2022-10-07 - Apologies for Una

(TXT to Una) Jules : Can I get you a latte?

(TXT to Jules) Una : I don't know. Is it going to come with a I-know-better-than-you lecture?

Lattes: Jules’ love language of apologies. Something a little frivolous, a little gesture of care.

It's the sad truth that Una knows this now. How many times have they played out this little ritual?

(TXT to Una) Jules : No. I’m sorry I shat all over your excitement. It was a shitty morning altogether and I lost my temper but that doesn’t make it right.

…

And then the ellipses disappear. More things to type, reconsidered.

(TXT to Jules) Una : No, it doesn't.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I'll accept your apology latte. I just...

(TXT to Una) Jules : Are still pissed?

(TXT to Jules) Una : I don't know. Sad, mostly.

(TXT to Una) Jules : I’m sorry.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I don't like feeling like you don't trust me to know what's best for me.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I know. I know you didn't mean it like that. I know all of that.

(TXT to Una) Jules : I’d make you a little cookie with a sad face emoji except there were some pretty creepy faces in my dream so that would be triggering

(TXT to Jules) Una : Please don't trigger yourself for me.

(TXT to Jules) Una : That wouldn't help.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I mean. Help anyone. Not help me.

(TXT to Una) Jules : It came out really wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust you—it’s that men can be really shitty and I don’t want you to get hurt

(TXT to Jules) Una : Believe me, I know how shitty men can be.

(TXT to Una) Jules : And sometimes big age gaps ping like red flags. But if I were a sane rationally thinking person I would have expressed that differently at an appropriate time

(TXT to Una) Jules : I told you I was 18 in my dream right?

(TXT to Jules) Una : Believe me, I'm well aware of the age gap. But I'm also not 18.

(TXT to Jules) Una : Yeah, you did. I guess that probably influenced your mindset?

(TXT to Una) Jules : I know you’re not. And yeah I think it did. I mean I was planning on partying with frat boys and getting rejected by older men which was probably for my own good

(TXT to Jules) Una : Ew, frat boys.

(TXT to Jules) Una : Ok. I appreciate where it was coming from. I just... I'm an adult, okay? I'm younger than you, but not by that much. I'm not planning weddings or anything ridiculous. I'm just... enjoying something, while it lasts.

(TXT to Una) Jules : I know right? 18 year olds make bad choices

(TXT to Una) Jules : Ok.

(TXT to Jules) Una : 18 year olds can't be trusted to do anything.

(TXT to Una) Jules : I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself! But be forewarned, I said the same thing and then I ended up halfway across the world in Mikaere’s mom’s house looking at his wedding picture on her fridge. That shit can escalate

(TXT to Una) Jules : I’m like a walking billboard for BE FOREWARNED. 18 year old Jules and 27 year old Jules both.

(TXT to Jules) Una : I... don't think that's going to be a problem here. But, ok. I'll be careful anyway.

(TXT to Jules) Una : 18 year old Una wasn't particularly smart either. And nearly-26-year-old Una makes plenty of mistakes too. Obviously. We get through it.

(TXT to Una) Jules : You say that now but we live in a fucked up town man

(TXT to Jules) Una : Well, there's that. It's not like you planned to end up in Mikaere's mom's kitchen.

(TXT to Una) Jules : So latte? Plain, vanilla, or let Della dream up some off menu concoction?

(TXT to Una) Jules : I definitely did not.

(TXT to Jules) Una : Latte. Just plain, please. It's still sort of summer, so no pumpkin spice or gingerbread lattes just yet.

(TXT to Una) Jules : Hot or cold?

(TXT to Jules) Una : Hot, please.

(TXT to Una) Jules : 👍

Sometime later, Jules returns to the house on Oak Street, drinks in hand. She lets herself in through the back door, making the kitchen her first stop, because what better place to find Una?

“I come bearing apology lattes,” she announces. Let’s just call it like it is.

Sure enough: Una's in the kitchen. One day, someone is going to come looking for Una and she's not going to be there... but today is not that day (it probably helps that she's anticipating Jules' arrival, and has made herself accessible as a result). The dishes are all done, and the redhead— in jeans and a t-shirt, a pair of fuzzy socks on her feet thanks to the dreary, chilly weather— is mostly keeping herself busy, reordering the spices on her spice rack.

She turns, giving Jules a wry, slightly shy, slightly awkward, little smile. "Hey," she says.

