2019-12-14 - Forget-Me-Nots

It was a quiet autumn morning, even though it is mid-December and December is clearly in the winter. But while the seasons may be stupid, the weather is not; there is no drizzle, just a cool breeze coming in from off the bay. It's the perfect day to be outside, which is why most people are either still sleeping (it's Saturday) or at the park, rather than being morbid at the cemetery.

But most people are not Anne Washburn.

Anne's been here for at least an hour, sitting cross-legged (or is it Indian style? Criss-cross applesauce? Pls consult MSB) at her father's grave. The headstone was simple and unadorned, but she has brought a poinsettia. 'Tis the season, after all. She's quietly contemplative, weaving a piece of grass between her fingers as she communes with the spirits - or, in reality, just sits quietly and respectfully in front of the grave of the man who gave birth to her and died horribly in a car accident. You know. As people do.

If you have problems with the calendar, you should really take that up with Luigi Lilio. Until then, it's a quiet AUTUMN morning in December, and - despite his intentions not to come skulking around the cemetery again until Christmas - Patrick has his reasons for being here. He comes out from the adjacent church, carrying a pair of bouquets and making pretty good time across the perpetually soggy lawn, obviously on a particular mission and not just skulking around the cemetery aimlessly.

Let's assume that that the Addington plots are centrally located enough that he's going to have to pass by Anne's dad's grave, which he does, and it slows that purposeful stride to a gradual standstill. It'd be too much, even for him, to say something terrible right now. Instead, he diverts his path and hooks around to where he can get an eyeful of the name on the headstone. "Hello, Anne," while he's doing this, and then nods comprehension when he sees the name.

He quietly congratulates himself for not having said anything pricky. It's a pretty big achievement for him.

Luigi Lilio can really kiss my ass. But anyway, as stated previously, Anne is here on this quiet (stupidly AUTUMN) morning, quite by herself until she notices movement up the path. Not one to really oogle mourners, she tips her head that-a-way with no real intention of doing anything more than acknowledging another person's presence, but that other person ends up being Patrick. Needless to say, there's a bit of squirming in place when he diverts his direction, a quick straightening of her back and a smoothing of her skirt over her knees. By the time he's upon her, she's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and fitting a subtle smile to her lips. Nothing too bright, of course, just a smile that's small and appropriate to the situation.

Maybe there's relief when all that comes out of him is a 'hello, Anne'. Maybe it's there in the way her shoulders seem to relax when the words come out, as though she'd been wound up and looking for a fight that doesn't come. It's certainly there in the lack of heat to her reply: "Hello, Patrick." She should probably leave it at that.

But instead, she tips up her head, looking from his bouquets to his eyes. "Are you visiting Mike and Susan?"

Is there a smile that's appropriate to running into your [whatever] who is also your ex-[something else] in a cemetery? If so, Patrick will take a cue from Anne and return a smile of similar quality, put while he shifts glances down at the bouquets at the same time she does. His eyes stay there, like he's contemplating the arrangement of forget-me-nots as relevant to the conversation. Thus, it takes him a few extra seconds to come up with an answer to a very simple question.

"Sort of."

He should also leave it at that. But it makes too short a scene, so, "Are you here long?"

At least the appropriate quality smile doesn't last; his answer catches her off-guard, and the smile slips from her lips at the same time that her brows arch upward. She should not ask questions. She should leave him be, let him go on his way while she goes on in the complete opposite direction. But instead, she flicks the grass she was winding between her fingers away and casts a look back to her father's grave. The shake of her head sends the curl she just pushed behind her ear back into her face; it makes her fuss with it while she answers. "No. I was just finishing," it was an honest response. She touches her fingers to the engraved name and then lifts herself to her feet, looking back up (and up and up and up) to meet Patrick's eyes again.

"Can I join you?" Presumably to go to wherever Susan and Mike are kept. "I.. didn't come to say goodbye," her brows knit at that. Of course, Susan and Mike aren't the only Addingtons she failed to say goodbye to; she also never came to say goodbye to Patrick when he left (but at least he didn't leave permanently). So maybe this is a trend for her.

Patrick respectfully and/or superstitiously avoids tramping around all over Anne's dead dad, preferring to keep to what he's guessing are the aisles in between the buried corpses. This is only mentioned to account for the reason that he doesn't offer her a hand-up or anything; if she's over there by the headstone, then he's too far away. He's also momentarily surprised by her question, hence the eyebrow that climbs its way upward. But he answers, "Of course," like it's perfectly normal to pick-up chicks in the cemetery.

