2022-12-02 - The Future

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Free tonight? Wanted to talk something through with you.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Sure, no plans. Your place or mine?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Think you can stand the cold?

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : I’ll light a fire if I have to!

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Not really. Will not burn your boat down. I hear sweatshirts also work.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : ... good.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Yes. Wear a jumper. I'll provide the booze.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Man after my own heart. I’ll come by after dinner.

Not that Mikaere is wearing a jumper (or a sweatshirt) of course, after dinner, when he can be found waiting for Jules on the deck of his boat. Of course, he's wearing proper shoes, and there's a fleecy gilet over his t-shirt in deference to something. The moon is out, and the stars too: a surprisingly clear night, and one the tall Kiwi is studying with intensity, his back turned to the dock.

The cold doesn’t really bother Jules, firestarting abilities not withstanding. It just comes with growing up on the coast. She’s a dark figure clomping down the dock, slate grey sweatshirt blending in with the shadows. No sneaking up though, not on the water. “Hey,” she calls out, drawing up alongside the boat and then clambering aboard.

It's quiet at the marina at this time of year: just the sound of the waves lapping against the pier, and the wind rustling through the few sails that haven't been stored away now that autumn is here. It's quiet at night, too, and so there's nothing at all to prevent Mikaere from turning at the sound of those clomping feet, and to reach a hand to— entirely unnecessarily— help Jules find her feet on the deck.

"Hey," he says, and though he's clearly pleased to see her (er, given his expression that is, and not anything else), there's a note of something else, too. "Be a good night to see the stars properly," he muses. "If it weren't for the light pollution. You want to go in?"

Not that he's not also going to aim to draw her in close for a kiss first.

Just because Jules doesn't need the help doesn't mean she won't take it. It's the gesture that counts. She keeps hold of Mikaere's hand, fingers twining through his with a quick squeeze. She's smiling when he kisses her. When her eyes open again, there's a faint squint as she perceives, well, something, though her smile doesn't dim.

"Up to you. Happy to sit out here and stargaze if it's not too cold for you." He's the one with the t-shirt on, after all.

"You should know by now I don't feel the cold. Make yourself comfortable; I'll go get the drinks."

Mikaere lingers only a moment longer, squeezing Jules' hand— and then he's off, disappearing downstairs. He's not gone long, returning with a blanket over one arm and a six pack of beer clutched in his hand.

“True. Otherwise you’d have fled to the mainland for winter.”

Jules has had plenty of practice by now on figuring out what’s most comfortable on board the boat. She foregoes the bench seats and steps up to the bow, tucking her knees up towards her chest until Mikaere returns with the blanket. Blankets are for cuddling.

Blankets are for cuddling, and this one gets draped around them both as Mikaere takes up a position alongside Jules, setting the beer down in front of them both. He's silent for a few moments, staring out over the star-lit bay, then wonders, "How was your day, anyway?"

“Thanks,” says Jules, for the beer, and reaches to open it and take that first sip. It sustains her through the silence, and she’s almost content just like that, but— well. Jules is hardly one for patience.

“It was fine. I had lab, which is always better than sitting and listening to a lecture. So what’s up?”

"Sitting still not being your strong point," teases Mikaere, nudging Jules in the side just gently. He's got his own beer to get and to open, and sips carefully before coming to the point.

"I got an email overnight. It's... well, a job offer, sort of. Temporary, for now, and remote— they want me to put together a grant application, for a project about building sustainability into social and... well, propinquinous communities, I guess. Back home."

A moment's pause. "Remote, though."

For now?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jules says dryly, grinning, before she shuts up to listen and let Mikaere talk.

“That’s awesome!” she enthuses as soon as he pauses. “You’re going to take it, right? I don’t know what that word means, the community thing, but I’m sure you’d be great at it. So what does that mean? Your own hours? Do you need to travel back, or is it more getting up in the middle of the night to make phone calls?”

Maybe Jules doesn’t hear any temporal undercurrent. Maybe she willfully isn’t hearing it.

The enthusiasm makes Mikaere smile— no: grin. His expression has lit up with enthusiasm for the project, though it remains tempered by something else, something lurking just beneath the surface, about the edges of his smile and in the eyes, too.

