Halle was born on Ialis. Before she could walk, her parents carried her to the shore and dipped her feet in the lapping waves: her ‘island baptism’, they called it. A communion between child and sea. Her first steps were taken gingerly, pudgily, on the sand of Anthebes Bay, a dazed gap-tooth smile across her face as she heard her mother and father leap to their feet and whoop. She’d lived in half a dozen countries over the last dozen years, but the island was her home, really. That’s why it was so much harder this time round.
When they’d left, the small Adeyemi clan, Halle was twelve. Her grandmother in Norway had just passed, and her mother felt guilty for living a thousand leagues across the world. So her parents decided to uproot themselves again, return to the nomadic lifestyle they’d once loved, taking Halle to Nigeria, País Vasco, everywhere in-between. Her father had taught her, when schools refused to enrol her for a month here, a semester there. And now he was sick, and they had come home.
But home didn’t feel like it any more. Sure, her parents had been a divisive couple from the start - after all, the island saw more expatriation than immigration, and the Adeyemis were hardly a traditional family. Halle was born out of wedlock, her father was African, her mother Scandinavian; her father’s job, an amateur anthropologist, or “story-teller” as he’d put it, was perceived at times intrusive; her mother’s job, mere hippie folly. Now, though, the island felt colder than ever - Halle could sense a shift, a leaden energy about the place.
It was nice to see a familiar face, but it seemed she couldn’t say Zack felt the same in return. His knotted brow and ever-so-slightly curled lip betrayed his professionally jovial airs. Halle felt this to be fair enough - as children, they hadn’t been much more than acquaintances - but the curt follow-up to this lukewarm response was even colder, and took her aback. What do you want?
Halle blinked slowly, floating closer into the store. “Bread,” she replied simply, eyes turning to the empty breadbaskets. At least Zack hadn’t been lying about the lack of fresh produce. It looked like they were both in for an uncomfortable wait, but Halle couldn’t leave without her father’s breakfast. She reminded herself to remain steadfast, even though her ritual was slipping farther and farther afield. Still, she wouldn’t let the palpable discomfort shake her. She returned her gaze steadily to the shopkeeper, trying not to let her hurt wrinkle her voice. “How’ve you been, Zack?”
there’s a heightened awareness he feels now; both wary and cautious around halle. someone who was born here in ialis but never accepted as one of their own. he had been witness so many times before to a situation not unlike this. all the friendly folks he’d greet as he ran past them on the island, and he would simply watch as their faces immediately turned cold whenever they came across people they cursed as outsiders. why? why? he’d ask himself over and over again. what have we to protect?
then it strikes him at once how odd it is to stand witness to himself reacting similarly.
when he was younger, his parents had been worried for him; an impulsive, reckless, short-tempered boy whose only saving grace was his charm. barring the moments he blew his fuse, young zachary had an openness about him that his mother encouraged. there was no shortage of people to talk to for him. he remembers the halle of the past only briefly -- they had talked maybe once or twice -- but he hadn’t disliked her, strange and mysterious as her family seemed to be.
zack’s gaze tracks her every movement, eventually stopping at the sight of the breadbaskets. “oh,” he manages out, but it sounds flat even to him. “bread. right, okay - yeah, that’ll take a while. we get ours from old paloma and she won’t arrive until...” he makes the motion of checking his watch “...seven. if it’s urgent, i think it’s better if you go down the street to malene’s. she has good bread too and she’s usually already in her shop at this time. it’s a little pricier than what we sell ours for but i guess that’s business for you, especially if you don’t have paloma baking your breads, huh?”
there’s a hint of his cheek somewhere as he prattles on about bread, falling back on the inflections and nuances he’s used to expressing. on and on, as if it would fill the silence and ease the tension between the pair of them. then he takes in her appearance. calm, serene, seemingly unbothered but he notices the smallest twitch that would suggest otherwise. then he remembers. halle’s piercing gaze suddenly begins to feel uncomfortable.
“i’ve been okay, not too shabby; uncle could work me a little less harder but that’s my only complaint,” his shoulders roll in a non-committal shrug, face placid again. under the counter, he starts to fidget. more hospitable, less hostile. “and you? you’ve stopped by? or come back?”
on the tip of his tongue are the words ‘for good?’ but the rational part of him chooses against it. there was no need to if it was already said.