"I wouldn't let it keep me up nights, if I were you." He means having failed to say goodbye. To Sue and Mike. Not to Patrick. She should live an endless life of sleepless nights to atone for that sin. "I highly doubt they're holding it against you."

But rest assured: he'll ask.

It's probably inappropriate to crack a smile at the whole 'holding it against you' thing, but Anne does - it's brief, mostly because she recognizes that it's probably not the sort of thing one should grin over, so she immediately forces the expression back. But at least she doesn't go and make jokes about his dead siblings, right? Wrong. "They wouldn't be the only Addingtons to hold a grudge against me if they were," she remarks off-handedly, realizing what she's said after it's out of her mouth, and winces.

"I'm sorry," the apology comes immediately afterward, the first genuine one that she's made since they reunited in the grocery store. "That was.. a joke, I didn't mean anything by that."

"We do tend to have long memories when it comes to being slighted, but - " Patrick never gets to finish that thought, because Anne's apologizing. Although he takes the apology literally in stride, he fails to do so figuratively, and has to look down and sideways at her along the walk from the dead Washburn toward all the dead Addingtons, confusion writ in the narrowing of that glance.

Eventually, it just comes down to, "Don't." And him pointing with his bouquets off toward the right of the family mausoleum. Here, he gives her some flowers to hold because then it is perhaps less awkward for her.

Don't. The response makes her falter in step, so she has to double up to reach for the offered bouquet. At least she doesn't leave him or the flowers hanging, heaving a sigh as she dips her head to touch her nose to the blooms. It's just a quick sniff - should you smell grave flowers? whatever - before she tucks the bouquet to her chest and continues on the walk. "Okay," she replies. She should really leave it at that.

Instead? "I did send flowers," she was talking about when Mike and Susan died. "Both times. And I.. wanted to call, I thought about calling," she glances aside to him as she falls into step, a difficult thing considering his stride is much longer than her own, "But honestly I figured you changed your number." So instead she offered what normal people offer in these situations: thoughts and prayers. Pointless flowers that got added to the hundred others. Empty platitudes. She knew it wasn't enough that she thought about trying, because it wouldn't be enough for her if he had ever thought about trying, either. The next question comes spilling out for her to regret after it's said aloud: "Is there ever going to be a point for us where things aren't this awkward?"

All those things are listened to and nodded to - except the one about him having changed his number, Patrick shakes his head briefly at that, 'cause he didn't. He doesn't say anything to assuage her guilt, having already made that effort earlier with the whole 'don't let it keep you up nights' attempt, just leads the way among the rows of headstones to the ones that belong to his siblings. They're not right next to each other, but they're proximate enough that 'Susan' can be seen while standing next to 'Michael.'

"Running into each other in a cemetery?" He shakes his head again, GRAVEly this time. "I suspect that's going to be awkward until one or both of us is actually interred in one." At least he doesn't seem bent on saying a prayer to the dead or anything, just dropping the bouquet on the headstone and nodding toward the aforementioned 'Susan' grave.

"You know what I mean," Anne replies tersely with a roll of her blue eyes. But on a scale of one to ten, starting a fight in a graveyard was probably an eleven - which is why she puffs out another sigh and side-steps over to Susan's grave, the subject dropped with that single pointed remark. Patrick knows Anne is not a very religious person, but there's respect here as she lays the flowers down on the headstone. She doesn't say anything aloud, but there's movement of her lips suggesting some quiet words were mumbled, before she lowers herself down to her knees to start brushing away the leaves and weeds that tend to grow even in the winter Autumn. Yes, there's a person that does this job, but Anne's going to do it right now, probably to keep her hands busy so her mouth doesn't say anything stupid.

At least it keeps her quiet for precisely thirty seconds, before she's looking back to him from her position there on the ground. "How are you?" It's a real question, it's a heartfelt question. "With this? With being home? With everything."

Patrick knows what she means, so says the tiny shrug that dismisses the need to defend himself from that accusatory eye-roll: prove it. While she's fussing with the leaves and weeds, after he's done frowning because he's pretty sure someone gets PAID to do this shit and it's not Anne, he stands quietly off to one side, silently dealing with whatever it is he needed to deal with that had him dragging his 'happy' ass down here on a Saturday. Which means it's probably the most companionable thirty seconds to elapse between them in the last ten years.

