have her hanging on their every word.
Theo's words were her favorite. She'd collect them by the pocketful if she could. "I think you might be calling me easy." She teased, her fingers dancing across his shoulder. "I'm charmed by you. Easily, often, endlessly." She admitted as their pinkies looped together. Her features were soft and as solemn as she could manage, a smile attempting to break the seriousness she'd drawn across her face, "I'll never mean anything more than this pinky vow." She promised, the smile making its way through, reaching her eyes as she pulled their pinkies to her lips and kissed them connected.
Sometimes Vivienne felt like her moments with Theo were made up in her head. The start of once upon a time chasing some happy ending she was sure would never be hers. So she settled in the middle. That's where all the best parts were, anyway. She'd seen the end. The end of life, the end of love. When Ivan took his last breath and when Eren walked out of their shared home for the last time. Both losses had fractured Vivienne's heart in ways she didn't think would ever be repairable. All these years later for, Eren and she was still hoping for the anger and heartbreak to release her. And a year after Ivan, she still couldn't wear any jewelry without being thrown back to that day. Some days it felt selfish for her to be alive. More so selfish that she wanted to live for the little moments that Ivan would never have again. Moments like this where she was reminded that a heart could be so terribly broken and yet you could still love with it.
Vivienne listened to him speak, the pain he must have felt. She couldn't imagine the existential crisis seeing his birth mother would have ignited within him. Yet, all she could offer was to shoulder it with him. Better or worse, she wanted to be there for him. Even if she struggled with the logistics of how when all she wanted was to take this hurt from him. Viv's heart ached and tightened as she let her gaze linger on his eyes. "I'm so glad she gave you these eyes." She responded in earnest, her thumb sweeping along his brow bone. "I can't pretend to understand why Theo.
I wish I had better answers for you. Something more to give you." She stepped into him with a soft sigh juxtapositioned against his grief, "I'm sure she was beautiful. I don't think she or anyone else would think you're a coward for not talking to her." She explained her words low and slow as she did not want to stumble over them. She wanted him to know they meant something. That he meant something to her. "Have you told your mom and dad, your sister?" She asked, "Your family." She brushed his hair away from his face. Her finger drew a path down the curve of his cheek to the corner of his lip, where she'd noticed him trying to smile. "Theo, I'm here." Maybe there had been something else she'd wanted to say. Something perhaps she one day still would, but for now, I'm here felt like the right thing, the sure thing.
“It’s almost like I do words for a living…” He said, teasingly, feeling the softness of her face and feeling almost like giving himself into those odd inclinations of staying there forever, together. Crop ghosts. “Be careful, Miss Fonseca. I might charm you with the power of my sentences. It would bind you to me forever.” Vivienne asked him his secrets — she couldn’t possibly know what she was doing. Theo didn’t have many of those, but the ones he did have were enough to tip the scale against a feather and doom his heart to Ammit, the beast. A few moons back, they’d laid together on the same bed and shared more than physical space; Viv had told him everything, until it felt like every moon, every dance around the sun since those days back in Cambridge, were filled with details so deep he could have been there himself, a spectator in her real and palpable memories. In return, he’d held her. But his secrets… “I’m an open book.” Theo flashed her a smile. And then his throat tightened a considerable bit, because he truly was an open book to her and even his traitorous feelings wouldn’t let him keep anything in. “My deepest, darkest secret…” He swallowed. “Is that I’m afraid that they’ll take me back.”
That feeling was never backed by reality. Not when he was a child, certainly not now, as an adult. It brought him shame admitting that — the Baileys, his family had never given him reason to believe so. He was being unfair. And yet…
“I met my mother. My birth mother.” He said, a sour taste in his mouth, Vivienne’s eyes bearing holes on him. “She was dead. All my life, she’s been dead. Until a week ago–” he stared at his feet. He was about to admit ugly things, deepest-secret kinds of things. And it didn’t feel wrong. “It was easier when she was dead, because then I could imagine that she didn’t make that choice. That she didn’t pick me.” Theo swallowed, shame creeping up his neck. “It’s not fair.”
