2022-04-30 - After The Party

The barbecue only winds down when the sun does. Eventually, neighbors start to head back to their own residences, taking their contributions to the feast. Quite a lot of it ends up in the kitchen of Una Irving's house -- to be expected, given the amount she contributed.

Jules didn't stay too too long outdoors. After the week she's had, the large group gathering proved a little overwhelming. However, back at home she's present in the kitchen instead of hiding out in her room, filling the sink with soapy water and starting the process of clean up. No one had to ask her; she's just here, doing it of her own accord.

"We're going to take as much of this down to HOPE tomorrow as we can," says Una, aiming for neutral in her tone as she steps in through the back door with another tray of food in her hands. "See if we can tetris it into the fridge for the moment, though. You didn't have to jump in to doing the dishes, Jules. It can wait."

She looks tired, does Una: all those hours of socialising and making merry, not to mention the emotional burdens this week has put on her. Not too tired to open the fridge door, though, and to peer inside to see where this latest lot of food might fit.

Della's been in and out, whether it's bringing in emptied dishes or bringing in leftovers, putting the latter in smaller dishes to add to the tetris game. During the party, she'd mostly frequented the smaller groups, meandering here and then there; now she emerges after Una with a bagful of those plexiglass glasses surreptitiously rescued from the trash. There's trash, there's recycling, there's compost -- but even with labels, not everyone knows or cares which is which. "Appreciate it," she adds.

Also, "I think we're going to have some extra coolers when all's said and done."

"I'll just do some of them and get it started," Jules answers, undeterred. "Less to do tomorrow." Less for Una to have to do, too. She looks over her shoulder to assess her housemate's condition. "You should just put it down on the table and let us get it," she tells her. "Go ahead and sit down." She shuts off the tap, now that the sink is good and full. "Extra food is never a bad thing. One of the best things about having a party."

"It's fine," insists Una, still peering through the fridge though the reality is exactly that: there's not going to be room for everything, and coolers, yes, are likely to be the order of the day. "If I sit down, I won't get up again. Besides, you had a big week, and-- there's no reason for me to sit down yet, if you're both still working."

Which leads Della to hum a few lines of 'Tubthumping,' ending with, "She drinks a vino drink... Anyone else want one?" She's been sticking to sparkling water just about all day, but apparently now's a different story. With the glasses settled, "I'll just bring the coolers in now; we can hunt down the owners once HOPE gets their delivery." Which is to say, for both, not now. Also, "I'll sit down after you do. Or," a tired laugh, "possibly before."

"Nah, I'm good." Jules starts in on the first load of dishes. "I'll take a root beer, though." Non-caffeinated. "Still trying to re-calibrate. Mostly been drinking a ton of water." Mostly. With the dishes going, Jules starts talking. "Seemed like a good party. Sorry I didn't stick around for all of it. Just really tired, you know? But it was good to see people, and everyone seemed to be having fun."

"I'll take a drink," says Una, after a moment's hesitation. The food's not going to fit into the fridge, and that's not even talking about the drinks that still aren't in the fridge, but at least these are a few things they can get rid of in the short term. "Beer, if there's any left. It was... a good party, I think. People did seem to have fun. I'm sorry you didn't have any warning, Jules," that's genuine, and deeply apologetic.

Quietly, she admits, "I meant to tell you last night, and then you didn't come home and... I figured you might stay away altogether if you knew this morning." At least she sounds guilty for that.

"Done." Della's in and out, not that either trip takes long, first with the coolers -- set just inside instead of by the food, since the other two are talking -- and then a last cooler with drinks, an extra bottle or two of each kind. The rosé isn't a notably good one, and she adds some still-sparkiling water to that too, making it fizz. "All yours." She'll even carry around the church key, too.

"It's fine," Jules says, brushing off the no-warning apology. She turns to give Una a smile to go along with it to make it sound and feel more genuine. Which it is. She stays turned as Una continues, smile trailing off into her own concerned expression. "I didn't plan not to come home last night. And it wasn't because of you. I'm sorry if it came across that way." There's more to say, and Jules hesitates for a second, then rinses off her hands. The dishes can sit in the soapy water for a bit; she's coming to sit at the table. "It's good to be back."

