2022-05-13 - Improved Apologies

(TXT to Jules) Una : I'm sorry.

read receipt, long wait

(TXT to Una) Jules : I’m sorry too

read receipt, even longer wait.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I was worried.

(TXT to Jules) Una : But that's no excuse. Please come home?

(TXT to Una) Jules : I know. I didn’t mean to make you worry and I’m sorry

(TXT to Una) Jules : Ok.

(TXT to Jules) Una : Oh!

(TXT to Jules) Una : See, I was going to break out the big guns next. See?

(TXT to Una) Jules : You know you make the best cookies ever right?

(TXT to Jules) Una : But if that's not necessary...

(TXT to Jules) Una : 🙂:)

(TXT to Una) Jules : I don’t deserve cookies but I wouldn’t say no!

(TXT to Jules) Una : I think that's all the more reason. We all deserve cookies right now.

(TXT to Jules) Una : It's been a shitty week.

(TXT to Una) Jules : It really has

(TXT to Jules) Una : Come home and have cookies. Please.

(TXT to Una) Jules : Ok. Can I bring anything? Lattes?

(TXT to Jules) Una : I won't say no.

(TXT to Una) Jules : Ok. Be there in 30 min-hr

(TXT to Jules) Una : Ok.

It’s closer to an hour, what with getting herself squared away, the stop at the cafe, and whatever deep breathing exercises Jules does before she finally gets in her car and heads to Oak Avenue. She lets herself into the house quietly, door clicking closed behind her. Then she heads for the kitchen, because where else would Una be?

“Hey,” she says softly, latte held out as her peace offering.

Una looks a little better than she did, yesterday (was it only yesterday?), though not by much: it still doesn't look as if she's slept much, and those dark circles are darker and deeper than ever. On the other hand, there's something less fragile about her, and the baking spree is all gone now: a bunch of families at HOPE are probably thrilled to bits with the unexpected treats.

Instead, there are just the aforementioned monster cookies, a plate set out on the table with a selection of the nutty, oaty, chocolatey cookies, and Una, sitting behind it. She looks up as Jules comes in, giving the tiniest of uncertain smiles, reaching out her hand so that she can take the latte.

"Hey," says. And: "Thanks."

Jules doesn't look great either. She's clearly tired, eyes puffy, and she's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, though she has showered between now and then. Jules sits herself down opposite Una once she's passed over the latte. It's almost like the day before, except now there's coffee and cookies between them instead of empty tension.

"Of course," Jules replies, taking a sip from her own drink. She doesn't reach for a cookie, not yet, but she does offer her own small smile. "It's sweet of you to make cookies. You didn't have to."

There's something a little pained, a little rueful, about the glance Una gives back to Jules. Didn't have to?

Has Jules met Una?!

She busies herself with the coffee first, though, taking a careful sip once she's removed the top: no drinking through plastic for her.

"I needed the outlet," is what she actually says. "I need to keep busy, or my brain explodes."

That look makes Jules smile just a bit more.

"I get that," she replies, and now she picks up a cookie. "That's why I go running."

"I'm afraid of running alone," admits Una.

It's a roundabout way of saying: she's afraid of a lot of things. "But nothing bad is supposed to happen in my kitchen."

Oh.

Now Jules looks rueful. Oops. "I really didn't expect any of that to happen," she says, earnest in her regret. "I really was trying to be careful."

Una shakes her head, hastily and a little awkward. She probably hadn't intended that-- or maybe she did, and has regrets. It's hard to tell.

She hesitates, swallows, and then says, "I know. It's fine."

'Fine' may not be the whole truth, but it's a truth.

Jules sees right through that 'fine' and can't help but lift an eyebrow. "I still should have told you about it before I asked Ravn to come over," she says. "And I didn't, and I'm sorry." Now she starts nibbling on that cookie.

"You have every right to be mad at me."

Una's cheeks pink slightly in response; guilty as charged.

"I know," she says, which could be responding to several things, and which could mean a lot of things-- presumptuous, some of them. Awkward, even. Except; "I wish you had, but... I get it. I don't need to go into all the reasons why it was hard for me. That's not the point. I'm sorry I reacted the way I did, though."