"Really?" Viv smiled in mock surprise, "I thought you were an accountant." She said breathlessly, "Very rich, but goodness, such a boring career." She teased, batting her lashes up at him. Her chest fluttered at his words, and Viv shook her head, "Mister. Bailey, you think I'm so easily charmed?" She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She was- endlessly, irrevocably charmed where Theo was concerned. Eyes sweeping over his face, her heart raced, binding her to him forever. She swallowed, "Sounds like the power of a promise." A vow. She thought a bit hazily and smiled warmly, "Whose to say we're not already connected...for always?" Viv questioned, looping her pinky finger with his imagining a string connecting them together- tangled and long, but he was a part of her. No matter what happened or where life would lead, there would always be a part of her connected, knotted with Theo, and Viv didn't think she'd change it even if she could.
An open book- she found herself on a new page each time she was with him. Furthering the depth of her quickly growing feelings, Viv was stunned by his secret. She felt it as if his words knotted around her heart, creating a weight of empathy that drug her closer to him, her fingers curling against the side of his face as she waited silently for him to continue. As soon as Theo told her he had met his birth mother, Viv knew what he meant. He was afraid still, after all these years, his parents would take him back- undo the family they'd created with him. Viv's heart fractured, and her brows knitted together as she listened to him explain.
The surprise she felt she kept contained, smoothing her expression into serene understanding. She was alive- after all these years of thinking one thing to be presented with such a stark difference, something totally unlike what you'd grieved already. Viv was full of conflicting feelings and aching for whatever Theo must have been feeling. Viv cupped either side of his face, her thumbs sweeping over the arch of his cheek bones, "Theo-" She breathed his name a soft echo of affection, "It's not fair. You don't owe her anything. I don't know if anyone has told you that, but you owe only yourself it's unfair to you to have to deal with this." One hand dropped down to his neck, curling a soothing touch at the back of his neck, "Did you see her?" She croaked unsure- her eyes not leaving his face.
He smiled an insinuating smile as he searched for a way out, “Oh, I’m quite aware of that, Miss Fonseca. I’m quite aware.” Theo chuckled, her arms around him easing his nervousness of being trapped―in the maze and within himself and his worries. “In vino veritas. I highly doubt that I’d ever grow tired of you, somehow.” Theo stopped at an intersection, undecided of where they should head now. “I’m not very fond of how that story involving Greek men and labyrinths ends. It’s a story of unrequited love and it involves a certain wine god showing up in the last minute, and I couldn’t risk that, could I? We’ve already established your particular fondness for wine.” Theo smirked at her, leaning into her touch as if he could stay there forever. He touched her face with the tip of his nose, gently and blindly carressing it. “Oh, it’s your lucky day, because I have a few ideas that don’t involve me rambling.” And when she parted, way too soon, he wished his hands weren’t occupied with keeping him on his feet so that he could pull her back into his embrace. His heart danced a strange pace in his chest. “Me too. Greece had nothing on you.” Theo meant it. Especially now, when it brought him nothing but a pit right in the middle of his chest. “I usually feel homesick, and such anguish in leaving.” He searched for the right word, finding it in Portuguese; the longing and melancholy of missing something one loves as much as he does Greece. “Saudade. This time I was actually relieved to put an ocean between us.”
...
"Oh, but you have such a way with words Mister Bailey. I think I'd enjoy hearing exactly what you mean." She flirted shamelessly, aimlessly following his lead in no hurry to leave the maze for the reality of the world outside the stalks and endless rows of corn- it was all almost laughable, the ridiculousness of being lost in a labyrinth of corn. They didn't have these in the city- mazes of sky scrappers and pop-up boutiques but not this, not Theo. She could stay here longer just to hold onto him and any moment she could have. "I couldn't lie to you sober." Viv answered, "But I am very interested in the secrets you'd spill- tell me your deepest darkest secret." She smiled lovingly, the teasing in her tone apparent as she turned in a semi-circle, it all looked the same, and Viv was almost positive they were walking in a circle. She would keep that to herself.
