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nanamikeento · 3 years

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‘tis the damn season - part ii

gif by @pcdrospascals

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female!reader

Summary: A year after getting back together with Frankie, you get a lovely surprise.

a/n: requested by anon!! i hope you like it!!!

warnings: pregnancy related topics and food mentions

word count: 1.6k

masterlist | part i

...

Frankie opens the door to his house and the smell of dinner immediately reaches his nose. He smiles as his daughter runs to his encounter, a Wonder Woman tiara hanging from her head.

“Daddy, come!” She takes his hand and starts pulling him towards the kitchen, “Mommy, he's here! Dad's home!”

You're finishing setting the table when Isabella barges her way to the kitchen, pulling Frankie by the hand.

“Can we have the cookies now?” She asks, lacing her fingers together to beg you.

“How about after dinner?” You suggest, as you walk to Frankie and give him a kiss on the lips. He frowns confused at you as Isabella whines and slumps her shoulders.

“But you said when daddy came home…”

“I know, honey, but if you eat them now, you're going to ruin your appetite,” you tell her as you kneel to be on her height, “Remember what I told you what we need nutrients for?”

“To grow big and strong!” She exclaims, trying to flex her muscles, “Like Wonder Woman!”

“Exactly!” You exclaim back and look at Frankie whose adoring eyes are watching you. But as soon as his eyes leave yours, he looks back at his surroundings, eyeing the kitchen with a frown on his face. The counter is filled with batches of your famous sugar cookies, some already decorated, some fresh out of the oven. Some are even missing from the trays.

“Christmas cookies?” He asks you, “In January?

You just sigh, snaking your arms through his shoulders and wrapping them around his neck, “I may have gone overboard, but I wanted to make tonight special.”

“Why?” He smiles at you as you press your body against his.

Shrugging, you let go of him, being as cryptic as you can, “You’ll see.”

The three of you sit down for dinner, Isabella tells about her day in school with excitement and Frankie indulges in the conversation, encouraging her to keep talking as they eat.

“Do you want to try the tomato today?” You ask her, stabbing a slice of tomato with your fork and showing it to her. The little girl pouts and shakes her head.

“I don’t like tomato,” she says matter of factly.

“I know, but… Just one slice?” You insist, “Look, daddy’s eating too!”

Isabella looks at Frankie who’s watching the scene unfold as he nods, showing her the tomatoes on his plate. She seems to think for a moment and then caves in, allowing you to slip a slice of tomato on her plate.

Before you came back to his life, Frankie couldn’t manage his time right. Isabella would stay with a babysitter after school and even then she wouldn’t eat a proper dinner, contenting herself with frozen food every night. When you moved in with them, you started cooking healthy meals and teaching her how to eat healthier. Frankie’s heart warms at the thought, both him and Bella were lost before you. You’re such a great mom to her, it makes him love you even more.

After dinner, Frankie helps you clear the table, putting the dirty plates in the sink and moving to wash them. Your hands come to hold his as soon as he turns the faucet on, making him look at you, confused.

“We have a surprise for you,” you say with a soft voice, turning the faucet off and gently pulling him back to the dinner table. On top of it, there's a package, wrapped up in Christmas wrapping paper.

“Is it my birthday?” He jokes, sitting back down on his seat.

“Well, consider this a late Christmas gift.” You sit beside him as Isabella runs to sit on your lap, sugar cookies already in hands, “Read the card first.”

Frankie chuckles as he takes the card from the top of the box and opens it to read it.

'Tis not the damn season anymore, but Santa has one more present for you.

He smiles, biting his lower lip as he tears the wrapping paper and opens the box without ceremony. Inside, he sees some of your cookies on top of the paper strips that fill the empty space on the box and under all that, there's something wrapped in tissue paper. Frankie takes the plastic stick and unwraps it.

Then, the smile drops from his face. He looks at you with wide eyes and finds you smiling expectantly at him.

“Does this mean–” He chokes out, feeling tears watering his eyes, “You're–” He shows you the pregnancy test with two blue lines on it.

“Yes,” you tell him before he can't finish, “Yes, Frankie, I'm pregnant.”

Frankie lets out a sob, letting the tears roll down his cheeks as he covers his face with his hands. You grab his shoulder with a hand, rubbing your thumb on the fabric of his shirt.

“Daddy?” Isabella's worried voice reaches both of your ears, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing–” He tries to speak, “I’m just–”

“Daddy is just too happy,” you explain, looking at her, “he can't contain himself.”

“Why?”

“Because, peanut,” Frankie chimes in leaning to press his lips on her forehead, “you're going to be a big sister!”

Isabella gasps, her little eyes widening, “What?! Really?!”

You laugh as Frankie gives you a kiss on the lips; you taste the salty tears on his lips, and he stands you evolve his girls in a tight hug.

“Really, honey,” he says, after letting you both go, and taking Bella in his arms, “aren’t you excited?”

“Yes, I am!” She nearly screams, making you both laugh.

Bed time seemed impossible tonight. The excitement and the sugar in Isabella’s system make her stay awake past her usual bedtime and, even when sleep finally hits her, she tries to fight it, playing with her toys until almost midnight. Thankfully, tomorrow is a Saturday and you hope she’ll sleep in for once.

With a sigh, you lay on the bed, beside Frankie after a long night of celebrating. You both stare at the ceiling in silence for a moment, smiles on your faces, hearts beating strongly. When you took the pregnancy test and found out it was positive, you were scared for a moment. You and Frankie have been engaged for three months only and you were afraid he’d freak out with the news. But his reaction made everything better.

And it’s not like it’s too soon to have a baby. You and Frankie might have been separated for ten years, but, deep down, you’ve always known you were meant to be together. You were meant to have a family.

“How do you feel?” He asks, taking your hand in his.

“Excited.” You smile, rolling your head to face him, “How do you feel? Knowing you’ll be a dad of two now?”

“Scared.” He admits with a laugh. You squeeze his hand, lacing your fingers together and bringing it to your lips.

“You’re gonna do great, Frankie. You raised Isabella on your own and she turned out great.” You assure him.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” His voice is soft, “You’re here now.”

Your heart clutches as you remember what you’ve heard about Isabella’s mom. While you’ve never deeply talked about it with Frankie, you know he’s sensitive about the subject. So you try to change the subject.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mom?” you say quietly, in the dark.

Frankie rolls over to face you, “You’re already a good mom.” He reminds you, “You’re a great mom, what are you talking about?”

When you moved into Morales’ house, Isabella ended up becoming your daughter and you were surprisingly okay with it. You've loved that girl pretty much ever since you met her, she's caring and funny just like her dad. How could you not love a piece of Frankie?

“She told me she loved me today.” Your voice is even quieter than before as you roll to your side to look at him. His eyes widen and his smile grows wider, “When I found out I was pregnant, I started crying and she came to my rescue.” You smile at the memory, “She said, ‘Mommy, don't cry, I love you.’”

Frankie laughs softly and hooks an arm behind your lower back, pulling you against his chest. His lips touch your forehead as you bury your face on his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. You'll never get sick of it, of him. You couldn't be more grateful that you decided to stay.

“I'll never leave you, Francisco,” you tell him, all of a sudden. Your voice is muffled by the skin of his neck, but he feels the vibration of it on him. His heart leaps, beating fast with affection and adoration, “I'll never leave you or Bella or the baby, okay?”

Oh.

He wasn't thinking about it, he really wasn't. The way Isabella's mother abandoned her, leaving Frankie with a fresh new baby to care all by himself was awful. He felt lost, betrayed, heartbroken. But he healed. He raised Bella to be a wonderful kid and he did his best to make sure she knew she was loved. And then you came into his life again and everything became even better. He knows you, he knows you're not going to leave him again. That's how much he trusts you.

“Okay,” he eventually answers, pressing a kiss on your hair and rubbing your back gently, “I love you so much, mi vida.”

“I love you too, mi alma.”

Eventually, both of your breathings even out as you fall asleep in each other's arms, like it was always meant to be.

...

please, fill this form if you want to be tagged in any of my stuff!!

general taglist: @huliabitch @mistermiraclee @gooddaykate @forever-rogue @bestintheparsec @hiscyarika @haildoodles-writing @aerynwrites @xserenax-13 @hayley-the-comet @manuphantom @giselatropicana @wonderfulfluffer @justanotherblonde23 @hereforthesunrise @mitchi-c @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @marvgrrl @nominbalnebula @theocatkov @opheliaelysia @buckysalefty @din-damn-djarin @the-wishmonger @spacenerdpascal @adikaofmandalore @goldafterglow @phoenixhalliwell @heythere80sbaby @petersunderoos96 @dinsbeskar @aerolanya @artsymaddie @rebelliouscat @lou-la-lou @notabotiswear @tatiadventures @aerolanya

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#frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #triple frontier #myfic

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fanficnewbie · 5 years

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“Fighting for Forever” - Chapter Nine: Open Heart Fanfic

This is my first story/series. The first 5 chapters are adaptations from the first 4 parts of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” series with permission from @alwaysmychoices and then I continue my own original work in chapters 6-14.

I start this adapted storyline during Chapter 15 of the original OH series. There is a bit of AU, where I play around with the storyline a bit and insert two days between MC leaving the country club and returning to her apartment to find Landry packing. Some situations have been changed to keep with the original vision of @alwaysmychoices and make the story work in the direction I wanted it to go. However, I find my way back to the original in Chapters 6-8 and then move on past the ending of Book One during chapters 9-14.

My MC is female, Francesca Houseman, who has only had eyes for Ethan Ramsey from day one.

FULL SERIES

Chapter Nine: “Seven Days”

3681 words

This entry tells how Francesca and Ethan continue their relationship after Naveen makes Ethan her direct boss.

(NSFW)

“Oh…My…Gawd!” Francesca gasped as her hands reached behind her head and clutched the edge of his desk, her body arching up, “Ethan…!”

She was on her back in Ethan Ramsey’s office with her dress bunched around her waist and his head buried between her thighs. His tongue moved artfully against her sensitive nub while his fingers moved rhythmically inside of her, systematically setting her body aflame. Her lab coat was crumpled on the floor next to them, her panties carelessly tossed aside. Ethan leaned forward on his desk chair, clutching her thighs, singularly focused on making her climax. Francesca’s eyes shut tight and her head started swimming as another shock of pleasure raced through her when Ethan clamped his mouth down and sucked. Her thighs spread wider and her hips pushed into his mouth, “Yes Ethan, please, don’t stop…”

He was just getting started.

***

It had been a week since they had last seen each other, even longer since they had had sex, not since that night in her apartment after the celebration at Donohue’s. The next day Naveen had been promoted to Chief of Medicine and Ethan confirmed as the head of the Diagnostics team, with Francesca tapped as the team’s Junior Fellow. The rest of that day was a blur and it wasn’t until the next that Ethan had gone to Naveen to discuss his new relationship with Francesca. He explained how he feared her presence on his team would cause problems. Naveen didn’t share his concerns.

“That’s nonsense. The hospital has no policy against you dating, we just need to be aware of it and now I am.” Naveen smiled brightly, clearly thrilled that Ethan had finally let his guard down with the charismatic Dr. Houseman.

Ethan was not as easily convinced. “But this all happened when we technically weren’t employed here and now it’s different. How can I properly manage her when my personal feelings are mixed up with my professional ones?”

Naveen smiled knowingly, “The same way I managed you.”

“What?!”

“Ethan, do you really think I didn’t harbor personal feelings for you from the beginning? Knowing your background and your issues with your family; seeing your potential and your willingness to sacrifice everything to become the best? It wasn’t long before I started to see you as the son I would never have, even if I wasn’t prepared to share that revelation with you or anyone else. Still, it didn’t stop me from pushing you – in fact, I would argue it made me even more inclined to see you succeed and become the preeminent physician you are today.”

Ethan was silent as he mulled Naveen’s words over, “I just don’t want people to think she’s getting preferential treatment because of me. I don’t want my status to compromise or overshadow hers.”

“A worthy goal but again I’ll remind you that even though staff eventually learned that you were my favorite, it didn’t take long for you to develop your own personal reputation.” Naveen watched Ethan thoughtfully, “That being said, if you are overly concerned about the optics, then keep it amongst yourselves. There’s no reason why your relationship with Dr. Houseman should be public knowledge. I’ll alert HR for their records but beyond that, you handle this how you two see best.”

Ethan slowly nodded, finally accepting the possibility that he could be in a relationship with Francesca and be her boss. “Okay, thanks. I’ve never considered the need to advertise my private life, it’s not anyone’s business anyway. We’ll keep it quiet.”

“Great, that’s settled. Now, one more thing before you go…”

***

That night Francesca found herself in Ethan’s apartment... helping him draft a speech for a medical conference in Chicago that Naveen was making him attend in less than 48 hours. Ethan was not happy that he was given so little time to prepare, but word of his successful phage therapy had gotten out and the organizers wanted him to give an address on the procedure. Naveen saw it as the perfect opportunity to promote Edenbrook’s reputation and showcase Ethan as the new leader of their elite diagnostic team.

Ethan saw it differently, and after handing Francesca a few pages to proofread, he grumbled his discontent once again. “It just makes no sense for you not to be there. You solved this, not me.”

Francesca only smiled. She was actually happy she wasn’t going. After everything she’d been through over the past few weeks, she craved some sort of normalcy and was excited to get back to her patients.

“The only thing that isn’t fair is that I’m here in your apartment fully clothed and working on a speech. I already told you, I’m completely fine not going to the conference. You have the experience for that sort of thing, not me.”

He grumbled again as he started typing out the next section, “Well you won’t gain experience until you start doing this sort of thing. As for the clothes part…”

“It’s fine, I can wait 3 days. I’d prefer not to, but I can.”

“About that…”

Francesca looked up to his apologetic expression and was immediately nervous. Ethan had already told her that Naveen had blessed their relationship, but they were to keep it quiet. She readily agreed as she was more than happy to avoid being the subject of even more hospital gossip. But now she worried that he hadn’t told her the full story.

“I’m actually going to be gone twice as long. Alma Hudson reached out, they want me to be baby Ethan’s godfather. So I’m going to swing over to Minneapolis after the conference for a quick ceremony.”

Her face lit up with relief and excitement, “That’s amazing!” She crawled across the papers and files to give him a big hug. As she pulled back, she realized, “So now I have to wait 6 days?”

“Seven actually.” He grimaced at the thought of not seeing or touching her for the next week. “Look at it this way, I’ll have to wait just as long.”

She tilted her head, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He chuckled, “Hey, I since I’m the one extending the trip I promise to make it up to you when I get back.”

She bit her lip, “How?”

“Just trust me.” He leaned in for a lingering kiss that almost threw them off course until he pulled back. “We really need to focus and finish this.”

She was breathless and flushed but she knew he was right, “Yep,” she agreed as she pulled back to her side of the couch and thought to herself, seven days.

