So Long

Claire scowls as her older brother plops down into the seat across from her, and he laughs but doesn’t apologise for messing with her hair. She runs her hand through her hair to flatten it then crosses her eyes at Tim. A stout woman weaves her way around the dining area, refilling cups with the ease of practise. Her steel-grey hair is pinned back in her signature style - a sharp bun at the base of her skull, the metal bobby pins glinting dully under the lights. Edna smiles widely at the Hunter siblings once she arrives at the table.

“How we doin’ today?”

“Hey, Ma. We’re doing good.” Tim glances at Claire and, as usual, knows exactly what she wants. “We’ll take the usual.”

“Coupla burgers, no onion or tomato on Miss Claire Belle’s but extra mayo and pickle, and a Coke and Dr Pepper?”

“Yes, ma’am. Is Charlie making sweet potato fries today?”

“Sorry, baby, not today. Said they weren’t up to snuff, and he’ll be damned if he serves anything less than perfect.”

“Regular fries will be fine, then. Thanks, Ma.”

“I’ll be right back,” Edna promises with a soft pat on Claire’s shoulder.

The old woman’s smoky voice is as familiar to Claire as the inside of the diner. She stares around the place as Edna disappears into the back. Tim used to bring her here every chance they got after he got his license, and they’ve grown close to the couple who owned the diner. Charlie rarely makes his presence known much any more - he’s always said that one day, some idiot was going to be the death of his patience to deal with the public, and evidently, it’s happened, since Claire hasn’t seen him during the last handful of times she’s stopped in. The tiles on the walls are chipped, yellowed from when smoking indoors was still allowed, and covered with photographs of various people: Edna and Charlie; regular customers who have been coming for years, and Claire doesn’t have to search very hard to see the picture of her and Tim from the night of her prom; even the occasional celebrity who somehow lost their way and stumbled inside for a hot meal and lively conversation with the patrons. The watery lights overhead gleam fully off the thin layer of grease that clings to the pea-green laminate tabletops. Claire is certain the floors under the tables aren’t any better in terms of stickiness. The staff is very competent and clean regularly, but when there are fifty-three years of patronage stuffed into one building, there are bound to be some things that don’t go away, no matter how hard you scrub.

“Remember the first time we came here?” she asks suddenly, and Tim stares at her, brows furrowed as he thinks. “Jess Thompson had just broken up with me, and I, ever the dramatic thirteen-year-old, was crying from the broken heart i was sure I would never recover from.”

“Oh, yeah! You really should’ve been an actress. You were putting on a show about how your entire life was ruined, all because one stupid boy decided he didn’t want you any more.”

“That damned Becky Carmichael. Her and her popularity destroyed my very first love.”

“Belle, you weren’t in love. You were thirteen.”

“I could’ve been!” She laughs, shaking her head. “I was so dumb to be so wrapped up in him.”

“Not dumb, just young.”

The pair falls silent while they eat, and Claire kicks herself mentally for ever forgetting how amazing Charlie’s burgers are. She drags a pickle slice out from her sandwich and pops it into her mouth, crunching down on it and smiling as the sharp vinegar explodes on her tongue. Tim smacks her hand when she reaches for the plate of fries between them; she swats him back but waits until he’s grabbed a handful to pick out a few of the mushier ones. She chews slowly, dips another fry in the puddle of ketchup on the edge of her brother’s plate, then sighs.

“Did... did I ever thank you? For being such an amazing big brother? I mean, even when you were being annoying, I always knew I could count on you.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself, kid. You were irritating and frustrating and so damn melodramatic, sure, but you weren’t an awful baby sister. I’m just glad you seem to be doing all right for yourself.”

“I don’t think having a job for one whole week can be construed as all right for myself,” she protests as Edna places their refilled cups in front of them. “Besides, I never would’ve gotten the job - or even back to California - without your help.”

“You know if this job turns out to suck major nuts, you can always quit and come stay with us until you find something better, right?”

“I can’t always keep relying on you to save my ass, Tim-Tam.”

“That’s bullshit, Belle, and you know it. We’re family. We’re brother and sister. It’s literally in our code to protect and watch out for each other.”

“And how often have I protected you?”

The question is meant to be rhetorical, sarcastic, but Tim answers anyway. “Remember when I was dating Simone? You kept telling me she was scum and I deserved better, even though it caused fights between us every time. You never changed your mind about her, you never pretended to like her just to save the peace. You kept what was best for me in mind, and you tried your damnedest to prevent the damage from her shit. And you were there when everything went to Hell in a hand-basket without even one single ‘I told you so.’”