Viv hummed thoughtfully, "Sounds like a tragedy." She replied beside him, her chin briefly resting on his shoulder, looking up at him from under a fan of lashes, "I'm quite fond of making up my own stories." Viv said, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. "We can make up our own labyrinth tale involving a Greek man and a Spanish woman. No Gods of wine." Viv suggested softly, her eyes falling shut against the warmth of his caress. He was the sun incarnate everything he did filled her with warmth from the inside outward. A fluttering in the pit of her stomach knocked her so hard with emotion that Viv had to swallow the rising lump in the back of her throat and grip onto him for support.
Hmm, she mumbled, her brain slowly catching up with the rest of her body. "Yes, you're wonderfully skilled at plenty other than rambling." Viv felt like her chest would explode with desire and emotion, and reluctantly she stumbled back away, her fingers lingering as she let her head fall back to the star-dotted sky. The following words from his lips filled Vivienne with concern, her eyes pulling away from the sky to look back at him. She urged him toward a wall of the maze and very intently pressed her lips to his, "Tell me what happened?" She requested as she pulled back from the kiss, her fingers splayed over the side of his face. "We can stay here for a bit longer. I'm in no hurry to leave."
"We really shouldn't have entertained the idea of a maze after all that wine," Theo said with a frown, staring at the indistinguishable rows of corn surrounding them. Half of the city was probably there, and yet, they hadn't crossed paths with another brave adventurer in quite some time. Which was, he supposed, both nice and frightening. Since returning from Greece, this was his first time seeing Vivienne, and he felt like there were lots to be said. At the same time, he'd be glad for any distraction preventing him from doing so. "How very quaint. I should say, however, that there's no one I'd rather spend the rest of my life in a labyrinth with. We can become ghosts here, it'll be a ballad for the ages."
@vivienne-fonseca
at the corn maze
...
Viv smiled fondly at Theo, "I enjoy doing lots of things after plenty of wine." Vivienne defended that despite the fact they were clearly lost in a corn maze, she couldn't bring herself to be bothered with the situation. Especially given the company she was currently lost with. Her eyes followed Theo with every step he'd taken. He was filling the silence with his rants on them being lost when all she wanted to do was tell him that she'd missed him when he was gone. To ask what his trip was like. The end of September was hell for Vivienne, having Theo back now felt like the light at the end of the perpetually dark tunnel. Following after him Viv swung her arms around him, "You're going to get us more lost." She teased while her fingers splayed against his shoulders. Her eyes scanned his face, eyes nose lips and back to his eyes, "You'd grow tired of me in forever." She replied softly, a hint of insecurity buried with a smile that was more genuine than what she left unsaid. “There is a Greek myth about labyrinths I'm sure, but I'm more interested in your own tales." Viv continued, "If we're going to be stuck at least you can ramble to me to pass the time." She smiled warmly, "how will we pass the time?." She asked Leisurely untangling her arms from his neck Viv’s fingers caressed his face as she moved away as she attempted without luck to peer over the towering maze. Sighing Viv fell back on her heels and looked over at the pacing Theo, concern knitting into the lines of her face”I missed you.” She admitted before she could think better of it.
“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?” He asked when she said she might never leave. He stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her cheek, then drew her face closer for a kiss. “I don’t think I can lecture you on anything at all, Vivienne. And I must admit, it frightens me.” Because rendering him speechless was no easy thing — silence terrified him, and he was in a constant state of trying to explain the world around him through poetry and long, breathless sentences that seemed somehow useless around Vivienne.
“Well, not anything about me, certainly.” He’d always been fairly certain that he wasn’t exactly perfect, that something was missing — he wasn’t a perfect baby, he wasn’t a perfect man. Chiara knew it, and worst of all, Chiara had seen it. And she’d left, because that’s what sane people do. Picking him, choosing him, was an act of the insane — like his parents, who took a look at that scrawny, spunky, smartass of a boy and decided they’d keep him. Like they’d kept that injured lion cub for a few weeks after rescuing it from poachers. He had often wondered, senselessly, idiotically, when they’d decide he’d grown too much, when he’d be too big or too much work and they’d send him away. Thirty years later, that cloud of unjustified doubt hung over his head and in his worst days, he’d still wonder. If he was worth keeping.