***

A week later Francesca was helping one of her interns through a consultation with a patient when she heard her name over the loudspeaker, “Dr. Houseman, please report to Dr. Ramsey’s office.” It startled her; she knew that his flight had landed that afternoon but she hadn’t expected him to return to the hospital until the next day. She’d been at his apartment throughout the week to take care of Jenner and had planned to go over that night to officially welcome Ethan back. He obviously had other ideas. She tried to remain nonchalant as she addressed her intern, “Um, Dr. Matthews, you should be able to finish up here.”

The young doctor was eager to prove himself, “Yes Dr. Houseman. I’ll page you if there are any issues, but I’m confident I can handle this just fine.” She nodded, smiled at the patient and walked out of the room. As she headed down the hallway, she noticed Bryce walking towards her with a shit-eating grin on his face, he lowered his voice to a whisper as they passed, “Your boyfriend has returned…” Her face flushed as she turned to call after him, “He’s not my ----“, but she stopped herself as she realized that their distance had grown enough to eliminate the option to be discreet. Bryce looked over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling and raised his arms in mock innocence.

“Ugh!” As she pushed the elevator button, she regretted ever confiding in her roommates about Ethan. Then she reminded herself that she actually never did, they had managed to figure it out for themselves. But ever since she was caught by Sienna and Elijah sneaking him out of their apartment, her relationship had been one for constant fodder amongst the small group. They all knew it was top secret but they loved teasing her about it whenever the opportunity arose. She could only imagine the crap she was going to get since they all would have heard her being summoned over the PA system.

Ethan’s body reacted just hearing her knock on the door. He had originally planned on waiting until after her shift to see her, but once he got back to his apartment and finished unpacking, he realized he didn’t have the patience to delay any longer. “Come in.”

She walked in, slightly flustered. “Hi. You’re back! I didn’t think you were coming into work today.”

“Rookie… lock the door.”

She hesitated, she knew that tone and it made her stomach flip. Looking at him, she pushed the door shut behind her and then reached her hand back and clicked the lock.

He stood up from behind his desk and motioned her to him, “Come here.”

She walked closer to him, but stopped just out of his reach, “Is there something I can help you with doctor?”

He studied her, the way her curls framed her face and rested lightly against her shoulders. How her brown eyes gazed at him intently and how her dress, while extremely professional, still managed to hug her curves in all the right places and provide just enough cleavage where he could see her breasts slightly move with every breath. When she was close like this it took all of his energy to not touch her, kiss her, make her his.

Francesca noticed him taking in her body and felt a familiar heat rising from her core, she bit her lip.

He exhaled, “I told you I’d make up for extending my trip.”

“You did.”

“I’m here to do just that.”

She glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation of her afternoon. “I have some time, what exactly did you have in mind…?”

***

He had to cover her mouth with his hand when her orgasm hit, her lower body lifted off the desk and her thighs tightened against his head as she convulsed against his tongue. “Oh my…fuck…I can’t…oh god!” Her whole body shook at the euphoric blaze that rippled through her in successive waves of intense pleasure, rocking her against his mouth with movements completely out of her control. Even after she calmed a bit, she still struggled to catch her breath. She tried to pull herself away from him but he held her thighs tighter and would not stop. Her pleasant residual flickers of heat started to refocus into jolts pinging through her body, the divide between bliss and pain coalesced.

The room started to go out of focus, tears streamed down her face as she reached to grab his head, unsure if she wanted to pull him away or keep him close. Her lower half still trembled beneath his experienced mouth and by this point her breath was ragged and her mind jumbled. She started stammering anything she could think of to get him to stop, and to keep going… “I forgive you; you’re forgiven… just please…I can’t…oh my…yes…god…I’m gonna---”

His hands were still locked on her thighs, his mind and ego totally focused on her achieving another orgasm. It had become his favorite sight, watching her become completely undone because of his touch. Francesca covered her own mouth and stifled her scream as a new set of waves crested through her, she closed her eyes and let the heightened explosions run through her. It was as if her body wasn’t her own anymore, it was just pulsing flames of ecstasy that completely consumed every nerve ending. An unknown amount of time passed until she could catch her breath again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Ethan watching her with a smug look on his face. She was still breathing heavily as she sat up, but she wasn’t completely satisfied. The past several days and nights of yearning and longing had left her aching in a place his tongue couldn’t reach.

“Stand up.”

Her breathless command startled him into obedience. He stood and she immediately went for his belt. He sucked in his breath when she pulled out his stiffened member. “Francesca, this afternoon was supposed to be all about you, pleasing you.”

She stroked him as she looked up innocently. “You don’t think this will please me?”

He groaned and pulled her up to him, kissing her deeply before responding, “You tell me. What exactly would please you Dr, Houseman?”

She smiled as she gently squeezed him, putting her lips back to his, all of her denied carnal desires over the past week pouring out in one succinct request, “I want you to take me Dr. Ramsey. Right here. Right now.”

She swore she heard Ethan growl as he pushed her back on the desk while his pants and boxers were dropped further down his legs. He stood and pressed himself against her, teasing and coating himself in her moisture, now a mix between the juices from her body and his mouth. Francesca moaned at the sensation and looked up to see Ethan’s gaze burning with intense desire as he positioned himself against her. She took a deep breath but still let out a small cry when he swiftly entered her, groaning as he pulled her towards him and began thrusting into her, his pace steady and unrelenting as he claimed her. She covered her face with her arm to stifle her moans and whimpers.

Ethan’s hands gripped her hips as his pelvis continued to move against her. The past week of sexual frustrations had boiled over for both of them. His labored breathing and grunts mixed with her inaudible noises of sexual excitement as they both struggled to keep quiet. Francesca used her other hand to reach down to work on herself. She felt his hand move from her hip and replace hers, his finger rubbing across her sensitive and swollen nub, “oh my god, oh my god”, she quickly lost the power to form coherent words as he continued manipulating her.

Ethan leaned down and whispered into her ear, “You like this? You want me to keep going?” She was panting now, the intensity of the pleasure rolling through her core had her gripping the edges of his desk again, her body urgently moving against his. She struggled to form the words as the room swirled around her, “Yes, I, please… keep going…”

He obeyed, focused on giving her exactly what she wanted, continuing to drag his fingers back and forth on her nub, he let go of her hip and pushed one of her legs over his shoulder. She moaned as she felt him gain more entry inside of her. He used the new position and his free hand to balance himself better on the desk and gain a bit of leverage. Lengthening his strokes and increasing his pace, he felt his own climax boiling but he needed her to go first. He wanted to watch her, to feel her orgasm fueling his. Knowing she was already on the edge he leaned down into her ear and ordered, “Cum for me Francesca.”

Her mind barely processed his words before her body obeyed. White-hot ecstasy tore through every cell in her body, emanating out from her hips, shooting up her torso and out through her extremities. Francesca’s body arched up into Ethan’s, her eyes rolled back in her head and she cried into his mouth as he covered hers with his. She trembled on the desk, as the rapturous pleasure completely consumed her and her heated spasms on Ethan’s length brought him to his end. He released himself inside of her, burying his head onto her shoulder to stop his own cries of euphoric bliss.

Collapsed and tangled together on the desk, Francesca and Ethan both worked to get their bearings, breathing, and heart rates back on track. After several minutes she pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply, tugging gently on his lower lip and smiling against his mouth, “Welcome back.”

He smirked and pulled himself up, bringing her with him so she was sitting facing him, He returned her kiss. “Thank you, doctor.”

She moved off the desk, taking a moment to steady herself before she grabbed her panties and lab coat from the floor. He pulled up his boxers and pants and gave the space they had just occupied a wry look, “I’ll never look at this desk the same.”

She looked up slightly amazed, “This is the first time you’ve done something like this in your office?”

He was thrown by the question, “Why are you so surprised?”

She tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress, “I just assumed that…”

He raised an eyebrow, “You assumed that I had sex in here on a regular basis? This is my office, a place for professionalism, not personal exploits.”

“Not even Harper?”

Ethan shook his head, “No. The thought never even occurred.”

She put on her lab coat and walked over to him, “So what was I doing in here then?”

He pulled her to him and rubbed his thumb gently across her lip, “Rookie, as in every other area in my life, you are the exception to the rule.”

She giggled and went to kiss him again when her pager went off. She reached down to pick it up and kissed him on the cheek instead, “Duty calls. Gotta go.”

She stopped at the door and turned around, “So I was planning on coming over after work...”

“Of course, you’re off at 9pm right? I’ll have dinner waiting.”

She laughed, “Yes, please send me the takeout menu so I can order in advance.”

Ethan glared at her mockingly, “Don’t underestimate me, Rookie.”

***

Several hours later Francesca was in Ethan’s dining room eating a second helping of pad thai while he gave her a foot rub from another chair. She was incredulous at the story he was telling her.

“You’re the one who made Landry transfer to Mass Kenmore? How am I just finding out about this?”

He shrugged, “Why does it matter? He’s gone.”

“I dunno, it just does,” she smiled as she pointed her fork at him, “It kinda makes you my superhero. You helped to rescue me from certain doom and you vanquished my enemies.”

He patted her foot, “I think you’re getting carried away. There’s no way I would want someone like that on Edenbrook’s staff. But after he showed his willingness to help Naveen, I also wasn’t trying to kill another doctor’s career over some revenge fantasy. He just needed to be taught a lesson so I took it upon myself to teach it.”

She looked at him mischievously, “He leaps tall medical buildings with one single jump!”

Ethan rolled his eyes. Not one for hero talk he changed the subject. “Did Aurora end up moving in while I was gone?”

Francesca finished her last bite of food and put down her plate, suddenly serious. “No, not until next weekend. That’ll be interesting though. I mean I know we’re keeping it a secret but Harper already knows about us and now Aurora will have inside information. Like nights when I’m not there it’ll be pretty obvious that I’m here. Are you sure Harper is okay and won’t cause problems?”

Ethan stopped his massage to look at her, “Francesca, you have to stop worrying about Harper. First off, that’s all in the past. We were done before you came along. Second, I don’t answer to her for my life decisions so whether she’s good with us or not isn’t my concern. Now, all that being said, I actually happen to know that she is more than fine with it. She’s a good friend and she wants me to be happy, as I do her. Harper is not some young jealous intern and she won’t be causing us any problems - whatever that even means. She’s much too mature and professional for behavior so childish.”

Francesca bit her lip and Ethan sighed, “What?”

“It’s just when we did the new f.M.R.I. machine a few months back and I asked you about her, your hypothalamus lit up. It was an indication that you still have feelings for her.”

Ethan ran his hands through his hair. “You know, your stubbornness is one of the things that attracted me to you but I see now that it’s also going to drive me crazy.”

Her eyes widened, “What?!”

“Rookie, I just told you that she’s a good friend so of course my hypothalamus lit up. I do still have feelings for her, just not those kinds of feelings. I’m rather sure I already explained this difference to you. The only person I have those kinds of feelings for is the pain in my ass sitting across from me right now.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile and she returned it, “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

He shook his head, “God help me but you are.”

The next morning Francesca rose from beneath the stack of pillows she had buried herself under a couple of hours earlier to block out the morning light. She rubbed her eyes, stretched and smiled to herself at the reason for her residual soreness: glorious morning sex. Ethan had woken up early to go to the hospital per his usual, but she had managed to delay him for a little while, not that it took much convincing. Careful not to disturb Jenner who was snoozing at the end of the bed, she got up to take a shower and get ready for work herself. She had her first meeting with the Diagnostics Team in less than 4 hours and she couldn’t wait.

Her future had never looked brighter and she couldn’t wait to see what was in store.

CHAPTER TEN

#ethan ramsey #playchoices #choices #open heart #dr ethan ramsey #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #choices open heart #mc and ethan #fanfic #romance

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fableweaver · 4 years

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Arc of the Mother Witch

The verdant forest was alive with new growth and greenery. The Aldan, once sluggish and withdrawn during the winter, were alive once again. Those with the green touch were out in great number in the city, tending to the new growth like mothers with children. Bailey however only enjoyed the sun when it filtered through her window in Ashel’s house. She was now on bed rest so close to her due date.

“Still another month at least,” Elowen said as she straightened from her listening horn on Bailey’s belly. “According to the date, but I believe you might give birth sooner.”

“Hence the bedrest aye,” Bailey said pushing her night gown back down. Her belly was swollen greatly, she couldn’t be sure but it felt more than it had with Matt and Will. Yet Elowen insisted she could only hear one heartbeat.

It was still the Milk Moon, Vina as it was known in the new calendar. Bailey knew she wouldn’t give birth until the beginning of the Buck Moon, maybe the end of the Rose Moon if she gave birth early; but having done this before she was more sensitive. She was near now, and there was more than one child within her. She felt the weight of the spirit within her now; it was like she slept with a stone on her crushing her.

If not for her skills in the Elder Magic Bailey suspected her heart would have given out long ago. As it was she was meditating every day, naming herself over and over again to keep her strength up. She gathered what power she could from the sun and earth, letting it seep into her bones. Had Elowen not prescribed bedrest Bailey would have taken it anyways. Her joints constantly ached, her head pounded, and her muscles were as weak as uncooked noodles.

Before she had become bedridden she had set up a ward around her room and was glad of it. At night at times she sensed something testing those bindings and suspected once again the Crippled One hunted her. In Alma however she was safe, her ward gaining power from the ancient powers of earth and trees of the city. He stalked her but could not get to her.

As Elowen was packing away her midwife bag the nurse returned with Matt. Sadly she could not take care of Matt confined to her bed, so a servant was now caring for the child. He was old enough now to totter about, but not walk far on his own.

“Ma,” Matt said excited holding out his daily present to her. It was an acorn this time, Bailey sensing the power in the little seed. Bailey got daily visits from him where he brought her gifts from the garden. Often they were pebbles, pine cones, leaves, or flowers. Once it was a garden snail which was quickly taken by the servant. She enjoyed the gifts and Matt’s smile every time he presented her with one.

Yet she could see each object he brought her had a hint of power. Found objects had power, of luck and earth powers. It scared her to know her child even as a toddling babe had more power than any average person. She knew children often had a greater talent for the Elder Magic, one that they sometimes grew out of, but she feared Matt was showing far too much aptitude for it to be simply a phase. She also feared for Will and how his own powers were developing.

“Thank ye,” Bailey said smiling back at him and he grinned at her. She took the acorn and put it with the other stones in a dish on her beside. “Ye wanna read with me Matt?”

“Aye,” he answered nodding. The nurse left them as Bailey pulled out a book beginning to read to Matt. Though it was a history book Matt still seemed to listen as Bailey read.

Bailey read mostly, using her confinement as a time to search for the song in records. She was learning a great deal about Alda in her readings. The Aldan loved poetry, hence Ashel’s popularity, though Bailey preferred the narratives which still had standing in the Aldan literature. She read for pleasure as much for her search, and to learn of her mother’s people. She learned much, but not about the song.

