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(via Minimal Girl)

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cry baby // the neighbourhood

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the fun thing about emotional impermanence is that someone can make grand gestures of affection for you and still, a few interactions later youre back to being unsure if they care about you at all.

sure they told you they did, they told you things they would’ve only told you if they cared, but what if you said something weird last time and they changed their mind about you ?? what if you fucked up in a very subtle way and they no longer mean any of the things they told you ??? what if ????????

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      ❝ Good, that’s what I’m best at, ❞  Nora says.  ❝ Making up differences, picking up the slack, covering bases. Right, Zoe ?  You’ve seen me in my element. ❞  Zoey yawns and snakes her arms around Nora’s neck. Nora’s heart flutters; she presses a hand between Zoey’s shoulderblades, inhales, and smiles at the girl’s family.

      ❝ I love the lilac, Cate, this place smells wonderful. And that ceremony was gorgeous, and your dress, and that dance -- I’ve always loved weddings. Bit much for the little guys, I guess, they’re all so tired, but I enjoyed it enough for all of them, I think. By proxy. ❞

best i ever had (cate & jamie's wedding, circa. 2014)

“You are not the only one who is here by proxy, darling. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” Finn’s wife, Nadia, says, smiling. “I’m not sure how many of us you’ve heard about, but I’m Nadia - Finn’s wife.” She indicates the blonde woman to her right. “And this is my sister, Elise.”

“Guest by proxy,” Elise says, winking. “You should join us on our next mission trip. We usually need all the help we can get.”

“We planned while they were gone,” a male voice deadpans. “I much rather would have been building houses in South Africa.”

Cate enters the fray with a vaguely grumpy-looking Jamie on her arm. “Hi, Nora.” She smiles. “I don’t have much family on my side. You’re more than welcome to make up the difference.”

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It’s hard to hate someone once you understand them.

Lucy Christopher (via wordsnquotes)

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      ❝ Of course, Zoe, ❞  Nora says before anything else, and stoops to lift the toddler to her hip. Once Zoey is situated, and her dress smoothed to prevent wrinkling, Nora beams at Arthur, Wyatt, Kari, and Lorena in turn. She gives Finn’s hand a firm shake and waves at Jeremy, Emerson, and Liam before cradling her arm beneath Zoey.  ❝ It’s great to finally meet you all, I’ve heard so much. And thank you for letting me crash the wedding. I hope the bride and groom don’t mind the delay on their gift. ❞  Faux pas or not, Nora needs a steady source of income before she can spring for a toaster, or a blender, or any other kitchen appliance for herself let alone for Cate and Jamie.

     ❝ Your big mission trip went off without a hitch, I hope ? ❞  It had been odd, watching them all filter back into a town she’d occupied in their absence.  ❝ Did the wedding get planned while you were away, or was it all set before you left ? ❞

best i ever had (cate & jamie's wedding, circa. 2014)

“Nora, you remember Wyatt,” Arthur says, raising a brow at his cousin, who has yet to be convinced that Nora Atwood wasn’t anything more than a fever dream. Arthur shakes his head. “Jamie’s best man … That’s fine. Pretend you’ve never met. Get reacquainted.” Smiling, he steps forward, pressing a kiss to Kari’s cheek in greeting and then introducing, “Kari, Wyatt’s wife. Their kids, Jeremy and Emerson – Emmy.” Arthur grins at the dark-haired little girl clinging to her father’s thumb and bends down to pick her up. Once she is settled on his hip, her head against his shoulder, he seems to forget his introductions.

“Great to see you again, Nora,” Lorena says, smiling and rolling her eyes at her husband. “Under healthier circumstances.” She holds a sleeping baby Gareth against her chest. Zoey, who is standing next to her mother, blinks sleepily up at Nora. “Nora, hold me, please,” she says, mispronouncing the first and last and causing the man on Lorena’s right to chuckle.

“Usually I’m the one she wants,” the man says, but he already appears to have his hands full, as a two-year-old in a gray suit and purple bow tie – similar to that of the groomsmen – tugs at his beard. “Nice t’ meet you, love,” the man says, his smile crooked but sincere, as he holds out a hand to Nora. “Finn Markey. I’m Jamie’s second eldest brother.“

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      ❝ I do drink, and I would love a glass. ❞  Nora says it all on an exhale, barely hiding her relief at the offer. As much as Nora loves people, maintaining conversation is always less taxing after alcohol is introduced -- even when it’s the cheap stuff.

Nora takes a half step toward Caleb.  ❝ Eight years, ❞  she muses, watching him pour two generous glasses.  ❝ God, I’ve been in school for the past eight years. I’ve never not been in school, until recently. I mean, I’ve done internships and fieldwork, but still. ❞  She shakes her head; tugs at her fingers.  ❝ What’s it been like, having a career ? ❞

“Almost eight years,” Caleb answers, and, not for the first time, this admission feels like such a heavy burden. Shoulders sagging, Caleb looks away from Nora and toward the fridge, his mind wandering toward the wine sitting in a bottom drawer.

