she hasn't really been much of anywhere in years, nevermind rustboro. she grew up in a family of hermits, more than content to build their little world around them. she's never wanted more, really, but she'll admit to feeling envious when hearing about some of her neighbor's family vacations. 

doubt creeps in when he smiles like that. doubt and a little something else, but she'd rather focus on the former. because she meant what she said all those weeks ago. she'll allow herself little fantasies, but when she thinks about it, really thinks about it, it doesn't feel right. 

"alright. want me to call a taxi then?" she shucks out of her work boots and slips on some sneakers. her face is still a bit flushed from the work and both she and bo have smears of dirt about them and on their clothes. but she doesn't think it'd be fair to refresh herself while he waited on her. 

besides, she wants to be back before roman gets home. 

boruta maher

☉

smears of dirt were nothing. in his line of work, he’d become a bit of an outdoorsman—and at least these days, it wasn’t blood.

“sure. i’ll take care of the fare and everything.” everything implying lunch, of course. but really, anything. he was eager to attempt to provide in some way. whatever she might willingly take was offered without a second thought.

and so, they would get a taxi. he’d conversate, and do his best to keep the mood bright. soon enough, at the end of the route, clouds could be seen billowing from smokestacks. the slightly uneven cobblestone beneath them made their ride much less smooth all of the sudden.

after a couple of blocks, it would surely become apparent where they were headed. the flowers out front came into view, and bo looked over at her, wondering what her reaction might be.

was this the wrong move?

willow atkins

☉

it's weird, really. she asks him what he's been up to - they've talked about his job with the rangers now. a lot of his past, before this one, is still shrouded in mystery. topic changes or questions about the greenhouse and its plant inhabitants tend to come up when she mentions it. but despite her little pushes, she hasn't demanded he tell her everything. 

some things should just be left unsaid. 

her chest tightens as rustboro comes into view. bo stays cheery and it helps her, for a little bit, until the taxi's bumbling through familiar roads, neighborhoods that have changed, but still look the same enough to make her ache. 

her memory is hazy and she doesn't remember what street it's on, but the flowers are unmistakable. she goes quiet, heart sinking, smile stretched taut as she tries to fake some modicum of enthusiasm at seeing margo's, their old haunt. 

he's trying, she reminds herself. 

but this isn't what i want, her thoughts whisper back. 

"oh. i didn't realize it'd still be here after all these years." the taxi rumbles to a stop. bo said he'd pay for it, but she grabs bills out of her wallet and hands it to the cabbie, if only so she can open the door and get out of the cramped space. 

although, margo's did have the best honey cappuccino she's ever had. 

boruta maher

☉

lately, he was finally proud of the work that he’d been doing and what he was making of himself. it was something, at least. he was happy to tell her, although it was bittersweet to be so excited about such a new position. at this point in his life, he figured he should’ve been well into a career.

he could never tell her everything. not of the faces he’d sank his fist into; not of the bodies he’d helped move; not of the bodies he’d helped fall. he’d had one of the most brutal jobs. he’d lost himself in it for a time, becoming someone else. when he looked back, he scarcely recognized that person.

instead of telling her what he’d actually done before, the topic went unmentioned. when she was direct enough, he’d be forced to lie—but he wouldn’t do it until necessary.

he wondered if maybe somewhere in the multiverse, another him had gotten things right.

his face drooped at her response. oh.

shit. this hadn’t been the right move. this was both painful and awkward. painfully awkward. to make matters worse, she handed over cash. he had the reflexive urge to grab it back, but then he realized it wouldn’t do any good. kicking himself, he too slid out of the taxi.

fuck. stupid.

he beheld it for the first time in a while as well, not nearly as happy as he’d hoped.

“uh... yeah. i still come here sometimes. food's still great.” somehow, a lie slipped already, perhaps with the purpose of making it seem like this wasn’t as special of an occasion. he instantly regretted it.

they went, and he opened the door for her, attempting to be more ‘gentlemanly’ than he’d been as a teenager, maybe. he wasn’t sure if this was the right move either, but he did it anyways, because he wanted to be behind her when he took in his entirely new surroundings. he was sure his face would give him away.

willow atkins

☉

there's no shortage of places they'd never been to back when they were kids. willow liked their places. the sparse lining of blackberry bushes on the western part of town near the coast - their go-to spot for a picnic. antonio's to the north when they wanted pizza. and margo's, when they wanted breakfast and coffee. 

all these memories come flooding back to her. she hides her shaking hands by thumbing them into the pockets of her jacket. her cheeks redden, but that has more to do with the warm air that greets them inside after the nippiness on the other side of the threshold. 

and again, she thinks there are so many other cafes around here, and bo frequents this one? the implications shadow that moment in her shed, where she'd told him nothing could happen, that he'd promised that wasn't what this was about. 

the interior has changed quite a bit and so she wraps herself up in that. the rickety chairs she'd once known have been replaced with unfinished wood. well-worn traditional orrenian rugs have been replaced with purple art deco, matching the new faux gold fixtures.

she doesn't recognize any of the employees; most of them are adolescents. the menus are laminated and even the logo's been changed - margo's own flowing script replaced with modern block letters. 