"Propinquity's all about proximity: physical or psychological. So in this case, it's about communities that are intrinsically bonded, through culture or family ties or religion or whatever. It's— well, anyway. Right. Some weird hours, probably, but they're happy enough for me to be here; zoom's fine for meetings, really. It's more..."

A moment's pause; a hesitation. "It's more what happens if they win the grant. If... we do."

“Oh,” Jules says in sudden understanding. Not just for a new vocabulary word.

“So you took the job,” she gathers. “Or you’re going to.”

Here, at least, she pauses her full-speed-ahead approach to actually consider. Beer is required. “Well,” Jules says practically, “it sounds like the kind of thing you’d be good at. And you’d enjoy it. That’s the kind of thing you want to do, right?”

After all these months, Mikaere can't really be expecting a different reaction, but that doesn't mean he's not watching for it, his head turned so that he can study Jules' expression.

"Mm," he says. "I haven't responded, yet. But yes, it's exactly the kind of thing I'd want. It's so close to what I'd want that I smell Ma's influence all over it. And— look, accepting it now doesn't mean anything for certain, okay? Just that, in a few months, it may be something I need to think about."

Beat. "Something we need to think about, I guess."

If it’s one thing Jules is good at, it’s rolling with the punches and keeping a level head. And a pretty neutral expression. “Okay.” Her own short pause. “Obviously you should take it, even if your mom’s got her sticky fingers in it. She does know you and the kind of things you’re interested in.”

Right now, Jules is considering texting Tui, but to say what? Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing here?

Maybe if she has enough beer. But not now. Now, she just turns her smile on Mikaere and raises her can. “Cheers. Congratulations.”

Mikaere's slower to accept all of this, slower to ease himself into this way of thinking, but his nod is, in the end, easy enough. "Thanks," he says. "Even if it goes nowhere," maybe especially if it goes nowhere, "it's still a good opportunity for the shirt term. It'll keep me in beer for a while, anyway... and maybe a room somewhere that's on land, particularly for when it gets really cold."

Put that way, it does give him what he needs to extend his stay— even if there is a looming expiry.

"I'm still going to have words with ma, though. She shouldn't be interfering... watch out, she'll have you in her sights next."

“Me?” says Jules with lifted brow and half a smile. It’s not incredulous, though. “She gonna find me a scholarship to the University of Auckland? They want me to apply to U-Dub, by the way. I have a little less than a month to decide before the deadline.”

While they’re discussing futures near and potentially farther.

The way Mikaere shrugs and nods is eloquent enough: he wouldn't put it past his mother. If anyone could wrangle it...

But words to that effect are cut short, because he's— a little belatedly— catching up to what Jules has said, and his reaction has all the visuals Jules' did not: the wide eyes, the sharp exhale, the consternation that's quickly abandoned in lieu of a beaming smile that is almost entirely genuine.

"That's amazing," is honest and warm, and results in a squeeze of her thigh beneath the blanket. "It... that'd mean moving to Seattle, yeah? You going to go for it?"

Now Jules has a different kind of smile, one that’s not sardonic, but pleased. She’s watching Mikaere’s reaction, yes, with that tight knot of anticipation in her belly, but not the fear she would’ve had a decade ago.

“Yeah, it would. I’m leaning towards it doesn’t hurt to apply, but I don’t know. I have a life here—and I don’t know that I could walk out right when that thing is promising doom and gloom. But maybe it will be resolved by the time I’d have to decide. And maybe getting a degree would mean being able to come back and help in different ways.”

Mikaere's nod is an even one, and a little rueful. "I know what you mean," he says. "This— my job, it feels like it is putting some kind of time limit on getting this sorted, whatever this is. Imagine it's the same for you. Change is— it's hard."

He sips at his beer. It's possible, deep down, he's wishing it were something stronger than beer, given givens.

"Don't let anything get in the way of you getting that degree, if that's what you want. Nothing is forever, right?" Maybe he realises a moment too late the multiple meanings that statement could have, because he clarifies, "I mean, being in Seattle wouldn't necessarily be forever. Or being anywhere."

Auckland, for instance.

“Yeah,” Jules agrees with Mikaere’s remark on change, a little somber in her own right.