“Hi.” Jules puts Una’s order down on the counter near where she stands, then moves to sit down at the kitchen table.

“So I’m an asshole, and then my day took an even worse turn, and I probably deserved it,” she says without preamble. Jules offers her own grimace of a smile. “Not to make it all about me.”

Una's brown eyes study Jules a moment, watching her before she finally reaches to take the latte— a symbolic gesture, perhaps— and then; "I don't think I'd go so far as to say you deserved anything," she says, slowly. "But I promise to— no, you know me. I'm probably not capable of taking some kind of schadenfreudic (is that the right word?) glee out of it. What happened?"

Jules takes the top off her drink to better get at the whipped cream. It’s been that kind of a day (day after, technically), deserving of that extra bit of self-coddling. “Well, I told you I woke up not feeling totally sure what was real, right?” she says when prompted. “I did that mindscape thing yesterday to try to figure it out. You know, the one where Ravn got himself all freaked out and ended up being two cats? You’ve heard about that right?” After a beat in which she waits for confirmation, Jules continues, “Some shitty Veil thing found me in mine and was like, ‘hey bitch, I’m going to burn down everything and everyone you love, you can’t stop me.’ So the apocalypse is coming. That’s fun.”

Una leans up against the counter, and then, after a moment more, sets down her latte again so that she can hoist herself up onto its surface. The latte gets reclaimed, held between both hands as she listens to Jules' story. A nod confirms that yes, she knows about the mindscape, her expression turning all the more thoughtful for it— everyone's talking about the mindscape, these days.

"Uh," she says, though, distracted from that by the rest of what Jules has to say. "Wait, what?"

“Or something that sounds like it would like to usher in a reign of terror. That’s probably more accurate.”

Jules drops the offhand tone, dark eyes serious as she looks across the way. “Honestly, I don’t know. Something found me. First in the Dream, then after. Something that called itself ‘power unformed’ and made some pretty grim statements. I’ve been trying to put together the pieces, and it’s making me think about what happens when you have something powerful, but no control, like one of us when we first woke up, except stronger and stupider. That’s not the right word. More like—like a child. A child about to throw a big ass tantrum.”

Jules makes a face and shakes her head, ducking her chin to apply herself to her latte again. “Something like that. Not really sure where to start figuring this one out. Taking that long-overdue trip to City Hall has come to mind.”

"Shit," says Una, and seems unable to come up with more than that: she's silent for long moments, not managing to sip at her apology latte, or turn her gaze from Jules.

"I hope it has a stronger opinion of itself than exists in reality," she concludes, finally. "And that— yeah, City Hall is probably the place to go. You wanted to go anyway, right?"

At least it has taken the attention off of her hurt feelings. That's something, right? End of the world trumps emotions, hurray!

“Want is a strong word,” says Jules with a twist of her lips. “But I should probably stop putting it off.”

She sits there for a moment, quiet and looking at an indefinite point on the opposite wall. In the end, she too wants her attention diverted. “So,” Jules says cautiously, “which number date are you on?”

Una acknowledges this with a slow incline of her chin: 'want' is not the right word here. 'Want' implies a lot of things that definitely aren't precisely true.

It ought to be that the other topic is easier. Anything should be easier than talking about the prospective end of the world, right? But Una's cheeks go pink, and she hesitates.

"I'm not really counting," she admits, finally, with a furrow of her brow. "A few. It's not serious, or intense. It's just... nice." 'Nice' could so easily be a negative, but she doesn't seem to mean it as such— nice is a good thing. Nice is making her happy.

After the debacle of yesterday, this is as much as Jules wants to ask uninvited. She bobs her head in a nod and musters what’s meant to be an encouraging smile. “Good,” she says. “You deserve something nice. Someone who appreciates you and makes you feel special.”

"He does," is both promise and reassurance, tinged with the faintest amount of defiance: Una may be forgiving, may have accepted the latte and all it entails, but that doesn't mean she has forgotten.

“Good,” Jules repeats, and it’s only a little bit awkward. She lingers at the table without saying anything for a minute, swiping deflated whipped cream from the inside of her cup with her forefinger. Then she shifts into small talk, easing back from the magnitude of earlier conversation. “So what are your plans for today?”

It's for the better. It's easier, at least for today.

Una lets her mouth curve around into a broader smile, if only a little broader. "I have cookies to make," she says. "And lemon bars. Espresso Yourself is giving me a trial— there were issues with their existing supplier— so..."