"i can't believe it's changed this much," she says, almost troubled. she feels so alone right now as she tries to imagine what it used to look like, what they used to look like. she craves her familiarity, the warmth of her greenhouse, the smell of her flowers. 

in an attempt to lighten the mood, to stop from souring their lunch, she finally meets bo's eyes, offering a smile as they're greeted by the counter - 

"do you remember my order? it's still on the menu."

boruta maher

☉

whatever the places were, bo hadn’t been back—not since the day he’d left. he hadn’t been able to face things. he couldn’t take the nostalgia. he’d found news spots to go, but mostly, when he wasn’t working, he just stayed home.

he was supposed to know this place, but he couldn’t keep the bewildered look out of his eye as he tried to maintain the guise that all of this was perfectly normal to him.

what the fuck had happened to margo’s? it was kind of sad. why was there so much purple?
bo maintained a smile at her back, doing his best.

“yeah, i know. it’s crazy.”

oh shit. what was her order?

“mmm, let’s see.” he opened the menu, his eyes doing something weird for a moment with surprise before scanning nonchalantly.

then, it occurred to him. maybe this was a trick question?

maybe he could get by without knowing the answer?

“wait. this is a lunch menu. we used to come here for breakfast.”

time to try something new.

willow atkins

☉

her coy attempt to watch him stumble, if only for the sake of easing tension, actually doesn't go the way she'd expected it to. and she realizes, after finally turning to him, that he's just so nervous. she chews the inside of her cheek and demands her ego or id or whatever it is to get itself in check. 

he's trying. she reminds herself for the hundredth time, but finally it sinks in. she's been so busy wrapped up in the trauma of what if he leaves again? that she hadn't stopped to consider why he's walking on eggshells. 

because he'll respect her wishes if she asks him to leave. 

"i'll have the caprese sandwich and your brown sugar latte," she says to the service gal. "if i could do a side of fruit instead of chips, that'd be lovely."

after bo orders and pays (allowing it with a nod, acknowledging she'd stepped over his request back at the cab), and after they've been handed an ugly number on a stick, they find a table by the window.

"shame they don't have the almond scones anymore," she says, offering a smile. "i still dream about those sometimes."

boruta maher

☉

he would indeed do as she asked, even to this day, some time into the days at the garden. getting to know her again, as much as she’d allow.

if leaving ended up being what she wanted him to do, as much as it would pain him, he’d have to remain at a distance and wait. maybe forever. there was no doubt in his mind that he would wait, though. things changed, but some things just felt so certain after they’d snapped into place.

things were never going to be easy, though.

for once, the palms of his hands felt hot. he felt a bit like a teenager again, fumbling, while trying to maintain the image that he knew what he was doing. silly.

he looked up from the menu.

“hey, uh—yeah, i’ll take a chicken focaccia sandwich, a BLT, a bowl of corn chowder, and uh…” he looked some more, clearly not knowing the menu as well as he’d intended her to believe. “a small salad with ranch.” had to watch his figure.

after paying, he went to sit and wait with her.

the almond scones. he vaguely remembered them. and, now he had a mission.

“yeah, those were pretty good. remember the everything bagels?” shit. did they still make them? probably.

willow atkins

☉

she doesn't really know what to do with her hands so she takes to fiddling with the number placard. and also touching the light fixture above her to confirm her suspicions that yes, it's just cheaply painted thin metal. what happened to this place? 

what always happens, will. things change. people change. 

her conscious reminds her that it's been eight years. well, eight years and some change now. that distinction is made because bo's at least been back for the some change part. and she doesn't know all of him, not yet (and maybe she never will), but she knows enough to like who he is. 

to think he's still a good person. 

she brightens. "i do. i could never finish mine so you'd always end up with one and a half." she raises a brow. "i see some things haven't changed."

then, suddenly, and before she loses her nerve - "i think...i'm okay with you meeting roman."

boruta maher

☉

the grin on his face at her reminiscing was almost goofy in its brightness. bo’s mother had always informed him that he had sunshine in his eyes, even when there was no sun out, and he did—at least for those around him he loved. it was part of the reason his leaving had been so unexpected eight years ago. bo loved hard.

“yeah, that sounds about right.” he laughed, and leaned back a little, a look passing more meek than he felt. bo wasn’t scared of displaying his appetite. “nope.”

he licked his lip and looked out the window briefly, and the words that hit his ear caught him utterly off-guard. he heart felt like it was surely glowing.

eyes fell back on her, his smile fading into the look of wonder he should have had for his son nearly a decade ago.

