Status: One-shot; complete.
No Animosity
1/1
Years ago it would have been different; no doubt there would have been tears. Someone would have yelled at some point, they’re sure of it, someone’s voice would have cracked. But right here right now they stand, Rochelle leaning on the counter, Fran in the doorway with her keys in hand. She isn’t sure what she expected, Fran isn’t. Maybe her upbringing of soap operas with cheese snacks warped her relationship expectations; as she turns towards her life packed up in the Ute outside, she can almost hear the atmospheric piano music in the background.
-
Fran gets a feeling sometimes but it’s a passing fancy, and she does nothing but give a big red smile and carry on with her day. Helga in admin asks her where she got her new shoes; the coffee boy gives her a grin as he hands over a latte with extra shots; Don the security man tips his hat at her as she leaves.
“They’re holding a small production of Oliver at Playhouse next month and you and I are going, Don!” she calls back as he laughs heartily.
“I’m not a theatre man, I keep telling you that!”
There’s a post-it note on her fridge when she gets home – I left the keys in the vase out front. She slides it from under the Sydney Opera House magnet and leaves it to sit on the table. It’s still there when she and a great deal of steam emerge from the bathroom ten minutes later. It sits perfectly still as she eats chicken fillets and pesto. It stays there until she’s finished washing up and decides to bin it along with the empty chicken packet.
Elisa has a smile that makes Fran smile. She can write with calligraphy pens when given the time, and is fluent in three different languages. She’s also on a plane to Montreal.
-
Fran sees her a few months later. Sure of it. A small redhead bobbing along with the others walking past as she waits to buy a lottery ticket. Her stomach clenches a little, she pays for the ticket, and thanks the cashier upon departure. Her numbers don’t match but it wasn’t a complete waste.
“Hey Don, Don!”
“Hey woah, watch it!” He pushes against her as she almost knocks him over. “I can’t be ensuring the security of this building if my own self isn’t secure!”
“Sorry, sorry.” She straightens her jacket; he does the same. “I saw her at the shopping centre.”
“What, who? Wait, the girlie? Your girlie?”
-
She picks up the old photo and slides it under the Sydney Opera House magnet. It’s still there when they and a great deal of steam emerge from the bathroom half an hour later. It remains perfectly still as they eat fish and green beans. It stays there until Fran’s finished reorganising the kitchen cupboard and decides to place it higher up on the fridge and add another magnet.
“This was...good,” she says. “It was good.”
“Yeah, I think it’s...good.”
She laughs. “I already said that.”
Rochelle leans on her shoulder, twisting her body, face in Fran’s neck. “If I remember correctly, this particular spot-”
Fran tenses, sighing a little, leaning backwards, making Rochelle smile.
“You’re different, really different, but so the same.”
-
Fran gets a feeling sometimes but it’s a passing fancy, and she does nothing but give a big red smile and carry on with her day. Helga in admin asks her where she got her new shoes; the coffee boy gives her a grin as he hands over a latte with extra shots; Don the security man tips his hat at her as she leaves.
“They’re holding a small production of Oliver at Playhouse next month and you and I are going, Don!” she calls back as he laughs heartily.
“I’m not a theatre man, I keep telling you that!”
There’s a post-it note on her fridge when she gets home – I left the keys in the vase out front. She slides it from under the Sydney Opera House magnet and leaves it to sit on the table. It’s still there when she and a great deal of steam emerge from the bathroom ten minutes later. It sits perfectly still as she eats chicken fillets and pesto. It stays there until she’s finished washing up and decides to bin it along with the empty chicken packet.
Elisa has a smile that makes Fran smile. She can write with calligraphy pens when given the time, and is fluent in three different languages. She’s also on a plane to Montreal.
-
Fran sees her a few months later. Sure of it. A small redhead bobbing along with the others walking past as she waits to buy a lottery ticket. Her stomach clenches a little, she pays for the ticket, and thanks the cashier upon departure. Her numbers don’t match but it wasn’t a complete waste.
“Hey Don, Don!”
“Hey woah, watch it!” He pushes against her as she almost knocks him over. “I can’t be ensuring the security of this building if my own self isn’t secure!”
“Sorry, sorry.” She straightens her jacket; he does the same. “I saw her at the shopping centre.”
“What, who? Wait, the girlie? Your girlie?”
-
She picks up the old photo and slides it under the Sydney Opera House magnet. It’s still there when they and a great deal of steam emerge from the bathroom half an hour later. It remains perfectly still as they eat fish and green beans. It stays there until Fran’s finished reorganising the kitchen cupboard and decides to place it higher up on the fridge and add another magnet.
“This was...good,” she says. “It was good.”
“Yeah, I think it’s...good.”
She laughs. “I already said that.”
Rochelle leans on her shoulder, twisting her body, face in Fran’s neck. “If I remember correctly, this particular spot-”
Fran tenses, sighing a little, leaning backwards, making Rochelle smile.
“You’re different, really different, but so the same.”