The clarification occurs before Mikaere can really get himself into hot water, and so there’s just another of those half-smiles. “Right,” she says, another agreement. “It seems so foreign for me to live anywhere else, but we’ll see. Seattle’s not that far. I wonder though if you start to forget what it’s like here, if you move away.”

Time to work on her own beer, turning from looking at Mikaere to putting her head on his shoulder and gazing out and up at the stars. “You do want to move back, though, don’t you? Eventually.”

"I think it can be a bit like... like a veil, I suppose. It's more distant and remote; black and white instead of colour," muses Mikaere, drawing his arm snug about Jules as she nestles in.

"Mm. I suppose I do. It's hard to imagine, right now. Like starting again: everything would be different, and also... the same. And everything here is so immediate."

“I wonder if that’s part of what the town does to keep people here. Makes everything such a demand on our attention that it’s hard to break away.”

Jules lets herself be still and quiet, there in the circle of Mikaere’s arm, listening to the lap of the water and looking out in the dark. Then, softly, she confesses, “I don’t know if I can do it.”

"Mm," agrees Mikaere, with a thoughtfulness that suggests he doesn't think Jules is entirely wrong.

But her quietness, and that eventual comment, are more pressing: pressing, in a way that allows silence and room and space between words that doesn't need feeling.

"You don't have to," he says. "You don't have to do anything. Okay?"

“I know,” Jules replies, with enough of a smile and enough seriousness to convey that it isn’t any kind of easy, placating reassurance. “And I won’t do it any differently. But thank you for saying it.”

"Always," says Mikaere, just a breath above a whisper. "Sometimes we all need the reminder, that's all. No one gets to tell you what to do, or me. Not ma, not your grandma, not your housemates, not anyone. They can advise, they can encourage, but in the end... we make our own choices. There's something comforting in that, for me."

It sounds like a promise, enough so that Jules turns the cheek that’s against Mikaere’s shoulder in order to press a kiss to it, above the collar of his vest.

“Comforting,” she echoes. “What do you mean by that? Because my first thought is, well, that takes away any excuses you may want to hide behind. You’re the only one who bears responsibility for the decisions you make. That might be brave, but I’m not sure it’s comforting.”

The shiver of Mikaere's response is not with cold: just the acknowledgement of warm lips against his body. A promise, in its own way, acknowledged.

"Well— yes, that exactly. It's comforting to know that ultimately, decisions are up to us. Or it is for me, anyway. The world can throw whatever curve balls it wants at me," famous last words, "and what I do with it? That's up to me. I get to decide that. I like knowing I have some control, I guess."

“Makes sense.” Jules sits with it a moment, turning it over in her mind. “I wonder if that’s a little too focused on you, though. Not you personally. On the individual. The way I grew up, there was a lot of emphasis on how we’re all responsible for each other. How does that fit in?”

She’ll try to answer her own question, after a sip of beer. “I think the focus there is on making decisions in community, not alone. Maybe it can’t be reconciled with what you’re saying. Because you’re not just making your choice alone, after listening to others’ advice. You’re coming to consensus.”

A pause. “And if that’s the case—if that’s the philosophy to live by—then fuck, I’ve been doing everything all wrong.”

Jules' thoughts clearly draw thoughtfulness from Mikaere, too, who opens his mouth in order to reply and then shuts it again: it's Jules' turn to speak.

When she gets to the end, though, he lets out a breath that is almost shaky. "No kidding," he says. "I mean— not just you. I don't know the answer. Clearly, the wellbeing of the community matters, too. It's just—"

It's just.

“You want to do you?” Jules hazards the completion of Mikaere’s sentence, eyebrows arching.

A pause. A breath.

"Yeah," agrees Mikaere. "I guess so."

He tilts his head, glancing down at Jules. "What would you change about how you live your life, if you were to put community first— coming to consensus, as you said."

Jules frowns as she contemplated the starlit water and the question along with it. “I guess I’d be asking for more input before I did stuff from people like Una and Della. And you. We’d be having meetings about how to deal with the stuff that comes up here like Haggleford and our new friend Mr. Burn It All Down. Una’s already made our house something of a gathering place, but we could be intentional about it. Not just react, or a few people deciding to go do something. Maybe bring in some of the people from the outside to advise us, like the guy up in Makah, or your mom.”

