“You have a visitor,” the man says, and he feels his heart catch in his throat.
“Outside.” She knew – of course she knew – how much he missed her, missed them, and she came unexpectedly, hoping to surprise him. He hasn’t called, but neither has she, their last conversations awkward, stilted, distant, and then tense, angry: all in that order, and the invisible string that connected their magnetic hearts had pulled her across land and sea to be with him again. He leaps to his feet, scrambling out of bed as he tosses on his coat, ready to be led into the morning air. She turns around as she stands, and he feels his heart splinter like glass, cracks spreading from the center as his smile fades.
“You were expecting someone else,” she tells him, pulling thoughts from his head. She pauses, gesturing towards the seat opposite hers at the small table. Through the glass that makes up the back wall, he can see the people inside, watching. Waiting for something. Her hair is darker than the last time he remembers seeing her, but she still seems so small compared to him; even the chair she sits in seems too large. “They don’t recommend you fly whilst pregnant.” He bobs his head in understanding, but doesn’t quite agree that this is why the one he expected isn’t there with him. He’s pushed too far.
“Soph—” he begins, but she cuts him off.
“I saw your sister,” she pauses with a breathy laugh as she waves her hand dismissively. “Not in person as I’ve been in New York, but we FaceTimed. She said you only ever call Alan.” There’s another pause as she reaches her hand across the table, palm facing upwards. When he doesn’t move, she touches her fingertips to her palm, opening and closing her hand expectantly until he places one of his own into it. He glances towards the window, his stomach beginning the first of several anxious twists, and she snorts. “They don’t care and Harlowe knows better. If not from you by now, from me.” She sounds confident and some of it is contagious. He mumbles his agreement as she gives his hand a squeeze, and he can feel the cracking in his chest again, this time like a slow erosion as pieces break off and fall. Neither of them says it, but he doesn’t doubt that if she’s spoken to his sister, she also knows that none of his family is on the visitation list. All of them have to undergo a screening process, but he’s only chosen two: one is with him now, and the other didn't come.
It’s her turn to glance at the window, then at the staff around them, her gaze circling the patio, as she reaches into her jumper and pulls out her contraband. She places it on the table, sliding it across to him, mouth set in a firm line. “Call her now.” It’s her turn to glance at the window, then at the staff around them, her gaze circling the patio, as she reaches into her jumper and pulls out her contraband. She places it on the table, sliding it across to him, mouth set in a firm line. “Call her now.” Some of her fingers lace through his but no more of her bravery passes through his skin. He pulls his hand away abruptly as he stares towards the sky, the colours like something from a painting, all purple and blue and fuzzy around the edges. He tilts his head back and wipes his eye with one of his thumbs.
He can hear the grin in her voice as she begins her sentence, which interrupts as he grabs the phone from the table. His fingers hesitate over the home button and he sets it back down making a dull thud against the wood.
“Do you remember?” she begins, not acknowledging his refusal, “when you came home from Los Angeles that December, and I didn't see you? It was the first time in...” her voice trails off as she shrugs, exhaling as her shoulders lower. “It was the first time. And all you could talk about was that girl because you'd forgotten everything else. It was like the story.”
She speaks the words, but his lips move as well, the lines familiar, worn in: “Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.”
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