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I didn’t ask Vega to take a photo with me this week, mostly because I didn’t want to have something to stare at late at night when I’m missing her in the weeks after this trip. I don’t want to wallow in what could be. I did, however, sneak a photo of her with Momiji and Freja resting on both of her shoulders. It’s from the back, and it’s a little blurry, but it’s mine. My little keepsake.
I flip to my texts with the Unholy Trilogy and type away as Vega uses the bathroom.
Indigo
Can someone remind me of why I like my job more than I like Vega?
Dahlia
Because it pays your bills!! And you get to work with Alitha doing fun magic stufffff?
Indigo
Yeah…
Alitha
I’m not sure you do.
Indigo
:/
twelve
VEGA
Indigo has been brushingher teeth forsixminutes. I don’t know what kind of anxious state she’s in, but I think her brain is convinced the more she brushes, the less likely it is that dinner will go poorly.
If anyone ever made me feel this bad, I would probably punch them in the face, I lie to myself. In reality, I’d just block their number. But Indigo, as kind hearted as she is, remains in contact with everyone that hurts her. She’stookind. I don’t know much about Indie’s dating history, but I can imagine if one of her awful ex’s came knocking on her door asking for help, she’d let them right in too.
I admire it though, really. When my mother and little brother passed away, my father died along with them. He gave up on me when I needed him most. I could never see Indigo doing that to her family, not even to Iris. As much as the two seem to have issues, I truly believe Indigo would do anything for her sister if it came down to it.
“Indigo, we’ve got to get going. Dinner is in less than an hour,” I say into the crack of the bathroom door.
“I’m coming.” Indigo’s words are muffled and coated with toothpaste. “Wait in the kitchen for me.”
I head into the kitchen, leaning against the island as I adjust my suspenders. I’m clad in solid black, dress pants and top with suspenders and loafers. I look… really fucking good. I hear the pitter patters of what is either Indigo’s footsteps or my heart. Maybe both. Typically, I don’t get anxious or nervous, but whatever I’m experiencing now is something similar—butterflies—as I wait for Indigo to enter the room.
Damn.Besides that time she borrowed my sweater, this is the first I’ve ever seen her in any color other than black. A deep green velvet, the dress cuts low on her petite chest. Embossed with roses, it’s absolutely gorgeous. There’s a sort of twisted wrap effect to it, pulling at her hips, accentuating their curve. Indigo is lean-but-hippy, and it shows off her frame well. It’s stunning—she’sstunning.
Mouth agape, I stare at her in awe.
“Well, don’t act so shocked,” she says. “You make it seem like I look unkempt most of the time.”
“I’ve just never seen you wear anything other than black.”
“Oh.” She twirls in the dress, showing off. “Green is my favorite color.”
I thought it was purple. “Since when?”
“Since you.”
Our eyes meet, and there’s so much unsaid between us. Her words have implications; they give me hope. I still have a chance at changing our fate.
* * *
As we pull up to the Watson house, it’s different this time. The eaves and gables of the roof are lined with bright white Christmas lights, and the yard is covered in decorative blow-up snowmen. I can’t tell if we’re about to walk into a Christmas movie or a Christmas catastrophe. I’m hoping for the former.