“Everything okay?”

Claire grins up at Edna and nods enthusiastically. “Perfect as always, Ma. Tell Charlie I’ve gained thirty pounds just sitting here.”

Her throaty chuckle morphs into a cough, and she walks away still laughing. She turns around when Tim calls her name, and Claire rolls her eyes as her brother asks for a Belle of the Bowl. The dish was named after Claire; Tim had brought her here in the middle of her prom when her date had suddenly disappeared only to be found in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles, the cheerleading captain’s dress pushed up to her breasts. Claire had immediately called her brother in tears, and he left his warm bed to come pick her up. He had asked Edna if there was any way they could make the dessert, he was willing to pay extra if it would make his sister smile. Edna took one look at the crying teenager in the pretty gown and instantly agreed; thus, the Belle of the Bowl was born.

“Belle.” Tim pushes away his plate and rests his elbows on the tabletop, folds his hands together. “You have always had my back through everything, and I’m always gonna have yours. Even if it means you crash on my couch for a bit until you’re on your feet.”

Claire clears the lump from her throat and blinks away tears. Thankfully, being interrupted by dessert proves to be a successful distraction, and she’s much more composed by the time Edna has passed over two spoons and walked away. Tim curses when Claire hits the back of his hand with her spoon; it may be childish, but they get into a sword-fight of sorts, smacking their spoons against each other in the attempt to be the first to take a bite of the ice cream.

Waking up at the insistence of her alarm is a lot easier come Wednesday morning. Though she shivers in the cold air of her bedroom and curses her roommates for adjusting the thermostat sometime in the night, she bounces across the room and hurriedly dresses, excited to get back to work. The last two days have been effortless to get through. Monday was spent setting up the guest room in Niall’s house in a way that she is okay with; she’d asked him if that was acceptable - she hadn’t wanted to rearrange the furniture if he would have a problem with it, she just really cannot stand having three exposed sides of a bed. He laughed and told her to go wild.

She had learnt more about Niall on Tuesday from an email from Abby. The woman had apologised again for not remembering to leave the spare key then segued into a list outlining the things that Claire will eventually witness. It had been incredibly awkward reading these things about her boss, though Claire understands why Abby had been so forthright about it - she can’t do her job properly if she isn’t aware of Niall’s tics and compulsions. She’d made sure that her boss wasn’t watching her then delved into researching OCD and ways that she might possibly help if he needs it.

“You ready to go?”

Claire double-checks that she has everything in the messenger bag and nods in Niall’s direction. She heads to the car while he locks the house up behind them; the meeting today is supposed to be a simple in-and-out, and Niall assured her that it is going to be mostly informal, just some minor details that need pressed out more completely, so Claire isn’t too worried about how it will go.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I record the conversation?” she asks hesitantly, and the guy - she can’t remember his name right now - cocks his head to the side. “I only ask so I can transcribe it later.”

The man looks surprised but nods nonetheless, gestures that she can do so. As she digs through the bag for the work phone, she catches sight of Niall. He raises a brow at her when she sets the work phone on the surface of the conference table, the recording app pulled up and ready to go, along with a notepad and pen. She shrugs awkwardly and promises to explain after the meeting.

He was right. They’re out on the sidewalk within half an hour, and Claire breathes a sigh of relief. It was easy enough to take notes as the two men talked, but it was still awkward to sit there and write things down without contributing to the conversation. Niall turns to her once they are both sat in the car and buckled up. She exhales slowly, forces a smile.

“I like having an audio recording of conversations, especially when they’re important ones like that. That way, no one can say something was or wasn’t said without being able to pull up the proof of what actually happened. It also means that nothing gets misunderstood, and if it does, you can go back and listen to the conversation and figure out where the discrepancy is.” Claire scratches idly at her forehead, avoids his gaze. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head and rushes to assure her, “No, no, not weird at all! Abby took notes all the time, but she never recorded. Which is why it caught me off guard that you would. Not weird, I’m just not used to it.”

“I just… wanted to make your life easier.”

“I appreciate your forethought.”

The grin he flashes in her direction eases the nerves and discomfort she feels, and Claire settles into the passenger seat, much more at peace now. The drive back to his house takes over an hour with lunch-time traffic, and though they don’t talk much during the trip, the silence is a comfortable one. She sings along quietly to the radio, her fingers tapping against her knee to the beat. Between the bright sunshine pouring in through the windows and the lightness in her bones, Claire feels like she can breathe freely, even if her head is spinning from the spiced cologne that she can smell coming from her left.