Fey Maree
The moment I stepped through the door, I knew I shouldn't have come, but it was already too late. I'd been seen.
"Fey!" Ebony's voice rang out, drawing all eyes to me.
I flattened the floral print of my sundress, attempting to look some semblance of put together. I'd even re-dyed my cotton-candy coloured hair to cover up the brown roots that had been peeking through.
I'm Fey Maree, totally sane woman, not an insomniac with reoccurring nightmares.
Definitely not crazy.
"I'm surprised you actually came," she whispered in my ear as she pulled me in for a hug. "Tate's next door in the kitchen if you want to see or avoid him."
The next person to pull me in for a hug was Avery, who was holding baby Pandora in his spare arm. She was so, so gorgeous.
"It's been too long," Avery said with smiling eyes. "Too long."
He then gave me a look that portrayed what he wasn't saying - "I'm sorry."
I nodded, patting him arm. All was well.
Everything was going good, everyone I knew from years ago was hugging me, when suddenly the sound of breaking glass met my ears.
I froze, my eyes shooting up to find the source of the noise, and I was met with a shocked Tate who'd just dropped a glass full of ice water.
"I - I -" he stammered, turning to Ebony and Avery. "You never told me."
"I'm sorry, Tate," Ebony said softly. "I didn't think you'd come otherwise."
The rest of the guests had paused, clinging to every softly spoken word exchanged.
"I should go," I confessed, the regret in my voice evident.
Why did I think this would have been just like the old days, all of us friendly and laughing. I felt like an utter idiot.
I was surprised by the person who stopped me.
"No," Tate interjected. "Please don't go."
"But -"
"Just stay. It's been a lifetime since we last saw each other."
"Are you sure?" I asked, still half-turned to leave.
It was then, when he took a labored step forward, that I realized he was using a crutch to support himself.
"I'm sure," he agreed, nodding. "One hundred percent."
He held out his spare hand, and my fingers twitched, aching to feel the rough skin of his palm against mine - aching to feel his touch again after all these years.
Hesitantly, I took it, reveling in the weirdness.
Never in a million years would I have thought I would get to hold Nathaniel William Roux's hand ever again. I also have no idea why my internal monologue just called him by his full name either - see what I mean? Weirdness.
He led me to a quiet part of the back yard, away from the prying eyes of everyone else who knew our history. Such a funny word - history - it makes you realize just how much time has passed.
He sat down on the back porch, and I sat across from him on an old plank-swing.
We sat there in silence for a while, just studying each other's features, trying to figure out what to say. Then, at the same moment, we both spoke.
"How have you been?" We both asked.
"You go first," we said, once again simultaneously.
Shaking my head at how surreal this was, I let him speak first.
"How is life?" He asked, in a pained voice.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"It's good," I replied, nodding. "It's really good. And yourself?"
"Tiring, but good," he replied, slapping his knee with a large hand. I'd always loved his hands. "I'm managing."
"What's that for?" I asked, motioning to the crutch.
"You don't know?" He asked, surprised. "I'm a cyborg."
He pulled the leg of his pants up slightly, revealing a glint of metal.
I gasped. I hadn't realised that the war had taken more than just a few years of his life.
"Got a medal for it and everything - a true hero, they said. I lost my leg for America, while some of my buddies lost their lives. But hey, guess I'm just one of the lucky ones." He didn't sound bitter though, just accepting.
"Are you alright now, though?"
"Is anyone alright anymore?" He asked, sighing.
I shook my head.
"I'm not too sure anyone was ever alright to start with."
Despite our comfortableness, there were still those unspoken words between us, hanging there like a fragile icicle, waiting to be broken.
I didn't know if I wanted either of us to say them, for then that would be acknowledging all the pain and the drama ever occurred. Unlike me, Tate knew what he wanted.
"Look, I... I'm sorry for leaving Faye. I know that I couldn't help what happened after the fact, but if I'd stayed, maybe it never would've happened. I was young, and I was dumb, and I didn't realise. I'm sorry."
I shielded my head with my hands, trying to stop the onslaught of memories from returning.
"It's been and gone," I whispered. "It's in the past."
"I know, Fey, and we can tell ourselves that, but I should've stayed. That is what plagues me each day, not losing my leg."
I shook my head, unable to form coherent words. Memories assaulted me all at once, thrashing my mind - Tate's abandonment, tires screeching across gravel, glass smashing, screaming, oh - the screaming, the pain, the aftermath, alone. I did everything alone.
"Please, just stop," I pleaded, barely audible.
"I can't, Faye. I can't because every day I think about how I could've stayed, and maybe then -"
"Don't say it," I pleaded, tears escaping my eyes.
"- and maybe then," he continued, ''I could've had a chance to meet my daughter. I daughter I didn't even know about until I was half a world away from, with no chance of coming back."
"I told Avery not to tell you," I cried. "I didn't find out until the week before you were due to leave, and didn't want to be the reason you gave up everything you'd worked so hard for.''
''It was a child, Faye. It was our child." He held his head in his hands. "I would've given up the world to see her even once before... before she was gone." His voice broke. "I didn't even get to see her once, and that's something that haunts me every single day. I don't even know her name."
Tears escaped my eyes, not realizing just how much it had effected him from half a world away. I thought it would've been easier for him, considering he never met her before the accident. Oh, how wrong I'd been.
"Frankie," I whispered.
He gave me a quizzical look.
"That was her name - Frankie. Well, Francesca, but I liked to call her Frankie."
His eyes were like little blue lagoons, about to spill over with all of the tears they held.
"You named her after my mother?"
I nodded. "My parents died so long ago that I barely even remember them. Your parents though, they are some of the most welcoming, most loving people I've ever met. It only seemed fitting."
He looked at me, and I at him. I leaned in, taking his face in my hand, using my thumb to wipe the stray tear from his brown cheek. Tate placed his calloused hand on top of mine, and with that gesture, it was as if a thousand unspoken words were suddenly out in the open.
I don't know how long we sat like that for, unspeaking. It was beautiful, and it was serene, but I felt like after all this time he had a right to know more.
"Would you like to see a photo of her?" I asked, my voice barely audible, for fear of ruining the connection.
He looked up at me, his head moving almost imperceptibly in a small nod - yes.
"I have some photos back at my house. I can go get it and bring it back later, or... or you could come with me to get it?" I didn't know what he was going to say, but all was answered when he stood up.
"I can't wait. I would like to come with you, if that's alright."
"I just said it was fine, silly." We were still practically whispering - so familiar, yet a little scared of feeling too comfortable after so much time, and occurrences.
"Okay, thank you." He nodded, looking at me with a child-like expression.
"Well then," I said, standing up and holding out my hand. "Come away with me."