So quietly pleased.

“That’s fantastic!” It’s easy to be happy for Una, at least in this, when it concerns her start-up success. “I’ll make sure to rave about them next time I go in,” Jules says with a grin, as if half the employees don’t already know that she’s friends with Una and might, just might, have some personal investment.

Una's grin-by-way-of-return is shy but pleased. "It can't hurt," she says. "I mean... none of it ever hurts. Word of mouth, right? That's how a good business takes off." She sets down her latte, wrapping the fingers of both hands around the curve of the countertop.

"It's a lot of pressure, though. I've spent a lot of time bitching about the quality of their supplier... I have to do better. It'll be fine, though. How about you? Plans?"

Jules’ lips quirk, first for Una’s position on the competition, and then again at the question. “Plans,” she repeats dryly. “More like the opposite. Plenty of things that need plans.”

It strikes her late that Una might not be talking existentially. “As for today,” Jules says, “class after lunch, then lab.”

Both answers seem to satisfy Una, who listens with a certain amount of intensity. "Things that need plans," she repeats, at length, laughing wryly. "Right. Will you make plans with Mikaere? Or?"

She turns her cup in her hand, thoughtful.

Jules hesitates over the question, opening her mouth to begin a reply, then opting to finish her latte instead. “I think so,” she says in the end. “He needs to decide what he wants to do now that summer’s over. He’s not leaving while all this is still going on, but he also can’t live off fishing from a boat all winter,” Jules says wryly. “But I don’t really feel like it’s my place to prompt that discussion, if that makes sense. He’s a grown man, and he can bring it up with me when he’s ready. And then I’ll figure things out on my end from there.”

She looks across steadily, now, looking for Una’s response.

Una's exhale is close to an 'ah' but falls short; she hesitates, chewing on her lip as she studies Jules, a little wide-eyed and a little solemn. "That's hard," she says, finally. "Not knowing, and not having an answer." Beat. "And not being able to ask. I'm glad he's not leaving."

Yet. Whatever 'yet' means.

“It’s not that I can’t ask,” Jules is quick to assert. “More like, I don’t think there are answers, at least none that have been fully worked out. So you can ask and you can ask, but it doesn’t mean it’ll do any good. It takes time. Kind of like…”

Her gaze skitters around the kitchen, looking for an analogy to land on. From the counters to the stove to Una again. “Me asking, ‘Una, what’s your business plan a year from now?’ You can tell me about closer things, like the class you’re taking and how you hope the contract with Espresso Yourself will work out, but you still have to see how things pan out, right? Maybe you remodel the basement. Maybe it stays a business on the side. Maybe Vyv leaves town and there’s suddenly a huge void to fill and he sells you his bakery. Maybe you decide it’s more fun just to bake for your friends.”

Jules shrugs, pausing to flash a small smile. “I don’t think I need to know about a year from now. I know where I stand. The rest will get worked out.”

Una's head tips ever so slightly to the side as she considers Jules as the woman explains, her slow nod acknowledging the words though the furrow of her brow suggests she's still working through them, right up until the end. (Mention of Vyv? That wrinkles her brow further and pinks her cheeks, but that's a side issue, largely irrelevant to the topic at hand).

"Right," she allows. "I guess I see that. I imagine it sucks pretty hard for Mikaere, too. It's not— I can't imagine there are a lot of opportunities for someone like him in this town, not unless it's a remote work type thing or something. I don't know. That's hard."

“Yeah. There’s probably lots more options somewhere like Seattle, but that’s not exactly commutable,” Jules says in reply. “I probably should ask if he’s looked into remote work stuff and what that whole scenario looks like. Della’s made it work.”

“On an entirely different note,” she says then, announcing her subject change, “I got a call from my grandma this morning. She thinks she’s found someone who’s familiar with how that mask works.”

"Remote work would— well, it seems like a much more sensible option. Flexible. And it's not as though he doesn't have skills, right?" Una's earnest about this, if not outright eager. Her reasoning isn't entirely clear, unless it simply comes down to 'even when we fight, I want you happy', but clearly, she wants Mikaere settled.

Only: "Wait, really? Oh, that would be amazing. Can we meet with this person?"

Una’s eagerness draws out a warm smile from Jules, the kind that crinkles her eyes. “Right,” she confirms, leaving it at that.

