theodoranowak

[theodoranowak]

THEO: I will make extra sure Nate doesn't go anywhere. THEO: I actually very much know how nasty they can get when they're angry. I know it's not pretty, or fair. I will speak to them, too. I promise. THEO: So long as you tell him, he'll know it. THEO: Will do. Don't worry, you know you can count on me. THEO: Take care of yourself, okay?

SAUL: I hope so. SAUL: I'd really appreciate that. I think I'm going to let Nate know that I'm heading out early, I think I'll stop by his apartment to confirm that he's really gone. That does not mean he gets to go home early though just because I'm not there. Let me know if he does. SAUL IS TYPING... SAUL IS TYPING... SAUL: Yeah well are you going to tell Terry to take it easy on me? They get mad at me no matter what I say. It's not fun to be on their bad side. You just don't know because they're never mad at you. SAUL: Yes, I'll always welcome him back! Of course. I just hope he knows that. SAUL: Call or text if you need me, okay? I should have detailed file notes in my office if you need them to cover my meetings, and I'll have Nate see which clients would like to reschedule.

[theodoranowak]

“Hm,” Theo nods. She thinks she can understand that. She supposes a lot of people might like the loneliness — normal people. Maybe people with normal upbringings, or perhaps people with different issues than her own. She can’t say for sure, but — what she dislikes in loneliness, she’s sure some people might find comfort in. Like this person, who’s just admitted to doing so. “Ah, yes. You either experience your work with your readers, or you experience your death,” she jokes. Death of the author, that is. She’s seen many of her author friends go through it — none of them thrilled about it, but such are the risks of authorship, she supposes.

At the mention of a restraining order, Theo can’t help but shift a little uncomfortably in her seat. She laughs a little, like the other might be telling her a joke, but she thinks that’s not true. They seem honest to a fault — god, Theo would hate having them as a witness in a court case. “Well, then you’re probably right to stay away,” she jokes lamely. “I’m an attorney. Family law,” she adds. “Not as exciting as criminal law, I’m afraid.” Or so she’s been told. Not that she envies criminal defense lawyers — she’s seen how gritty those cases can get.

“The loneliness is attractive.” Juno replied with confidence. They weren’t someone who enjoyed being with or near people. A little while they could entertain but Juno functioned best on their own. All alone with their thoughts and sentiments where they could conjure up whatever world possessed them in the moment. In the silence of their writing space they could come up with the best of friends. “But it is true. Once your work is out there, it’s up for the world to experience as you do.” Whether that’s a good thing or not, Juno couldn’t be quite sure.  Juno stared for a moment, a little disappointed at the news even with the little expectation they had initially. The town only continued to prove its boring nature but they were far too persistent and dug for gold in the sand. “Last time I did that I got a restraining order against me.” they said, shaking their head slightly, “Perhaps I’ll check the library for any old documents from the town. They should have more information.” For what they were looking for, the older the documents were - the better. “So what do you do?”

[theodoranowak]

Theo watches as the other woman rambles on about the gummies, granting them sentience. She’s both amused and endeared at the antics, and nods solemnly at her brave decision to take a package for herself. “Well, you’ll have to let me know if they do end up being the most delicious candies in the world,” she tells her, smiling. “We can meet here again a week from now. Same time, same place. For the reveal,” she teases. When the other woman points out the flush on her face, Theodora feels it darken. “Oh,” she laughs sheepishly. “I’m fine. I just had — ah, a bad experience here last time,” she admits. “Nothing sexual in nature,” she adds quickly, further embarrassing herself. “I ran into my ex. And then I ran away from him. I also almost left with edible lingerie I did not pay for in the process.” A beat. “And that cashier saw it all happen,” she finishes cheerfully. 

"Aw, is it weird I kinda feel bad for the lil guys?" The woman had a point though. Jeanie peered more closely at the packet, inspecting it for any indication of a specific flavour. None was listed. Suspicious. "Maybe they're like those little fried egg candies, you know the white bits?" She mused. "They might be the most delicious candies in the world and no one would ever know because the manufacturers were like 'hey, you know what would be a good gimmick?' The sudden urge to rescue them from the shelf gripped her and, well, who was she to resist such an impulse? She'd make CJ try them with her next time they hung out. She turned to beam at the stranger, only then noticing her face. "Hey are you okay? You look a little warm."