There were mentions of it in some books, not as sightings but a subject. Some Aldan had written about the need to search for the song, these efforts going unheard by most. These texts suggested theories about where the song was, and even methods of searching for Eileen, but none gave anything solid. Bailey hoped Pepper was having better luck with Ioram’s journal; she had taken it with her to Odell. She read about the wandering king as much as she could, but most didn’t seem to know why he had started wandering.

Her reading to Matt was interrupted by Ashel arriving.

“How are you today my love?” Ashel said cheerfully as he sat on the bed and put one hand on her belly.

“The same,” Bailey answered. He hardly ever called her by her name, and she was getting tired of silly pet names. Ashel nodded, his hand rubbing her swollen belly, Bailey suppressing a shiver.

“I have another gift for you today,” Ashel said. He like Matt brought her daily gifts, Bailey still wondering at the contrast. Ashel took out a small wood box and Bailey took it. Opening it she found a fine silver ring. Like always it was something expensive, yet Bailey liked Matt’s gifts better. Sighing she took it out and put it on her index finger, looking back to Ashel to see him smiling.

“Thank ye,” Bailey said with a weak smile back at him. She didn’t have the energy anymore to deny him.

“You’re welcome,” Ashel said and leaned in to kiss her.

“Nowt!” Matt said loudly and Ashel stopped inches from her face.

“He wants me ta keep readin ta him,” Bailey said and Ashel pulled back, a smile on his face.

“Right I’m sorry,” Ashel said reaching over to ruffle Matt’s hair. Matt scowled and batted his hand away, sticking his tongue out at Ashel. “I’ll leave you to your reading then Bailey.”

He kissed her hand and stood leaving her alone with Matt once more.

“Ye baint like him do ye Matt?” Bailey said stroking Matt’s hair back in place. Matt just shook his head and pressed his face against her belly. Smiling sadly Bailey picked up the book and began reading again.

A servant brought lunch of roast chicken salad and fresh spring strawberries. Matt disliked the greens but enjoyed the strawberry mush she fed him. Finished with the meal she returned to reading, finally reading silently as Matt fell asleep next to her. She too dosed off and was woken by a tapping at the door.

“Come in,” Bailey said rubbing her eyes. When she looked she saw Alora stood at the foot of the bed. She looked sad, her eyes looking at Bailey with pity. Then Bailey noticed she held a child in her arms, what Bailey first thought was Matt until she realized Matt was just waking next to her.

“Will?” Bailey asked breathlessly and the child turned to her.

“Ma!” Will said excited, a lopsided smile lighting his face. Bailey gasped; his smile was just like Ian’s. Alora put him down on the bed and Will crawled over to her, Bailey scooping him up into her arms and kissing his hair. Matt next to her started to babble so she scooped him up as well, feeling tears running down her cheeks as she held both her children at last.

Her joy froze in her as she remembered Ian and looked up at Alora. She was still looking down at her with pity, and Bailey felt her heart clench.

“Alora, where be Ian?” Bailey asked afraid. Alora sighed wearily before she met her eyes, her gaze sad.

“He is dead Bailey,” Alora said simply. Bailey felt a moment of weightlessness, as if the world had gone still around her, before the weight of sorrow crashed down on her.

“Nowt,” she said softly. “He baint be dead, he got away from the battle…”

“Bailey, I’m afraid your lover died shortly after whatever parted you,” Alora said. “The man who delivered Will told us the tale. His name is Rork, a Hyrian. He said your lover had been badly wounded, fatally so. He passed Will to the man and told him to take him to Alda giving his name. He had been paid in Ian’s possessions, but was compensated for the duty he performed.”

“Where be he then?” Bailey said. “I’d hear from him that Ian be dead.”

“I’m afraid he was not let passed the borders,” Alora said sadly. “The guards there paid him for his troubles and delivered Will to Alma.”

Bailey couldn’t believe Ian was dead, Glen had said he was alright after they flight from the keep. But then… Glen had been a little cagy afterwards, and maybe he had seen Ian injured and thought he would be alright. What had she been going on all this time that Ian was alive? Hope, and nothing more. She felt as if something crumbled inside her, and she cried out.

Alora reached out to her but Bailey slapped her hand away.

“Get out!” Bailey shouted. “I baint want ta see ye ever gain.”

“Bailey…” Alora said hurt. “Please, I know you are hurt but…”

“Ye made me betray him,” Bailey wept.

“Don’t you see? He was long dead before that, you betrayed nothing.”

“Get out!” Bailey shrieked and the twins began to cry at her shout. Holding them close she began to weep brokenly, rocking back and forth.

“I’ll send Ashel…”

“I baint want ta see him,” Bailey moaned. “I baint want ta see anyun.”

“Very well,” Alora said as she left.

Bailey had no idea how long she wept, she cried until she was hoarse and eyes nearly swollen shut. At last she drew herself out of her sorrow to turn her attention to her children. Will and Matt had stopped crying and now sat facing each other on the bed. They were playing with a few of the stones Matt had collected, seeming content with each other.

“Will,” Bailey said and he looked at her. “Do ye remember me?”

“Ma,” he said pointing to her. “Matt,” he added pointing to Matt.

“Will,” Matt added pointing to Will who nodded.

“N Ian?” Bailey asked, her throat tight. “Do ye ken yer Da?”

Will looked at her and nodded, Bailey nearly weeping again seeing Ian’s features in Will.

“Will, be he dead?” Bailey asked but Will looked away back to the stones again. Either he didn’t remember, didn’t understand, or didn’t know. He was too young to understand.

Bailey didn’t want it to be true, but wanting it so didn’t make it true.

She spent the next few days is sorrow, unwilling to see anyone but the servant that served her and Will and Matt’s nurse. She lay in bed desolate, only eating when her servant made her. She took heart only from Matt and Will, especially Will. Whoever had cared for him had done a fine job, he was healthy and happy. He seemed to remember Matt and Matt him. He knew her as well but to what extent she couldn’t tell. She tried to question him, but he didn’t understand much.

After five days she had another visit from Elowen, the midwife as professional as always.

“Not much longer now,” she said once more after listening. Bailey didn’t move so Elowen pulled the covers back for her. “I heard about your lover.”

Bailey still didn’t respond so Elowen sighed, packing away her bag. Just as she reached the door it opened, showing Ashel at the door. Bailey was about to shout at him to leave, she had chased him off each time he had tried to console her, but he was looking at Elowen instead.

“Elowen,” Ashel said, his tone making the woman stop and look up at him. “The Lord Roth Ai is passing away from this world.”

Elowen froze, Bailey seeing her face take on a calm certainty.

“I am meant only to bring life into the world not lead it away,” Elowen said simply.

“I am well aware,” Ashel said. “No one can help my grandfather now. I am here to bring Bailey; he wishes to see her before he dies.”

“Very well,” Elowen said. Without further words, their silence speaking for their haste, they both went to the bed and help Bailey up. She didn’t object, the news had shocked her as well and she wanted to see the Lord Roth Ai before he passed. It was a slow process getting Bailey up on her feet and walking through the house, stairs nearly defeated her. She felt the great weight of what she carried, not just on her body but her spirit as well. At last they came to the chamber where the Lord lay dying.

The Aldan knew when they were about to die, this led to a tradition of the family seeing their loved one off. They built rooms in their houses, or in public places, just for the purpose of dying. The hall was wide and long, certainly big enough for all the people in it yet they lingered by the large windows away from the central bier as if afraid to approach the figure resting upon it.

Ignoring the great windows looking over gardens and the frescos painted upon the ceiling, Bailey walked to the bier with the assistance of Ashel. The Lord Lindir Roth Ai rested on the bier surrounded by lilies. He still breathed, but Bailey knew it was a breath measured in minutes not hours. His eyes opened when Bailey reached his side. She had met the duke only a few times but every time she had he had been asleep. He seemed aptly named, the Duke of the Sleeping Woods.

“Ah, at last I can lay open eyes upon you my dear,” Lindir said softly. “I have seen you only in dreams of late.”

“Long be yer dreams no doubt baint?” Bailey said and Lindir smiled lightly.

“And about to be longer still,” Lindir said with grim humor.

“Milord…” Bailey said, unsure of how to warn Lindir of the Crippled One.

“You wish to warn me of the soul eater,” Lindir said nodding. “I have seen onto the path I am about to walk in my dreams and know the danger about to come. Do you know why the dying sing the song?”

“Cause the aether ripples with it n they hear it as they lay dyin,” Bailey answered and Lindir smiled sadly.

“No my dear, if that were so every dying person would sing the song, and it would be upon the lips of every soul that lay asleep in deep dreams. No we sing to guard our spirits from the Crippled One.”

“How?” Bailey asked.

“I do not know how the song guards us,” Lindir said. “I feel it within me as I lay at the edge, and like a prayer it comes to me.”

“Do ye ken where the song be?” Bailey asked breathlessly and Lindir looked at her, but his eyes were no longer seeing her. She feared he would answer with the song itself, but instead he managed a few words.

“Walk in the shadow of the setting sun from the tears of She Brings Forth.”

“Lord Roth Ai,” Bailey said holding his hand but he no longer saw her.

“Charge to the Bells and march to the drums,” Lindir sang softly. “We’re off to war cause the battle comes.”

Bailey saw his spirit fade from his eyes and felt tears rise up. Ashel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her away, his father coming forward to draw the veil over his dead father. The Aldan shed no tears, for them all the tears had been shed. Bailey was surprised she still had tears to shed; this death only sent another blow to her already wounded heart. It was all too much for her; she had seen too much death and loss.

“Come Bailey let’s get you to bed,” Ashel said kindly. She let him help her up and lead her back to her room. He left her be once she was settled, having to return to his family. She knew from her readings the tradition was to stay up mourning until the next day. The mourners would fast as well, eating nothing but nuts, berries, and water, as they prepared the body for cremation. The Aldan knew the spirit was freed of the body; to help the soul ride Fors Wheel the body would be burned.

Lindir would be wrapped in dry gauze wrappings dressed with rosemary oil and salt. His body would then rest for three days before it was rested on a bier of cedar wood. The wood all came from on special grove in Alda, the Sleeping Woods where Lindir had been Duke. The wood was cut and dried for a year before it was ready for the purpose it served. An oil made of pine resin would be added to the flames as well, to make sure the remains burned hot. If there were any bones left those would be ground up with a mortar made of petrified wood.

The ashes would then be spread into the soil to aid the trees in their growth. Only the ashes of the High Kings reserved different treatment. They were interned in stone urns in the Glen of the Spirit. She had read about the Glen, and the tree that stood there. The kings had been put to rest in a place of earth powers, under a tree of another world. The tree was a lost light spirit that wandered for a time immeasurable. Little was known of its past or why it came to Miread in the first place. All that was known was it arrived and died there, the tree taking root and form in that place. All this happened when the Phay were still young, before the race of men rose and even before some of the mortal races of the Phay.

The dead light spirit gave the place great earth powers, ones that the Phay often basked in. It was a place of power, so once the second High King Silvanus Alvar of the First House died he was interned there. Of course Bailey now knew why Absalom wasn’t buried there, he was still alive.

In Daun mourning took three days as well, the body laid out on rushes surrounded by candles. The body would be dressed in a mourning tunic and dusted with salt. A grave digger would come for the body after three days and they would be interned in a barrow, hill, or somewhere out on the moors. The family would never know where the body lay, only grave diggers knew where the dead were; this tradition was made so families could move on from the death.

In Alda it was taboo for a woman bearing life to partake in mourning rituals, life had to be clean of death. So Bailey was left alone to her own private mourning. She grieved for all the dead she knew. Her father Fergal, her step-mother Muriel, her two half-sisters Kelly and Sara, her aunt Ide and her son Owen, Ian’s mother Norah, her grandmothers Meadhbh and Rathnait, Taras Law, and Ian.

She didn’t let the nurse take Matt and Will that night; instead she had them curl up in bed next to her. She lay in bed stroking their downy hair lit silver from the moon through the window. The light changed and Bailey turned to see the shadow of a man crouched on the windowsill. He stepped into the room and closed the window silently, Bailey staring at him with sadness.

“Sos ye came ta haunt me?” Bailey asked softly and Ian froze from approaching the bed. “Leave Ian, ye belong in Tir Aesclinn.”

“Ye think I be dead?” Ian said softly a slight smile on his lips. Bailey stared at him shocked and realized then that he was solid and real. He had changed much in their time apart, his hair and beard grown out again, he seemed to have lost weight looking gaunt. Seeing him now brought tears to her eyes, of joy and sorrow.

“I be sorry Ian,” Bailey gasped softly, trying to hold back the flood of tears.

“Fer Ashel,” Ian said in a strained whisper. “Do ye love him?”

“Nowt,” Bailey answered. “But now I have his child in me Ian, there be nowt we can do bout that.”

Ian didn’t answer her as he stepped up to the bedside and put his hand on her belly. He frowned, standing still for a moment before snatching his hand back startled.

“Glen what did ye do?” Ian said shocked.

“Glen?” Bailey said puzzled.

“He said he had somewhat ta confess but he baint tell me yet,” Ian answered. “But I ken now. Bailey whatever be in ye baint be Ashel’s childe, it baint even be yers. Bailey ye have a changeling in ye.”

“But…” Bailey said thinking things over. “A changeling still needs a seed ta start, ifn Glen be responsible en…”

“Ye were already pregnant,” Ian answered. “I ken it might be that night after the raiders when ye were flushed with Elder Magic.”

“Aye,” Bailey said shocked, remembering the night well. While they had experienced death that night, the excitement of battle and her powers burning her blood made for a very long bout of passionate lovemaking. She remembered Ian holding her even though he had tears in his eyes from the night’s trials. It was very likely that her powers had overwhelmed the herbs she had been taking and her own natural responses to breast feeding.

“It baint matter,” Bailey said dully. “I still let Ashel touch me, he was still inside…”

“I baint lie Bailey that does hurt,” Ian said kneeling next to her and leaning over. “But it hurts more ta be away from ye. I love ye.”

She whimpered as he leaned down to kiss her, the soft touch of his lips stealing her resistance. She responded and she felt his tongue push into her mouth. All barriers broke then and her hands went up his arms to his neck tugging at his tunic as his went to her breasts. She groaned as Ian leaned on her belly, her breath taken from her as the weight in her pressed against her lungs.

“Sorry,” Ian gasped pulling back, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright despite his blindness. “Ye be alright?”

“Aye,” Bailey said catching her breath, her hand going to her belly.

“It baint be ours,” Ian said, his hand enveloping hers. Bailey felt tears rise as she nodded knowing he was right. They might have conceived the child, but it was no longer their own.

“It baint be the Crippled Un be it?” Bailey asked suddenly worried.

