Work Text:
Martha sits across from you, a nervous, tentative smile playing on her face- the kind of smile that comes with all budding friendships. Hesitant, excited, ready to run at the first sight of trouble. Distantly, you feel the same, even though she’s a surprisingly comforting person to be around. After your library outing, you’d had the sense that you had metaphorically checked off yet another box in the step-by-step guide to making friends with another person, and now you’re on a…
Well, you’re actually not entirely sure what this counts as. It occurs to you that since most people (well, all of them.) see you as a boy, and since Martha is a girl, and you’re both sharing a table at a cafe, you must be on a date.
Is this a date?
You’re not the best at social intricacies, but to the best of your knowledge, a date usually hinges on the idea that both parties involved agree to it being a date in the first place. As far as you know, that hasn’t exactly been the case here. Martha did phrase it as a “study date”, but that might simply mean… a date on which you’re both studying. (Date in THIS case simply being… an engagement. A meeting. An encounter.)
You are very likely overthinking it.
It’s not that you’re against dating. Not too long ago, you- ok, William, if we’re being fair- had been excited about the thought of it. And truth be told, if this was a date, Martha would be a nice person to have it with. Total sweetheart, funny, surprisingly witty, smart, and one of the few people who showed a genuine interest in your love for esoterica and philosophy. She’d even let you explain tarot to her once, (although you weren’t an expert.) and allowed William to go on a ten minute uninterrupted tangent about the different bugs he’d found in his trip to the woods. So, patience of a saint, kind, funny, and…
And you assume pretty, too. Although, things like appearance and attraction have always been confusing to you. You could be objectively aware of the fact that someone- (let’s say Tanya Kennedy, for example, no reason) is considered conventionally attractive, but… you didn’t understand that convention of attraction.
(It doesn’t help Tanya’s hypothetical case that she’s a fucking ass, but whatever. Your point here is that being a bitch negates her being “pretty”, which you know she must be because everyone else says so. Having reliable testimony is apparently higher in value than your own opinion.)
In Martha’s case, you knew she wasn’t exactly conventionally attractive, although even that was confusing, because it seemed to you the only reason anyone said that was because she was “a bit chunky” according to Danny. (That ass.) still. She has a nice smile, and she wears sweaters and cardigans that look like they’d be nice to touch. Purely in a sensory way, of course. (You can relate. Your coat. That’s all you meant.)
You don’t know exactly if you could say “you find her pretty”. (not because you don’t, but because, as you’d already noted, figuring out physical attraction is really fucking hard.) You find your Lilith painting “pretty”. (Not because, as some might assume, Lilith is pretty, but because the layout of the painting is well done, and pleasing to look at, and it’s important to you.) you find the rider-waite tarot deck pretty (aesthetically pleasing?) and you find the moon to be pretty. But all of those things are so different from each other, and finding each of those things pretty has a different meaning in context.
To make it easier on yourself, you elect to slide Martha Jennings into the role of: Pleasant Person. Because she is. She’s really nice, and she looks nice, and yeah. She’s probably pretty, even if faces are hard to figure out and remember, and some people would disagree with you. (It’s worth noting those people are probably assholes anyway.)
You’d inwardly cringed at the thought of having a study date at the sunshine cafe of all places when she’d suggested it- you worked there, after all, it’s not like you want to spend more time there than you need to, but… Martha had been so excited at the idea, enthusiastically reminiscing about their brookies. (A brookie is, as you’ve been informed, a… brownie cookie. Or a brownie with cookie in it. Hard to determine, but apparently Martha liked them. You can’t fault her for that. Their lemon bread is to die for. You are grateful for your one free pastry and drink per shift, otherwise you’d have to spend your well earned paycheck on it.)
…Maybe William isn’t the only people pleaser in here, even if you like to act otherwise. So what the hell, study date at the sunshine cafe.