[theodoranowak]

THEO: Yes! But then that really nullifies the whole ordeal. Can't really represent a dead client in a divorce trial. Similarly, can't really represent a client who's murdered the other party THEO: I'm sorry! I really would like to get together this weekend.

MADISYN: do the two ever like mix like any murders happen during divorce settlements? MADISYN: you say that babe but ur like 🙁constantly busy 💔

[theodoranowak]

Her hair reminds me of Cassie’s, before—

Theo’s lips purse as she steadies her hand on the brush — she’s just started applying the second coat on Terry’s right hand, the silver color coming to life. She doesn’t follow-up with the thought — she’d promised Terry she’d drop the subject altogether, if they’d let her paint their nails. And she’d meant it — she doesn’t think this counts, since the thought was fleeting and from Terry’s own lips, but she knows that trying to follow that thread will lead to Terry shutting down the way they usually do, when Theo tries to breach the subject of Cassie.

She listens as she works, as Terry describes both of their neighbors’ — hands? Theodora can’t help the amusement that courses through her as she listens. She’d expected the objectivity, of course, but it’s somehow funnier to listen to it manifest itself in this sort of strange, almost curative way. They turn the conversation to women, after only a second, and that’s even less surprising. Eventually, Terry seems to realize they’d not actually answered the question at hand, and they do their best to remedy the fact — though it’s just as quick and objective as the hands debacle.

“Maybe you should introduce me to one of them,” she jokes, finishing off the second coat. She blows softly on Terry’s hand, then raises her gaze to meet theirs. “Last time I had sex—” Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about that, actually. Not because it’s not something she’s discussed with Terry before, mind you, but because it’s been such a pathetically long time. The last time she’d indulged in casual sex had been with Halide, and that had been over a year ago now. Fantastic sex, mind you, but still a considerably long time ago. She clears her throat and feels her cheeks warm some. “Never mind,” she sighs. “Maybe I’m just meant to be alone forever, hm?”

She starts on the first coat of the next hand. “I think I’d like that,” she replies honestly to Terry’s invitation. “I always love learning more about the birds you see.” She smiles up softly at Terry. “Some of my favorite memories of when I was younger are of you pointing them out to me in your yard. I still have that scrapbook you helped me start.” 

“I just wouldn’t want you to feel obligated,” they rushed to say, their words sharp, but softened with concern. “It's not exactly the best seat in the house.” There was a pregnant pause before they added, "I've always preferred the row just before the front. Better balance.”

Theo’s answer was not satisfactory. Terry longed to draw her out, to break through the silence, but they’d never been adept at bridging gaps with words. Even now, they could only speak with confidence about the most menial of things—but they supposed that small things were their own comforts, in their own way. 

For now, neighbors. When Theo pressed them about the doctor, Terry’s shoulders lifted in a familiar shrug. “They met at a bar. She’s a doctor, and remarkably beautiful. Her features are a bit more angular, but her hair reminds me of Cassie’s, before—” they trailed off, thinking about Cassie’s fire-red hair, muted and more complementary to the color of her eyes, “I just figured.”  

Onward to lighter matters. “Jack, the gardener, is quiet. Which is good, because I didn’t come to his house to talk,” they added, recalling the occasion when they’d found themselves dripping wet from a freak summer storm and finding themselves in Jack’s quiet cottage, “Rory’s younger by a few years, and has a daughter.” 

The question falls flat, trying to picture the pair. The thought wasn’t unpleasant. The quiet strength of both men seemed complementary, the kind only developed through years of working with their hands. Terry could imagine their forearms—blue veins raised, skin pale and taut, marked by time—that almost resembled their father’s and brothers’ own. “Pa always said you could tell a lot about someone by their hands. Jack and Rory’s work is labor-intensive—callouses are inevitable, natural.” They paused, their gaze distant for a moment. “That isn’t to say women’s hands can’t get calloused, too. It’s a slower process, but housework—washing dishes, doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning—all that causes friction and pressure, too.” They glanced downward; another self-examination. “And there are, of course, women who also do labor-intensive work for a living.” And here, they think of Sev, of hazel eyes—of sky, water, and land bleeding into each other.