Then, “Yeah, it’s someone up at Neah Bay. Makah. So we’ll have to plan a trip. She said there’s a couple people she’s heard of at Lummi, too, but that’s a lot further since it’s up by Bellingham. But we might get different perspectives, so it might be worth a trip there as well.”

A moment's hesitation from Una. "They won't... want the mask back? Is it theirs? I mean... not that I don't want it to go to whomever it should."

But they need it, just now.

“I don’t think they necessarily know whose it is,” Jules replies, only to add evenly, “but they may recognize it, and if they do, we should offer it back. It’s the right thing to do.”

She pauses, though, and adds, “But maybe they’d let us borrow it.” Her smile now is meant to be encouraging; never fear! “I think it’s more about seeing if they can speak to how it was used and why. Stuff we don’t know that could help us.”

There's a deep furrow to Una's forehead, now, lines embedded deep, though Jules' smile does a little to ease it; only a little, though. "It's not," she explains, quickly, "that I don't think it should go back to where it belongs. But if we need it— I hope they can help. It unnerves me."

“Why?”

It may well unnerve Jules too, despite her question.

Una blinks; this seems to be a question she hasn't anticipated, and one she finds less-than-easy to answer.

She finds herself some time to process her answer by taking a sip of her latte, turning the takeaway cup in her hands. Then, finally: "The idea of putting on a mask and literally seeing the world differently. Of something, anything, having that kind of power. It... I worry that there are always things we don't, can't, see, you know?"

Jules nods, though the smile she offers skews to the side. “Isn’t that already true though?” she presses. “That there’s things we don’t see.”

"Ye-es," allows Una, wrinkling her nose sharply. "But— it feels different. I don't know why."

“I think,” Jules reflects, “it freaks us out a bit because that’s something we don’t like to think about. Like, we know it, but this puts it right in our faces.” Beat. “Literally.”

Una can't help the way her mouth twists upwards for that, acknowledging the humour of that remark even amidst the seriousness. "I think you're right," she agrees, seriously. "We like to pretend. And increasingly, we can't. The mask is a symbol of that. How do you feel, not being able to use it?"

“I’d love to know what the world looks like through the mask,” Jules admits. “But I think it also makes sense that not everything is available for everyone. So I’m okay with it, even though I’m pretty curious.” She breaks into a grin. “The way it’s going, the next thing we find is gonna be something only you can use. A Spirit Spatula or something.”

Una exhales a snort of laughter, unable to resist the somewhat-ludicrous idea of a Spirit Spatula... but there's a wistfulness, too, just for a moment, as though she can't help but wish for such a thing, however ridiculous it sounds.

"Yeah," she agrees, instead. "I feel like... I can almost feel something, when I touch that mask, but... it's just not there for me. I'm not strong enough. I wish I was. I suppose it's for the best; it is what it is. It's not like I want to wear it, given how nervous it makes me feel. It's just—"

It's just.

“You don’t want to be left out?” Jules guesses.

After all, there’s Jules with her possession stick, and now Della with the mask.

“For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think it’s about being strong enough. We’re all different, right? So we just have to find you your spatula.” She turns it into a joke before turning earnest. “Seriously though. I think these things are meant to tap into certain kinds of power or ways of interacting with the spirit world. At least with these things from the local indigenous people. The rituals and traditions they come from are communal, but they’re also deeply personal.”

Una's answering expression is shy, the pink of her cheeks acknowledgement enough that there's an element of that. Does she really want a possession stick, a mask? No.

But.

"Mm," she says, instead. "Maybe so. In any case, it's not as though we really, truly know how these things could even help us. Or what we need to do. I mean, and that even implies that we ended up with them for a reason, and not just by fluke, and I don't think I necessarily believe that. So it's just— well. I wish I knew what was coming."

“Me too.” Jules’ answer is no less heartfelt for being quiet. “I don’t like feeling like I’m constantly off-balance.”

She makes a face and sits there for a few seconds before straightening up. “Okay,” Jules says with resolve. “I’m going to go give this guy a call and try to set something up. Can I assume that you’ll be available whenever? I’ll check in with Della too. Can try to make it a weekend if that helps.”

"Yeah," agrees Una. "I don't like it either."

She lets Jules have her silence, and seems even faintly caught off guard when the other woman speaks again: her own shoulders straighten, then draw back, and she nods. "Yeah, I'm sure I can make it work, whenever works. You and Della will be more difficult to work around, I suspect, but— I'm sure it'll be fine. One step closer, right?"

To... something, anyway.