After your shift, you removed your apron, a little disgruntled. It was bad enough that you’d had to tackle school by yourself, but work as well? Not cool, dear William. It made you feel a little bit better about having another “date” with Martha. (To be completely honest, you did feel a touch of guilt that William hadn’t really gotten the chance to hang out with her outside of school yet, but it’s up to him to ask. You can’t do everything for him.)
You carefully filled out the time sheet, stuffed your apron into your designated locker, and removed your backpack. For once, you’d had the foresight to bring an extra sweater to change into. (If you felt like it, you could start an internal investigation within yourself to determine why exactly you feel the need to tidy up your appearance in any way for Martha, but you can’t exactly handle that at the moment, so you don’t.)
In the bathroom, you changed into your clean sweater, ran a hand through your hair, frowned, ran a hand through it again, and then again, and then gave up.
(/When you see Martha you will smile wide no not that wide and say hello how are you, wait no more casual like you haven’t been planning it there that’s good that looks right/)
Ok.
You step back out, bag in hand and take a seat by the window. Fernando comes by to clean a filthy table. Some lady spilled her entire drink and elected to leave it. You feel sympathy for him, but not enough to clock back in and help out.
Fernando squints at you. “Not going home?” He asks you. You know he’s used to you getting out as soon as possible when your shifts are done. You’ve never been the type to frequent your workplace after hours.
“Not yet.” You explain. “I’m meeting a friend.”
You wish Fernando didn’t seem so delighted by that. Is it so unbelievable that you could be hanging out with another person?
“That’s cool, Will.” Fernando affirms. “I get it. I hope you have fun.”
You deserve to have fun, is what it feels like he’s saying. That at least you can appreciate. (You think?)
You don’t have much time to consider this, because a minute later, Martha steps in. She looks around the cafe for a minute, and then sees you.
[Image ID: A picture of the sunshine cafe. William is sitting at a table by the window. Martha is standing in the doorway. End ID.]
You (exactly like you practiced please don’t fuck it up) smiled.
“Hey.” That sounds acceptable.
“Hi, Will!” Martha says, beaming. Surprisingly, your smile feels more natural at the sight of her, which is comforting. She takes a seat beside you, and lays her giant backpack on the table as she rifles through it.
Her fluffy blonde hair is catching a ray of sunlight in it, lighting it bright gold, and you’re startled at the fact you so readily noticed that. It’s not like you to be so consciously aware of other peoples physical traits.
She’s also wearing a pale pink sweater. It’s knit in this (admittedly fascinating) texture that looks like it would be soothing to touch. You remind yourself to stop staring at other people’s clothes.
Martha sets her books on the table and then dumps her backpack on the floor beside her chair, which is a relief because it was kind of crowding your space. Fernando comes over to take your orders (Nosy bastard. You know he is because the sunshine cafe requires orders to be taken at the counter, he just wants to see who you’re meeting.)
“Hey, kids. What can I get you two?” Fernando asks in a tone you have never heard him use in your life. He keeps giving you an unidentifiable smile. You pointedly roll your eyes at him when Martha isn’t looking, a gesture you’ve perfected. (He smiles back, the ass.)
“Lavender-honey oatmilk latte, please!” Martha announces proudly, before pulling out a wallet decorated with tiny clouds. “Oh, and a brookie. Brownie-Cookie.”
Fernando nods, writing it down. “Sounds great.. and for you?” He asks with a grin. (Is he seriously pretending not to know you for the pretend date he must think is happening? Is he trying to be a wingman or something?)
You hold back a sigh. “Coffee, and some of that lemon shortbread, please.” (What the hell. Old habits die hard.) Fernando is far more used to working with William or the others than you, which is why it’s probably so surprising to him to see William with a girl. He’s probably relieved, you suppose. He’s used to the version of William who doesn’t quite recognize where he is most days, not the one who at least can stand up for herself.
“So,” Martha begins, thumbing through her school notebook. You realize you should be getting yours out, and do so. “I don’t know how much you’ve read so far, I’ve read the whole thing, but I just think this essay is going to kick my butt.”