All of that is easy enough to imagine. Actionable, even. What’s next is harder. “I guess, on a more personal level,” Jules says slowly, “I’d have to talk to the people closest to me about decisions like whether to go to Seattle for a bachelor’s degree. Lay out the case for it, but also ask how me going would impact them here, and try to come to an agreement on what the best thing is—not just for me, but for everyone here. And not just like, are they going to miss me, but what are the impacts of my presence or absence; is what I’m learning and able to return with going to outweigh whatever it is that I can do here now.”

Mikaere's expression is uncharacteristically inscrutable as he listens, though by the end, he acknowledges it all with a slow incline of his chin. "And that's where it gets hard," he supposes. "Because what you want and need matters less than what... the collective need is. And you're right, the collective need is important. I think, though, it's hard for all of us to think collectively. Because if it's something that impacts us personally, we have to try and separate our personal feelings about it from our understanding of the bigger picture."

Beat. "Which doesn't make it impossible, or a bad thing. But I think we all have to acknowledge our own biases. And equally... well, what I said earlier still stands. I want to make decisions taking into consideration the needs of those around me, but I also need to take in consideration my needs. And for me, I think it's about active harm. If an action that is good for me causes active harm to others, that's not a good thing. But if something is good for me, and maybe not the best possible outcome for others but not bad..."

He shrugs. "Or maybe I'm just selfish."

“I don’t think that’s selfish,” Jules is quick to say. “I think it’s a balancing act. Because what you want and what you think is good for you matters, too. If it was just about what’s good for others, you’d still be in New Zealand.”

Still married, possibly.

Mikaere pauses, and then his mouth twists into a smile; a grin. "Arguably, my coming here was for the greater good, too: I don't know that I would ever have grown into my full power, the way I was back home. I needed the outside influence. If I go back, I go back stronger. And I like to think I'd leave behind... well, something anyway."

“True,” Jules easily agrees. “And I’d like to think that some people back there would have recognized that, like your mom. She didn’t try to stop you, did she?” Whether or not it’s justified, Tui looms larger than life in Jules’ imagination, a fount of knowing.

"No, she did not. I think she'll do anything to make sure I go back, but I think she knew I needed to go."

His gaze turns towards Jules now, studying her.

“Anything?”

It bears asking. Jules gazes back with her eyebrows raised.

“How far would she go?”

Mikaere's shrug is one of genuine uncertainty. "Wait and see," he suggests. "Don't think for a second you're not in her sights, one way or another."

“I’ll consider myself warned,” Jules replies, letting her smile—no, smirk—show. “Good thing she likes me. I’d hate to know what she’d do if she didn’t.” A pause to eye Mikaere. “I assume she still likes me.”

"Unless there's something she's not telling me," Mikaere promises, faithfully.

It's fine: Tui likes Jules just fine.

... or maybe that's the problem. Who can say?

“That reminds me,” says Jules, talk one of family leading to another. “My grandma wants to know if you’re going to be here for Christmas.”

Surely he can see where this is going.

Mikaere hesitates, studying Jules. He licks his lip, and then wonders, "Do you want me there? I'm happy either way."

“Yeah, if you’re up for it,” Jules says after her own small moment of consideration. “I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise. But either way, pretty sure my grandma will send me home with something for you, even if it’s just food.”

She’s comfortable enough in the asking to grin. “Christmas is kind of different for us — I realize I didn’t even ask you if you celebrate it — but that’s one thing that I think is universal. Lots of food for everyone.”

"I'd be delighted to," is a little more formal than it might need to be, and comes with a squeeze of Jules' knee. "It'll be my first cold weather Christmas, so pretty much any way you celebrate would be new and interesting for me. We tend to keep it quiet, at home, but similar in the sense of... lots of food, yes. Family coming together."

Jules looks pleased, although something about Mikaere’s response quickly tempers her expression. It’s made clear soon enough.

“My mom should be there,” she notes. “She doesn’t miss Christmas.”

Mikaere hesitates over his beer, giving Jules another of those thoughtful glances. "Okay," he says. "I'd like to meet her."

