Word Count : 4070
--------
The door opened.
And Mara didn't recognize the person standing there.
Amy had always been kinda small, not in the vertical sense - she was actually pretty tall, 5 ft 7 - but in presence. Maybe it was due to her Christian upbringing, being the matriarch and good wife and all that shit. But she'd always been solid, you know? Confident in what she does. The woman used to walk in a room and expect people to notice her and listen to her.
The person in the doorway was none of those things.
She was... fuck, how do you even describe it? Hollowed out. Like someone had scooped out everything that made Amy Amy and left behind this empty shell that vaguely resembled a human being.
Her hair were limp. Greasy, maybe, or just unwashed too long. It hung around her face in thin strands, more gray than Mara remembered. Her skin had that papery quality, the kind you got from too much time indoors and not enough... anything, really. Not enough food, not enough sun, not enough reasons to take care of yourself.
Her eyes were the worst part.
They'd always been sharp, Amy's eyes. Even when she was high, when Mara was with her, even when she was at her worst, there was always something there — anger, or even defensiveness when she knew she was wrong but wouldn't admit it.
Now they were just... empty. Watery and red-rimmed and empty. Like a wounded animal that had stopped fighting and was just waiting for whatever came next.
She looked like she'd commit seppuku right there on the doorstep if it would make Jules or Mara happy. Genuinely. Mara looked at her and thought: I could destroy this woman with three sentences. I could say something so fucking devastating that she'd walk into traffic afterward.
And the thing was? She'd planned to. The whole drive over, she'd been composing speeches in her head. Scathing, brutal, surgical takedowns that would leave Amy bleeding on the floor. All the things she'd never said when she was twelve. All the rage and hurt and abandonment, packaged into neat little sentences designed to inflict maximum damage.
But looking at this... this husk... all those words just evaporated. Like trying to yell at a kicked puppy. Like punching someone who was already on the ground.
God fucking dammit, Mara thought. Her patheticness saved her.
Mara hated this. She really, truly hated that Amy's complete and total destruction as a human being had robbed her of the satisfaction of destroying her herself.
Jules made a sound next to her.
Not really a word, more like a sound produced unconsciously from deep within.
Mara glanced over. Jules's face had gone pale. Her hands were shaking slightly, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.
Jules had loved their mother.
That was the thing Mara sometimes forgot. Before everything — before the hospital, before the drugs, before the world fell apart — Jules had been Amy's boy Justin. Amy's golden child. The one who got all the attention and affection that Mara never quite managed to earn.
And Jules had loved her back. Fiercely, completely, the way kids used to love their parents before they learn that parents are just people who fuck up like everyone else.
Seeing Amy like this... it wasn't satisfying for Jules. It was heartbreaking.
Amy was mostly responsible for her own destruction. Mara knew that. The drugs, the neglect, the whole fucking spiral — that was on Amy. But still, there was something deeply fucked up about the whole situation. When Amy had finally needed Jules the way Jules had once needed her, Jules hadn't been there. And when Jules had needed her mother the most, Amy had been too far gone to be any help. Instead of being the support Jules craved, Amy had become the biggest problem in her life.
Cycles of bullshit, all the way down.
"Hi," Amy said.
Her voice was thin. Reedy. Like she'd forgotten how to use it and was just now remembering. Which, in hindsight, may not have been inaccurate, judging by the dump that was the apartment as visible from the entrance. No one had been here other than Amy in a while.
"Hi," David said, because someone had to say something.
Silence. Fucking Awkward. Mara missed the nail freak already.
"Do you... do you want to come in?"
No, I fucking don't.
They went in. Fuck.
The apartment room was small.
Two bedrooms, a kitchen that opened onto a living room that was trying very hard to look cozy and just looked sad instead. There were photos on the walls. Mara recognized some of them . she'd lived here during those seven months. Family photos from before. Jules as a baby. Mara as a baby. Amy and David's wedding, back when they'd been young and stupid and in love.
No photos from after the divorce. Obviously.
Mara had mixed feelings about this place. On one hand, it was where she'd spent seven of the worst months of her life. On the other hand, it was also where she'd learned to pick locks and run drugs and fight like a demon— Haaa... Nostalgia— so... growth, maybe? Fucked up growth, but still.
Amy's parents had lived here before they died. Mara had met them once, when she was about four. Car accident took them both Now Amy lived here alone, in this small sad house full of photos from a life that didn't exist anymore.