“My handwriting is regrettably just like my drawing. Just some of the things about me I can’t really change.” Not that he would — he didn’t think he would. “Asli is the only one who’s able to read it, and that’s because she literally reads hieroglyphs.” It was a consequence of his poor motor skills, and as much a part of him at this point as the color of his — soon to be graying — hair. “It’s- chicken scratch. But there’s some poetry in it, you know?” He’d found meaning in the things he couldn’t do, like write as beautifully as his father, who in the age of text messages and emails would still send people handwritten letters with red wax Bailey seals because he was just this kind of person. Theo had come to view it as a form resistance, to others but mostly to himself, so even as cryptic as it was, he refused to stop it. There was a certain mystical sense to it, and he thought that reading his words were equal to knowing him, fully. “The french are many things, but you can’t say they don’t have style. Baudelaire is… troubled. I can relate to that.”
He walked to the kitchen and brought the burning kettle to the table, pouring her some of it. He nodded at the sugar bowl as he sat down. “I would only judge you for sugar in your coffee. Tea with no sugar is just herb water.” He winked. “I feel like we haven’t talked much, even though we seem to talk… much. You’re still a riddle to me.”
...
Her fondness for Theo should have worried her. It had been years since Vivienne had allowed herself to get close to someone. Maybe it was easier due to their history, but Vivienne still had one foot planted firmly on the ground even as everything he said or did swept her up. She'd learned years ago that anyone could drop you at a moment's notice. The next time she would be prepared for it, half waiting for disappointment even while her heart hammered against her ribs and longing burst into a fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. Vivienne hummed a no, her head shaking only to rest gently in the palm of his hand. A soft sigh parted her lips in response, and her eyes fell shut, enjoying every moment with him. Viv chased away the thoughts of heartbreak, and what if and just enjoyed the feeling of her lips pressed to his, "I frighten you?" She replied after remembering to exhale. She wanted to insist she was nothing, nobody worth fearful feelings. Viv shook her head, "Does it help that I love listening to you talk?" She asked, hopeful that he'd continue, that all her silences could be as comfortable as the ones she shared with him if only because they were pauses between the next time she'd hear his thoughts aloud.
She tilted her head, "And why not?" She questioned, "I think you're an interesting thing to want to understand- to know." Vivi replied softly, "I want to read your notes in the margins." Viv replied, drawing a straight line down the bridge of his nose with the tip of her finger, "I find your mind to be engaging." She smiled, "Thrilling even." Far better than her own maze of sleepless thoughts and guilts tangled with doubts of self-worth and importance. His mind was an escape from her reality, a moment that moved and changed and captivated her. Vivienne wasn't sure she'd ever be able to have enough of it, of him.
"You shouldn't have to change. The people who care will learn to understand, to adapt and appreciate." She spoke fondly of this- it was all anyone wanted, to be understood so intimately and then accepted for it all the same. Regardless of harmless imperfection, regardless of the ways they differed. Growing up, Vivienne did not have that. She had been forced to fit into roles that were too small, too big, too much for her and made to feel badly when she failed to acclimate, when she failed to be who others, especially her mother, wanted her to be. She vowed early in life she would never be that sort of person. And she wasn't. Vivienne loved the intricate differences in people, physically, mentally, big and small. "Then I guess I'll have to ask Asli for lessons." Vivienne replied, "I'm a great student." Viv nodded, "I believe there is poetry in knowing someone well enough to read them- literally or not." Viv agreed, her eyes falling to her hands a moment. There was so much missed when one failed to look. Drawing her eyes back to his face, she didn't want to miss a moment.
A mental list of things the French were rolled through her mind, resourceful, romantic, brutal in history- she continued her mind only stilling when Theo continued. She frowned, brushing the back of her fingers along the curve of his cheek, "I suppose that's another thing we have in common." She wanted to tell him about Ivan, her running away, how she'd been so close to what she thought was her forever four years ago, and how it was all snatched away in a few hours. There was a lot she wanted to tell him, but Viv felt herself bite her tongue, fearful that if she began, there would be no end. ""A multitude of small delights constitute happiness," Viv quoted Baudelaire with a coy smile, "What constitutes a small delight for you?" She said close to him, her head tilted to the side, "How many do you think we need to achieve some happiness?" She was genuine and flirtatious all at once.