They remember Theo’s question only moments later. “Sure, I suppose both of them are cute,” they hummed, “but their faces are quite lived-in. Does that make sense to you?” The quiet stretched between them again. “It’s comforting, isn’t it? The quiet.” They stared at their fingernails, the settling silver shade resembling concrete or cement—steady foundations that held up homes, paved roads.  “You might want to go birdwatching with me, sometime. There are paths I haven’t explored just yet.”

[theodoranowak]

Well, she supposes that’s one theory down the drain. He didn’t cheat — noted. Not something she’ll have to chew him out over, at least. She and Foster are inherently different — on paper, their friendship shouldn’t work. And yet it does, somehow, and Theo thinks it’s mostly because she’s hardly been scared away by his tough-guy act. The person he purports to be, like he’s not just craving the same kind of love Theodora’s craved all her life. A kindred spirit, she’d found in him — just one who’s maybe taken a different approach to healing.

Phoebe mentions Estefania, and her eyebrows rise in surprise at the name. It’s been a minute, but—“His ex?” she purses her lips. Is she back in the picture? No, that doesn’t make sense. Foster’s never told her much about the woman, other than the fact that he’s wanted nothing to do with her since they separated, and with that, Theodora can surmise at the very least he wouldn’t go back to her under any circumstances. “Sure,” she replies warily. “Their relationship was — well, it was,” she finishes slowly. “Does she have something to do with this?”

Fuck. Phoebe didn't know why she just expected Foster to have told his friends but, considering his history of not sharing important information, maybe that was an expectation too high for him. Still, surely it'd crossing the line into telling Theo. It was one thing for Phoebe to tell her own friends what happened, but she couldn't bad-mouth him to his own.

But would it be bad-mouthing him if she was just relaying the facts?

"I..uh...he hasn't told you? Oh." She shifted her feet awkwardly, glancing back at the stables and hoping a horse would escape or something and distract Theo from Phoebe, letting her sneak away to never bother the lawyer again. At her follow-up question, she scoffed out a laugh, though it was more toward the 'I can't imagine' line than the obvious assumption based on the intern's behaviour, because not too long ago, neither couldn't Phoebe.

"No, he didn't...um, cheat." Technically. Not on Phoebe, anyway. Despite the decade apart, was what he did considered adultery? He had told her that he had cheated on Tefi multiple times during the more active days of their marriage, and she on him too, as if it made the whole mess okay. But in terms of when it came to Phoebe in the mix, it was murkier waters. "Does the name Tefi — Estefania — Betancourt any bells?" No point continuing down this path if Theo didn't know, after all.

[theodoranowak]

Theodora has perfected her poker face. It comes with not only the job, but her upbringing — she thinks she was taught how to hide what she’s feeling on her face before she was taught her first word. She’s careful to do it now — school her expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the surprise she feels at hearing Phoebe say she and Foster have broken up. Wasn’t she just toasting Foster about him moving in with her? Owning a cat together? Hadn’t she just seen him and concluded for herself the man was in love? Her attorney brain is already attempting to deduce, starting with the crumbs of context clues Phoebe’s leaving for her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she tells Phoebe, and she is. Foster had seemed happy, and despite what she knows to be true about her friend, she feels he’d deserved that. “But I’m not going to lie to you, Foster hasn’t said anything about this to me,” she wraps her arms around her helmet thoughtfully. “Which isn’t uncommon. He has a tendency to avoid difficult conversations.” Tapping her fingers rhythmically against the plastic, she says, “I’m happy to provide you with as much context as you need, Phoebe. But seeing as you now know I’m not up to speed on the issue, I’ll also have to know what the issue was,” she points out, and her smile is sympathetic. “Did he — I can’t imagine he—” she frowns. “Did he cheat on you?”

Sometimes when she was feeling frazzled, it was hard for her to keep her thoughts straight, and she smiled apologetically at Theo. After all, it wasn’t the lawyer’s fault that on occasion Phoebe’s brain just went a hundred miles an hour with no map to guide you, speeding too fast to capture anything. “Okay, yes, so-sorry!” She stuttered, shaking her head, biting her lip as she thought of the best way to explain her unorganized thoughts. 