…Essay?
“Essay?” You repeat, hoping you don’t sound the way you feel. Like your heart has dropped into your stomach.
Martha gives you a confused look, and under other circumstances it would actually be kind of cute. “Um, yeah?” She says, like she’s not sure what you mean. “On the birds nest? Our book we’re reading?”
You don’t say anything. This is news to you.
“…I told you about it last week? You said you were going to get a copy from the library?” Martha elaborates.
…
FUCKING.
/WILLIAM./
“Right!” You say with a smile. “Riiiiiight, no, I- right.” It’s not right.
Martha squints at you. “Will,” She says timidly. “It’s okay if you haven’t had the chance to do it yet. I know you have work and stuff.” She’s being absurdly sweet, but you’re too pissed to concentrate. If you were physically capable of it, you’d kick Williams ass for this. (/we have a journal for a REASON it’s not that fucking hard to make a note/)
“Thank you.” Your mouth says. Martha pulls her copy of the birds nest out.
[Image ID: A top-down view of the table. There is a copy of the book “The birds nest” and a coffee cup. End ID. ]
“You can share with me until you get a copy.” Martha assures you. “Actually, after we’re done here, you can borrow it. I have notes made and I’ve already read it a bunch.”
That does ease your worries, actually. And Martha’s annotated and highlighted the book to kingdom come, which might be some help in writing this essay. (An essay that you are strongly considering doing nothing about, only to remind William of the night before it’s due. Give HIM a taste of that responsibility.)
(…)
(…Okay you probably won’t do that, but a part of you feels like it would be very satisfying.)
You just realized that you’re going to have to type this up on a library computer when you get the chance. There’s no way you’ll have the time to write it freehand, and you don’t need the wrist ache that always comes with writing for long periods of time.
(Another thing you’re feeling bitter about. You’d do the damn essay if William couldn’t, but would it have killed him to inform you?)
Martha snaps you out of your thoughts. “If you want,” she soothes, “I’ll go over it with you. I’ll show you the notes I have.”
You nod. “That would be really helpful. This just… got away from me.”
Martha smiles. “I understand. It kinda did for me too. I’ve only done my first outline!”
Outline???
“Haha yeah.” You seriously just Haha Yeah’d her. This situation is dire. “Uh… What’s the book about again?”
Martha lights up. “It’s a great book.” She assures you. “It’s about this woman who’s having- like, um, all these weird things happen, like lapses in memory and conscious, and she finds weird notes that are about her- I mean, that someone’s talking to her with these notes. And people keep accusing her of saying and doing these things she doesn’t remember saying or doing.”
…
Huh.
“-And in the end- oh my god, I shouldn’t spoil it. Wait, this is for school, so maybe I should. Well, ok. She basically has this condition where she has, um, multiple personalities. Inside of her. And they all have different goals, and one of them is bad, but she’s just missing her mother, she’s not evil. And, um,” Martha is running out of steam. “In the end… they all fuse together. And become a new personality.”
You’re intrigued.
You… have a clearer grasp of your situation than William does. You know things can get a little… tremulous for him at times. It’s one reason you’re currently forbidden from discussing nondualism with him, at least for the moment. There was one time…
…It was upsetting for him. He doesn’t like it. To spare him the anxiety, you don’t bring it up anymore.
You still feel guilty for that.
Still. Maybe it would benefit William to read this book after all? You’ll make a note of it. In the meantime, you listen to Martha with rising interest. If this book is as good as it sounds, the essay should be a breeze. She takes out her notebook and the two of you work on notes together. (She’s not exactly letting you copy, but she’s not forbidding you from it. She’s a true friend.)
Fernando comes back with your orders, and you swear he’s having fun with this. You’re 99% sure he thinks this is you having your First Date With A Girl, and he’s happy for you. Which is nice. You don’t really want to burst his bubble, so to speak. You know he worries, (which is confusing, sometimes.) and you suppose it must be comforting to him to see you having a Normal Healthy Interaction.
