Halloween came and went. Elliot insisted on being Varuna and taking Waka with him as Makara and would not listen how inappropriate it would be to arrive at school as an ancient Indian deity; he settled for the Grim Reaper only upon refinding his dusty (and thankfully dull) scythe in his closet. Lilliana was easy, dressing like Amelia Earhart and holding a collection of papers mapping the Atlantic Ocean "but before she died. Or disappeared. Whichever came first".
No one came for trick-or-treating, though Matthew wasn't sure why he thought they would. He ate the pound of candy he bought in two days.
Mr. Yang's parents were supposed to arrive on October 3 to take the children somewhere; the details were not given to either Matt or his employer. The children packed sparingly, and when their grandparents didn't arrive, they unpacked, unbothered, moving on with their lives.
Jun received the call two days later. Something had come up. His face, usually resolute, softened into a disappointed snarl. He didn't counter, nor did he ask for further elaboration. The older man's words were soft, monotone, a child speaking to a parent. He placed the phone down on the receiver – a near-inaudible click – and returned to work.
Lloyd's spot stayed empty, replaced with a too-white Honda Civic that was available to Matthew whenever he needed it. The Bug's absence was felt every time Matthew, or anyone, needed something from the carport workshop, or needed something in Matt's room.
The house settled as the colors of autumn grew muddy, gray with the incoming winter. It radiated a coldness that not even a warm autumn day could melt. The scaffolding inched its way across the roof, thumping and bumping and drilling and surprise cold patches appearing throughout the house. The double doors to the kitchen wing was permanently sealed off.
On November 4, at 1:32 that afternoon, almost a month after the accident, came the relief Matthew had been waiting for. Much to Mr. Yang's chagrin, and despite his nanny's continuously sickly appearance, Matthew was deemed "appropriately healthy" by his doctor to return to work.
"Maaaaaaaatt," Lilly groaned, throwing herself vertical at the small circle table in the makeshift kitchen table. The air smelled of mildew and sawdust, metal and burning. The light was dingy, and even with the gold lights turned on, the room felt so unbearably cold. "This's the worst."
Audrey stood at the secondhand stovetop, scraping a spatula against the bottom of the pot. A healthy cloud of steam rose to a haze, the condensation pressing itself against the ceiling. She muttered to herself, clearly through her teeth.
Matthew sighed, shuffling his hand under Lilly's forehead and bringing her head back up.
The child's eyes were peeled open, her face gently stretched. She groaned.
"It's just math, and it's the last thing you need to do," he told her, as if that was any consolidation to her. "Once you finish this, you have the rest of the afternoon."
Lilly grumbled, the moment Matthew let go her face smacked against the tabletop. "Who needs it? I don't." She paused. "Why isn't Eli here? He has homework, too."
Matthew didn't want to think about her cousin. Apparently, he had pushed the school too far, though Audrey and Yang hadn't told him the details. Maybe on purpose, though it would only be uttered in name – "The Plant Pot Incident". But, despite the gaps in information, Elliot Yang-Snyder was on disciplinary probation for the next week, assigned a task Matthew knew he could not accomplish – write a five-page paper on the importance of rules and regulations, followed by a personal essay detailing what he would do differently. A week's worth of at-home learning and divorced from his class and what few classmates he liked talking to, Danny included. There would definitely be further consequences when he returned.
"Eli doesn't have homework," Matthew sighed, clenching his jaw. "He has a stupid..." He trailed off, knowing the assignment was ridiculous, inappropriate for an eleven-year-old.
"Why can't I stay home, too?" she asked, propping her head up on her arms. "Ms. Parrish is a giant, awful butt, and she still won't let me go back to Mr. Burgess' class."
Matthew groaned. "You had your chance before, Lilly. It isn't my fault you and him butt heads." Though her outburst on Mr. Burgess' one wrong historical facts about Pierre-Auguste Renoir meant she spent the rest of class, and four subsequent lunch periods, in detention.
"It isn't my fault Mr. Burgess is a fat, old dingus."
"Math." Matthew tapped her worksheet, printed on some really nice paper. "What's nine minus seven?"
"Eleven."
"You're not trying."
"I miss art class, Matt." Lilly picked herself up, sighing, her fists squishing her face. She groaned again, her mouth snarled like a fish's open mouth. "But I hate Mr. Burgess. He's a giant potato."
"You already said that."
"I said that about Ms. Parrish, and I called her a butt." She sat up. "Why won't Daddy let me go to afternoon art club? I can miss one a week of tutoring. It's okay."