“I just want to understand Foster’s past, really. Like…how long you both knew each other and if you knew about…” Tefi’s name caught in Phoebe’s throat, and she offered a watery smile. “I know, it’s insane to ask, especially now we’re uh, broken up, so if you want me to fuck off, I will. I just…” Phoebe’s smile dropped. “I just need to know more. I need to wrap my head around everything that happened.”

[theodoranowak]

x. status -> closed for @just-foster x. location -> rise 'n' dine

Theo looks up at the waitress and thanks her for bringing them their order. As she leaves, she looks back over at Foster and takes him in again. Still looking like he’d been run over by a car, she thinks. That hasn’t changed in the thirty minutes they’ve been here, exchanging mundane pleasantries. She’s been waiting for him to bring Phoebe up — but it looks like he’d rather pick up the fork available to him and stab himself in the eye than do that, so it seems Theodora’s going to have to be the one to do it for them.

She takes her own utensils and starts cutting into her omelet. “So,” she starts slowly, looking pointedly at her plate. “There’s something I’ve been kind of confused about,” she takes a bite out of her meal, chewing it slowly. When she swallows, she meets Foster’s gaze innocently, a polite smile tugging her lips upward. “Maybe you can help me figure it out.”

[theodoranowak]

Theodora looks over at Sawyer, a small furrow between her brows. She takes the takeout menus from her and looks them over carefully. “Why don’t we just get both?” she offers, smiling. “Mix and match, as it were.” When she’d invited Sawyer over, it’d been done with the intention to figure out what was wrong with her friend. She’d been cagey the past week or so — and despite how many people in Theo’s life seem to be having issues she can’t help find herself in the middle of, she’ll never pass up an opportunity to help yet another friend in need. “You can borrow some of my PJs, yeah? We can make a night of it.”

who: @theodoranowak

where: literally lost my ability to think of where to put this

"I can't decide." Sawyer scrunches up her nose as she turns her head to look over at Theodora. "I don't know whether I want Chinese food or if a greasy pizza and trashy tv is a better idea." Truthfully, if she had it her way she'd be in her pajamas, sulking on her couch with pizza and pathetically sad movies but she doesn't want to put herself at home right now. Not when it was... empty. She was never good at being alone with her feelings or her thoughts. "Maybe we should flip a coin... Unless you have better ideas."

[theodoranowak]

> THEO is typing... > THEO is typing... > THEO is typing... THEO: [You loved "Do it. You should know..."] THEO: Yes, please! THEO: Happy to know you're on our side. Wouldn't want you anywhere else THEO: I can drop by yours. I'd love to see Chelsea again, anyway. :)

WARREN: Do it. You should know someone is proud of you. Seeing all of your accomplishments on paper? I'd be happy to have that. WARREN: I'll do that. To your personal email? WARREN: Interesting. Someone hurt a friend and you're out for vengeance. I'll do what I can to make sure you get it. WARREN: How's 5:45 PM? Would you like to come by mine or me drop by the center?

[theodoranowak]

THEO: I think you're allowed to be, a little bit. THEO: I genuinely cannot imagine the pain you must be feeling. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. THEO: I am not in between anyone. I am a grown, adult woman who can make my own decisions and also be friends with two people at once. I can observe and practice nuance, as I have been most of my life. Please don't let that deter you from staying as long as you need to stay. THEO: Of course not. There are no excuses. Only explanations, and even those, I'm afraid, might fall short with how terrible what they said to you was.

SELINA: I know I'm a mess right now. SELINA: It still is. He was my best friend. We did so much together. Accomplished so much. It's hard to believe... accept that he's gone. Thank you. SELINA: Thank you. I just don't want to get in your way or cramp your space. I know you'll say otherwise but I also know it's difficult to be around a grieving depressed person. Plus, I'm kind of putting you in between Terry and I. Which I don't want. You don't have to choose between us. SELINA: No amount of love changes what they did either. It's not even that I can't forgive (if they apologize and are actually sincere) it's just hard to erase those words and how they seeped into my bones for the last 2 years. SELINA: I spent nearly a decade with them. Very closely. I've loved them. A verb. Actively loved them. I know their complications but it can't be a crutch and an excuse. Especially since I know otherwise, too.