The fridge door closes and finally-- finally! -- Una wends her way back to the table, but mostly so that she can pick up a drink and carry it back with her to an empty spot on the bench. Una's a bench-sitter by habit; more comfortable for the position, and probably extra comfortable with the beer to wrap her hands around as well. "No, no," she says, carefully. "It's fine."

Fine, or not fine; it's hard to tell. It just is.

"It is. Glad to have you back." As they sit, Della putters, swiping the faucet with a sponge here, carrying the coolers the rest of the way to the extra food there, whatever will occupy her hands. "Although," she says archly, so archly as to make it as clear as she can that she's teasing, "I won't say I didn't run the shower extra long in your absence, just because I could."

Della, noteworthy offender (and apologizer!) in the early days, before she'd enlisted that timer.

“That’s fair,” Jules tells Della with a grin. She pops the tab on her root beer (aka her non-alcoholic beverage of choice) and sips. A moment’s thought; a decision made.

“I didn’t come home last night because I was having sex,” she says bluntly. She watches Una for her reaction, expecting discomfort and looking for the telltale signs. “TMI, I’m sorry. But I actually wanted to ask you guys—do you think I’m safe from the fairy stuff? I mean, a) I’m not going to have unprotected sex because that’s fucking stupid; and b) I happen to love my IUD and having control over my own body. Just, you know, fairy fuckery.” Jules is a little concerned; it shows in the crease of her brown her frown.

"I had a whole bath," puts in Una, which is, to be fair, something she does manage to do once or twice a week, but always in the evenings when the need for hot water is less.

Further comment is forestalled. Una's expression does indeed turn a particular shade of pink for Jules' explanation, and she does indeed glance away. But maybe it's not so bad, in the end, because Jules has an actual question, and it's one that the redhead, straightening, seems to have an immediate answer for. "If it was in this house, tonight, I'd have doubts, but I think-- you were too far from the faerie ring, and it was too earlier. You're fine. But-- we could get you the morning after pill, surely, if you wanted to be sure. Just in case?"

"Not even sparkly vampire fuckery," Della murmurs, mostly seriously; the rest of it is. "Absolutely we could. I can drive." She does have another sip of wine, no, two, before setting it aside. "And you had fun?" she checks. "Belt and suspenders or just the IUD? Not that I've heard stories of that-kind-of-faeries spreading STDs, or at least not remotely... bleah." She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Do you think I should?" Jules frowns as she continues thinking it through. "Belt and suspenders -- that's a new one. And yes, again, because I'm not fucking stupid. I'm not going to take that off unless I am for real in a serious relationship, which I am not. Even then -- you know, that's one of the things that made me the angriest about my ex cheating on me. He could've given me anything, and I wouldn't have known." Now she's really frowning, angry-Jules style as she remembers.

"Fucker," says Una, her whole face scrunching up in dismay and disapproval. "The absolute fucker." It's a visceral thing, her reaction to Jules' ex, to what he did to her. She doesn't know the details, but she doesn't need to know the details. It's enough, what she does know.

"If it would make you feel safer. Just in case."

"He was horrible." Probably still is.

Out comes the phone, tap-tap-tappity. "Side effects look minimal," Della reports now that she's double-checked, listing off a short array; "It's preventing, after all. And," more tapping, confirming, "pregnancy with an IUD sounds double-plus-ungood, upped chances of ectopic and all. But. If nothing seemed to have failed, it's probably pretty unlikely, like Una says. It sucks that women have to go out and worry and spend money and deal with these things. No guarantee that the local pharmacy would have it, either." But it better, if it knows what's good for itself.

"So, what would make you feel safer?" Note: not better.

While she's at it: "And when are you due?"

That is the official name of Jules' ex in this household: That Fucker. "Asshole," Jules mutters one last time for effect. It's almost a kneejerk reaction at this point.

"It one hundred percent sucks that we have to deal with these things," she agrees. "I mean, that was the whole point of getting an IUD, so I wouldn't have to worry about it. My mom got pregnant with me when she was seventeen, and I never wanted to end up like that. The fail rate is pretty damn low. So if you guys think I'm safe? I mean, that would be contraception round three. That's a lot of layers for fairy fuckery to get through, right?" Jules does not look happy as she sits there thinking aloud. Who would be? "Pretty much any day, but with the IUD it's basically just occasional spotting. Which is great, for the record."