“are you sure?”

willow atkins

☉

everything may have changed. years may have passed between them and she may have fooled herself into thinking she'd tarnished the memories to the point that any latent feelings, nostalgic or otherwise, would cease to resurface. and yet there's his smile, the one she'd fallen head over heels for.

she's a bit caught off guard by it, same as he is with her, and it takes her a flustered moment to find her words. most of her feelings, she's been able to keep hidden from him, but this one, this one that means so much to her - 

to see how purely overjoyed he is at the idea of meeting his son, their son -

this one reads plain as day on her cheeks, in her brows, in her eyes. 

she reaches out a hand, as though to take his, but then one of the servers comes over juggling a few baskets in their arms. she turns to grab her sandwich and fruit cup instead. surprisingly, it's filled with fall berries, hinting that maybe some of margo's old charm is still left. 

when the food is set, she picks up half of her sandwich and says over it, "yes, i'm sure. it's about time he meets his dad and, well, i think it's about time you met him." 

her eyes soften. she crunches down on tomatoes and mozzarella. fresh basil pesto fights for dominance over slightly stale bread. it's not the best, and it's not margo's, but it's decent. and she finds herself smiling anyway. 

"i appreciate all you've done, bo. really. i know you're trying. and i want to take this next step, but i think we need to talk about what this means, you know? the logistics of it all."

boruta maher

☉

she smiled back, and his lips curled more. when her hand began to come across the table, he reached too, gravitating—but it was interrupted by food, and for once in his life, bo wasn’t worried about the damn sandwich. he’d starve all day if it meant he could hold her hand for one minute.

this wasn’t to say he wasn’t grateful and effectively distracted when the feast was set out in front of them, though. a wonderful smell wafted from fresh herbs and olive oil, underneath the permeating savory and slightly sweet aroma of the chowder… he looked pleasantly surprised, as though this was the first time he was seeing all of these items. the only thing that might’ve saved him was that bo sort of always looked like this when food was set in front of him.

he beamed up at the server as though it were all made of gold. “thank you. this looks great.”

now, back to the topic of meeting his son.

his grin fell back to willow, looking like he’d just won something. margo’s might’ve seemed like a bad decision when they’d walked in the door, but it was turning out to be a pretty great day, after all. he wanted to get up and hug her, but he didn’t get so close to her anymore. he was careful.

and now, speechless at first. what was there to say? ’thanks? i love you? please?’

an acknowledgement of his efforts washed over like a wave, refreshing and pulling away months of stress and inner conflict. he was doing a good job. or, at the very least, she could see that he was trying.

“sure, will.” he looked at each of her eyes, seeing someone younger behind them, somewhere. maybe it was an illusion he projected onto her. maybe that person was gone. he loved this one too, though. he knew that that much. “i’m here for whatever. you tell me.” he reached for his spoon. “y’know. what it means, and the logistics. i’ll follow accordingly.”

then, he spooned soup into his mouth, choosing that first so as to not let it get cold. bo ate too fast, but he tried to control himself considering the situation, and he actually did okay.

willow atkins

☉

the logistics of it all and everything she hasn't had the courage to say. it's all written down in her journal, tucked away in a hidden compartment in the shed's floorboards because roman's a nosy little thing. she can't recall most of it, as most can't with their journals, but these lines she'd said softly to herself over and over in an attempt to find her courage. 

i'm worried about him. i tried my best. i did everything i could and still it feels like it wasn't enough. he's so angry, bo. all the time. i've felt torn my entire life, like something was missing, and i think he's felt it too. and i've never been strong enough to fix it. 

to be enough.

maybe she's just selfish. if she could have given roman her whole heart, if she could have dropped everything - the flowers, the gardens, the guitar, the ranch - for him, then maybe they'd be okay. maybe he'd be okay. 

there's so much weight behind his gaze that she has to look down. she wants to ask him what he sees. is it strength? is it failure? is it terror? she feels all three at once and she doesn't know how. 

her hand trembles. she sets the sandwich down and knits her fingers together in her lap to hide them, but it doesn't matter anyway. bo's busy wolfing down his food. 

"well, that's just it," she says, a bit uneasily. "i'm opening the floor to you. you've done everything i've asked of you these past few weeks. what do you want?" 

she looks down at her food, appetite gone as her diary's words float through her head. "and logistics-wise - to get started, i want supervised visitation. just at the beginning. and then day trips when i'm comfortable. overnight stays - well, we'll talk about that when we get there - but a goal is a healthy balance between us.

"we'll explain to him that you're back, but we're separated and it'll stay that way so he doesn't get his hopes up. and then we'll...see how he takes it."

she exhales. 

boruta maher

☉