[theodoranowak]

THEO: Oh my god just come inside

SAM: How when I asked you what you want?

[theodoranowak]

THEO: I love my horses. I also take care of my horses, not the other way around. Nice try, though. > THEO is typing... > THEO is typing... > THEO is typing... THEO: 👍

TERRY: He would beg to differ. I'm sure you feel the same way about your horses. TERRY: Perhaps I can drop by. Give horse riding another try.

[theodoranowak]

Contrary to popular belief, Theodora doesn’t like everyone she meets. Case in point — the man who’s become her neighbor and now, apparently, finds it appropriate to wait for a woman he’d snarked and snapped at the first time they met in the parking lot of her work. He’s friendly with Saul, it seems — not that that’s any sort of endorsement, mind you. She loves Saul, but the man does keep questionable company sometimes. 

She stops in her tracks at the sound of her name being called out by the same irritating voice she’s come to despair of. With a deep, leveling sigh, she turns around and crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing the man’s smile with contempt. Theodora Nowak was raised among fake smiles, passive-aggressive elites, and hungry lawyers — she knows when she’s trying to be placated. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s weird to wait for a woman alone in the parking lot?” She asks him, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe try a different approach next time.” After a beat, she decides to answer his question, if only so she can hurry this interaction along. “I’m going to lunch,” she confirms. “So — bye. Unless there’s something else you’d like to yell at me about today,” she adds with a cloying smile. “In which case, feel free to drop your complaint in the suggestion box,” she points at the dumpster leaning against the side of the building. “Someone’ll get back to you in three to five business days.”

[ TASK 004 ] CLOSED STARTER FOR @theodoranowak outside weissberg law firm, cardinal hill, around lunch time.

‎ HE'D ONLY BRIEFLY MADE EYE CONTACT with the dark-haired woman on his way out from saul weissberg's office, both men still laughing about some odd joke saul had made before they reached the door, followed by a casual invitation max had extended towards his attorney friend to drop by his place some time this week to try out the new strain he'd been microdosing for the past month. he hadn't had time to approach the woman, let alone to confirm if it was really her, but he's pretty sure it is. nadia had made certain he wouldn't have forgotten it. his twin sister had taken a great liking to the woman ever since she'd picked up horseback riding as a hobby and had demanded for him to apologize when she found out that theodora nowak was, indeed, the new neighbor he'd been ranting about for the past month.

with the benz's engine running in the parking lot while waiting for the woman to come down, max calls his sister from the backseat.

"why do i have to be friends with her just because you are?"

"are you new or are you stupid? everything we do affects the family! plus, she's teaching me to ride for free."

"you can afford lessons."

"and you can afford to not be an ass every once in a while."

"what's her name again?"

"theo."

"that's a stupid fucking name."

"you literally share the same name with a million dogs. your dog sounds more like a person than you."

theo. theo.

"theo!"

with his window rolled down, he waves at the woman like she should've been expecting him, as she emerges from the building's entrance. he opens the door and steps out, tom hagen bounding from the seat behind him, paws stealthily landing on the concrete.

"going out for lunch?" it's not difficult, putting on a friendly smile. that had been part of their training as children, and later as members of the executive board. it's the whole nepo baby shtick. somehow, even after he'd broken off from the family business, he finds the ability to turn on a switch and be a charmingly pleasant person incredibly convenient to get what he wants. in this case, he just wants to appease nadia.

[theodoranowak]

As they walk, Phoebe begins to explain her presence in the center, and it’s — confusing. She sounds like she’s talking about Foster, but the way she’s talking about it sounds off-kilter, a complete one-eighty from the last time they’d encountered each other and she spoke of him. Softer, brighter, like he’d been her lifeline — and now, she speaks of him almost stiltedly, like the mere thought of saying his name might poison her essence. She wonders if they’ve gotten in a fight — not uncommon, in young couples — or if there’s something more going on here she’s not privy to. 

She furrows her brows at the other woman, hopeful that her befuddlement is evident. “Ah,” she smiles at her a bit quizzically. “Are you — sorry,” she holds up her hands, stopping in her tracks as she turns to face Phoebe entirely. “I’m a little confused. You want to talk about — what, exactly?” She tilts her head to the side curiously. “I’m — open to it, of course,” she adds quickly, because she is. She thinks. “But I’m not exactly following.”