He comes back to the here-and-now at her heartfelt question, folding his arms and finding her eyes with his. Not that she'd know it to look at him, but honestly, "Only slightly worse than I expected to be. But in the end, it's only a passing thing this shadow. Even darkness must pass." IT'S A LORD OF THE RINGS QUOTE BTW.

It's a Lord of the Rings quote and it catches her by surprise - she wears it plainly in the widening of her blue eyes, there's no attempt at hiding it. For a moment, she just keeps her eyes on his, and then she catches her bottom lip with her teeth, and looks back down to the grave with a scant nod of her head. "Mm.. a new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer," she continues with the quote for him, pulls out another weed, and tosses it to the side before she finally gets to her feet. The dirt from the grave is brushed off her skirt with a few quick swipes of her hand.

"You know what they say at the end of that? That there's something good in this world worth fighting for," she fidgets in step, crossing her arms over her chest, and then realizing that likely makes her seem standoffish, so she drops them back awkwardly at her side. "I believe that," she stresses when she meets his gaze again .. and then promptly looks down at her shoes, clearing her throat as she scuffs a toe at the edge of Susan's grave. "You know. In general."

To explain this sudden ability to quote Tolkien, and so she stops looking at him with those enormous eyes, Patrick shares, "One of my cousins gave me an Audible subscription for my birthday this year. I'm not sure that I'm completely sold yet, but it helps pass the time." You know, when people are like 'i'm in the bubble bath and not going to invite you to come over bye.'

He bails her out of the awkwardness by being stubbornly blithe. "Yes, but isn't the world in question Middle Earth? Not," he turns a little this way and that, looking around the cemetery and the dullness of the autumn day and pretty much all the places except Anne, "Gray Harbor?" There's a beat while he tracks the movement of her toe and decides, "Actually, let's walk. I'm not sure I'm ready to debate the merits of optimism here." Susan's grave specifically.

It doesn't help. He gets those enormous eyes until she decides her shoes were a whole lot more interesting, while he questions her belief in goodness and things worth fighting for and they both ignore the GIANT ELEPHANT IN THE GRAVEYARD. But yes, "It doesn't seem like the right kind of place for this kind of conversation," so they should be going away. There's a moment though that Anne takes, just to brush her fingers across Susan's grave. They weren't close - Susan was far too old to be Anne's friend - but there'd been a dinner here and there when Patrick and Anne were whatevers. Still, it was a nice thing, a quiet touch to say goodbye, before she follows after him and down the path that leads them away from the graveyard and back towards the church.

"When did you start listening to it?" she asks once they were a few gravestones away from the Addingtons; she's keeping him in her peripheral for now, not looking directly at him. "The Audible book?"

If there's a giant elephant in the graveyard, Patrick is going to turn a goddamn blind eye to it. Especially while Anne is paying her respects to the headstone. How rude would he have to be to go fighting elephants right then and there?!

In the small gap between her initial question and the clarification that follows, Patrick slots, "To...?" Not just to be obtuse this time. Anne can't know his head's full of GHOSTS, but she should at least be able to pick up when he's being a jackass and when he's being legit. "Ah, I don't remember. When did you tell me that I was a heathen who deserved to die because I never read the Lord of the Rings?" He's paraphrasing. "It was the next day or the day after."

"What?" This has her jerking around to face him, which means she has to wind up walking backwards in the graveyard a few steps ahead of him in order to stare at him. Is there any kind of superstition about walking backwards in a graveyard? Anne's probably going to get thirty seven years of bad luck now! "I did not tell you that you deserve to die, I would never tell you that you deserve to die!" Yes, this is where she's going to get hung up, and she immediately puts her hand out to stop him from walking any further, going as far as to touch her palm flat to his chest to physically stop him like there was a universe where she could actually accomplish that. "I said it was my favorite. You acted like you didn't know, but I wouldn't ever say that to you. Or think it! Or anything."

They may not live in the version of reality where Anne can actually bodily detain him, but they do live in the one where she effectively does so with the flat of her palm. That is to say: he stops, looks down at the hand, looks back to Anne, and just says, "Hyperbole, dear." But also don't give him things like hands if she doesn't mean for him to take them, because he does, ostensibly just to peel it off so he can resume walking.

It's going to be awkward if she doesn't come along, now that he's taking her hand with him.

"Oh my God, you are infuriating," Anne utters under her breath with another roll of those pretty blue eyes; she was definitely going to Hell now, and it was all his fault. But she notably doesn't tug her hand out of his grip once he takes it to peel her fingers off his chest, nor does she make him tug her along or anything when he resumes walking. She just goes with him, picking up the pace to keep up with his long strides, and stays quiet as she does. Because giving someone the cold shoulder is always the most mature way to handle situations.