The gang was probably still operating, Mara realized. Terrell, Jade and Destiny and all the rest. Just thirty minutes away. She'd never checked on them after she left. Never looked back. Part of her wondered if they even remembered her — the tiny blonde twelve-year-old who'd run drugs for six months and then vanished into thin air.
Probably not. People like that didn't dwell on the past. Amy on the other hand had only the past.
"Can I get you... something? Water? Tea?"
Amy was hovering. Actually hovering, like a nervous bird that expected to be swatted at any moment. Her hands kept fluttering — touching her hair, smoothing her shirt, clasping together and then coming apart.
"Water's fine," David said.
Amy practically fled to the kitchen.
Mara, Jules, and David stood in the living room. Nobody sat down. Nobody seemed to know what to do with their bodies.
This was somehow more awkward than the car ride.
Which shouldn't have been possible. The car ride had been aggressively awkward, the kind of awkward that had its own gravitational pull. But this was worse. This was awkward squared. Awkward to the power of fuck-my-life. Ugh.
Amy came back with four glasses of water on a tray. Her hands were shaking so badly the glasses were clinking together. She set the tray down on the coffee table — slowly, carefully, like she was defusing a bomb.
"Please, sit. Please."
They sat.
Amy sat across from them. Then stood up. Then sat down again. Then folded her hands in her lap. Then unfolded them. Then folded them again.
Jesus fucking Christ. Just sit still for an effing moment.
"I'm glad you came," Amy said. Her voice cracked on the word glad. "I didn't... I wasn't sure if you would. I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't. I mean, I would have understood. Completely. If you'd just... not shown up. That would have been... I would have deserved that."
She was rambling. Word vomit spilling out like she couldn't control it.
"I've been clean," she continued. "For thirteen months now. Fourteen next week. I have a sponsor. I go to meetings. I'm trying to... I'm trying to be better. To do better. I know it doesn't fix anything. I know I can't undo what I did. But I wanted you to know that I'm... I'm trying."
Silence.
"That's good," David said, because David was pathologically incapable of letting a silence stretch. "That's really good, Amy. We're glad to hear it."
We? Mara thought. Speak for yourself, buddy.
But she didn't say it out loud. She just sat there, watching Amy fidget and stammer, watching this woman who used to terrify her with her coldness now trembling at the slightest shift in the atmosphere.
It was fucking surreal.
-x-
The thirty minutes lasted approximately a thousand miserable years.
Amy talked. A lot. About her recovery, her sponsor, her meetings, her therapist. About the job she had now — something with data entry, work from home, nothing fancy but it paid the bills. About how she'd sold most of her jewelry and furniture to pay for rehab. About how she didn't expect forgiveness but hoped for... something. She wasn't sure what. A chance, maybe. To prove she could be different.
Jules listened. Didn't say much. Nodded in the right places. Precious Jules. She looked like she wanted to hug her. Be strong, Jules. Remember. This is how she gets you.
David did his David thing — asked polite questions, made supportive noises, generally acted like this was a normal conversation between normal people and not the most emotionally fraught interaction any of them had ever experienced.
Mara said almost nothing.
She was too busy watching.
Amy flinched whenever anyone moved too fast. Stopped mid-sentence whenever someone shifted in their seat, like she expected to be interrupted or yelled at. Apologized constantly — for the water temperature, for the uncomfortable couch, for the way the sun was coming through the window. For existing, basically.
It was pathetic.
It was deeply pathetic.
And Mara couldn't bring herself to exploit it. Which pissed her off more than anything else.
-x-
"We should probably go," David said, glancing at his watch. "We've got a lot of packing left to do."
Amy's face crumpled for a second before she smoothed it out. "Of course. Of course, I understand. Thank you for coming. Thank you for... for giving me this. I know I didn't deserve it."
They stood. Started moving toward the door.
And then Jules stopped.
"Mom."
The word hung in the air. Amy froze, eyes going wide, like she couldn't quite believe she'd heard it.
"I..." Jules's voice was thick. "I'm glad you're doing better."
Amy burst into tears.
Not pretty tears. Not delicate movie tears. Ugly, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body, that made her hunch over and wrap her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry. For everything. For the hospital, for not understanding, for not being there when you needed me, for all of it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Jules stepped forward.
For a second, Mara thought she was going to walk past. Walk out the door. Leave Amy sobbing in the hallway without a backward glance.
But Jules didn't do that.
Jules opened her arms.
Amy collapsed into them like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Clung to her daughter — her daughter, the daughter she'd tried to fix because she couldn't understand, the daughter she'd lost because she couldn't accept — and sobbed into her shoulder.