Fernando loiters at the register pretending he isn’t watching you both for a good five minutes after he’s delivered your drinks, until some cop guy steps in for a to-go cup, and from the look of the way his hands shake, he must need the caffeine terribly. He’s so out of it, he barely spares you or anyone else in the cafe a passing glance, which is good. You’d prefer never having to interact with the police again after-
(/The_lady_touched/)
Thankfully, caffeine addict is enough of a distraction to force Fernando to go do some actual work, and you’re left alone with Martha.
(She smells nice.)
This is nice. When you’re with her at school, you run the risk of being caught by a teacher, by Mike, Jimmy, or Danny, or… Tanya. You’ll never forget that one day in particular.
William had been hanging out on the roof, eating lunch with Martha. She’d been listening to him talk about a movie Martha liked (the details of which escape you, you weren’t there after all) and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to notice how comfortable William had evidently been. From Williams’s account, Tanya had apparently been watching them, or at least listening undetected for a few minutes before making her presence known.
(/-Asked if we were going to “make out” and I didn’t-/)
(/Laughed at us and/)
(/Naughty/)
You don’t use the word “hate” lightly, but you are starting to despise that bitch. If only you could get William to admit he felt the same way. If you never saw that girl again in your combined lifetimes, it would still be too soon.
(/At least Martha isn’t angry can’t lose another friend too naughty/)
(/Stop that./)
“Will?”
“Sorry. Lost in thought… mentally planning my essay.” You offer in way of excuse. You doubt Martha believes it entirely, she’s not gullible, but she does at least pretend to accept it, which you appreciate. In such a confusing reality as your own, any attempt at normalcy is usually a decent reprieve, even if it’s fake.
Martha picks up her pencil again to show you a thought-tree she made of different themes to write the essay about. She’s being astoundingly helpful, and you wonder if maybe she feels guilty for what Tanya said on the roof. Tanya’s her friend, after all…
Your eyes wander over a silver pendant Martha wears around her neck. It has an interesting pattern, one you can’t help but admit to admiring.
“I like your necklace.” You speak up. Martha touches it with a smile.
“Thanks,” She says. “Tanya loaned it to me. She found it somewhere…”
Your blood runs cold. “That’s Tanya’s necklace?”
“Yeah. She said the pattern was special to her. I mean, I don’t know why she loaned it to me if it’s so special, but it is kind of pretty.”
You have a pretty good idea why. You fidget uncomfortably and pick at your lemon bread. “You.. must have spoken to her recently, then.”
She looks up at you, a micro expression of shock flashing across her face. A wave of understanding passes between you both. She knows what you’re thinking about, and you know she knows.
“Will,” Martha begins slowly. “About that day- I didn’t- I swear, I never knew she was there. I wouldn’t- I didn’t expect her to say-“
You arrange your teeth into a smile. “Well, my dear, I can’t say any decent person would expect that.”
Martha blushes. You’re not angry with her, it wasn’t her fault, after all. But you know exactly what she’s about to say, and it has your hackles prematurely raising.
“-Just that she’s going through a hard time. She says these awful, inappropriate things to get attention, and-“
You hold a hand up. “Martha,” You say. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not angry with you.”
She deflates. “You’re not?”
You shrug. “It wasn’t your fault, dear.”
Martha stutters something out about Tanya’s parents, but you’re not terribly concerned with it. As far as you’re concerned, Tanya’s parents sucking ass doesn’t grant her permission to harass people. Distressed by the topic, You allow yourself 30 seconds to zone out of the conversation, and fix your eyes on caffeine addict, who is now leaving the cafe, one cup in each hand. Sheesh, drinking it all himself-? No, one’s for his buddy, parked outside. You raise your eyebrow. You wonder if cops are really friends with each other, or if that’s just something in movies. You can’t imagine feeling comfortable or safe around someone who has a gun on them at all times- but maybe they’re comfortable with it because they have a gun.