“Nowt, it be o the Phay I can tell,” Ian answered. “N I ken we’ll need help birthing it.”

“Another dreamin place,” Bailey said knowing what Ian planned. “There be uns in the Deep Woods.”

“I planned on takin ye there cause we can hide there,” Ian said. “Seems it be needed more en that.”

“We’d best hurry en,” Bailey said. “I’ll be due soon since our dates were wrong.”

“Aye,” Ian said with a slight grin. “Let’s get ye up.”

He leaned down and helped her up onto her feet, holding her a moment in his arms.

“Ian, do ye forgive me?” Bailey asked looking up at him and saw his pain at that question.

“Ye ken I tried ta find the song Bailey,” Ian said. “I understand now what ye mean by duty, n why it drives ye. I abandoned ye Bailey, n ye were in so much pain.”

“Ian…”

“But I ken another man had ye Bailey,” Ian continued, his fists clenching. “Ye hardly consented, it were like he raped ye. N I ken that’ll lie between us n I fear I’ll hurt ye in the same way.”

“Ian I love ye,” Bailey said and saw him blush. “We’ll work through the pain, I swear, cause I love ye.”

He nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek which she wiped away.

“Best get goin,” Ian said softly. “I’ll help ye get ta the rope.”

He helped her over to the window and opened it, Bailey seeing a rope hanging outside the window with a loop tied through it. Ian leaned out and snagged the rope, pulling it in to loop it around Bailey.

“I’ll be right behind ye with Matt n Will,” Ian said as he helped her out the window. The rope went taunt and for a moment Bailey hung out over empty air. She tried not to look down as the rope suddenly started to ascend to the roof. She reached the roof to see a Hyrian man pulling her up, the rope on a pulley system. The Hyrian reached out and pulled her onto the roof, helping her out of the loop.

“Sos ya be Bailey,” the Hyrian said critically looking at her. “I be Rork o Loamy Downs. I helped Ian out when he were in a pinch.”

“Thank ye,” Bailey said. “Ye be Ian’s friend?”

“Aye,” Rork answered lowly.

“En I hope we can be friends too,” Bailey said smiling at him and Rork looked at her disgusted.

“Friends?” Rork said. “Ya liken ta be friends with all men eh?”

“Nowt, I meant…”

“Ian told me bout ya, I guess he never saw how much o a harlot ya be,” Rork said. “Why ya, why’d he have ta love ya? Why nawt me?”

Shocked Bailey could only stare at him, surprised to find she was jealous. She wondered then if Rork and Ian had been intimate, and knew she had no right to complain if they had.

“I be sorry Rork,” Bailey said. “I only meant…”

“Shut it,” Rork said crossly. “Ya pity me taint ya? Well I taint want yar pity. What do ya even understand bout me?”

“I baint ken anything o ya Rork,” Bailey said sadly. “But might be we can understand un another now.”

“How be that?” Rork asked with distain.

“Cause we love the same man,” Bailey said. He stared at her seeming surprised, his scowl gone to slack jawed amazement. A hiss from below roused him and he hurried to lower the rope to Ian. Bailey stepped back to give him space as he began hauling Ian up. She watched carefully as Rork helped Ian onto the roof, seeing Rork’s care for Ian and confirming the feelings there.

Ian seemed familiar with Rork, but Bailey couldn’t read anything else from him. He had Matt and Will strapped to his back and chest, one hand on Matt’s head. He turned to her and smiled, Bailey’s heart leaping to see his crooked smile again.

“He’s gotten so big,” Ian said. “Ye ken if he’ll remember me?”

“Will remembered me n Matt,” Bailey answered. “I’ve been tellin Matt o ye.”

Ian nodded, his attention going back to Matt. Both children were asleep still, Bailey hoping they wouldn’t wake.

“We gotta leg it,” Rork said, he had been working on dismantling the ropes and pulleys while they had talked. He packed them away quickly and started to walk around the roof. The roof was rounded making for treacherous footing; they had been standing on a relatively even part of the roof before. Ian helped Bailey as they slowly made their way across the roof. At last they reached a tree branch that grew close to the roof, another rope tied to it. Bailey noticed the rope was taunt, leading off into the dark foliage.

“It be a zip line,” Rork said. “We’ll rig a sling fer ya missy n I’ll go firstsome.”

It took some time for Rork to rig a sling with the supplies he had in his bag and then get Bailey into it. Rork went first, a rope acting as his handle to slide down the zip line. Bailey went next and clung to the sling as she flew through the air. She expected to be battered with branches, but her flight was only mildly abrasive as she slid silently through the trees. She could hear Ian behind her, but just barely, no one would note the noise in the night.

Rork caught her at the end of the line, Bailey gasping as he helped her out of the sling. Ian arrived shortly after her, Matt and Will now awake and crying. Bailey went to Ian and soothed both children who calmed at her touch.

“There be two more zips after this,” Rork said. “Then we shimmy on down ta the forest floor.”

He untied the rope they had used as the zip line and tugged at it. Bailey was surprised to see it go lax and Rork reeled it in.

“Hyrian knots,” Rork answered with a grin. “I cogging some good ones ja.”

“Be bout all he kens,” Ian said jokingly and Rork elbowed him.

They walked some distance through the tree bridges until they reached another zip line, this one a little more hidden. As Rork said they had two more rides and then a decent to the forest floor. They had taken a twisted path, one that would be hard for anyone to trace especially as Rork removed all the zip lines. Bailey also noticed gnomes following them, obscuring their path, impressed by Ian’s foresight. Once on the forest floor they walked, heading southwest. It was nearing dawn now as they reached a cross roads where a man waited with two horses.

“It is good to see you again Bailey,” Basil said and Bailey smiled as she embraced him.

“Thank ye Basil,” Bailey said.

“The escape isn’t over yet,” Basil said gravely. “Me and Rork will be riding south to draw attention away and leave a trail. You and Ian still have a ways to hike until you reach your horses.”

“The gnomes can hide our trail,” Ian said.

“I can step us sideways,” Bailey said but Ian shook his head.

“Baint be a good idea fer ye ta use too much Elder Magic in yer state Bailey,” Ian said. “Am I right?”

“Aye,” Bailey said. Using her powers to get her through her pregnancy was one thing, but using them in excess could make her go into labor.

“The gnomes can hide us n warn us ifn there’ll be anyun nearby,” Ian said. “Now we’d best go afore the farmers wake.”

Rork stepped up and whispered something to Ian, giving him a quick kiss as well. Noticing her staring he winked at her as he mounted his horse. Bailey rolled her eyes and Rork smiled at that as he and Basil rode off. They disappeared quickly in the forest shadows, Bailey feeling her heart heavy to see them go.

“Come on,” Ian said taking her hand.

They walked through the hidden farms in the company of a troop of gnomes, a few riding on Ian’s shoulders or head. Matt and Will had fallen asleep again after the zip lines so they walked in silence. The gnomes warned them when to hide to avoid being seen, and just as the sun was rising they reached the forest edge.

Bailey knew the crossroads they had reached, it was the same place where they had bid farewell to Absalom. There waited two horses, Puzzle and Enbarr. Bailey went up to Puzzle and scratched him on his brow, the little horse closing his eyes in bliss.

“Do ye remember me Puzzle?” Bailey asked.

“Little,” Puzzle answered. “Apples.”

“Aye I gave ye apples when Taras baint looked,” Bailey said. “Be alright ifn I ride ye?”

“Apples?” Puzzle inquired and Bailey laughed. Ian took out an apple and handed it to her so she could give it to Puzzle. He munched on it content as Ian helped Bailey mount. Ian mounted Enbarr, settling Matt and Will before him on the horse.

Bailey led the way on Puzzle, the little horse walking with a smooth steady stride. They rode for most of the morning, stopping midmorning when Matt and Will finally woke. They stopped in a glen of willow trees to eat.

“Matt ye ken me?” Ian said with Matt on his lap facing him. Matt looked up at him solemnly before nodding. “Who be I en?”

“Da,” Matt answered and Ian laughed, holding Matt close and tickling him. “He been good Bailey? He baint get sick gain?”

“Aye he’s been real good, n nowt he only had a sniffle unce,” Bailey answered, moved by the sight.

“Will were sick unce,” Ian said. “He got better much faster though. He likes ta follow the gnomes around.”

“Matt likes the sylphs I ken,” Bailey said. “He always be watchin em. He also always brings me presents from the garden; he got Will inta it too.”

Ian nodded as he fed Matt and Will a porridge of wheat and brown sugar. The two sat on his lap patiently waiting for their mouthfuls of porridge, though Will occasionally kept reaching for the spoon before it was his turn. Bailey watched Ian, all his attention on his two sons, and felt warmth settle over her to be with him once more. She was surprised by how familiar it all felt, like she was returning home at last.

She dosed off in the sun, leaning against the warm tree. She woke to find she no longer rested against the tree but lay prone on Ian’s lap. Matt and Will slept on one side each, their heads resting on her breasts. She looked up at Ian and saw he too was asleep, snoring slightly as he always did. The sound echoed in her as she realized she had fallen asleep to that snore for over a year and had slept without it for months. Sadly she knew they had to get going.

“Ian,” Bailey said softly. Ian snorted and woke, yawning hugely. They slowly got up, Will and Matt waking fitfully before Bailey soothed them. She set them next to each other and they started to play in their own way. Bailey turned to Ian to find him staring at her, at least as much as he could being blind.

When she looked at him she felt her guilt rise up again, and he seemed to sense it. He leaned forward and kissed her, intensely. She was startled as his tongue went into her mouth and he moved closer pulling at her clothes. She managed to turn her head away from his kiss, but he continued to kiss her along her neck as his hand slipped into her gown to grasp her breast.

“Ian what ye be doin?” Bailey asked and then gasped as he kissed her just behind the ear as she liked it. He nuzzled against her ear, Bailey feeling his lips brush her ear, the bristle of his beard on her neck and face.

“Ye were thinkin on him,” Ian said, his voice husky in her ear. “I’ll make ye forget him.”

“Nowt Ian,” Bailey said pulling away so she could look him in the eye though he could not answer her in the same manor. “I weren’t thinkin o Ashel, I were thinkin on ye.”

“Bailey I can see auras,” Ian said. “I can see what you are feeling, I saw your guilt.”

“I were thinkin o ye Ian,” Bailey said a little more forcefully. “I feel guilty o’er what I did ta ye. I baint think on Ashel, he baint be tied ta me nowt more.”

“Ye say that but I can see it Bailey,” Ian said. “N I ken more en ye.”

“Ashel baint be…”

“Stop sayin his name!” Ian snapped and Bailey flinched from his tone. She saw him immediately regret those words so stood before he could voice an apology.

“We should get goin,” Bailey said. Ian sighed and broke camp before helping her mount. The rest of the day went by in a frosty silence between them, Bailey realizing Ian’s new sense while compensating for his sight came at a price. She couldn’t hide things from him; he would know her feelings even without her saying anything. While this had its benefits, for instance he knew she was telling the truth when she said she loved him, it had plenty of drawbacks.

As they rode Bailey tried to think of how to communicate to Ian what he was seeing in her meant to her. At last they stopped for the night, going about the chores of making camp in silence. Once Matt and Will were fed and asleep Bailey turned to Ian once again.

“I ken ye baint wanna hear bout him Ian but I ken we need ta talk bout it,” Bailey said. “Ashel n I talked unce bout why I might love ye. He said I could o been paired with anyun n fallen fer em as I did ye. He asked what I really loved bout ye, n questioned our love. N cause ye weren’t there I grew doubtful. How do I ken I love ye ifn I baint ever loved another?

“N en ye came back. I ken now I love ye cause it be like I be whole gain. I love how calm ye be, dependable, n like I just can rest easy round ye. I feel guilt cause I hurt ye Ian, n all this time I been only thinkin on ye. Every time I was with Ashel, talkin er anything, I kept comparin ye two n I can tell ye he baint hold a candle ta ye Ian. It baint be that he be a bad person, just he baint be ye. Like he always brought gifts, expensive uns, I got tired o it cause it felt like he was tryin ta bribe me. He baint be as soothin as ye, I always felt tense round him.”

“Why?” Ian asked startling her. “Why do ye feel so comfortable with me?”

“Cause that first night tagether,” Bailey answered. “With Ashel… I baint member the first bit cause I were drunk, but the mornin he were on me n lookin at me like… Well like I were his. I never felt that from ye Ian. When we first made love, ye were gentle n I could feel how nervous ye were like ye were afraid I would break.”

“Ye were cryin Bailey,” Ian said. “Didn’t it hurt ye? Didn’t I hurt ye that first time like Ashel did?”

“Nowt Ian,” Bailey said kindly. “That first time I were nervous too, n afraid aye, I feared the pain that were ta come. N ye ken Ian there were a sharp pain, n en it felt good. N ye took yer time bout it too, n even eased me out o it after ye finished. It weren’t bout just yer pleasure but mine as well, n I felt that from ye.”

“Bailey, it were my first time,” Ian said softly and Bailey was surprised having thought he had lovers before her. “I kenned it were hard on ye, sos I tried ta be gentle. I kenned I hurt ye goin in sos unce I finished I tried ta make ye feel better.”

“I be the only un ye’ve ever made love with Ian?” Bailey said and saw him wince.

“Nowt now,” Ian said. “Guess I have somewhat ta be guilty o’er too.”

“Rork ye mean,” Bailey said and Ian nodded. She could imagine it, Rork’s arms around Ian, and felt jealousy rise at the idea. She was jealous that Rork seen that side of Ian, a side she thought was only hers.

“Ye be jealous,” Ian said surprised and Bailey blushed.

“I baint sure I like bein able ta see my emotions Ian,” Bailey said crossly.

“It be the only way I can see ye Bailey,” Ian answered.

“Aye sorry,” Bailey said wearily. “I ken that Ian. Aye I be jealous, I want ta be the un ta make ye feel happy Ian. I baint mean only me, I just feel…”

“Like ye missed out,” Ian said and Bailey looked at him. “I see it in ye Bailey, n I also feel the same. We were each other’s first, n we thought we would be our only. Kennin another person seen ye in such an intimate way be hard.”

“Aye,” Bailey said. “Ian we have ta talk through this, n ken an argument baint be the end o this.”

“I ken Bailey,” Ian said. “How bout we take it slow physically too? Can I hold ye while we sleep?”

“Aye, I’d like that,” Bailey said going to his arms. They lay together warm and once again she fell asleep to the sound of his snores.

There was no sign of pursuit still from Alma, and after five days of riding they began to enter the Deep Woods. The change was gradual but around midday when it was still dark under the canopy Bailey felt comfortable that they were now fully into the Deep Woods.

