2022-05-12 - As Apologies Go

Una likely heard the footsteps on the stairs in the morning—footsteps that never make their way to the kitchen, but head straight out the front door. Footsteps that likely just fuel Una’s rage.

The front door opens later again that morning, and this time they do turn towards the kitchen at the back of the house. Jules appears in the doorway, sweaty from her run. She pauses there first, to see just what the state of the kitchen is—what Una’s state is. And then, the scene thus established, she moves to get herself a glass of water. “Morning.”

The kitchen is spotlessly clean, though the evidence of Una's night is still visible: every Tupperware in the house is full, all tidily stacked up on the recently-wiped bench. The dishes have been done and put away, and Una? She's sitting, unusually, at the table, with a pot of tea beside her, half-drunk. It's not her usual drink-- but then, none of this is usual, is it?

She looks exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes that speak volumes, her face otherwise pinched and pale.

Her chin lifts as Jules appears in the doorway, but she's silent: she's waiting.

That may speak even more loudly than her appearance.

Jules doesn’t even try to touch one of those Tupperwares, though her usual MO would involve trying to steal at least one. Instead, she fills her glass from the tap and moves to sit down opposite Una.

Once there, it takes a moment before Jules says anything. She’s used to angry confrontations that immediately escalate from sarcasm and snippiness to outright yelling. Not this silence.

“So.” Jules takes a long drink from her glass and sets it down carefully, though her hand remains on it. “I take it you’re pretty pissed.”

"I don't know," says Una. "Am I? Is there something that I should be pissed about? I wonder."

Evidently angry Una can also be sarcastic Una, though with the colour high in her cheeks and the quake in her voice, she's clearly far from calm about it.

Jules looks straight across at Una, not avoiding her gaze. Her lips press together, thinning, at the sarcasm; she’s doing her best to remain calm, but that doesn’t mean her expression won’t register annoyance.

“Just spit it out, Una. Tell me I’m a fucking idiot. Tell me I almost got myself killed. You think I don’t know that?”

Okay, so maybe she’s not totally calm. At least her voice remains even.

"What's the point? It's not like you ever learning anything from it. You're too busy thinking you're invincible, doing stupid things and then leaving people who care about you to sit in the dark and wonder what the fuck is even going on until they rightfully piss off other people who assume they know what's going on in their own home when evidently, no, they aren't important enough for that, why would they be?"

Okay, so maybe the sarcasm isn't going to carry the day here.

Her jaw clenches. Jules is willing herself to stay calm, as much as her body betrays her.

Just let Una yell at you.

“I’m sorry I left you out of the loop,” she eventually says, out of all the other responses she could pick. “I should have told you what happened on Saturday.” What day is it now, anyway? How time flies from one emergency to the next. “It’s been a bad week, and I’ve been trying to focus on studying so I can pass my classes instead of having a full-on meltdown while people are getting shot and winding up in the hospital. You know, normal stuff.”

As apologies go, it's not a bad one, if incomplete. It doesn't especially suit Una's purposes, though: there's still a part of her, probably a not-insignificant part of her, that is looking for a fight. "I still don't know what you're talking about," she says, then. "I barely know what anyone is talking about. You left me completely in the dark, Jules. You put the emotional labour on Della to make sure I knew even anything at all, and then you put it on Ravn, too, to explain, since he assumed I already knew."

She stands, now, pushing her chair away so that she can walk towards the sink and not look at Jules. "I can't stop you from being a fucking idiot, and it's not my job anyway. You're on your own there. I wash my hands of it. But if you ever pull something like that again? I need you out of my house."

She's going to regret that. Give her five minutes. Maybe not even that.

This is the point — when Una walks to the sink and issues her ultimatum — that the tenuous rein Jules has been keeping on her temper snaps. Her hands slam down on the table as she pushes herself to her feet.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about? Fine, here’s the rundown of my week. Saturday, I go home for an event that’s supposed to be fun and get in a fight with my ex in front of the guy I like. Then my grandmother gives me a fucking family relic and tells me she doesn’t know what it is, but maybe me and my friends can figure it out. Then said guy has a look at it and finds out it wants to control people. That’s Saturday. Sunday night, Mikaere gets shot because kids were getting kidnapped and he tried to intervene, and I find out on Monday. No worries, though, Ava saved his fucking life, good thing we’ve got powerful friends. I run into Ravn, I tell him about my grandma’s gift, he agrees to have a look at it with me. It was supposed to be a study break. A fucking study break. I didn’t look at it alone, I didn’t take it for granted, and yeah, shit still hit the fan. And now somewhere in this I have to give you the play-by-play of all this shit so your feelings don’t get hurt because you feel left out?”

Jules is fuming, glaring at Una even if it’s only at her back. “If that’s the way you want it, fine. I’ll look for a new place by the end of the month.”

"Yeah, maybe after the shit hits the fan sometime, so that I don't sit up all night worried out of my skull because all I know is that something went down. I'm not worried about being left out, I'm worried about you."

Una does turn to say this, red-faced and furious, though she's talking rather than yelling at least. "All it takes is a text. A simple 'hey, I'm super busy, hey there's stuff going on, but here's stuff you should know'. So yeah, if that's too much to ask? Get out. Because you knew you fucked up with me. You knew that. Don't leave your dirty work for other people."

Una may not be yelling, but Jules sure is.

“Maybe I didn’t text right away because I’m dealing with fucking trauma.”

It’s Una’s house, at the end of the day, so Jules does exactly what’s asked of her. She whirls and storms out the front door, slamming it behind her.

It never really does feel satisfying to have the last word. Not really.