You shudder. Cops unsettle you.
“-Promise to talk to her about it.” Martha was finishing. “She knows not to say stuff like that. I won’t let her do it again.”
Well, shit. That will only encourage her. To be honest, you kind of wish Martha would just drop the subject. Thinking about her has soured your mood. It’s bad enough she follows you at school, ( To school, some days.) worse that you can’t avoid her at home, (she’s like a fucking tomogatchi.) but here? Even on what is supposed to be a private and comfy hangout between (friends?) classmates, you can’t avoid the subject of Tanya Fucking Kennedy. Detroit’s golden girl. Their resident Laura Palmer.
(/If only she’d pull a Laura Palmer on us maybe get some peace and quiet then/)
(/What a horrible thing to say/)
So even though Martha is being very apologetic, you’re unwilling to listen. If she really wants to improve your mood, she’d change the subject.
You decide to phrase this to her in a gentler way. “Martha, dear, I get what you’re saying.” You offer her a grin that (hopefully) won’t be considered patronizing. “But honestly, it’s over with, and I’d really like to move past it.”
Martha blinks. “Oh,” She mumbles. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
(= No sense of boundaries… such a bad girl. =)
(/Will you SHUT/)
(= Mom wouldn’t like =)
(/THE FUCK UP!/)
You decide to be brave, and put a hand on her wrist. “Look,” You say kindly. “I’m actually having a great time. I just don’t want to dwell on it, and to be honest, it’s not your responsibility to correct Tanya.”
Martha sighs “I guess you’re right. Sorry for reminding you about it.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart.” You assure her, because to be honest, it basically is. Martha doesn’t mean any harm, and you’d be loathe to chase away the one decent friend you’ve got by chewing her out for trying to amend a situation she didn’t even start.
Martha’s face goes pink, and she looks away. You wonder why.
Feeling that the conversation has effectively found stability, you finally drink your coffee, content.
————-
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Martha felt certain that she was single-handedly ruining the entire d- study date. She couldn’t keep her stupid mouth shut about Tanya, and now William probably felt angry. It was hard to gauge his moods sometimes, but it was obvious she’d made him uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to! It was only that she felt so much guilt over Tanya, and it had been killing her.
She’d been planning and rehearsing and thinking of something to say, something to convey how sorry she was, (she loved Tanya, but she knew if she left it up to her to apologize, they’d be holding their breath til the end of time.) and it had come out choppy and scrambled and wrong . (In her imagination, she’d seen herself delivering a heartfelt apology with an explanation of Tanya’s problems, not excusing it but providing information as to why she did the things she did. She’d imagined herself speaking eloquently and smoothly, for the first time in her life, and William would understand and feel better, and she’d finally be free of that black pit of guilt in her stomach.)
It hadn’t worked out. She shouldn’t have brought it up at all, and now poor Will had to think about it all over again.
She glanced up at him. He was eating his lemon bread with the most neutral, blank expression she’d ever seen. Impossible to glean what he might be thinking.
“So,” She chanced. “Um, I think I’m pretty set with my paper… I just need to type it out.”
Will cleared his throat, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I still need to… uh, what’s the first stage again?”
“Outline?”
“Right. I’m not used to writing that way, but it’ll make things easier.” He flashed her a strangely foxlike grin, showing teeth. It made her face feel warm, and she cursed herself mentally.
“Well… it doesn’t have to be fancy, just finished. You know?” Martha encouraged. “I’d be happy to proofread.”
William nodded thoughtfully. “That’d be helpful. I like to read, but I’m not much of a writer.”
Martha smiled. “Same here. But I knew that. Remember our library da- outing ?”
William smiled. “I do,” He said. “We should go again sometime.”
“I’d like that.” Martha said bravely.