The trees were old, Bailey feeling their age like the hushed remains of the dead. Only these creatures were alive, a life that was not full but more measured. The dark moss and lichen that covered the trees and ground ate the sound of the forest, making a lasting silence that echoed around them. Dark were the woods from the mosses and ivy that covered the trees, the light of the sun did not reach the ground making this place a permanent twilight. Trees were the wind made solid and took all the light they could, more creatures of air and darkness than earth and water.

The path they rode twisted and turned over rocks and gullies, Bailey still leading the way. There were gnomes in this place, but ones of greater power than the small ones she was used to. Some were hulking masses that had taken form as stones, covered in moss they slept centuries away under the trees. Bailey trusted the spirits that moved around them, but did not ask any for guidance.

The path would lead them to what they sought, or so Bailey hoped. Absalom had told her the dangers of the Deep Woods, how this place was close to the aether and so it was easy to get lost here. She had Ian spoke rarely over their camp fires at night, the thick darkness hard to penetrate with talk. Will and Matt were equally solemn on the dark forest paths, voicing little of their needs over the journey.

On their sixth day of travel they found the Riven Gates. Set in a depression the mossy behemoths of stone rested forgotten. Bailey could feel the power of the place and the pull of the lines into the aether. The weight of the child within her was crushing her spirit.

“I baint go in there,” Bailey gasped.

“But the path led here,” Ian said. “N baint this be a dreamin place.”

“Nowt, it be a place where the lines meet,” Bailey said shaking her head. “It baint be right fer what we need.”

“En why did we get here?” Ian asked puzzled.

“I baint ken,” Bailey said wearily. “But we’ll have ta ride back…”

“Wait, somewhat’s comin,” Ian said and Bailey looked to the gate. She could see nothing through the shadow of the stones, but she trusted Ian to see beyond sight. After a few moments a figure appeared out of the arms of the stones, one that Bailey knew well.

“Absalom!” Bailey said relieved and the old Aldan turned to her. She stared shocked because he seemed older if that were possible. He moved slowly out of the gate, walking up the hill to them like his body pained him. Ian quickly dismounted and helped him sit at the edge of the hill, setting Will and Matt next to him. When Ian was about to help Bailey dismount Absalom stopped him.

“Wait,” Absalom said. “Keep her there, we need to move out.”

“Move where?” Ian asked.

“I will lead you,” Absalom answered. “Through the gate.”

“The gate?” Ian said surprised.

“The Riven Gate be a gate ta the lines,” Bailey answered. “We can walk the lines physically. But why would we need ta enter the lines Absalom? Baint that be dangerous?”

“We can use the gate to travel somewhere else in a short time,” Absalom answered. “We enter the lines in one place and arrive in another.”

“Like what Iarliath did ta save us afore?” Ian said. “After the dragon fire?”

“Only powerful spirits like Iarliath don’t need gates to walk the lines physically,” Absalom said. “But they can only manage short distances. I too will only be able to handle a short distance.”

“I baint understand,” Ian said. “Ifn ye could do this why the gate?”

“Only powerful Phay or spirits don’t need a gate,” Absalom said. “For us we can’t enter the lines physically without it, but we can leave the lines without the gate. There is only one problem with that, which will suit our purpose perfectly.”

“N what be that?” Ian asked.

“We won’t know where we’ll end up,” Absalom answered.

Bailey felt worried; Absalom looked drained of strength and life. When an Aldan showed age it meant they were about to die, had Absalom finally reached that point?

“Bailey who be this?” Ian asked softly.

“Absalom o the Deep Woods,” Bailey answered.

“Ye mean…”

“Aye it be him, the first High King o the Nine Kingdoms,” Bailey said.

“Now I am just an old man,” Absalom said. “And you must be Ian.”

“Aye sir, pleased ta meet ye,” Ian said sounding nervous.

“I am glad you have your love once again,” Absalom said with a sad smile. “Both of you.”

“It baint be that simple,” Ian said sadly.

“Isn’t it?” Absalom said as he wearily stood up, lifting Matt and Will. He walked over and handed them to Ian, seeming stronger for his rest. “Take it from someone who has lived lifetimes lad, such small things tend to pale and fade under the passing of years. Only love grows deeper with those ages until it is something that links souls across lifetimes. Love conquers even death; I think it can handle a few mistakes made along the way.”

Ian was silent as he took his children, but Absalom’s words gave Bailey hope. She reached out and brushed Ian’s hair with her fingers, Ian turning to her. She knew he could not see her expression, but he could see her emotions. Bailey wished she could see his.

“Best get goin,” Ian said clearing his throat. He went and mounted his horse again, Absalom walking alongside Puzzle towards the gate.

“How is Toby?” Absalom asked.

“Basil been takin care o him,” Bailey said. “Oh, I hope he found someun ta take him, a lot sort o happened.”

“He’ll be fine,” Absalom said. “He’s a tough little dog.”

They reached the gate and Puzzle balked at the darkness between the stones. Bailey put one hand on her belly; fear a tight knot in her belly. Absalom took Puzzle by the halter and led him into the darkness. Bailey felt it close over her, the cold darkness enveloping her. Slowly from the darkness color emerged into the mist of aether. She looked around, able to see again, but there was nothing in sight but the swirling mist.

Ian cried out and Bailey turned in the saddle, afraid something had happened. Ian sat looking at his hand in awe, then he looked up and met her eyes.

“Bailey I can see,” Ian said amazed. He then looked down at Will and Matt, examining them closely seeing them for the first time.

“Here the body is not so limited as it is in Miread,” Absalom said, still leading them on through the aether. “But we must hurry.”

“What o the Crippled Un?” Bailey asked afraid.

“He hunts so we must hurry,” Absalom said.

Ian didn’t seem to be listening, his attention on Will and Matt, who both seemed more fascinated with the mists of aether. Ian then rode up next to Bailey and stared at her as well, which only made her blush. She couldn’t ask him to stop, but his attention was making her embarrassed.

A rippled wave through the aether made Bailey turn and see a shadow moving through the mist. Absalom stopped and motioned for silence, drawing the aether around them. The shadow passed them, but Bailey feared it was not for long.

“Here is as good as anywhere,” Absalom muttered. He reached out to the aether and with a sharp tug a tear appeared in the mist. “Quickly,” Absalom said motioning her through. Bailey had to duck as Puzzle rode through the opening, Bailey turning back to watch the others emerge.

Ian dismounted and led Enbarr through, Will and Matt tied to the saddle. She saw his face as he walked through the portal, his expression diming as his sight died. The look of despair on his face broke her heart. Absalom quickly followed and the gap behind them closed instantly.

Bailey looked around, startled by where they now were. They stood in the lee of a cliff, moss and grass growing thick on dark wet rocks. She could smell fresh water and turning again she looked out over a vast expanse of blue green water.

“Perfect,” Absalom said relieved. “We are on the Verde Sea.”

“Be this the coast?” Bailey asked, they had been at least ten days away from the Verde Sea.

“No, I think it is an island,” Absalom said. “I’d have to look around but I am pretty sure this is an island telling by the moss and lack of trees.”

“Ye ken where we be?” Ian asked as he took Matt and Will into his arms.

“No and that is why this place is perfect,” Absalom said. “We are lost.”

“Why that be a good thing?” Ian asked.

“Because the Crippled One will not find them,” Absalom answered.

“Ye mean Aoife?” Bailey asked puzzled.

“No, the Gates of Bone and Horn,” Absalom answered. “Aoife is linked to them. When she is born the gates will be born again with her, here.”

Bailey felt her heart clench with fear, and a sharp pain in her belly followed. She gasped and Ian went to her side concerned.

“Absalom, are ye sayin I have ta birth an elder Phay N these gates?” Bailey asked afraid. Absalom looked at her solemnly his eyes holding every year he lived.

“Yes, and I can sense it has already begun,” Absalom said.

Bailey could only hang her head, the weight on her only growing heavier. So it had begun.

#fantasy #series #please read #writing #fairies #dragons

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maddie-grove · 5 years

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: March/April

PLAYLIST

“Hey, Little Songbird” from Hadestown (The Wager)

“New Slang” by the Shins (Spinners)

“Auto de Fé” from Candide (October Wind)

“Let’s Generalize about Men” from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure)

“Juice” by Lizzo (Shrill)

“Love’s Been Good to Me” by Frank Sinatra (Sex and Violence)

“Heroes” by David Bowie (Cracker Jackson)

“Listen to Her Heart” by Tom Petty and the Hearbreakers (The Cybil War)

“Satellite of Love” by Lou Reed (The T.V. Kid)

“Distant Shores” by Chad and Jeremy (Love’s Willing Servant)

“Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?” by the Mountain Goats (The Cartoonist)

“Ghost World” by Aimee Mann (Summer of the Swans)

“Floating Vibes” by Surfer Blood (Not the Duke’s Darling)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010): Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, a nineteen-year-old nobleman in medieval Sicily, loses his entire fortune to a tidal wave and soon finds himself on the brink of starvation. That’s when the Devil comes knocking with an offer: endless money for the rest of his life if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This is a retelling of a lesser-known Sicilian fairy tale and, next to the sublime Breath, it’s Napoli’s best work. Instead of taking the easy route of making Don Giovanni a stupid brat who learns to be nicer and more frugal, she complicates things by making him sweet and resourceful from the beginning, as well as callow and somewhat thoughtless. (His first action after seeing the damage wrought by the tidal wave is to go out and help bury the dead for three straight days.) This makes the message of the book more powerful; if someone deep-down good and intelligent can stand to think more about others and help the less fortunate, then clearly that lesson applies to everyone, not just the worst sort of rich people. Don Giovanni’s unprocessed grief over his long-dead parents and longing for human connection are also very affecting.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Spinners by Donna Jo Napoli and Richard Tchen (1999): In medieval-ish Scotland, a poor tailor longs to marry his sweetheart, a spinner, but her father will only consent if the tailor can show he’ll be a good provider. The tailor tries to make a dress that appears to be made of gold and succeeds; however, he still loses his sweetheart to a rich miller and his health to a magic spinning wheel (as one does). Years later, the sweetheart’s daughter, now a skilled spinner in her own right, finds herself in trouble when a king gets the wrong impression about her being able to spin straw into gold. File this one under “cool idea, half-assed execution.” After a certain point, Napoli seems to run out of her own ideas and just follows “Rumpelstiltskin” to its original conclusion. This wouldn’t be great for any fairy-tale retelling, but the ludicrous “Rumpelstiltskin” needs more reworking than most. Also, the tailor’s sweetheart is such an ableist tool! I’d get it if she chose the rich miller out of concern for financial security, but she just dumps the tailor because the magic spinning wheel basically gave him a supernatural stroke and she thinks it made him evil? You can do better, baby!

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Cartoonist by Betsy Byars (1978): Alfie Mason, a quiet eleven-year-old, takes refuge from his unhappy family in the tiny attic of his ramshackle house, drawing faintly absurd cartoons. Then his ne’er-do-well older brother Bubba loses his job, prompting a way-too-excited Mrs. Mason to decide to renovate the attic into a bedroom...so Alfie barricades himself in the attic and throws the family into chaos without saying a word. I first read this book when I was eleven, and even then I found it deeply upsetting. Mrs. Mason seems incapable of seeing anyone but Bubba as a full human being, and she never regrets hurting Alfie or her daughter Alma in order to benefit her eldest. The best Alfie and Alma can do is call her out on it--Alfie through his silent protest, Alma by finally standing up for herself and her little brother--and try to move on. It’s certainly an unvarnished message for a middle-grade novel, but it’s not a bad one, given that some parents are just like that.

Shrill by Lindy West (2016): In this memoir, Lindy West reflects on her personal experiences with fatphobia, the general strangeness of having a human body, abortion, the ethics of comedy, and Internet trolls, among other subjects. This book was genuinely inspiring and amusing to me at a time when I greatly needed a lot of confidence and some laughs, and for that I am eternally grateful. The humor can feel very social-media-circa-2015, but there are worse things than a book capturing a specific moment.

Cracker Jackson by Betsy Byars (1985): Eleven-year-old “Cracker” Jackson Hunter realizes that Alma, his beloved former babysitter, is being physically abused by her husband. Even though his divorced parents forbid it and Alma herself warns him against angering her husband, he tries his best to help her, with mixed results. By all rights, this middle-grade novel should be a tonal mess--Jackson and his best friend Goat get involved in some legit Wacky Schemes--but instead it’s a moving portrait of a kid who has to deal with gut-wrenching adult realities while also navigating sixth-grade drama. I also loved Jackson’s three parental figures. They’re all flawed--Jackson’s mom is a worrywart about stuff that doesn’t matter, his dad can’t hold a conversation with him without lapsing into Dracula impressions, and Alma sometimes treats him more like a peer than a kid--but they all clearly care about him and try to make things okay.

Not the Duke’s Darling by Elizabeth Hoyt (2018): Years ago, a horrific murder and a dubious attempt at revenge tore apart the lives of Christopher Renshawe and Lady Freya de Moray. Now he’s a widowed duke with severe claustrophobia and a blackmailer on his case, while she’s an undercover spy for a secret society of Scottish witches who help women. (Awesome.) (Also some of them are lesbians.) When they end up at the same house party, she vows to keep hating him for wronging her family, but does that last long? No, because they’re reasonably good at communicating and can appreciate each other’s goals! This spooky Georgian romance didn’t knock my socks off, but it’s a good start to Hoyt’s new Greycourt series and it has a light touch with the serious issues it handles.

Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (2019): Violetta Beauchamps, a sixty-nine-year-old* bookkeeper, is cheated out of her pension by her landlord boss. In desperation, she hatches her own retirement plan: swindling Bertrice Martin, a wealthy seventy-three-year-old widow, by pretending to be her insolvent nephew’s landlady. Bertrice has refused to pay her nephew’s debts on principle, but she’s willing to make an exception if Violetta will help pester him into vacating his lodgings. Shenanigans and old-lady romance ensue. This mid-Victorian-set romance novella is like an ambiguous image (for example: that picture that’s either a vase or two faces in profile). Look at it as the tale of two L.M.-Montgomery-style elderly women falling in love, and it’s delightful; look at it for deep social commentary, and it’s pretty simplistic and sometimes even callous. I enjoyed it, but it only works on certain levels.

Summer of the Swans by Betsy Byars (1970): Lately, fourteen-year-old Sara Godfrey has been feeling awkward and out of charity with everyone: her absentee father, her plainspoken aunt, her beautiful older sister, the other kids at school, and even her little brother Charlie, who has been mostly nonverbal and easily disoriented since sustaining serious brain damage during a childhood illness. When Charlie goes missing in the night, though, her only thought is to find him. Despite loving Byars, I avoided this Newberry winner as a kid because it looked kind of boring. It is a little sedate in a classic-American-coming-of-age-story way--part “The Scarlet Ibis,” part Judy Blume--but I still loved Sara, who is always ready to throw down, and I found the depiction of Charlie to be surprisingly sensitive for the time. (The language is outdated, but the passages from Charlie’s POV aren’t condescending, plus he isn’t killed off, as I initially feared.) The descriptions of the coal-ravaged West Virginia countryside are also very evocative.