"And coffee without sugar is?" She asked, pressing her hands to the sides of the warmed mug. Viv's eyes slowly volleyed between him and the sugar bowl as she added a few spoonfuls to sweeten her tea. "You can ask me anything." She said, stirring her spoon, careful to not rattle against the edges of the cup. Viv was not an open book, she was curated careful with what parts of herself she exposed to the world. Often choosing to be light, flirtatious, a good time girl who people thought of in moments basked in fluttering moments and passing sunrises. It felt easier that way, safer than laying all the messy parts of herself out to be picked apart by vultures. But, this was Theo and if he wanted to know her, she'd let him- she wanted him to know her as much as she wanted to know him- "I like how you see me." She said quietly, the small fear that if he knew everything, all the ugly and disenchanting parts of her that he'd no longer want to keep company with her, no longer look at her as if she was someone worth making poetry for.
who - vivienne fonseca & her mother (aleyda fonseca)
when - 4 years ago
where - vivienne’s NYC apartment
triggers - depression, anxiety, bad parenting
Suddenly washed in harsh sunlight, Vivienne turns over in bed, pulling the covers with her and landing in the cold space where his body was supposed to be - it’d been just over two weeks. And blissfully, those first few moments after she woke up, Vivienne was able to forget he was gone. The moments were becoming more brief, leading the woman to force herself to sleep the days away until night would come. In the dark, she found herself looking for him in the shadows cast off the city lights. However, the clicking of heels on their apartment floor - her apartment floor made it impossible to ignore her mother’s presence. “Go away, Má,” Vivienne mumbled, bleary with sleep and trying desperately to slip back into unconsciousness before she was stuck remembering. Aleyda Fonseca did not move, her long shadow cast over Vivienne’s bed, and she impatiently waited. When Vivienne did not move, the woman ripped the covers away from her body. Vivienne did not budge, only curling her fingers against her pillow and pressing her face in the plush fabric to muffle a sigh. “Vivienne Palmoa Basílio Fonseca get up. Tremendo Paquete. It’s enough.” Aleyda spoke with finality that sounded more like white noise to Vivienne. Aleyda reached for her daughter, and when Vivienne shrugged her off, the elder woman pinched the back of her daughters arm. Wincing, Vivienne hugged her arms more tightly around her body and squeezed her eyes shut. Not getting what she wanted, Aleyda shook Vivienne’s curled-up body. “This is enough, Vivienne. He was just some man- it’s time to move on.” Aleyda sounded so sure, so hopeful, that it made Vivienne’s stomach churn with how easily she dismissed her pain and the last four years of her life. I would have married him, she thought as anger bloomed against her aching heart.
“ I knew I should have put an end to this before this happened. He’s not worth all of this-” She never said his name, the thought heated her face, and with that, Vivienne slowly sat up. She was bleary-eyed and her face blotchy. Lifting watery eyes up, she smothered her mother with a contemptuous gaze. “Don’t say that.” Her voice strained while looking at Aleyda. Her mother’s eyes raked over Vivienne’s disheveled appearance. Her hair in knots around her head, her face sullen, sleep lines crisscrossing against her skin, creating harsh juxtapositions in her expressions. Vivienne was in the same ratty unwashed pajamas from days ago. If it wasn’t for the look of pure scorn on Vivienne’s face, the picture would have been only sad. Instead, it was sad and angry. Aleyda gave a shake of her head. Her disapproval came off of her in waves. Clicking her tongue, “Don’t look at me that way.” Aleyda made a sound of discontent and made her best impression of someone kind. Vivienne could hear her will warmth into her tone, but even then, the words were punishing. “I told you he would do this- he would let you down because you’re too good for men like him.” Vivienne shook her head, her chin quivering, her cheeks flushing, and she began to cry before she could stop it. “I am not too good for anyone. Why would you say that? Why would you say that to me? We were good. He was good.” Her chest fractured, and Vivienne angrily swatted tears that fell too fast to do anything about. Every waking hour, she felt haunted by the heartbreak. A sob knocked past her lips when she finally exhaled. “He was wonderful,” Vivienne argued, easily defending him in his absence. Aleyda’s eyes widened, “Mi Conejito-” Aleyda’s concern was damning, and Vivienne felt the weight of it as her mother sat on the edge of her bed. On guard, but needy Vivienne melted into her mother’s touch, allowing her to pull her body close. Her head against her mother’s chest, Vivienne cried freely, finding comfort in the arms of her mother. Her sobs were not quiet. The sound got lost in the room they once shared, too empty to not echo back and make her ears ring.
