unlucky (newtmas)

17

On our way out of the gardens later that day, we were stopped by an elderly couple. Newt hid the daffodils behind his back as they called to him excitedly. His eyes lit when he saw them.

"Marge! Mack!" He exclaimed. He rushed over and gave each of them a one-armed hug. By the time I had caught up, they were all chatting excitedly.

"How have you been, Newton?" The woman, Marge, asked him earnestly. "Holding up okay?"

"I'm really well, thanks," he replied. "How are you guys doing?"

Marge laughed lightly. "We're getting old Newton, but we're okay. Hearts and brains still work, anyway." She glanced at me. "And who's this?"

"Thomas," Newt introduced. "He's a friend of mine. I forced him to come with me today."

"Yes, you always did love your flowers," Mack said. Both him and Marge were looking so fondly at Newt, and I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. Everyone loved him. I should have known that old people wouldn't be an exception.

Marge turned to address me.

"I practically raised this boy," she said. "Grew up right next to us, didn't you? You spent many afternoons baking cookies with me when your parents weren't home."

"Yeah," Newt laughed. "But I don't know how much baking I really did. I mostly just ate the dough."

"Yes, you did," Mack laughed heartily. "Used to make you sick to your stomach."

They both paused as if reliving the memory. Finally Marge changed the subject, asking, "How's your mom doing, dear? We haven't heard much about her lately."

My eyebrows furrowed. Newt's hands tightened on the daffodils behind his back.

"She's been the same," he answered politely. His voice was oddly forced.

"Shame," Marge shook her head. "Such a shame."

Newt cleared his throat. Eyes briefly glancing at me, he smiled warmly at Marge and Mack as if signaling the end of the conversation. He quickly bade them goodbye and was already walking away before I could even fathom that the conversation was over.

"You okay?" I asked when I caught up to him. I was burning with a million questions but I didn't dare ask, because Newt's eyes were downcast and he was staring at the yellow daffodils in his hand like they were a misplaced treasured item. He looked sad for the first time in history, and it killed me inside.

He nodded without meeting my gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He seemed to tense then, almost as if he was waiting for me to ask what, and why, and how, and so many more questions. His face was so very reluctant though and I knew he would tell me everything in his own time, that this was something I couldn't force.

"Why'd you want those daffodils anyway?" I asked instead. Newt looked up in surprise.

His fingers tightened around the stems again. "I told you. They were my mom's favorite."