William glanced down at his notebook. “Typing this out is going to be miserable.” He said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to do it in increments. I don’t have a lot of time to go to the library for their computers.”
“Oh!” Martha Said. She hadn’t thought of that. She didn’t have a printer, but Mr. Murie next door did, and he usually let her print things to it from
Her laptop. (provided she show him how to connect to the wifi for the tenth time that week.) she hadn’t considered how hard it must be for Will. Martha had her laptop from before she was emancipated, but William didn’t even have a smartphone.
“I… I could help you.” She shyly suggested. “You could come to my apartment sometime.”
Will blinked at her. It struck her as funny how sometimes, his facial expressions were… sleeker? Was that the way to describe it? Sometimes he was almost kind of catlike, confident and sly, speaking smoothly and boldly in a way that made the tips of her ears go red, and other times he stumbled over sentences and his smiles were goofy. (but cute all the same.) Now, he simply seemed like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“Your apartment.” He repeated.
Oh fuck, he must think Danny was right.
“No- I mean, you could, but- I’ll bring my laptop to school some time aaaanddd… you can work on it there? And I’ll print it for you..?” She felt so stupid.
“There are already computers in the school library.” He said, perturbed. “Why would you bring yours..?”
Martha put a hand on her cheek. “I- I guess it doesn’t make sense. Nevermind.” She mumbled.
“Well how will I write my paper, then..?”
“Oh for-“ Martha felt so silly. “I just don’t want you to think I’m weird or- you know- for inviting you over.”
William gave her a flat look. “Why would it be weird? And I don’t know.”
Did she really have to spell it out? “Well… you heard what Danny said about me?” She asked, leaning in and lowering her voice. William blinked.
“No. I don’t really listen to Danny.”
“Well, he said… I’m a- that I- with boys- never mind.” She hid her face. “I just don’t want to… lead you on or anything.”
——-
You have no idea what she’s talking about, and you don’t even mean that in a negative way. She invited you over to type out your essay, then took that away? Now she’s going back and forth on it, assuming you know what she means- what are you supposed to say?
You breathe deeply. Other people have all these little microexpressions and gestures to indicate what they mean, and studying them is like learning a lost language, and your Rosetta Stone is a fucking paint by numbers kit with half the paints missing. Why can’t people just say what they mean?
You steady yourself, and use your best ‘Have sympathy and speak clearly’ voice. “Martha,” you begin, “I don’t think I understand. It would be really helpful if I could come over to type out my essay. If you don’t want me to, that’s fine. I don’t really care about Danny at all.”
Martha’s eyes are glossy. Have you upset her? You still don’t understand.
“Oh.” Martha dabs at her eyes. “Right. I’m sorry, It’s just stupid school gossip. Of course you can come over.”
You feel relieved. Well, that’s solved. You offer her a smile. “Danny is an ass anyway.” It seems like he was the source of her discomfort on the topic, anyway. That much you understood.
She nods. “I guess you probably wouldn’t know, but basically… he spreads a lot of rumors, and.. the reason I was worried, is that you coming to my apartment alone… it might… make people say stuff.”
Oh. Ok. That makes a little more sense, if you’re gleaning that right. You guess it has to do with you looking like a boy, and Martha being a girl. Which is bullshit, to be clear, but expected. Gender is one of those things you have a hard time understanding the nuances of. It’s one of those things where everything hinges on the performance of it, and if you get it “wrong”, you get your ass kicked.
(/Poor William…/)
Either way, you don’t think you can ruin your reputation much more than it already is, (not that you care) and for Martha’s sake, you don’t think anyone will know you’ve visited her apartment, and you doubt anyone who mattered would care.
“I’m sorry people say stuff.” You say, to express your gratitude. “That’s bullshit.” Martha is a very nice girl, and you know for a fact Danny has a tendency to say… horrific things about girls. And gay people. And disabled people. And you. To be honest, you wonder how Mike can stand to be around a guy who called his friend a “hoe”. (Guy stuff? Yet another thing you’ll never understand.)