"My mom, too," agrees Una. "Seventeen, living in this very house."

(The mental gymnastics may be the reason she's slower to finish her thought: but no, May to September is not enough time to gestate a baby, so no, she is not personally a beltane baby, and isn't that a relief.)

"I think you're safe. But I think it's your body, and you get to decide if you feel safe, or not. Either way, it absolutely does suck, and I'm sorry. I hope it was... worthwhile. Fun. You know." Whatever it is that sex is, when you're not Una.

"I would think you would be?" Safe. "I wish I could promise."

Pause.

"What's with seventeen-year-olds around here," doesn't quite make it into an actual question, and, "You were born in September, Una?" suggests she's following that same train of thought.

"For what it's worth, my mom wasn't seventeen. And even my older sister wasn't old enough to pass me off as -- ew. Ew."

"And..." Della hesitates; it's with a wince that she says, steadily, "Could we maybe call it something other than 'fairy fuckery' because I know we know that we mean actual fairies and not the slang kind, but -- but. It still doesn't sit right. Please." She has to add that last.

"It was," Jules says quite simply. She's trying not to look self-satisfied, cat-in-the-cream style, but can't wholly contain her smile. "No complaints. And for the record -- I am not going to suddenly start parading men through here. That's rude and this is your house and I'm just not like that. I like having my own space. So if it ever got to the point where I might want to bring someone home, I would tell you." All of these are important points to make before Jules steers back to the crux of the matter.

"I think I'm okay? But I just wanted to double-check. For reassurance."

Della's request makes Jules suddenly looking a little horrified. "Jesus, I didn't even think about that and how it might sound. I'm so sorry."

"September," agrees Una, distractedly. Counting back nine-odd months is an interesting experiment.

"I'm... glad," she adds, then. It's genuine enough. "I don't mind, if you bring someone back. Someone special, not just at random. But it's good to know, too."

Of faeries, and their status as fuckers (or not), she has no comment. She likes their fae, at least so far.

"I appreciate that," Della says to Jules, giving her a somewhat lopsided smile.

"Double-check any time you want. Actually, it wouldn't hurt to know if our pharmacy does stock a morning-after... just so we know, one way or another. Things happen."

"And yes, I'm fine with someone you trust; just, you know, let us know. It doesn't have to be marked on the calendar a week ahead of time," this is a real grin, "unless you use a whole lot of stars and smiley faces... but just 'coming home with whoever-the-name-is!' so we can know. What to wear and, well, everything. Dinner plans!" Imagine being faced with all three of them. "I would do the same."

Jules' face registers alarm. Stars. Smiley faces. Dinner plans. "Now I'm for real not ever bringing anyone here ever. It's bad enough that I opened my big mouth like an idiot and was like 'hey come to this fun cultural thing on the res' and it did not occur to me that that means family time and I'm ninety percent sure Joe is going to be there." Joe. That Fucker gets a name at long last.

"Della," says Una, not quite shocked, but also, somehow-- somehow a little, maybe.

Her gaze flicks back towards Jules, though, and she frowns. "You... invited him to meet your family? Boy, that is serious."

...And now Della's giggling, more and more until she's just hiding it behind her lifted arm, dark eyes dancing. "I can't wait! I cannot wait! That sounds like so much fun. Can we -- "

It's only then that Una's own reaction really sinks in. To her, mostly not smiling now, "What is it?"

"No. No I did not." Jules just puts her head down on the table altogether now. "Except maybe I did." She lifts her face to fiercely add, "By accident. There is nothing serious going on here."

Nothing.

Nope.

"No, no," says Una, hastily and apologetically. "It's just... stars and smiley faces. And dinner plans." It may have been a joke, but Una? Una: no.

"Do you think he took it seriously? Or... I mean, I'm sure it'll be fine, right?"

"One has to torment Jules a little bit, Una," Della assures primly. "Although..." looking down at poor Jules, "You might be doing a better job than I did." She has another sip of sparkling wine and then reaches to rub that woman's shoulders a time or two.

"Una definitely did a good job there," Jules agrees. She can't help but flash her housemate a wry grin before she turns her head to smile up at Della for the light massage. "Though it's my own damn fault."