The TV Kid by Betsy Byars (1974): Lenny, a preteen living with his single mom at the kitschy Kentucky motel she owns, struggles in school and has no friends. (His family moves around a lot and he probably has a learning disability.) He has two sources of solace: watching TV and sneaking into the abandoned lake houses in his neighborhood. One day, though, his favorite hobbies get him into trouble. This was one of my favorite Byars books as a kid, even though I was not familiar with the TV landscape of 1974. I liked it a little less this time, but not because it was dated; instead, I was disconcerted by how pro-getting-bitten-by-a-rattlesnake it is. Also, a significant portion of the story is devoted to a child suffering horrible pain from a snakebite, which is harder to take as an adult reader. Still, it’s got some of that classic Byars melancholy.

The Cybil War by Betsy Byars (1981): Eleven-year-old Simon has had a crush on his classmate Cybil for years, because she does awesome stuff like advocate for more active roles for girls in the yearly school pageants. He’s not inspired to act on his feelings, though, until his awful best friend Tony decides he likes Cybil and starts talking shit to her about Simon. There’s a lot to like about this book. Cybil, with her nonchalant confidence and kindness, is a wonderful character, and Simon’s thorough admiration for her is adorable. I also like how Byars ties Simon’s complicated feelings about his deadbeat dad to his efforts to navigate small-scale fifth-grade drama; both weigh heavily on him, and Byars is never condescending about this. Yet the book’s not Byars’s best, mostly because of the lack of generosity towards Cybil’s fat friend Harriet and, to a lesser extent, Tony.

Sex and Violence by Carrie Mesrobian (2013): Seventeen-year-old Evan doesn’t do serious relationships, instead preferring to hook up with girls and ghost them when he starts having feels. (His family moves around a lot and he’s got some trauma.) Then one girl’s jealous ex orchestrates a horrific assault on them both, leading Evan’s distant widowed dad to take his traumatized son back to their Minnesota hometown. It turns out okay. I liked this novel a lot more once I accepted it as an intentionally messy coming-of-age novel, rather than an issue novel...but it was still a little too messy for its own good. I felt like I was supposed to condemn Evan for having casual sex, something that’s both morally neutral and natural enough for a teen who moves every year, yet the narrative all but endorses his contempt for lower-class girls. I was also uncomfortable with the revelation that Evan was a survivor of statutory rape. It seemed like he was being punished by the narrative only for hyper-sexuality that clearly stemmed from trauma--with a physical assault with some strong sexual implications, no less--but let off the hook for his thoughtless middle-class-boy prejudices. I did feel for him, though, and that carried me through most of the book.

October Wind by Susan Wiggs (1991): In late-fifteenth-century Spain, Cristóbal Colón (aka Christopher Columbus) tries to convince Queen Isabella to fund a westward expedition. Meanwhile, nobleman Joseph Sarmiento learns an enormous secret about his background and must decide whether to alter the course of his life. During this time, Rafael Viscaino, a young scribe, strives to rise in the world while his friends, aspiring doctor Catalina and cheerful but troubled half-Roma Santiago, have their own struggles. This historical novel (which just barely qualifies as a romance) has a lot of potential, but it wastes too much time on Columbus and Isabella, plus it gives them more credit than they deserve. Wiggs should’ve focused on Joseph, the sexiest and most likable character, and made more of his eventual relationship with Anacaona, a Guanahani woman. Or else she should’ve just made it a poly romance with Rafael/Catalina/Santiago, which she comes this close to doing.

Love’s Willing Servant by Avis Worthington (1980): Left penniless by her father and betrayed by her childhood sweetheart, Lettice Clifford decides to take herself to her sister’s home in colonial Virginia and get a rich husband. She’s surprised to find herself sharing a ship with Geoffrey Finch, a neighbor who has been betrayed by his evil twin and sold into indentured servitude. When his indenture ends up getting bought by her brother-in-law, they grow closer, but multiple creepy people and Bacon’s Rebellion threaten their love. Maybe I’ve just seen too much, but I was pleasantly surprised by the relative inoffensiveness of this Old School romance. Geoffrey is a reasonable person, there’s not a sexual assault every other chapter, and the racism issues are more “the black characters should be more central” than “this is just a defense of slavery” or “calm down with the n-word, Quentin Tarantino.” These small mercies aside, I also enjoyed the absolutely bonkers plot and the use of historical details. I didn’t care much for Lettice, though, because she’s usually either boring or kind of a dick.

*Nice.

#books #reading #theme of the bi-month: his family moves around a lot #rewritten because tumblr ate it

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mysticseasons · 7 years

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Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir's Remarkable Teachers

(2012 - Ontario College of Teachers article)

OLYMPIC GOLD MEDALLISTS Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir are living proof that sometimes remarkable people come in pairs. And just as a strong figure skating partnership has brought success to their careers, it took a pair of inspiring and understanding teachers to change each of their lives as students.

Tessa Virtue was six when she started to skate, and as a result her experience at school was different than that of most students. Her dedication to the sport meant having to adapt to rigorous schedules and miss out on many things, including morning classes. These challenges came as early as Grade 4. Fortunately for Virtue, she was never alone in the struggle.

“It was thanks to accommodating teachers who believed in me and understood my training commitments that I was able to succeed,” she says.

Throughout the years, Virtue attended a number of schools and met a series of teachers who made a difference. Harry Kemperman, OCT, a career studies teacher at Bluevale CI in Waterloo, was one of them.

It was thanks to accommodating teachers who believed in me and understood my training commitments that I was able to succeed.

“I moved to Waterloo when I was 13. I had skipped Grade 8 completely — for scheduling reasons — so I started high school younger and shorter than everyone else,” Virtue recalls. “I was even missing a couple of front teeth. I was new to the school and it was a very intimidating experience. But Mr. Kemperman made me feel welcome and supported, and he always encouraged my skating. He would send me motivational emails. I was really glad to talk to him when I was away.”

(Above: Tessa Virtue celebrates her Olympic gold with Happy Kemperman, OCT, at Bluevale CI).

Although she had Kemperman for only half a semester, she’s still in touch with him today and considers him a friend.

Kemperman’s memories of Virtue are just as fond: “She completely impressed me. She really knew what she wanted. She was driven, motivated and incredibly organized.”

Despite missing a fair amount of class time, Virtue finished with the highest mark in Kemperman’s course.

“There was a research assignment that the students had on what career they wanted to explore,” Kemperman says. “All the hockey players were researching how to become professional hockey players —or something connected to sports. I was expecting Tessa to research within the skating community but soon realized that her interests extended far beyond. Her presentation was about lawyers, and she did a fabulous job. That’s when I realized what a well-rounded kid she was.”

When it came to her skating, Kemperman says, Virtue was quiet and never one to blow her own horn. “Only after I’d realized that one of her competitions was in the Czech Republic did it dawn on me just what kind of skating potential she had.” Little did he know that five years later Virtue would personally invite him to a homecoming celebration in Ilderton, after she and Moir won gold in Vancouver.

Kemperman hopes that Virtue will keep chasing her dreams.

(Above: Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue catch up with Daniella Czunder, OCT, at signing event in 2009).

“She’s got so much to offer in so many ways, and I’m curious where she’ll end up, especially in her off-ice career. I know it will be something that she’ll be passionate about and go after 100 per cent.”

After Virtue’s first two years of high school, she moved to Detroit for training and found herself crossing the border into Windsor to attend school. She soon met Daniella Czudner, OCT, a teacher who went above and beyond for her students. Virtue was placed in Czudner’s Grade 11 English class at Holy Names HS, and an instant friendship developed that continues today.

“I could relate to her on a different level,” says Virtue. “She was always supportive of me and my schedule. Not every teacher understood the kind of commitment it took to train and compete.”

Czudner not only helped Virtue overcome academic hurdles, she encouraged her to have a healthy social life. “By Grade 11, people have their cliques,” says Virtue. “She [Czudner] showed me the ropes and introduced me to people. By the time I left that school in Windsor, it felt like home.”

The admiration is mutual. Czudner describes Virtue as “the most mature, focused and determined person I’ve ever met — and I’m not just talking about the skating. I remember how she went to the World Junior Championships and made sure she handed in her English essay before she left.”

In just a year they forged many special memories. Virtue and Czudner attended the school play together, travelled to New York City on a field trip —Virtue's first non-skating-related excursion — and even enjoyed a home-cooked meal where Virtue met Czudner’s family.

Virtue’s favorite subject was English, and according to Czudner she was a talented writer. Czudner still has a poem Virtue wrote about the importance of being prepared.

Czudner went to the 2010 Winter Olympics to see Virtue perform. She marvels at how her former student went from being a normal kid to a national celebrity in what seems like a very short period of time.

Virtue’s partner, Scott Moir, has reached the same level of celebrity. And although he has travelled the world and won countless awards for his skating, some of his fondest memories are from his public school days in Ilderton. He attributes this to having great teachers.

“I come from a very small town and went to Oxbow PS, which was very intimate,” says Moir. “I grew up with the same class of 30 kids from kindergarten to Grade 8, so I had a very normal school experience.”

(Above: Paul Marshman (left) and Gary Groulx OCT, (right) pose with Moir at Oxbow PS in 2010).

“He had a great personality — it was easy to relate to him,” Moir says. “He taught music, a class that not many of us liked, and made it about the history of rock and roll. It really grabbed our attention. It made school cool, and for Grade 7 students that’s really important. Learning about The Kinks and rock and roll bands was awesome.”

Marshman says that Moir was a hard-working student and an academic talent. “I remember his mother asking during a parent-teacher interview, ‘Is Scotty getting his work done?’ And I said, ‘Alma, he’s the only boy who always has his math finished. I never have to chase him for anything.’ He was dedicated. His parents had instilled in him that he wouldn’t be a skater unless he kept up his school work.”

Grade 8 was an equally important time for Moir, a year of discovery.

“I loved math,” he says. “The academic achievement that I’m most proud of is my Grade 8 math award.”

Grade 8 was also when he met Gary Groulx, OCT, a teacher who has left a lasting impression — they remain friends to this day.

“Mr. Groulx was definitely a huge part of my math award,” says Moir. He taught me that just because my schedule was different it didn’t mean I couldn’t learn and accomplish as much as the other students —a huge lesson that I would take forward into my secondary school education.”

For Groulx, Moir was not only a hard-working, dedicated and focused student but also an inspiring one.

“Scott gave me a necktie for Christmas, and on the back it said, ‘The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary.’ I still have that tie and wear it on special occasions,” says Groulx.

Moir also gave Groulx a book of motivational sayings that he continues to use.

“Every week I put one of them on the whiteboard,” says Groulx. “I guess he does have a legacy here; he’s still a part of my classroom.”

It was in a similar classroom, years ago, that Groulx realized what an outgoing and sensitive person Moir really was.

“We had a boy transfer from another school who had some behavioural issues,” says Groulx.

The new student was described as being almost six feet tall and very intimidating.

“I asked that everyone welcome him and make him feel comfortable, but it was Scott who took this upon himself. The student really flourished, and I’m sure part of it was due to the friendships that Scott helped him develop. He and Scott are still the best of friends.”

After winning gold in 2010, Moir went back to Oxbow to speak at an assembly. Groulx was impressed when Moir readily passed his medal around to the kids. “There was no concern. It was typical of how he’s always conducted himself and interacted with everybody.”

It’s clear that in the eyes of their favourite teachers, Virtue and Moir are a class act. Striking a successful balance between athletics and academics is what helped give this gold medal couple their winning edge.

(x)

#Tessa and Scott #School #I love this article #2012 #Made me think of my favourite teachers

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Episode #40 - Fiction by Nicky Drayden and Pear Nuallak

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She Shines Like a Moon

by Pear Nuallak

It’s cold in London but you glow with warmth. You travel limbless and limned from your core, throat crossed with black silk just as it was in your first days. Yes, you were naked then, washed clean in monsoons, dried by storm winds. When was the last time your sly hunt was wreathed in rice flowers? Do you recall how dtaan-tree fronds stroked your secret self as you rose, star-bound?

[Full transcript after the cut.]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 40 for May 23, 2017. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing these stories with you.

Today we have two reprints, “She Shines Like A Moon” by Pear Nuallak and “The Simplest Equation” by Nicky Drayden.

Pear Nuallak is a writer and illustrator whose work has appeared in Interfictions, Unlikely Academia, and The Future Fire. Born in London and raised by Bangkokian artists, they studied History of Art jointly at SOAS and UCL, specializing in Thai art. Thai and British recipes appear semi-regularly on their food blog, The Furious Pear Pie, and they have an upcoming illustration this summer in Lackington’s magazine.

Nicky Drayden is a Systems Analyst who dabbles in prose when she’s not buried in code. She resides in Austin, Texas where being weird is highly encouraged, if not required. Her debut novel The Prey of Gods is forthcoming from Harper Voyager this summer, set in a futuristic South Africa brimming with demigods, robots, and hallucinogenic hijinks.

She Shines Like a Moon

by Pear Nuallak

Now your London home shivers you into clothes. A length of black at your neck doesn’t suffice; you add to old habits—night journeys sensibly hatted, the frank, coiled shapes below your neck wrapped in silk layered with batting and wool, each piece hand-made by the wearer herself. No other clothier would believe your particular sensitivities; only krasue know krasue.

(You make a fine new flying outfit each season. You like having things, you’re the lord and lady of things.)

London’s cross-hatched with forgotten waterways, the Krungthep of the Occident, murky and decadent. The Heath hides the Fleet in its hills, earth over arteries water-fat; it surfaces as a rivulet, gleams and whispers and winks knuckle high in leaf-lined silt before it talks away, louder and deeper into the festering heart of the city, but you drink it here, the source.

The tumulus field brings food best savoured like an egg with bael-sap yolk—slowly, thoughtfully, the red of it so rich on your tongue after eating bland pale without. In the viaduct pond you dump his fixie and clean your face.

After the meal you play with foxes. Your city friends have great thumping tails, on hind legs they yelp delightedly.

(When you first heard sharp cries in the hills you thought it was another krasue. Foxes came instead, sniffed you wonderingly, ears flicking. You didn’t find each other appetising in the least.

Their company is brief, precious: city foxes live a year each.)

You peer into the Hollow Oak. When you were new here you asked your first fox friend, lovely old Chalk Scrag, if this was their den.

No, friend, no—my burrow smells like forest all dark and close, she says. This smells like witch. One day I will show you the best smells of my home, yes, yes, but not that witch tree, no; that is hers to show.

You wonder if she’s shy. You think about whether she’s a person who also knows what it’s like to be apart from others. Under the bark and earth there’s always the smell of black tea and sugared fruit, sometimes cake, sometimes curry.

