Weightless

33) Evening

(Same day) 7th of July 2017

The sun has long since set but neither of the two are prepared to call it a night. They treat nine 'o'clock like it's the evening by heading to a quiet pub away from the main road with wooden tables outside, umbrellas poked in the middle with their silhouettes cast upon the benches. There's scarce blue-tinted light from pods on the awning of the building but they can see eachother, face expressions smudged like a charcoal drawing, and that's what really matters.

Cal has disappeared inside the poky little building with a tenner clutched between his fingers. Through a large window, she can see him leant against the bar, waist brushing a stool, mid-laugh with the bartender. She hopes they are real laughs as opposed to those fake ones; those that hurt your throat and people's ears. Because he deserves to feel enough joy to produce genuine laughter, she knows that.

Mollie focuses her attention to her nails instead. She'd been in the middle of taking the falsies of when Ethan had knocked. They remain undone. Vanity doesn't come close to family. Even now, she doesn't feel particularly irked by the state of her cuticles, more inclined to sit and cross those same fingers in the hope that everything will work out for her sort-of-brother.

There's no mistaking the relief she feels for the fact that he's in the place right for him. It's lead up to this. Even before everything got particularly bad and nobody could hide it anymore, she always wondered why he spent so much time in bed or with puffy eyes. It's given her a new perspective on this sort of situation.

Mollie looks back to her nails again. They're a bit ruined, slightly ugly - the same could be said for life, she muses idly, like an old philosopher - but we deal with what we've got. She's relieved, to say the least.

Her attention turns back to the large window, but she no longer sees Cal. Her forehead creases. The bartender is now drying glasses and seemingly humming.

"Tiny little B&B is nearby, if we take a left turning and fifteen minutes down the dual carriageway."

Mollie flinches. Blue light comes from behind Cal's frame, hands clasped around bodies of glass cups of lemonade with chunks of ice floating in them. It's nothing less than a docile sight - her previous partner, still beloved, disappearing off to get drinks for her so she doesn't overheat or go thirsty. An act of adoring care. Yet she was so lost in thought that jumping was inevitable.

"Don't creep up on me."

"I didn't."

The bench creaks as Cal sits. They're alone, out here, with distorted conversation leaking out of the pub doors and open windows, the occasional outbreak of laughter getting lost in the breeze that their red straws in the glasses twirl in.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Mollie pulls the sides of her mouth up into a smile. It's proof that she is fine, genuinely. He caught her lost in thought.

"Your jacket is cute," she points out instead. She couldn't do much worse than bring up Cal's brother right now, as that is on her mind, and she can't bear to see those worry lines. Maybe once concern looked sweet on Cal, or hot, because there's something endearing about blokes worrying for their beloved youngers, but now her chest aches each time she sees him pause and bite his lip until it bleeds.

"You bought it for me."

"I know," she says, "that's why it's cute. I have great taste."

"Guess I can't disagree as I'm wearing something you picked. Would you believe me if I said this is the first time I've ever worn it?"