Page 8 of Beyond The Maples
I get dressed more quickly than usual, throwing on my thicker tights and the only dress I own that is both warm and decent looking. I cinch the swarthy material around the waist, the draw string already fraying with age.
My patchy clothes are variations of old fashion made new again by the markets. The buttons down the front of shirts are always mismatched. The government is desperate to reuse and recycle material, hoping to get the land back to its previous fertile glory, forcing people to get creative with old fabric.
I stomp out to the living room theatrically.
"Who do you guys think you are, playing cards without me?!"
They all turn to look at me. Willow, of course, comes back with a snarky response.
"We don'tlikeplaying with you, Mae. You're too good. It's annoying."
I wander over. Putting my little sister's head in a hug that's more like a headlock. "Watch it, kid."
I use the opportunity to peer at Willow's cards.
"Ahh, going for a royal run, two fire sprites too, I see. Smart move, rookie." I drop the bomb as Willow erupts.
"NO FAIR, REDEAL! SHE RUINED MY HAND!"
I'm cackling in the kitchen, trying to boil water for the tea as Deacon argues they have to continue, and she was a fool for keeping her cards up around me. Linden is shaking his head quietly while leaning over to pick up all the cards, knowing the game is over.
"I actually have to head to school for a bit and study... In silence." He says this like it had been the plan all along, ever the peacekeeper.
Deacon nods his head, smiling at Willow. "We can play again soon. I'm back for a while now."
She concedes, never able to fight with him like she does us.
"Fine, I actually have some reading to do, anyway," she mutters.
"See ya later, sprout," Deacon offers warmly.
I'm standing in the kitchen, silently watching them all. Deacon turns his attention to me.
"You are such a little shit, you know that, right?" he says, shaking his head with a chuckle.
"Isn't that exactly why you love me?" I muse, passing him his own cup while I saunter over to the couch.
Linden collects his things and says a quiet goodbye at the door.
"See ya, bud. Don't be out too late. I'm heading for another shift later," I say, reminding him.
"I know, don't worry," he waves, scooting out the door.
"I love you too!" I yell at him, knowing he probably didn't catch it between the roaring wind and the slamming door.
Deacon laughs, plunking himself down beside me on our relic of a couch. He throws an arm around me, pulling me closer for a hug.
"It's so nice to be home," he sighs, taking a gulp of the bitter tea.
"I'm glad you're back. Tell me all about it. Anything interesting happen on the road?" I ask, allowing myself to sink into his warmth for a moment.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, really. The roads are definitely getting rougher. There are signs now everywhere saying not to venture off the main routes. It seems like some rebels, or resisters––whatever they call themselves––are lurking closer to The Centre, raiding. But we already knew that. We're lucky the council allows us to be armed during travel now."
He says this casually, like having modern technology or weapons is something that happens often. The truth is that both have been outlawed for some time, but there are always exceptions.
It seems the rules are only ever rules when it suits those in charge. I nod absently, running my finger along the lip of my mug in circles. I wait, hesitant to ask for what information I'm really hoping to hear.
He eyes me knowingly.