The cries were the kind that stretched from the pit of her stomach and made her feel sick with every breath she’d managed to catch between the tears. More patient than Vivienne could ever recall her mother being, Aleyda rubbed her hands down her daughter’s back, taking every sob that shook Vivienne’s body. “I thought he’d come back. I thought he would.” She made excuses for him, tried to explain. He would call eventually. He’d give her an excuse eventually, and then this could be put behind them, then she could stop wondering why she was not enough. Each sentence came in hiccups between sobs. Vivienne’s voice was drawn out. A thin voice stretched past the tightness that gripped her throat. She was unsure how long she had cried for, only that when the tears had slowed to a steady and silent stream, the shadows of her room had shifted. Aleyda had been constant smoothing her hand down Vivienne’s back. Vivienne’s eyes were heavy, fluttering closed when her mother’s voice shattered the peace of impending sleep.“ You can not waste your life watching that door waiting for him to come back.” Her words were stern, sharp. Her hand stopped soothing and gently taking Vivienne’s shoulders; Aleyda lifted her daughter upright, a pinched frown as she lifted a tangled lock of her hair and dropped it listless back against Vivienne’s shoulder. “All this,” Aleyda gestured to Vivienne, and she knew she’d was referring to her disheveled appearance and uncombed hair. “for a man who didn’t even say goodbye?” Aleyda clicked her tongue, making her mind up. She pinched Viv’s face between her fingers.
“No more.” Vivienne shook her face free. “He had to have a reason. He had to.” Aleyda held a finger to her lips, stopping Vivienne from coming up with more reasons to forgive him without an apology.“ You will not find a reason in this room.” Aleyda picked the brush up from the bedside table and spoke before Viv could protest. “Turn around.” Aleyda gestured with the brush to which Vivienne obeyed and sat with her back to her mother. She was hopeful for silence to be alone with her thoughts and the ghosts of something she’d just begun to mourn properly. However, Aleyda had her own plans. She always did. “You’ll get dressed tomorrow, Vivienne. Come to dinner with everyone.” Aleyda gently brushed the knots out of her daughter’s hair. Viv’s head craned back with the effort to untangle the mess on her head, but she stayed silent as tears continued to slip down her cheeks. “Xavier will be there. He’s single now.” Aleyda continued on praise for Xavier and how they’d make a great couple turned to white noise. Vivienne’s eyes had not moved from the photograph that stuck in the mirror of her vanity. A smiling face of a man whose face she had peppered with kisses, lipstick like a road map of love on his face. Her heart hammered, reminding her of loss. Vivienne tried to recall the last time she had seen him, was she coming or going- their days were so long, a stretch of this or that so tangled and unpredictable that the only thing Vivienne learned to count on was them coming together in bed at the end of the day. “Do you hear me, Vivienne?” She hadn’t; Vivienne looked back at her mother, “Si, mamá. Sorry.” Satisfied, Aleyda smoothed Vivienne’s hair neatly behind her ears. “Perfect.” Aleyda stood and picked her purse from the floor.