Phoebe wanted to point out most people offered invitations as a social obligation to be polite, but the entire situation was weird enough without her potentially adding some tension to it based on technicalities. So instead, she just smiled at Theo, taking in just how...powerful she looked in her riding gear. It made Phoebe feel even more self-conscious in her Etsy-bought Taylor Swift sweatshirt and ratty yoga pants, make-up free on the off-chance she felt that all-too familiar pang of her heart cracking in her chest and she burst into tears.

"Oh, yeah sure." She didn't further elaborate on Theo's joke about the horse smell, not sure she'd be allowed to even if she could, instead fiddling with her hands awkwardly as they walked. Where did she begin with getting to why she was here? "Um, I know that h-he's your friend," She debated saying his name, but couldn't quite make herself, "And like, I don't want to put you in the middle at all. I just...I need some sort of perspective, a third party one, to help me understand everything that happened, but if you don't feel comfortable answering anything, I won't hold it against you. And I promise after this I'll be out of your hair." Because Theo Nowak didn't need her friend's crazy ex-girlfriend hanging around her.

[theodoranowak]

Fairly new, the other says, and Theodora wonders if that means they’re fairly new to the publishing world or to writing. She figures it might be a good idea to ask, but then again, it might also be rude. There’s no official rule book, she thinks, nothing that says you can’t call yourself an author without being published first. It’s the same sentiment she shares with people who have a hard time calling themselves writers — she believes, firmly, that writers are people who write, whether or not they’re writing for someone other than themselves. So she lands somewhere on it doesn’t really matter, and moves on. “That’s great,” she tells them, nodding her head encouragingly. “I know writing can be a lonely hobby sometimes, but once you share it with the world — it’s like the story was never just yours, right?”

At their question, Theo’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh,” she shakes her head. “No, I don’t have anything of the sort. I just moved here,” she explains. She supposes she’ll have some gossip, eventually, as a family attorney, but none she’s allowed to just — give away. “Have you tried pestering the lawyers over at Heller? They’re criminal attorneys,” she explains. “Bet they’ll have some stories for you.”

Juno nodded in response, “Yeah, normally.” They didn’t often take time out of their day to fester in their own personal thoughts, often preferring to leave that for bedside journaling so they could focus more on their subjects throughout the day, but their thoughts were uneasy. Days and days of little to no sleep as they saw the same image stare back at them. Bloodshot eyes filled with an empty abyss. The same eyes that followed them since they were a child, but Juno knew better than to put them into words. Those thoughts were better to be left in their head, so instead they used fantasy and figure of speech to alleviate their mind.  “Fairly new, yeah.” They weren’t by any capacity a well known author, but an author nonetheless. “It’s still a little odd to think of myself as such, but one day.” Juno had every confidence in their writing abilities, even if they only wrote about one thing. Over time they could think of expanding into different areas, but for the time being they were content. “I’ve been thinking about writing about the town… or rather a mystery about the town. Have you been here long? Know of any lore? Unsolved murders?” So far all they’d been able to pick up on was a beef between two coffee shops, and a crystal store that claimed to be haunted with no real proof to back it up.

[theodoranowak]

I wanted to. Theodora bites the inside of her cheek at how easy the confession seems to leave her ex, like it’s something maybe she should have known already. She’s sure he hadn’t meant it that way, but it still manages to twist whatever metaphorical sharp object is embedded in her heart. Clearing her throat, she offers Sam a tight smile at his takeout commentary, trying her best not to dwell on the feeling. “That is the downside of living in such a small town,” she admits. “Takeout options are severely lacking. In both taste and variety.”

She does have beer. In fact, she still buys the brand Sam likes, because it’s the one she got used to when they lived together. She used to be less picky about her beers until he came into her life — and now, for the past three years of his absence, she’s been unable to even have something so simple as a beer without thinking about him. Too embarrassed to divulge this information, however, she opts for the whiskey he suggests, instead, pulling out two of her glasses and setting them on the counter before walking to the bar. She eyes the brands available to her, then grabs the best one, returning to the counter and pouring their drinks, neat. She doesn’t ask about ice — she just needs alcohol in her system as quickly as possible.