The question itself takes a little thought. At least consideration looks better on Jules than self-flagellation. "I think it was fine. He basically said, 'it's fine with me if it's fine with you' and didn't make a big deal out of it. I'm the one who was like 'oh shit, I didn't think that one through now did I.'" She stands up again and heads back to the sink to make herself useful, working out some of that residual anxiety via scrubbing those dishes.

"Sorry," says Una, pink-flushed, ducking her face towards her beer.

"Well, that's okay then. It puts the ball in your court, right?" She glances at Della as if seeking confirmation; she's not looking (deliberately not looking) at Jules again. "So you can figure out what you feel comfortable with."

More wine for Della, what with driving no longer on the table; even so, all she does is sip, and then sip again. "Good on him," she says, still leaning. After an appreciative nod Una's way, "It might serve Joe right for you to show up with this nice young man on your arm, who also happens to be thoughtful and well-spoken and built."

"Yeah, it does. So that's the next big question." Della's remark makes Jules laugh outright and twist to share her merriment with a wide grin. "I mean, there is that. And it would be fun. It's basically a day-long picnic on the river where people try to spear salmon and present it to the elders. It's the beginning of the fishing season -- which is why people like Joe are there, because they try to schedule it early enough for the commercial fishermen." She starts rinsing and stacking dishes in the dishrack beside the sink. It occurs to her to ask, "Is it okay that I asked him and not you guys? It just kind of came up. You could come too, if you want."

"When is it?" Una hesitates a little over the question, as if trying to decide what the best approach to take is. Interrupt Jules-and-Mikaere time? Be part of the no-this-is-not-serious solution?

But so much of it depends on the date.

Della grins right back -- and then, with fascination, "'And present it to the elders'? Is this like bragging rights?" She glances at Una before adding, "If it doesn't work out," for whatever reason, and there can be so many, "another time, maybe. We just need you to tell us afterwards what happened."

Her tone drops the mischief, "Also, I'd love to visit your grandparents another time. Or ask them here?"

"Saturday," Jules promptly answers. She's got the next set of dishes going now. "Hah, bragging rights. Not technically -- the whole thing is about sharing and generosity to ensure a good season. One person is chosen to represent the tribe to start off. But after the first fish gets caught, then yeah, lots of people pile in." She's smiling now as she thinks about it. "It's a fun tradition. And yeah, I should ask my grandparents to come down and visit. It's a trip to the big city for them."

"I can't, then," says Una, with a frown-- an apologetic one. "I was going to say-- I'll be like that boy of yours and say it's up to you, if you want us there. But I really can't on Saturday. But you should absolutely invite your grandparents. We'll cook for them!"

'The big city' makes Della outright chortle, even if she does try to stifle it behind her wrist -- but, after another look at Una (boy of Jules', indeed!), she demurs: "Likewise," which may mean that she 'really can't' now, but who's counting. "That sounds delightful, if they'd want to. In the meantime, I hope you have lots of fun." Especially if Joe's there.

"They'll probably bring down a cooler full of fish," Jules remarks with a grin. "I'll talk to them when I'm up there and set a date." That part is decided, at least.

"Sorry you guys can't come. Next time." This time, though? Jules isn't too put out that it's looking to be one-on-one time with a hot guy.

Della's chortle makes Una grin, and the grin sticks when Jules speaks, too. "I'm not opposed to fish. Ever. It'll be great."

And yes, even Una can look just a little smugly amused at Jules' expression. "Next time, absolutely. But this time? We definitely want to hear all about it."

"Speaking of fish," Della cheerfully segues, "What do you two think about adopting a cat? Or cats?" Because adding more work to the household is what everyone wants to do after a long day's hosting. "Think about it."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you do. I'll let you know if anything interesting happens." This is not the same as Jules promising to spill all the beans. She's finishing up what she's going to do tonight, now, rinsing the last bits of soap down the drain and then drying her hands. "I like cats."

At least Una can grin about this too: she really is mellow, after the afternoon's festivities, and probably especially thanks to the wine and the beer. "I've never had a pet before, but-- yes, I wouldn't mind a cat or two either. I actually asked Leila about seeing if she had anything appropriate, a while back-- at the diner, Jules? But then there were the Trees, and things got... distracted. Let's explore the idea. We've plenty of space, and-- I'd like that."

That having shared pets just reinforces that this is a household and not a woman and her temporary lodgers? Surely not at all the point.