"I get it. It's okay." Jules knows her own temper, after all, so who is she to blame Una?

"And," she continues after another bite of her cookie and a slow sip from her latte, "I also understand if you do decide that we're better off as friends, but not housemates. I know that I'm a lot, and I don't want to lose your friendship."

"I don't want to lose yours either," murmurs Una, around the rim of the paper cup of her latte. "I don't want to lose you, and if you move out... but I don't want to pressure you to stay, either. Just because I'm afraid of losing people, of them leaving me, that doesn't mean you should feel you have to do anything. That's my problem, not anyone else's."

"I don't want to move out," Jules says in full honesty. "But I want us to be okay. That's the most important thing. And I don't want to stress you out and make you upset because oh look, Jules did something stupid again. I'm not trying to be an idiot, I swear." At this point, her eyes start to look a little watery, and Jules blinks fiercely before scrubbing the side of her hand against her eyes. "I just manage to be a fuck-up anyway, despite my best intentions."

Tears beget tears, and Una's eyes, correspondingly, are beginning to water too. She lets hers fall: drip, drip, drip, down her cheek and nose.

"I know," she says. "I bet I'd worry even more if you didn't live here, though. I need to ask... are you okay? I should have asked sooner."

"No," Jules admits, and now she's really starting to cry. "Not really."

Physical affection is not Una's thing, not even a little bit for all that she's probably in desperate need of it at some level-- but she's not wholly oblivious. That's what gets her out of her chair, now, and around the table so that she can lean down and put her arms around Jules. It's a little awkward-- she is a little awkward-- but the gesture is clear enough for what it is.

Jules, who sometimes can't seem to get enough of physical contact (it must drive Una insane, some days), wraps her arms around her housemate and hugs her right back. The embrace seems to help with her own self-control. It helps her remember to breath. Instead of breaking down further, Jules cries quietly and tries not to snot all over Una. "Thanks," she mumbles against her friend's shirt.

"It's okay," says Una, whose stance has softened a little with the return hug, as if it has reminded her how to hug, and what one is supposed to do to achieve it successfully. "I'm here. For as long as you need."

"Thanks," Jules says again, pulling herself back to just sniffles. "It's been a really shitty week. It would be even shittier without you." She draws away now, a bit, so Una can see just how much she means it. "I am so, so sorry, Una. Can you forgive me?"

Una draws back too, awkwardly part-crouching, with more than a few tears lingering in her eyes too. "If you can forgive me," she says. "Then I think we can call it good. Maybe we need to just work on making next week less shitty, huh?"

In response, Jules just leans forward to resume the hug. It’s the fiercest affirmation she can give. “God, yes,” she fervently agrees. “It’s time for a normal week with normal stress and normal things. A normal picnic, or normal karaoke, or a normal happy hour. Without everything blowing up in our faces.”

Eeek, more hugging. No, okay, this is fine. Una can deal with this.

She laughs, then. "You really, really don't want me at karaoke," she says. "But I happen to know-- we'll make some things work, I promise. A good week."

This hug is of limited duration, at least, one final quick firm squeeze before Jules sits back and resettles in her chair. "No?" That's enough of an opening for Jules to try out a tease, like she would under normal circumstances. "See that just makes me curious." She tries for another smile. Still shaky, but better.

"Okay." A deep breath. "I'm gonna go change. I need to get some work done before class -- are you going to be down here? I can bring my laptop down, if it won't bother you and you don't need the table."

"I'll explain later," Una promises, now drawing herself back up to her full (not particularly impressive) height, properly grinning down at her housemate.

"I'll be here. I was going to cook, I think." Cook, not bake. "Maybe some pizza. I think there's enough cheese. I'll try not to distract you too much."

"You're fine," Jules assures. "Just so long as I'm not in your way."

It's clear that she wants the company, even if it's companionable silence, doing different things in the same room. Jules has had enough of being alone for the time being.

"You're not," promises Una.

Let's face it: she'd probably put up with a very great deal that was in her way, today, if it meant that Jules was back and the fight was over.

Cookies, pizza and companionship are a pretty painless alternative.