That one’s never come out, says Liquorice Grin, who counts Chalk Scrag as eightieth great-grandparent. She is busy. Leaves us gifts, but never comes out to play with us like you do, friend.

Four score years you’ve hunted here and no corner of Heath is unexplored but this. (You’re shy, too.)

Before setting off home, you linger by the Oak as you always do.

She is shy, she is busy, but you can ask.

So for a change, tonight you say, “Your home smells wonderful,” into the hollow. Your eerie heart beats strong as you fly home.

Strong teeth and supple tongue open the night-hatch to your flat. You shed your flying clothes and look at yourself on the bed; in your own light you consider the soft limbs, the clean red hollow between your shoulders. What are you truly hungry for?

You enfold your secret self with a body that accepts you neatly and completely.

The black silk remains at your throat.

It is good to lay your head on the pillow.

In the morning your longer self stretches her limbs, washes, thinks about being ‘she’ as she pulls on a turquoise jumper, so good on skin the colour of tamarind flesh, a long skirt in pig’s blood, Malvolio tights, black boots laced up.

Before a mirror she wanders her hands over the pleasing stubble on the back and sides of her head, dressing the length on top into a sleek pompadour.

(Your grandmothers’ hairstyle is now subculture fashionable but you wear it anyway, you’re the age of two grandmothers together and want to remember what you had.)

The morning walk to the cafe brings smells from the flats: running water and clean skin, burnt toast, bacon fat sizzling, hot dusty radiators. There’s strange comfort in witnessing others’ routines.

Coffee is taken quickly before the man with a rough-haired jack comes for his—tame dogs never like you, the cafe’s too small for a scene.

For two decades you’ve been teaching. You like interaction structured around things you know and love, boundaries defined. Every 5 years you make yourself move; you enjoy this while you can.

Knitting today. To make the cowl you’ve planned, students discard needles and knit like this: thick yarn knotted onto wrists, loops drawn over fists, wool on skin, weaving on flesh. Your students’ concentration is your delight; it staves the hunger somewhat.

Once you tended silkworms and cotton bolls, had a great loom under the belly of your stilt house; your family once wore the fabric you grew, span, wove.

Now it’s only you, the narrowness of your single self.

(But the cowls will warm your students, so this will do.)

That evening returns you to your alma mater. Female Abjection and the Monstrous Feminine in Thai Cinema, the email said. Open to all. It’s sure to be diverting.

You’ve not yet been to the Bloomsbury buildings—when you studied languages, it was the School of Oriental Studies at 2 Finsbury Circus and you were a man hatted and trousered, as it sometimes suits your fancy. The institution’s re-invented itself: cosmopolitan, international, politically active, inclusive. (Coy about its hand in training Empire: to control a people you know their tongues, their hearts.)

You sit and are lectured on a self Othered through others’ eyes. Except for one Thai man, the lecturer cites theorists and academics like her, white and Western.

She says, “There are no feminists in Thailand—Thai women don’t really identify as feminists; it’s just not done. People talk about South-East Asian women having power and ownership, but…” she shrugs.

(It’s never occurred to the lecturer to ask what a Thai woman thinks of herself, let alone a krasue’s view of her own condition.)

You think of spitting in her tea. Wouldn’t make much difference to the taste; your lips are primed. But her words will survive a thousand years: she’s adding to the sum of human knowledge. She doesn’t need your curse—no, it wouldn’t make much difference at all.

There is loyalty, still, though you’ve been here so long and it’s your countrywomen who fear you most, who have always kept their distance from you, who would reject and destroy and silence you instantly if they knew your tastes.

But you were made by them. You are their monster. It’s hard to believe others would believe you. The hunger you’ve mastered, mostly, but grieving anger and loneliness thunders through your whole interior.

You suck your teeth and go home, fill yourself with sweet warm rice. A collection on your kitchen shelves: rice scraped white, rice left red or brown or black, rice so delicious wives forget husbands.

(Is it good or bad you’ve only found husband-forgetting rice? Perhaps men are more easily forgotten by wives. You’ve no inclination for husbands: the sum of your knowledge on this subject is that they’re common.)

Once your fork and spoon are closed, an invitation appears, curling hand tracing bright in the air:

You are invited to

A Midnight Cake Tasting

for the delight of the Witch Ambrosia

at the Hollow Oak, Hampstead Heath

You hesitate, chewing your lip. Perhaps she’s only inviting you out of kindness, politeness, obligation. Perhaps she won’t be there. Perhaps this is a trick. But she’s asked, and you accept.

You go as yourself, your honest, smallest self. When the clock strikes the hour you hover, unsure.

“Come in, love, I’ve been waiting so long,” says Ambrosia.

The witch leads you in, steps winding like shell chambers into the earth. Her home smells like a home should, is full of things neatly kept, herbs bunched, cables sorted. In the lamp light you see her fine umber self dressed in a gown of fresh plum, face framed with raincloud hair in a thousand braids. You know at once she is splendid.

“Oh, is that for me?” she says as you give her a rich saffron scarf. Thanks is a gentle touch to your cheek.

The table is spread. Together you enjoy black rum cake and rose-bright sorrel, dark fruits wondrously spiced.

You begin with, “I thought I’d say hello.”

“So did I,” says Ambrosia, “it was about time.”

“Will you come with me tonight?” (why are you so awkward, what could she possibly—)

“I was thinking you’d never ask,” she smiles.

Up above, Liquorice Grin says, Ah, you’ve brought a new lovely friend.

You dance together, fox fur coppered in ghost light. Ambrosia shines like a moon. Your heart shouts. You are full up of her.

END

The Simplest Equation

by Nicky Drayden

I’m doodling in the margins of my Math 220 syllabus when she walks into the classroom like a shadow, like a nothing, like an oil slick with pigtails. She scans the empty seats in the most calculating manner and I shudder when she spots the one next to me. Her knees bend all the wrong ways in her jeans as she walks up my aisle, and her head is a near perfect ellipsoid that could’ve fallen out of any geometry primer. She sets her backpack on the floor between us, then maneuvers into the chair with the grace of a lame giraffe.

“I hope I’m in the right place,” she says as she finally settles—her English impeccable, though she exhales the words more than speaks them, typical of her kind. “Partial Differential Equations?”

I nod, trying not to notice all those rows of tiny pointed white teeth crammed into her mouth, but then she smiles and it becomes impossible not to. I swallow hard, somehow managing to extend my hand.

“I’m Mariah,” I say, my eyes tracing along the brown of my skin until it intersects the blue-black of hers.

“Kwalla,” she says. “Two syllables. Not like the bear.”

I force a laugh. It comes out easier than expected.

“Nice doodle,” she says, looking at the squares and swirls and meandering lines. “Very symmetrical.”

“Mmm…” I purse my lips and cock my head, then with a single tap on the screen, I reset my syllabus to its virginal form.

She’s not the first Ahkellan I’ve met. There are a couple hundred here on campus. They come to Stanford when they can’t get into Vrinchor Academy or Byshe, or any of the other prestigious schools in their system. Bring us your next best brightest, has become our new school motto. Yale, Harvard, and the other Ivy League schools split a couple dozen Ahkellans between them, but California’s consistent temperatures are much more appealing to a race that goes into involuntary stasis when the weather dips below forty-three degrees.

After brief introductions, Professor Gopal drones on about semilinear equations. I listen and take notes attentively, afraid to let anything slip past me. I used to love math. Now it’s the bane of my existence, always more of the same lifeless problems. But I’ve got too many credits and too little money to think about changing majors now. So I buckle down and frequently pull all-nighters just to squeak by with Bs.

I glance over at Kwalla who’s busy solving problem sets on her notebook, two chapters ahead of the professor already. This class is probably a joke to her, just a way to rack up a few credits before applying for an interstellar transfer. But she seems pleasant enough, and none of the other Ahkellans I’ve met have ever shown anything that resembled a sense of humor, or an appreciation for art for that matter.

“Hey,” I whisper, keeping the resentment out of my voice. “You looking for a study partner?”

Kwalla nods, then smiles at me again. I desperately resist the urge to protect my soft spots.

Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, we meet at Meyer Library, hustling through the stacks for table space among towers of old, dusty books. When my grades slip, we add another study session Saturday afternoons in her dorm room. It smells vaguely of sandalwood, and the paneled doors of her closet are neatly lined with posters of angst-ridden Ahkellans. Their slick, black faces are dour and their postures nonchalant—reminiscent of late twenty-first century brood bands, stuff my parents used to listen to.

We sit cross-legged on her bed… well, I sit cross-legged, and she sits in some variation of the lotus position that teeters on an optical illusion with all those joints of hers. Our notebooks are spread out between us. Kwalla’s explaining Fourier transforms to me for the third time, and we’re both beyond frustrated. I try to listen, but my mind drifts, and before I know it I’ve created a doodle that spans half the page, covering the miniscule amount of calculations I’d started.

Kwalla sees and makes a purring sound I’ve come to recognize as mild irritation.

“Sorry,” I grumble. I lean back against the wall and stare out the window at her prized lake view of Lagunita. Students horseplay on its shore, blue-gray water lapping at their ankles. They laugh, living life and enjoying the “college experience,” while I’m cooped up in here, breathing stale circulated air and staring at integral curves until my eyes bleed.

I heave a sigh. “Maybe I should drop the class. Drop out of college. Drop off the face of the Earth while I’m at it.”

Kwalla smirks. “You’re depressed. Good.”

“Good?” I slam my notebook shut, turn away from her, and fume like a shuttle on its launch pad. Just when I was beginning to think she was a pretty decent person, or Ahkellan. Or whatever.

“Yes, it means you’re close to understanding the story of this equation. It’s a classic tale of love and loss. It’s meant to be depressing, yet beautiful at the same time.”

I roll my eyes as she resets to a clean page and starts the equation again. She works downward, shuffling constants and variables, swaying like a concert pianist. When she’s done, a single tear trickles down her cheek.

She glances up at me and notices that I’m crying, too. “You saw the story this time?” she asks with hopefulness in her voice.

I slowly shake my head, more confused now than ever. “Not even close. I was just trying to figure out how to tell my parents that I’ve wasted their hard-earned money and the last two and a half years of my life. I hate math.”

Kwalla recoils as if my mathematical slur negates her very existence. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Give me a break,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I might not get your ‘stories’ but you don’t get how incredibly hard this is for me. I wasn’t born a genius like you, solving proofs while still in the womb.”

From the grit in my words, I expect Kwalla to ask me to leave, but instead she lays a spindly hand on my knee.

“I’ve worked hard to get here, Mariah, but what you say is partially true. Math is our first language, and we crave it when we’re born like you crave your mother’s milk. It is our first friend. Our first love. Our first everything.” Kwalla pauses, face riddled with uncertainty, then draws a black pouch from her backpack. She unties the drawstring and slips a large, tear-shaped crystal into the palm of her hand. Hundreds of facets speckle the ceiling with light, so beautiful. “I’ve never shared this with anyone,” she says timidly.

“It’s amazing…”

“I haven’t even started yet,” she says with a laugh, then leans close so I can get a better look. Foreign symbols are etched into each cut side of the crystal. “It’s a yussalun, a calling piece. It’s similar to your auditory instruments, except… well, it’s probably easier just to show you.”

Kwalla holds the piece up in front of her like a trumpet, but several inches away from her mouth. Her thin fingers tap across the facets and the air above the piece crystallizes into an intricate fractal pattern, a living snowflake that blooms sideways and then stretches for the ceiling with all its might. Buds gracefully unfurl to the rhythm of an inaudible beat, stirring up a sense of wonder within me. Then the ice crystals slow, becoming thinner and more delicate until they peter out with a hopelessness that fills me with inexplicable grief.

“That was the equation we’ve been working on,” she says after we’ve both had a chance to catch our breath. “Now do you see?”

I nod, feeling wounded and vulnerable. There’s a terrible rawness inside my chest that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and yet I crave more. I need more. “Do another,” I whisper.

So she shares her favorite stories with me, and together we sit pensive for mysteries, hold our breath for thrillers, and giggle at the titillation of cheap romance—each fractal evoking an emotion, pure and intense and untamed. After the sun no longer shines through her window, each fractal leaves a slight chill in the air, so we slip halfway under the covers and Kwalla shares with me a fractal with a perfect heart at its base that dazes me with childlike joy—an equation simple enough to solve itself. Then we throw the covers over our heads and I can’t tell where I end and she begins, so I giggle and Kwalla giggles, then she laughs, and I laugh.

Our professor posts the scores to our midterm exam outside the classroom door. With great trepidation, I type in the last four digits of my student ID and the page slowly scrolls down, pointlessly melodramatic. My finger shakes as I trace my way across the screen over failure and mediocrity and more failure until I reach the grade for last week’s exam. My chest explodes with delight when I see the 98.5.

I’m so giddy I can barely stay seated as I wait for Kwalla to arrive. Thanks to her, I’ve rediscovered my passion for math. I busy myself solving practice problems that tell tales of triumph in the face of adversity. I’ll pick the best one and share it with Kwalla tonight. In these last couple weeks, she’s taught me how to play her yussalun, turning water molecules in the air into icy fractals the size of a toy poodle, though mine pale in comparison to hers. The bluntness of my fingertips makes it difficult to tap the right facets, but what I lack in accuracy I make up for in perseverance. I’ve caused more than my fair share of fractals to wilt, however, when I get it right, math and story collide, forming something exponentially more magnificent than the sum of its parts.

Her seat is still empty. I wait as long as I can stand it, then ditch class a few minutes into Professor Gopal’s lecture. The phone rings and rings as I race to Kwalla’s dorm. Through her door, I can hear her speaking in an Ahkellan dialect sounding something like a rooster trying to fog up a mirror. A deeper voice follows with the tin ring of an IVT, an instantaneous voice transmission, cheapest way to call intragalaxy. Against my better judgment, I knock softly. Kwalla answers with an uncontainable smile, and nods for me to have a seat at her desk.

Her conversation stretches on for another ten minutes, and as she paces barefoot across the blue carpet, I admire all the ways her legs bend from beneath her skirt, and how the fluorescent light overhead glints on her skin—like iridescent rainbows set adrift across the night’s sky.

“I can’t believe it!” she shrills after she finally disconnects. “It couldn’t be more perfect! I’ve been accepted, Mariah. I’m going to Byshe!”

“That’s wonderful!” I say, and despite the rip in my heart, I really mean it.

Getting into Byshe is worse odds than matching all the balls in the Bippho Trans-Galactic pick-twelve. Optimism has never been my strong suit, but maybe if I study hard and get my grades up, I could apply to Byshe next year. Kwalla could tutor me the rest of this semester and maybe even a few weeks into the summer. I nod to myself, impervious to the laws of probability and blissfully ignoring the fact that I can barely afford out-of-state tuition, much less out of solar system.

“I’ve got some news, too,” I say.