“Dinner is at six- please wear something nice.” Aleyda moved to her closet. Vivienne knew she didn’t trust her to dress herself. Pulling an ivory dress from the closet, Aleyda inspected it, “This one. Steam it.” Vivienne cast a glance towards the dress. The last time she’d worn it, He had peeled it from her body and left it crumpled on the floor- Closing her eyes, Vivienne swallowed and nodded. She would not be wearing it. Maybe she’d donate it. “Okay.” Aleyda hovered by the door, her eyes searching the delicate face of her only daughter. Vivienne thought there was more her mother wanted to say. Something soothing, some sage wisdom that would make sense of this hollow, empty and lousy feeling that took up so much space. Vivienne wanted to ask her when it stopped? Was it something that ever did? Wide-eyed, bated breath, she had hope for something reassuring but was only met with disappointment. “You will be okay, Vivienne. He’s just a-” the woman waved her hand, “a passing moment. Let it go and be happy. "Vivienne’s eyes rolled a quiet scoff. Her mother ignored it. "He’s going to be a doctor, you know?” She didn’t have to say Xavier’s name for Vivienne to know he was the rebound she had picked for her, the proper sort her mother wanted for her. Vivienne could not be more disenchanted with the thought of Xavier than if he was a paper cut out. Aleyda plucked the hem of the ivory dress. “He’ll love you in this. You’ll look perfect.” Aleyda offered a smile that Vivienne did not return. She knew perfect meant marriage material. Vivienne wanted no part in it. “I don’t like how it fits.” Viv replied, looking past her mother at the damned dress. Vivienne felt her mom’s eyes on her, picking her apart trait by trait. Flaw by cursed flaw. She could feel her looking for faults. Viv braced herself, her spine ramrod as she expected some thinly veiled cruelty. Aleyda drug her eyes to her daughter’s face, “Shower before you show up tomorrow. So you look somewhat presentable.”
A bitter laugh, and Vivienne clutched a pillow against her stomach. “Yes, that’s my goal. To be presentable so you can feel like you’d done something good for me.” Vivienne’s tone was flatter than she had intended, a dull edge to the sharp anger that pierced through her. Aleyda unmoved adjusted her handbag. “It’s time to join the world again.” Her mother waited for affirmation that would not come. Aleyda pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s gone. He is not coming back.” She pushed more, repeating more of the same. Vivienne sent her mother a withering stare. “Someone needs to give you the harsh truth.” Vivienne shook her head, “Honesty without tact is just cruelty, mother.” Aleyda clutched her bag, “I hate when you call me mother. It sounds like a curse.” It was. Vivienne felt her tongue poised with anger, “Yea, well, I hate…” She never finished the sentence, falling against the mattress with a soft thump before her vitriol could pass her lips. “You’ll feel better after a shower and some time with your family.”
“Sometimes, I think you don’t know me at all,” Vivienne spoke towards the ceiling, unmoving and exhausted. “I know you best, Vivienne.” Vivienne had never grown used to the juxtaposition between the caring things her mother did and the cool indifference and pretenses that left her to read between the lines. Left with the impossible tasks of coming up with her own translations, usually resigned to never understanding or being understood. The feeling felt impossible to reconcile. The yearning to please her and the desire to go against every belief her mother held. Vivienne shook with the effort to keep from yelling. All the years of her conditional love, of Vivienne begging for her attention, had come to a sharp point. Now she needed her mother more than ever. She needed her to understand that Vivienne’s heart was broken, and dinner and distractions would not heal it. But maybe having her mother understand would help. She never did figure out how to ask her mother for her affection or support. To ask felt too close to begging. She’d rather bite her tongue than ask anything of Aleyda Fonseca. She couldn’t decide whether pride or fear of rejection kept her silent, but the rolling waves in her stomach made way for crestfallen anger. “You have a poor way to show it.” She whispered, wishing Aleyda would once show that she understood her daughter. Even just a little bit. She had only so much hope, it felt spent on days to come, and Vivienne was borrowing against her own heart. When Aleyda only shrugged, dismissing, “Don’t be so spoiled, Vivienne.” Nodding, numb, Vivienne turned her back to the door as she pulled the covers over her head.
“Of course, mother.” She spoke loud enough she’d hear it. Part of her longed for her mom to crawl into her bed and hold her like a child, to run her fingers through her hair, to sing her lullabies. But Aleyda was fleetingly comforting, and even less frequently did she do what Vivienne needed. The brief moments of being held, of her hair being brushed, felt like crumbs to her starving soul. Vivienne was smart enough to know when she would not find what she needed, so she disengaged and waited. She listened as the woman left the room. The only allowance she offered was allowing Vivienne have the last hollow word. The door clicked shut behind her, and Vivienne was left alone with embers of fleeting hope and the promise of dreamless, forgetful sleep.
