You Think It's Worth It? (Fiddlestan)

Chapter 2: A Bad Day

Gravity Falls was quiet, something that rarely happened, but was a nice temporary change. No monsters, no ghouls, no strange events, just a normal day.
That normal day wakes Fiddleford up to the dull clang of a metal tool hitting the floor. He groans, rolling over on the creaky bed in his small apartment, rubbing his tired eyes. His back aches from a restless night, and he can already feel today wasn’t going to go his way. He drags himself out of bed, a mess of blueprints and unfinished inventions scattered around his workspace. His latest project—a half-disassembled machine that's supposed to help with something he can’t even remember anymore—mocks him from across the room.

His memory had been seeming to gradually get worse this last month. He knows it's probably the memory gun he'd been using on himself, but it helped with his anxiety. He couldnt remember the bad things that caused his anxiety attacks anymore. But then again, he was starting to forget the good things too.

After a quick shower and sloppily dressing himself in a flannel and jeans, he sits at the cluttered table to sip on a too-bitter coffee. He thumbs through the stack of overdue bills and half-finished sketches, his anxiety prickling at him like a burr stuck to his sock. Fiddleford couldn’t focus today. His mind kept drifting to the pile of missed opportunities, broken connections, and the silence that now filled his life. He’d left his family for a job in another state, and it had been the biggest mistake of his life. And then, as if on cue, his phone rings.

He flinches, nearly knocking his coffee over. He picks up the phone from its receiver. Emma-May. His ex-wife didn’t usually call unless it was something serious or urgent. Taking a deep breath, he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Emma. What’s goin’ on?” he says, trying to sound casual, though his stomach is churning.

“Well, it’s about Tate,” she replies, her voice tinged with frustration. “You said you’d send the money for his school fees this month, but I haven’t seen a cent of it, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford winces. He had promised, hadn’t he? Looks like it wasn't just memories he was losing anymore - it was important life details...

Between his debilitating anxiety and his lack of steady work, money had been tighter than usual. But he didn’t want to make excuses. “Yeah, I—uh, I’ve been meanin’ to send it, but I just haven’t got the funds right now.”

“Well, you better find 'em, ‘cause Tate’s gotta go to school.”

Her tone softens slightly, but the frustration remains. “Look, Fiddleford, I know things haven’t been easy for you since the divorce, but you still have responsibilities.”

“I know, I know.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, feeling the weight of it all. “I’ll figure it out. Just give me a couple more days.”

“Alright,” she sighs, clearly not satisfied but too tired to argue. “Just… don’t leave us hangin’ like this. I've already got enough on my plate without you making it worse.”

“I won’t, Emma. I swear.”

There's a long pause on the other end before she finally says, “Take care of yourself, Fiddleford. And try to get your life together."

Then the phone hangs up, the dial tone buzzing like an accusation. Her words hit him harder than he expected, sinking into that hollow space in his chest. He knows she's right. He knows he’s been a terrible father, and worse, he hadn’t been strong enough to fix things. But what was left for him now? He hadn’t gone back because he wasn’t sure he could face them anymore.

“You don’t gotta say anything. Just… just don’t pretend like we’re gonna be a family again.” Her voice softened, but the hurt lingered. “You made your choice, Fiddleford.” That's what she had said that day on the phone when he first heard of their upcoming divorce.