Grabbing both glasses, she walks over to Sam and hands one of them to him. She considers his question — a full stomach just means more room for uncomfortable nausea, which she suspects may be a problem throughout the night. So she shakes her head, takes a quick sip of her drink before she replies, “Just — just start,” she says, and hates the way her voice sounds. She thinks it sounds small again, like it had when they first saw each other, and that’s not the person she wants to be anymore — not the person she wants to come off as, either. Taking a deep breath, she walks around the island and slides into one of the seats at the counter, eyeing Samuel carefully.

“Thanks,” she replies to his compliment about her home. She knows, objectively, he’s right. The house is nice. But nothing about it is hers, not really. She paid for someone to stage it. Paid for someone to make it as unremarkable as possible. The more it looks and feels like her, after all, the more it looks and feels like Sam. She’d become indistinguishable, for a while there, from the man she loved. Loves. The only room that feels anything like her at all is the library, and that has more to do with the content and the mess than anything else. But she doubts she’ll be showing that to Sam anytime soon.

Overall, the fact that he thinks this house is beautiful — that he calls it her home — is maybe an indication to how little he might know her anymore. Maybe he’s forgotten who she is. Maybe she’s reading into things because she hopes so desperately he might have missed her as much as she missed him. Or maybe none of it means anything at all, and Theodora is looking for meaning in places she’ll never find any. 

It's quite easy to discern that he'd thrown Theo off with his preparation, giving off the impression that he'd put much more thought into this impromptu gathering. Samuel hadn't expected things to go this when the communication began, though it'd been a pleasant surprise, but he'd begun to prepare when the texts started navigating in this direction.

More than anything the writer had desired an opportunity to sit and talk about everything with his ex. To explain to her his reasonings for leaving and staying gone. Even if there was no forgiveness for his silence or his actions, the man was desperate for the lawyer to understand that it truly had nothing to do with her.

None of this was her fault.

What she'd received out of his actions wasn't deserved.

That was the important message to convey. Along with the simple fact that he still loved her all the same. The New Yorker knew that was incredibly difficult to understand given that the thoughts, feelings, and actions didn't all line up perfectly nor did they match.

Life was never that easy. Never that simple.

"Yeah," he answered among his movements in her kitchen, "I started prepping during our texts. It's why some responses took longer than others." A small laugh followed and adoring umber eyes found Theo standing near, appearing hesitant and as though she might flee at any moment.

"I wanted to," Sam began to explain, "no takeout really hits the same outside of New York so I've turned to cooking even more than before." The writer had always enjoyed the whole process of making something from scratch with his bare hands. It felt more whole, more enriching, more personal. There was also the unspoken part that him cooking even more had to do with a boy named Ben.

Nostalgia hit the author hard. Seeing her standing by, ready for conversation as she watched him move about what had once been a shared kitchen in a dwelling that had been their own as a couple. He tried his best to ignore the pit in his stomach, to not let the moment grip hold of him too strongly. If he'd learned anything it was that living in the past was dangerous and would lead to disappointment.

"You have any beer?" Brow lifted, it had only been then that he'd wished he'd brought a pack or stopped along the way. Wine had never really been his go-to but he'd drink it in a pinch. "Or we can jump to the whiskey and start softening things up," he'd suggested feeling it could help ease some anxieties.

With the pizza finally in the oven, Sam rested the heels of his palms against the edge of the countertop and leaned into it. Gaze fixed on Theo's he'd give a penny for her real thoughts and what was going on behind those beautiful eyes he'd often sank into for comfort.

How was he supposed to get through this?

A front row seat to further hurting the person you loved most felt like hell.

"You shouldn't cry, but I'm sorry ahead of time if anything I tell you hurts you that much." For a second he only peered down at his ex and wondered if she knew that he'd never intended to hurt her. That the entirety of the last few years felt like some sort of out of body experience for him.

"Do you want something in your stomach first or do you want me to just— start?"

Which Sam had no idea how to do that or where that point was. He'd find it, of course, but he already had a feeling of trudging through thick, knee deep mud.

"You have a beautiful home, by the way."

No matter how much it was all his fault that things were the way they were now, it didn't take away from the pain of seeing how well someone moved on from you.

Regardless, Sam was proud of her.