“Do you drink?” Caleb’s voice is void of any speaking-of-which curiosity. Without waiting for an answer from Nora, he heads toward the fridge and opens it up, producing a wine bottle from its depths. “I like wine,” he tells Nora with an unapologetic shrug. “Personally, I don’t think this one’s nice enough to even give me a buzz, but I’m opening it anyway, if you’d like a glass.”

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Somehow, Caleb’s words don’t reassure Nora. She reaches for his chin, angles his head toward the light, then drags his lip gently with her thumb. Blood has climbed up the cracks between his teeth and clung there, ugly and brown. She grimaces, but drops her hand. Sighs.

      ❝ I picked up his stuff today, ❞  Nora says by way of a subject change, though it’s been weighing on her since Caleb had walked through the door. She nods toward the box marked Prof Atwood still sitting by the door.  ❝ The school’s been bugging me to do it since his funeral, but-- ❞  She shrugs, stiffly.  ❝ I finally went today, and it was no big deal. They’d already moved the new guy into his office. I just-- picked up the box. ❞

“Mm,” Caleb grunts, as ice pack meets skin. Peering at Nora out of the corner of his eye, he takes her wrist and moves the pack to his cheek, mentally cursing the thing for not being able to lay flat.

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to say,” he says slowly, still peering at Nora. A languid, teasing smile pulls across his lips, and then he shrugs. “But if I know anything – and I don’t know much, mind you – the only things SAMCRO, the Russians, and the Irish have in common are guns.” He shrugs. “Typical.”

Caleb catches the indignation in Nora’s second question, though, and he sits up a little straighter, turning so that he is facing Nora instead of their box of a tv. “They got most of us, Nora. Not just me. Though you’d think they’d know better than to ask us if they could trust SAMCRO. What’re we supposed to say, anyway?”

The question is rhetorical, and Caleb leans forward, swollen lips pressing a kiss to Nora’s forehead. “I’m fine, babe,” he murmurs. “As long as I can still talk enough to drive the boys up a wall, I’m fine. Nothin’ to worry about.” He gives a wry chuckle. “ ‘Sides, last anybody heard, SAMCRO’s headed for Stockton. The Russians won’t have to fight fair in there.”

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Nora gives a knowing nod at Zoey’s description of the drawing, one that only gains momentum as Arthur confirms the epidemic.  ❝ Kind of you to stick around for your wife and Wyatt -- and for me, as it happens. ❞  She smiles, sheepish, but then looks to Zoey.

      ❝ So, Zoey, ❞  Nora starts, though her words are meant for Arthur.  ❝ I know that I am a stranger, and this is going to sound strange -- if not to you, then definitely to your dad -- but I have an excellent immune system and a fullproof noodle soup recipe, and I would be so honored to repay your family for their help by cooking for you all tonight. Would that be okay with you ? ❞

“I can get you that tow,” Arthur answers, reaching into his pocket for his keys. “And Wyatt likes to refer to himself as the ‘resident mechanic,’ but he’s not the only one around who works with cars, so depending on the problem, you should be up and running in no time. Not a burden at all.”

He watches Nora lean across the table toward Zoey and return her crayon, Zoey quietly answers the woman’s questions. “It’s a sand castle. For Mama, ” she explains, and Arthur nods.

“Yeah, it’s the stomach flu. Most of the town is on a mission trip out of state. We were going to go, but then Wyatt and my wife, Lorena, and our little boy got sick. Wyatt’s wife went on the trip, which is great. They’ll need all the help they can get, but Wyatt’s home sick with two sick children. He’s not happy.”

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@notforcalamity cont from here

He winces - cringes - more out of sympathy for Nora than anything else.  In the end, Caleb looks to be merely wrinkling his nose, despite the fact that the whole right side of his face is black and blue.

“Couple of Russian punks,” he half-spits.  A smile blossoms, fades, but still lingers, as he raises a hand to cover the one cupping his cheek.  He laces his fingers with Nora’s, brings her hand to his lips, and presses a lingering kiss there.

“Eh, there’s some kinda beef between the mother charter and the Irish.  There’s this guy that they both want for one reason or another - none of ‘em good.  We had to help deliver the package, and it went south.  Same ol’, same ol’.”

Caleb moves away from Nora in favor of the living room couch.  Shrugging out of his kutte, he bites his lip and slings the leather across the arm of the couch before slumping into the cushions.  “I’m fine,” he grunts, and pouts.

      ❝ A couple . . . ❞  Nora croaks as Caleb stalks away. The butt of her thumb massages the skin on the back of her hand still tingling from the kiss, while Nora watches Caleb strip his colors and fall onto her father’s-- her-- their couch. Same old, same old.

Nora pivots on the balls of her feet and marches through the kitchen to the fridge. There’s an icepack on the third shelf of the freezer side, heavy-duty, hospital-grade, and purchased around the last time mention of the mother charter had followed a kiss off Caleb’s lips. Nora retrieves it, and returns to Caleb, perching beside him and pressing the pack to his temple.

It only takes a moment for curiosity to get the best of her.  ❝ Why do the Russians care what SAMCRO’s up to with the Irish ? ❞  she asks.  ❝ And, uhm-- and why don’t any of them believe in a fair fight ?  If you can’t answer the first, answer that. ❞