“Really?” Jules’s tone is laced with skepticism. Unspoken: well, that’s dumb. “I wouldn’t want to meet her.”

"Hey," says Mikaere, giving Jules' knee another squeeze. "She's your ma. I know things are complicated, but— I'm so grateful to her. Because without her, there's no you."

A smile appears, but it is complicated, and it reflects in her expression. “True. But it’s easier when she’s not around.” Her shoulder lifts for a shrug.

“Anyway,” Jules says briskly, “we don’t do a ton of presents or anything. Which was kind of hard when we were kids, but I like it, now. We get one thing that’s bought, and one thing that’s made, and that’s it. It makes you think about it carefully, and, well, the whole idea of giving is different. There’s a kind of expectation that goes along with it.”

"I get that," is a murmur, barely audible, and anyway: Jules is moving on, and so too will Mikaere.

"That's a good way of doing it. Hard on little kids, sure, but— it means looking for something meaningful, and not just throwing lots of useless crap at people. We just do gifts for the kids in my family, mostly. I'm not very good at."

“You can’t be expected to keep up with kid trends unless you’re actually around them,” Jules says, sipping her beer. “Just be yourself—give them model boats they can build and sail, or sailing lessons if they’re old enough. Show them what you’re interested in, and if they get into it, then you’ve got something to bond over and gift ideas for years to come. And then you get to be Cool Uncle Mikaere.” Blithe advice from someone who isn’t around kids much herself.

"Hmm," says Mikaere, contemplative. "That's a thought. 'Cool Uncle Mikaere', huh."

Something about that makes him laugh.

"This time, of course, they probably just want something from here. Well— the US, anyway. I'm not sure that there's all that much that it's not possible to get from home now, of course, but... bragging rights."

“Bragging rights are important,” Jules agrees, nodding sagely. “Do like…a mixed basket of smoked salmon and huckleberry syrup for the adults and Olympic park t-shirts for the kids. Or anything Sasquatch related. You know those inflatable T-Rex costumes? They should make a Sasquatch one too. I would have loved running around in one of those as a kid.”

"Sasquatch. That's a brilliant idea." Mikaere gives Jules a nudge, though if it means more than just a simple gesture of affection and physical touch, it may not be entirely clear.

"I'll have to look into the best way to transport the salmon. But there's bound to be a good way to do it."

“If it’s smoked and sealed, just stick it in a box,” Jules says with a shrug. “It’s usually vacuum sealed. Perfect for shipping halfway around the world.”

She falls silent, though not for long. “So when will you hear about the grant?” How much time do they have?

A nod confirms Jules' explanation of the salmon shipping, but there's not much more to say to that; and, anyway, then there's the silence, and that other topic, the one that hangs so much more heavily.

He reaches for her hand, squeezing it. "A good couple of months at least. These things can be slow, really slow, and there's a lot of work to be done first— they'll be keeping me busy."

No problem at all: just a guillotine hanging over them for a few months.

“Yeah,” Jules says as she squeezes back. “I bet it does take a lot of work first. Lots of moving pieces. Anyway,” brave face now, “it’ll be good for you. So I guess you’ll be looking for a short term apartment? One with a better shower and decent wifi?”

"Exactly," Mikaere agrees. "Lots of moving pieces. And they know I'm here, that I can't necessarily drop everything overnight. So—"

So.

"An apartment, yeah. I figure there's probably plenty of summer holiday lets that'll be reasonably cheap, this time of year. With heat." Not that Mikaere ever gets cold, of course.

Beat. "And no housemates."

Jules does not smile, no, straight face all the way here. “I don’t know why you would want that.”

"You're right, I have no idea why I said that," teases Mikaere, who does not keep a straight face. "What I really want is a house full of people in my business all the time."

“Seriously, I love sharing a bathroom with two other women. It’s so much fun when the hot water runs out mid-shower. Nice and refreshing.”

Jules pauses, then needles Mikaere with her elbow and a tease: “Though I could say the same for your boat shower.”

Mikaere sticks out his tongue by way of reply. "And that," he says, "is why I shall be investing my new income in an apartment with a proper shower."

Beat, and then, in lowered voice: "Unlimited hot water, Jules."

And Jules? She just laughs, bright and merry.

“Just imagine the possibilities.”