Matthew sighed, pushing back from the table. "Fine, go. We'll come back to this later."
"...really?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. After dinner."
Lilliana shuffled her chair back from the table and, her eyes lingering on Matthew, sped off to her room.
The quiet the came with the girl's departure was short-lived, as Elliot trotted into the kitchen from the breakfast room with as box full of sewing items, rolls and rolls of shoddy fabric, and glitter glue. And pictures of medieval-esque cloaks printed (definitely illegally) from his uncle's office printer vibrant and colorful. "Matt, you said you'd help me."
Audrey glanced over her shoulder. "...with what?"
Eli shot her a look. "I'm not talking to the witch."
She turned back to the stove.
"Eli, be nice. She was just asking." He turned to her. "He wants me to make him an astronomy cloak for his friend, Danny, for his birthday," Matt answered. Whatever that was.
"Why don't I help?" asked Audrey, throwing down her spatula and switching off the stove. "I've basically burned dinner, anyways. Besides, I know how to sew."
"You do?" Eli and Matthew asked on cue.
She regarded her ex-boyfriend for a moment. "...yes. Remember, I fixed the hole in your jeans that one time."
All he remembered from that was that she took them. Matt just assumed she bought a new pair.
Eli scoffed. "I don't want your help. You wrecked Lloyd. That is an unforgivable offense, and I'd rather let Pele dip my feet in her lava." He swung the box back into his arms. "Matt, when you're done doing...being in the same room as her, I'll be in the living room decorating the fabric." He disappeared back through the door into the breakfast room.
Audrey sighed, tapping her foot on the concrete floor. She moved the pan to a cooler burner and started scraping what food there was into the makeshift sink. She mumbled something under her breath, glancing around.
Matthew stayed at the table, tapping his fingers for the longest while before asking, "Did you actually burn it?"
"Does it matter?" she asked on cue. "You'll probably make something they'll eat, and I'll be eating in here because they can't stand to look at me."
After finally giving up salvaging the too-brown patches in the pan, she tossed it all into the sink – clattering loudly – and sighed, leaning against the countertop.
Matthew hadn't looked at her for a while. The rings under her eyes were more prominent, and her face – remembered as being so bright and friendly-looking – was downcast, exhausted under the weight of the house. Something in him relished at the sight.
"I have to give you credit," she sighed, "where credit is due. I don't know how you managed this all by yourself."
"Even if I was working myself to death?" Matthew snapped back.
Audrey licked her lips. She turned away.
Matthew did the same.
"...I like the rules."
He turned back to her.
She nodded her head towards the children's poster outlining the house rules, the consequences of breaking said rules, wanting to move towards it but not doing so. "They're very you."
He stood. "Leave the food for me, I'll cook it after helping Eli."
"I'll do it."
"He won't let you."
"I'm here until Lloyd comes back, whether they like it or not."
The sentiment prickled his skin. "He doesn't like you."
"Neither does Yang, but that doesn't stop him from doing his 'cultist crap'." Audrey cocked her head to the side, waiting for Matthew to reply.
He didn't.
"...I get that this is punishment, Matt, and I am going to honor my word on making things right." She paused, the empty space choked. "Do you have anything else planned for me?"
Matthew raised a brow at her.
"I broke rules, dude. Are you going to do anything else?"
"Besides the general misery of knowing I'm better than you?"
Audrey scoffed. She turned away, smirking. "I'll go help Eli if you want to start cooking."
"He doesn't like you, still."
"Congrats," she started, sighing, "but that doesn't mean this punishment isn't partially self-inflicted." She wiped her hands down her pants before clearing her throat. "Besides," Audrey continued, "some of his 'cultist crap' is interesting. I'd rather be lectured by him than that old fart Mr. Lewis." Audrey trotted out of the kitchen, leaving Matthew alone.
Glancing to the pan, still sizzling in the sink, Matthew regretted Audrey coming back; in the same breath, he did not. She had taken the roles of secretary and errand-runner from him, allowing him to focus on everything in the house even if he technically couldn't work still. He could breathe a little easier, but the weight lifted off him was nowhere near enough. Matthew wanted her gone. He wanted her cast into the darkest pits of Hell, cursed for all eternity to –
"I'll curse you!" Eli shouted, followed by an obvious shower of plastic beads bouncing across the concrete floor. "Go awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Matthew pressed his fingers against his closed eyes and sighed.
They ordered pizza that evening. Audrey, indeed, ate in the kitchen, separate from everyone else.