Theo had always liked the rain. In that same removed, detached way he also liked field work, sitting in a perfectly cooled and condensed room in a museum, watching but not participating, because he knew ruins weren’t the best place for someone who couldn’t walk properly and sand tended to find its way into the oddest cracks of his body and forests were really clammy and uncomfortable, and he didn’t particularly enjoy hard, physical work. He liked the idea of adventurers, the stories, the words, but he didn’t like living one. The same way he enjoyed watching the rain from his window back in the orphanage, and in London and even the tropical storms in the Bailey residence in Salvador, but loathed getting wet. But there he was, again, figuratively soaked, still recovering from Chiara’s storm, and finding his way into a new one. Theo wasn’t a stranger to kisses and no-strings-attached relationships, but Vivienne—he couldn’t be sure he would even be holding an umbrella. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He smiled, positively surprised by seeing her again at his doorstep. The flashbacks he’d been having all week long came back full force— his hands around her naked waist, her soft lips and warm tongue, like he could feel them. “Well, they say the daylight is quite unforgiving on lovers, don’t they?” Theo smirked. “But I must say you look just as lovely. And you don’t ever need to call first.” Letting her in with a wink, he took the copy from her hand, worn out like it had been actually read by someone—his favorite kinds. “I haven’t read this yet. I shall appreciate your notes—might even make a few myself. Not that anyone would understand my calligraphy, but it would be mostly related to you not being pictured in it.” He chuckled, reaching for a book he’d placed at the top of his piles. Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal. “I like your idea. A few days ago I was reading this and it reminded me of you. It’s not as exciting as Beyonce, but worth it. No notes.” He handed it to her, then crossed the living room. “I made some tea. It’s awful. Do you feel like trying your luck, or perhaps we could walk somewhere nearby?”
.
Her warm smile did not falter, "They do." She agreed, "but sometimes even the evasive they can be wrong once in a blue moon." Vivienne countered with a fondness reserved for those from before. The same fondness that more and more as of late found itself tangling into the now. A fact Vivienne hadn't allowed herself much time to pick apart and obsess over. A fact that would put her stomach into painful knots and fill her with guilt over the possibility of healing. At least until the next time, the rug was pulled from under her, and she was painfully, foolishly reminded that healing was not a linear process. The phantom aches in her knee from surgery over a decade old and how her heart still found a way to sputter over lover's lost should be enough of a reminder. But Vivienne was somewhat of a collector.
Not of physical things. Most of those she tended to leave behind. On purpose or to be forgotten. A scarf at a party in Hell's Kitchen, a sketch pad on a bench in Dublin on a spur-of-the-moment weekend trip, a silky hair tie in someone's bed. Vivienne Fonseca left pieces of herself all over the world. Maybe she was forgetful. More likely, she didn't want to be forgotten. Not the way she forgot things, but she couldn't forget faces. Or the way someone made her feel. Those were the things she longed to keep. The feelings that were so fluttering and fleeting that she spent a great deal of energy recreating them in her paintings.
"You tell me I don't need to call, and I'm afraid you'll never get rid of me," Vivienne warned. She felt herself to be an acquired taste. Not one many people liked for more than an indulgent long weekend. But she said it with such careless ease that perhaps he wouldn't be able to pick a part that she held insecurities in tight fistfuls tucked in the palm of her hands. "I hope you do. I could take lessons" Viv followed him in, taking her shoes off at the door and placing them neatly in place- some things never changed no matter how far from home she got.
"On your calligraphy," Viv added for clarification. She wanted to understand all parts of Theo. The why for most things, the curve of his lips, the curve of his letters. "Is anything?" She joked and took the book gingerly in her hands, a flush of color rose to her cheeks. He thought of her when she wasn't around? She wanted to ask to dig for the clarification but perhaps reading the book would offer more insight- even if listening to him talk was never unwanted. "French poetry." She mused aloud. Resisting the urge to scan the pages failed and Viv's eyes were pouring over a beautiful poem when she heard him speak again and her eyes lifted to drag over his face. "I'm feeling lucky." She said with a smile, "Would you judge me terribly for how much sugar I like in my tea?"