Patrick could choose to ignore that mutter, since she went to all the trouble to pitch it under her breath, but then that would be making a liar out of Anne, and he would never want to do that. "You say this like it's new information." He's being very considerate, shortening his stride so little Anne won't be required to hustle too much while they cross this cemetery, holding hands. Like normal people would, except they apparently have to bicker at each other along the way.

"Come to the tree-trimming," he suggests when it becomes necessary to either go into the church or stall around outside it. He opts for the stalling, at least briefly. "And I promise to be at my least infuriating."

"My sincerest apologies, Patrick. Next time, I'll say it in a tone so that it's obvious that I'm used to it but still incredibly frustrated by it," Anne remarks with just a hint of bitterness frosting over the words. So much for the cold shoulder; perhaps her words were chilly enough. It may make one wonder why she doesn't pull her hand from his on their quick walk away from the cemetery - and yet, even as she says that, her fingers twitch to life and curl subtly about his own.

At the stalling though, she drags her teeth across her bottom lip, casting a look aside to the church and then back over to him. It takes a moment, but she meets his eyes, her nose crinkling at his ask. "I'm coming to the tree trimming. Why do you think I kept asking if you were going?" her brows hike with the question. "I bought a dress and everything," and that's when her eyes drop, and she scuffs the toe of her shoe against the ground. "I was just going to send you pictures if you didn't show up and keep sending them until you came."

To her bitter opener, he has a pleasant, "Thank you. That will be immensely helpful." Patrick waits through the moment that it takes her to look him in the eyes, not so subtly stepping closer toward her in the pause, specifically encroaching her personal space on the side where their hands are attached. "I can't begin to imagine why you do the things that you do," he answers frankly.

I wish this character would actually swing for the fences since you lobbed that one right down the middle of the plate, but all he does is point out blandly, "I don't think it would take that many pictures to get me to come. What color is the dress that you bought?"

Anne drops her eyes the second he shifts closer, so she sees the not-so-subtle movement by the placement of his feet coming closer to her own. All these words make her brows come together, knitting in a confused expression. Really, he should put some cheddar on his franks, 'cuz it's too bland. "Red," she replies to that first, because it is the easiest of the spoken words, and shifts closer to him in the process, being very not-so-subtle herself. With everything up to this point, it kind of makes you wonder how either of them ended up becoming whatevers in the first place - like, who made the first move here? Actually, come to think of it, they were both probably drunk. Which neither of them were currently.

"Is that it takes to get you to come? Pictures?" Double entendre aside, she looks back up to him, her brows still furrowed. There was some fairly clear internal struggling going on here, like she's on the cusp of saying what she wants to say, but keeps holding it back. "Because I sent you one the other night, and you didn't come then." OR DID HE?! "But you really should come. To the tree-trimming."

It was undoubtedly much easier to get to the fucking when there wasn't so much fucking baggage. Especially since 28-year-old Patrick wasn't nearly the alcoholic that 38-year-old Patrick is, couldn't hold his liquor as well, and yes - somehow, between them, someone managed to make a move that eventually lead them to this exact moment: standing close enough to smell each others' soap and holding hands and picking on each other in the cemetery.

And playing word-games. Though, really, Patrick dunno if Anne's actually playing the same game or if he is, once more, playing with by himself. Hence the sort of dithering tilt of his head back and forth at her initial question. "Yes, you did. Mere moments after telling me that I could come over. Sometime." He might have re-read that conversation a few times. But seriously, "I will." Beat. "And not just because I have to."

All things considered, twenty-two year old Anne was probably just a ho.

But thirty-two year old Anne was definitely not a ho! And she had absolutely no time to play word games. Or did she? The world may never know. "Yes, well.. the last time I told you to come over, you said you wouldn't do that again. Sooooo..." A needle pulling thread. She lifts a brow at him, waiting for the shoe to fall here, and when he says what he does in the tone that he says it in, she blinks. It takes a moment for the words to register, or maybe for the meaning behind the words to register, and then a faint smile comes to life. "Okay," she nods, dropping her eyes to where their hands were still joined. There's a second or two of awkward silence before she ventures: "We could.. be there. Together." The way it comes out makes her grimace. "Not just in the same space but.." ugh, words were hard. She was floundering here. When she looks back up to him, it's a pleading sort of glance - like she's silently begging him to say something that makes her feel less stupid as she awkwardly plods along. "You could pick me up. From my house. And we could drive there together."

