At No Time || Bruno Mars

61

It was a nice day in Brooklyn. The buildings and places of the Earth that were able to breathe beneath hot dog stands and littered newspapers were met with blanched streams of sunlight. What was left of grass was suffocated by the pale brown leaves that had fallen from trees and blown about by the late Fall winds. The commonplace accents of horns beeping and the occasional police siren fell in place with the scenery. It was a nice day in Brooklyn, but Peter found no joy in it.

He walked alongside Diane, who he had spilled everything to two nights before on the phone. More or less, it had been a drunk dial, but his older sister insisted he come out to New York so she could help him through his crisis the best way she could. She kept her thoughts and comments about Trystan to herself, unsure how Peter would react if she were to speak aloud what she wanted to say.

They ambled across the sidewalk, a bouquet of flowers in Peter's clutch as they followed the ordained path to their mother's grave. They did not usually visit June randomly, but they both felt the need to talk to her, hoping in her silent intelligence, that something positive would come about the grisly circumstances.

Diane sipped slowly at her strawberry smoothie though the wind was growing more and more bitter as winter would be approaching the next month. Peter had always found it strange, her preference for cold beverages in cold weather. He used to tease her about it when they were little, insisting her bones would freeze if she kept at it, but as a adult, she still did it, guzzling away as it did not bother her at all.

"I still think your bones will freeze one day if you keep doing that," Peter jested, and she chuckled softly, bringing a genuine simper to his face.

"You know the cold's got nothing on me," she returned, the boldness of her New York upbringing coming through. "I'd drink this in a blizzard if you let me."

They approached June's headstone, sitting as gracefully as it always did beneath a ray of sunlight. Her name, bright and clear for all to see, hurt Peter's eyes as he was reminded of the truths that had lingered from his knowledge for so long.

Deviant from their usual routine when visiting their mother, which consisted of Peter setting down the bouquet of flowers just right and Diane saying a quick prayer, in lieu, Peter sat down in the grass and leaned against the headstone, the plants in his lap and his gaze somewhere before him.

Diane thought it peculiar, but did not want to question her younger brother's process. Of all the things she had been through in her own life, she had no right to judge how he chose to handle things. She squatted down and sat next to him, crossing her legs and staring at whatever he was staring at.

"So, what's up with Izzy's father? Has he come to visit her?" Peter asked suddenly, and Diane trailed her eyes over to him.

"I know you wanna talk about something that is way more interesting than Andrew."

The way she said his name signaled to Peter that things were not as fine and dandy as she had hoped for, but he was not surprised. He never trusted the man, thinking him unequipped to be a father let alone his niece's. "He hasn't come to see her has he?"

Diane sighed beside him, running a finger down the side of her plastic cup, bereft of condensation as the air about them was too cold. "No, he hasn't. We made plans and everything, but on the day of, he bailed, saying he wasn't in the right "mental space" or whatever, but I really think it's because he doesn't know how to be a father."

"Is that what you think people will think of me?" Peter inquired, and Diane's brows furrowed.

"Huh?"

Peter took a second to respond, swallowing air through a thickened throat, "When it gets out to the press, to the media, do you think people will think I wasn't there for her? That I bailed? That I left Trystan to raise her alone?"