You do feel bad for Martha. You know how awful rumors can be, and while you’re pretty sure she isn’t actively bullied to the extent you’ve been, you’re aware there are people out there who wake up every day keen to make life just a little bit worse for her. And that you will never tolerate. Even if you can’t really help, you at least appreciate her as a friend.
So you both enjoy your drinks, your pastries, and especially each others company. It’s not so bad, having someone to talk to.
(/We should do this more often/)
You make plans to visit her apartment soon, even scribbling down the date in your notebook.
The rest of the afternoon passes surprisingly pleasantly, for you. It’s surprising to have a day go so well. You almost wish William was here to enjoy it too, even though you still have a bone to pick with him. Well, you’ll get to that later. But to be honest, your anger is starting to fade. Martha’s helpfulness has made you reconsider flaying him alive for not doing the one thing you agreed on: keeping each other updated. And by the looks of it, the hardest part of this assignment will be physically typing it out, so you don’t have much reason to worry.
You don’t have much reason to worry about this one thing in particular specifically. And that alone brings some relief.
In the empty air, Martha sips her drink.
“Read anything new lately?” She asks. You perk up, because actually, you have. You reach into your book and pull it out.
“Just this new book on non-dualism.” You say, handing it over to her. She thumbs through it, not really comprehending, but interested (maybe for your sake, but it’s nice she’s trying.) all the same.
[Image ID: A copy of the book “On the mystery of being”. End ID]
“It’s cool you know so much about philosophy.” She says admiringly. You (= Flattery. =) smiled.
“Thanks, Martha. It’s cool how much you know about plants.” (See, that’s good. You’re remembering things about her, that’s how you make friends!)
She smiles in response, and looks down. Something seems different about her, now that you’ve talked.
“You know,” She finally says. “This is really nice. I feel like I’ve gotten a lot of studying done.”
You have a feeling she’s going somewhere with this, so you elect to stay silent. (This is one of those areas where you’re a little more on top of social cues, details-wise.)
“And I mean,” Martha mumbles, more to herself. “I worry so much about how things are going to go, every time I meet with you… but I like talking with you.”
Huh? “Why do you worry?” You ask.
“Oh, you know.” She waves a hand, Self deprecating. “I’m not great at- well, uh. I get a lot of anxiety about saying the right thing, and…”
And you’re not easy to understand, is what she means. Ordinarily, this would make you sag with defeat, or tense with anger, but you have a feeling she doesn’t mean this in a bad way.
“I just- I feel like it’s nice to get to know you.” Martha stammers. “It’s just… very freeing. I don’t know. God, that sounds- nevermind.” Now, she’s not making eye contact. You still don’t think any of this is negative. You have the bizarre feeling that she is trying to metaphorically extend a hand to you.
You suppose that she’s telling you how she feels as well. Out of all your (friends?) “friends”, you’ve always had the feeling Martha understood you the best, or at least was the most willing to look past your differences. But now, you wonder if in a way, Martha relates to you. You know she doesn’t have any issues expressing emotions to speak of- (quite the opposite. She’s the brightest, bubbliest, and giggliest of the friend group.) but you can’t help but notice those flashes of shared anxiety, fears of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, the ever present awareness of not fitting in-
Martha is not like you. She will never be exactly like you, and you will never be exactly like Martha.
But you do have to admit- she might be the closest person you’ve ever come to finding someone like you. (Not counting William, because… come on.) And maybe… that’s a good thing?
You hope.
You smile at her. “I think I understand.” You assure her. “I feel…” (?) “the same way.” (!)
There is a strange sense of kinship as she looks into your eyes, and for a moment, you think William might have felt it too.
It’s a nice thing to think- and for one moment, one long unbroken moment, as she hesitantly brushes her fingertips against yours, hands only centimeters apart, you feel as though everything is going to be okay.