Oh, Patrick tilts his head to an argumentative angle at what she thinks he said; he doesn't actually try to set the record straight verbally, though, only winds up relinquishing the angle into one of those fractional head-shakes of his, the tiny ones that mean she's WRONG WRONG WRONG, but he's not going to tell her why.

He does throw her a life preserver before she drowns, though, leaning close to assure, "I know what you're trying to say." Though he warms to her smile, returning it with a smaller one that's no less genuine for being brief, he still has to say regretfully, "I can't. Which is not the same thing as not wanting to," so don't start getting all teary or ragey. "I have to be at the house early. So unless you're extremely eager to get dressed six hours before the party and spend the afternoon obsessing over the minutiae...?" He pauses, in case she really wants to commit to that.

Listen, controlling meta. Anne can get teary and/or ragey if she wants to! You can't tell her what to do, you're not the boss of her! I'm the boss of her! Which is why she doesn't get teary and/or ragey at his reply, though her smile gets (unfortunately noticeably) tighter. "No, no, that's - no," she does not want to get ready six hours earlier to obsess over the minutiae of an Addington party. "It's fine," except that it wasn't; the way her smile rapidly disappears suggests that much. He didn't even have to be an empath to know what she was feeling in the moment - it was written all over the furrow of her brow and the cast of her eyes. She feels pretty damn stupid. "I'm sure we'll just see each other there at some point, and you know, I forgot that I promised Isabella I'd basically go with her, anyway," it wasn't even a lie, just a twist of the truth.

Either way, she starts to tug her fingers out from his grip, managing to look suitably apologetic about removing her hand from his grasp. "I should go. I .. have to get back to the dogs, and I still have Christmas shopping to do. You know me! Busy busy busy," she plasters on another smile and turns up the wattage to really try and sell it. But it's sort of like offering Patrick a bridge in Brooklyn: it's obviously fake. "Thank you, though. You know, for.. letting me pay my respects, and all that."

It really doesn't matter what she said after the whole 'see each other there at some point' / 'go with Isabella' bit, because Patrick's stopped listening to her by that point. Indeed, while she's working on her fake smile, he's already to talk over the top of her. "No," he throws right back at her. "I will find you when you get there. And if Isabella takes issue with that, well. That's why we hire proper security for these kinds of affairs." He ALSO fake-smiles, but his is less the big bright kind and more the darkly entertained kind.

Since he wasn't listening, he's really got no clue for what he's saying, "You're welcome," but he says it at the appropriate time. Then pops open his fingers entirely, bends his hand back away from Anne's, and steps backward out of her personal space, opening the door into the church with the other hand. "Thank you for the company. Enjoy," whatever it is she's going to go do.

The 'no' startles her and she throws him a funny sort of look, momentarily confused. And then very much stubbornly irritated by the whole thing. "Fine," in a 'whatever you say, Patrick' sort of tone. "But you're not tossing my friend out of the party. She's a good person!" Hmph. It's a minor spark though, there's not enough heat to catch full flame, and she's sagging her shoulders afterward, dithering there on the curb while he holds the door open to the church and they make noises that sound like vague goodbyes. "I will," enjoy whatever she has going on. "But.. fine. If you want to find me, then I guess.. we'll just.." There's a lingering pause, a shift of her weight from one foot to the next. She looks down to the road, then back to him, searching for something in the gray of his eyes.

"We'll just find each other." Then she turns and starts towards her car. "Have a good day, Patrick."

What she's gonna find in those gray eyes is a whole lot of amused certainty that he sure as shit will toss Anne's friend out of the party if he feels like it, underscored by the doubtful brow-lift and the twitch at the corner of Patrick's mouth. He's off toward his car at the same time, and only briefly delays with a few backward steps to call, "Send me more pictures." He doesn't linger to see how that request (suggestion? reminder? demand?) goes over, just ducks into his car to go do whatever Patrick does on Saturday afternoons.

Gonna guess it involves alcohol and the brother and sister that had him out buying forget-me-nots in December. 😛 Seriously, send him the pictures, his existence is too sad otherwise.

Patrick doesn't linger to see Anne's eyes damn near roll out of her head at his ask. And yet..

Several hours later, well into the evening (and Anne well into her second glass of wine), he gets a picture: Anne on her sofa in a tank top, curled up with a blanket around her shoulders, the bottle of wine she's 'enjoying' barely visible behind her head. Just a cute little pic!