Kwalla sits down next to me, and her eyes get wide and glassy. “You passed!”

“Nu-uh. I nearly aced it!”

“This calls for a celebration!” She pulls her yussalun out from its pouch and hands it to me. “Here, you play something nice while I pack.” Her voice trails off at the end, a whirlwind of excitement deflated by a sudden prick from reality.

“Pack?”

“If I don’t catch the next shuttle up …” Kwalla says, voice pitched high and words running together as she tries to stitch together some sort of excuse for wanting to get the hell out of here. I don’t blame her, not with the life she has waiting for her across the stars. Kwalla tilts her head forward, and after a weighty silence, she leans against my shoulder. “I’m leaving for Byshe in the morning.”

I can’t let her go without showing her how I feel, so after she’s fallen asleep, I slip out of bed and onto a spot on the floor where moonlight from her window falls across my dimly backlit notebook. I work through the whole night, scribbling down the story of us, the fun we’ve had in our short time together, and all the could-have-beens for our future. It becomes unwieldy, our equation, and even with the tiniest font, it still won’t fit on one screen. By the time I finish, my fingers are cramped, my brain is tight, and I can barely see straight. But the story is magnificent, engrossing, tragic.

Careful not to wake her too soon, I cradle the yussalun in my hands and prepare to share. Our story takes nearly thirty minutes to play, and when I’m done, I sit back and let it expand into the room. Two concentric buds sleepily emerge and form a base, then sprout three arms each, spiny like a starfish. They curl and coil, each arm to the beat of its own drummer. I marvel at the beginnings of their different stories, and my heart flutters as I try to keep up with them simultaneously.

At a meter high, I start to rouse Kwalla so she can see it as the first bits of sunlight shimmer across the fractal’s crystalline surface, but just as I lay a soft hand on Kwalla’s shoulder, the fractal begins to wilt. It steals my breath as I watch, my mind churning over the equation, wondering if I’d made a bad calculation or misplayed a note. But I couldn’t have made a mistake, not on something this important.

All at once, the arms spiral up with the grace and might of a dancer, recursive shapes predictable yet mesmerizing. My creation reaches for the ceiling, and I grin in anticipation of the final blossom, but the fractal is thickening like an insatiable sapling and not tapering into delicate buds. I exhale and my breath lingers in the air, coldness striking through my nightshirt as I realize this thing is far from stopping.

“Kwalla!” I scream, lips cracked from the moisture being sucked from the air.

She doesn’t respond and I shake her. Kwalla stirs for a moment, as if trying to fight through impending stasis, but then she goes still.

I take a swing at the fractal with her desk chair, smashing off one of the frosty tendrils, but it grows back with a vengeance until all is symmetrical again. Logic gives way to adrenaline and I scoop Kwalla’s body up into my arms.

“Fire!” I say, over and over through the hallways at the top of my lungs, figuring it will draw more attention than yelling “fractal!”

Someone pulls the alarm, and we all scatter outside and across the street. I rub warmth back into Kwalla’s limbs as onlookers wait for signs of smoke and flames. Of course they never come, and when rumors start circulating about a prank, I think that maybe I’d overreacted. An explosion of terra cotta tiles silences those thoughts as the fractal pierces the roof of Kwalla’s dormitory. Exposed to the night air and the moisture from the nearby lake, the fractal accelerates, busting brick and shattering glass. It’s odd, but no one panics or frets over lost possessions. We just watch, completely captivated.

The fractal doesn’t slow until it’s demolished both wings of Lagunita Court and the adjacent parking lot, and even then, it’s not quite finished. A single thin stalk stretches up for the stars, and it reaches, reaches, reaches—wispy recursions sprouting like a vine on its way to the stratosphere. With some effort, I pull my gaze away and watch the crowd. There’s not a dry eye to be found, including Kwalla’s, her body cradled comfortably against mine.

“I had no idea,” she exhales weakly, “…that you felt so deeply. It’s the most incredible story I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll miss you,” I say before she has a chance to make well-meaning promises we both know it’d be impossible to keep. I savor this moment, because in a few hours, she’ll be on a plane to Houston, just one small step on her long journey home.

There’s a flurry of media coverage and threats of my expulsion, but the Board of Trustees changes its tune when news of the fractal reaches Ahkel and impresses even their most renowned intellectuals. Suddenly I’m no longer a disgraceful delinquent, but one of Stanford’s brightest scholars, and any blemishes on my academic record are written off as me being a genius misunderstood in my own time. I laugh at their antics. At least it distracts me long enough for the numbness inside me to fade.

A week later, my phone hums in my pocket while I’m doodling in Professor Gopal’s class. I fish it out so I can check the caller ID. My heart slips to my toes when I see it’s an IVT number, and I scramble out of the classroom on rubbery legs.

“Hello?” I say into my phone. “Hello?” I say again, harder this time, as if it’ll get my words across subspace faster. There’s only a slight time dilation, but the seconds drag on like days. I hang onto the sounds of rustling static, waiting for Kwalla’s voice.

Only it’s not Kwalla. My disappointment is short lived, however, when the caller identifies herself as the dean of the Mathematics department at Vrinchor Academy. She says she’s eager for the opportunity to take a closer look at how I derived my equations, and that if I’m interested, there’s a spot for me in the upcoming school year, full scholarship. I don’t bother holding back my elation, and even though a billion miles separate us, I’m sure the dean’s ear will be ringing for days.

I return to class and respectfully gather my belongings, though my classmates couldn’t have missed my screams. I nod at Professor Gopal, and he smiles knowingly. I can’t believe I’ll be living a dream, studying under the best minds in the galaxy, devouring math in all its forms. And of course it doesn’t hurt that I’ll be a quick shuttle’s ride from Kwalla, just two planets away.

I race across campus, cutting through manicured lawns, dodging traffic, and pushing myself through the knot of tourists gathered in front of our fractal. I fall to my knees, chest heaving and smiling wider than any sane person ought to. My warmed skin braces me against the deep chill the fractal emits. Despite my best efforts not to look like a complete fool, I still draw stares and the attention of a camera lens or two.

From the corner of my eye, I swear I see our fractal moving. Changing. Of course that’s impossible after all this time—probably just an odd reflection of sunlight or the shadow of a passing cloud. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a date with destiny tonight: a passport to find, flights to book, a whole planet to say goodbye to and above all, I’ve got a new story that’s itching to be told.

END

“She Shines Like a Moon” was originally published in Lackington’s and is copyright Pear Nuallak, 2015.

“The Simplest Equation” was originally published in Space and Time Magazine and is copyright Nicky Drayden 2014.

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Thanks for listening, and I’ll be back soon with a poem by Joanne Rixon, and an original story by A.C. Buchanan.

Episode #40 – Fiction by Nicky Drayden and Pear Nuallak was originally published on GlitterShip

#GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

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billssefton · 6 years

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employee overstepped with a coworker’s tragedy, boss told me to change my ringtone, and more

It’s five answers to five questions. Here we go…

1. My employee alienated a coworker with her opinions about his personal tragedy

I’m a relatively new manager (six months in) and this is my first management job. I’m still getting the hang of things. My boss and everyone above him don’t work in this branch. I am wondering when a manager should get involved in a personal dispute between two employees that has nothing to do with work.

“Robb” is the relative of someone who was murdered. He changed after it. He lives alone, doesn’t celebrate holidays or things, and wants to go through the motions and be left alone. He has been vocal in his personal (not work) life about there being no justice for victims. “Arya” is a newer employee. I don’t know how she found out about Robb because he doesn’t talk about it at work, but she thinks Robb needs to forgive the perpetrator (who got life with no parole) and fight for prisoner rights to fix the prison system, and she told him this a few times. Robb now avoids Arya as much as possible (and she hasn’t made any further comment). Other employees are enabling Robb by dealing with Arya on his behalf.

My conundrum is that all the work is getting done, Robb has not been hostile to Arya (nor has anyone else) and he just avoids her, and no one has complained or brought forward concerns about anything. As a manager, should I be dealing with Robb’s situation or should I leave this alone because it a personal conflict?

Don’t fall into the trap of thinking that personal conflicts are off-limits to you as a manager. If they impact your employees’ work, work environment, or overall satisfaction at work, you can get involved.

If you haven’t already, you should tell Arya clearly and sternly that her comments to Robb were unacceptable and that in the future she needs to stay out of other people’s highly sensitive personal situations. You should also let Robb know that you’ve done that, and that you’re sorry he was subjected to that.

I don’t know how big a deal it is that other people have to deal with Arya on his behalf, and that’s very relevant here. If it’s not very frequent and if it’s not disrupting other people’s work, I’d let this go for a while so that Robb can get some space from her. Even if it is frequent, if you can change the workflow to keep them apart without compromising what you need each of them to be producing (and without overloading anyone else), that might be the smartest path. If that’s not possible, then yeah, at some point you’ll need to talk to Robb and find out what he’ll need to be able to work with Arya again. But if you can give him the grace of some space from her now, that would be a kindness.

2. My boss asked me to change my ringtone

Is it worth it to try to push back when you’re the only one in an office of 10 people asked by your manager to change the ringtone on your personal cell phone? My standard one (that’s the one when anyone calls, but I have distinctive ringtones for certain folks) is the theme from the Beverly Hills Cop movies, and I keep my volume at about 20-25%. Everyone else in the office has their ringtones on full blast. I know because I hear them. One is a particularly shrill old-style telephone ring, and another is the bugle call “Release the Hounds” from a fox hunt.

In any case, mine’s not bad, and it’s not loud, but I’m the only one asked to change it. Is it worth pushing back on?

I mean, I think everyone in your office should be keeping their phones on vibrate; this sounds like way too much jarring noise.

But I don’t think you can push back on this. Your manager has told you that she finds yours in particular to be disruptive (and maybe others have told her that too), and that warrants changing it. Or if you feel strongly about keeping it, then keep your phone on vibrate when you’re at work.

(And actually, even if this request had come from a generally reasonable peer, rather than your manager, I’d say the same thing. It can be hard to work in an office full of other people’s noises, and if someone tells you you’re making a noise that’s particularly driving them round a bend, it’s kind to try to accommodate them if you can do so without major inconvenience. Even if you feel like other people are just as bad!)

3. How can I explain a medical absence without sharing the details?

I am a 30-year old woman working in my first professional role following graduate school. The team I work on is small (eight people) and fairly tight-knit. In two weeks, I am going to be missing a few days of work to have a tubal ligation. This surgery is completely elective and something my husband and I have been discussing for a long time. I’m actually really excited about it.

My issue is that I’m not sure how much I will need to tell my team. As a woman who has never had and does not want children, I am used to getting a lot of unwanted commentary from friends, family and – most annoyingly – strangers about the issue. I know that I’m making the right choice for myself, and I don’t want to open myself up to lectures or judgment from well-meaning coworkers with different value systems.

How do I explain that I will be taking a few days off to recover, without getting into the specifics? I have disclosed the reason for my surgery to my manager, who is very supportive. I’m just not comfortable going into great detail to the rest of the team, and I know they will be curious and ask questions.

You don’t need to tell them anything! Or at least nothing beyond “I’ll be out for a few days” or, if you want, “I’m just having a medical procedure — it’s nothing to worry about.” The idea here isn’t to hide the details out of shame or stigma; the idea is that this is the appropriate language for any medical procedure, because none of them are your coworkers’ business! It’s totally normal not to divulge medical details at work. (The same was true with your boss, actually — you weren’t obligated to share the details with her either, unless you wanted to.)

4. My job doesn’t provide safe parking

I currently have a second job at a restaurant with not a whole lot of parking. On weekend nights, in order to free up more parking for customers, they force us to park in a strip mall parking lot (if we don’t park there, we can be sent home for the night or fired). This parking lot is across a very busy road, past a sketchy gas station, and past a very dark store front. I am a tiny young woman and am forced to walk alone back to my car, usually between 11 p.m. and midnight. I am always in my restaurant uniform and almost always carrying nearly $100 in cash. We have asked several times for a remedy to this situation, and their best answer was that they would drive us to our cars at the end of the night. They’re promised this four or five times, but it still hasn’t happened. In fact, one of our managers has a suspended license so, if he’s closing, it isn’t even possible! They’ve also offered to go get my car for me, which I politely declined because I don’t want anyone else driving my car, god forbid they get in an accident.

I know that employers aren’t technically required to provide parking, but the place they require us to park is owned by other businesses! There is a large supermarket and probably eight other smaller stores in the strip mall and we are effectively stealing their parking. Are they within their bounds legally? Do we have any avenue for action here, or do we just have to suck it up?

They are indeed within their bounds legally. There’s no legal requirement that an employer provide parking to employees. If the lot where they’re telling you to park is marked for those other businesses’ customers, you can point that out, but then they might just shrug and tell you to take public transportation.

Your best bet is probably to push for a solution with a group of your coworkers, which will make you harder to ignore. Insist on the rides-to-cars plan happening, and push for a work-around on the nights the manager with the suspended license is working. Or you could ask if they’d pay for a group cab for you all to that parking lot, but who knows if they’d be willing to do it.

If they won’t budge, or if they agree and then flounder when it comes to actually implementing what they agree to, then at that point you’d need to decide whether you want to stay there, knowing that this job doesn’t come with safe parking, or if you’d rather leave. (Or a third option — unionize and make parking part of the negotiations! But that may be more invested than you want to get.)

5. Should I do more to show I want a job at a particular company?

I applied to a position at my alma mater which I didn’t get because they felt I was overqualified. But they said they were impressed with me and would be in touch if a more suitable position opened up. They reached out to me about another position 5 months later but I didn’t get that job either because I didn’t have experience in one area they felt was relevant for the job.

A few of my friends think I should do more to get them to hire me: one suggested going there and having a conversation with the HR manager about how unsatisfied I am with my current job and how I really want to work there. Another suggested applying to other positions even when I don’t have all the qualifications just to show how badly I want to work there. My instincts say that would hurt rather than help my chances because they have already stated in both interviews that they like me and that it’s more a matter of finding the right fit than anything else. Should I do more to show I really want to work there?

Listen to your instincts here, not to your friends. This employer knows that you’re interested because you’ve applied for two jobs with them. The reason they’re not hiring you isn’t that you don’t seem insufficiently interested; it’s been about your qualifications not being the right match both times. So finding ways to impress upon them how very interested you are isn’t the right path here (and rarely is, after a certain baseline level of interest has been expressed).

Definitely stay away from that advice to tell the HR manager how unhappy you are with your current job (after showing up in person, no less!). That’s not why employers hire people. The way to get hired there is going to be the same as it is for most jobs: Be a very strong match with wha they’re looking for, and be able to convey that in your resume, cover letter, and interviews. That’s a boring answer so sometimes people (like your friends) go looking for alternative paths, but those alternate paths are often off-putting (as “show up in person and explain you hate your current job” definitely would be).