"I'm so proud of you," Amy choked out. "You're so beautiful. So strong. I'm so sorry I couldn't see it before. I'm so sorry I hurt you."
Jules held her, not saying anything, just quietly sobbing herself.
Eventually, Amy pulled back. Wiped her eyes with trembling hands. Looked at Jules like she was the sun and Amy had been living in darkness for years.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
And then she turned to Mara.
Oh no. Please don't.
Amy approached slowly, like Mara was a wild animal that might bolt. Which, fair. Mara kind of wanted to bolt. This whole emotional vulnerability thing was not her scene.
"Mara." Amy's voice cracked again. "I... I don't even know where to start."
"You don't have to—"
"No. Please. Let me say this."
Mara shut up.
Amy took a shaky breath. "I was a terrible mother to you. I know that. I've always known that, even when I was too... too broken to do anything about it. You deserved so much better. You deserved someone who saw you, who appreciated you, who understood how brilliant and special you are."
Her voice was getting worse. Cracking more. Tears streaming down her face.
"I wish I had been that person. I wish I could go back and be the mother you needed. You were this... this incredible child. So smart, so capable, so good. And I just... I couldn't... I didn't..."
She couldn't finish. The sobs took over again.
"I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry. I wish someone else had been your mother. Someone who would have appreciated having such a brilliant child. You deserved that. You deserved everything I couldn't give you."
Mara's jaw was tight.
Her throat was tight.
Everything was tight, clenched, locked down. Because she did not cry. She was a psychological fucking fortress. She had walls and moats and armed guards and—
Amy hugged her.
It was tentative at first. Barely touching, like Amy expected to be shoved away. But when Mara didn't move, Amy's arms tightened. Pulled her in. Held her like she was something precious.
Mara trembled.
Just a little. Just a slight vibration that she couldn't quite suppress.
Goddammit.
She raised her hand. Patted Amy's back awkwardly. Once, twice.
"It's okay," she heard herself say. Her voice sounded weird. Thick. "I... I forgive you. Just... please get better. Okay? Just... keep getting better."
Amy sobbed harder. Nodded against Mara's shoulder.
"I will. I promise. I will."
They stood there for a long moment. Mara, stiff and uncomfortable and trembling despite herself, and Amy, broken and crying and clinging to the daughter she'd neglected for so many years.
It wasn't a perfect reconciliation. It wasn't a movie moment where everything was suddenly okay.
But it was something.
-x-
They left.
The car ride back was quieter than the ride there. Not the same suffocating awkward silence — something softer. Heavier. Like they were all processing something that didn't have words yet.
Jules reached over and took Mara's hand.
Mara let her.
Neither of them said anything.
They didn't need to.
-x-
Mara's suitcase was open on her bed, and she was methodically transferring clothes from her closet into it. Skirts. Dresses. Tops. More skirts. More dresses. A concerning amount of lace.
Jules wandered in after about twenty minutes, presumably to check on her progress or steal her charger or whatever sisters did.
She stopped in the doorway.
Stared.
"Mara."
"Yeah?"
"What the fuck is that?"
Mara looked down at the suitcase. "Clothes?"
"Those are not clothes. Those are... suggestions of clothes. Mere implications." Jules walked closer, peering into the suitcase like it contained something dangerous. "Is that a skirt or a belt?"
"It's a skirt."
"It's four inches of fabric."
"It's a fashionable four inches of fabric. It shows just enough panty to let the world see the goods while leaving them wanting for more."
Jules grabbed a dress from the pile — red, backless, the one Mara had worn to Eclipse. She held it up. The fabric dangled pathetically from her fingers, barely enough to cover anything.
"This is lingerie."
"It's a dress."
"This is lingerie, Mara. You cannot wear this outside."
"I have worn it outside. To great success."
Jules dropped the dress like it had personally offended her and started rifling through the suitcase. Mara watched with mild amusement as her sister's expression went from confused to horrified to something approaching existential despair.
"It's all like this," Jules said. Her voice was faint. "It's all... Mara, where are your normal clothes?"
"Those are my normal clothes."
"No. No, I mean like... jeans? T-shirts? Things that cover more than thirty percent of your body?"
Mara considered this. Then she reached into the closet and pulled out three items, holding them up triumphantly.
"Mini jeans and crop tops. Three of them. Different colors."
Jules stared at the crop tops. They were, technically, tops. In the same way that a napkin was technically a blanket.
"Those don't count."
"They absolutely count."
"What about hoodies? Do you own a single hoodie?"
Mara sighed the sigh of someone being deeply misunderstood. She walked to another drawer and pulled out five hoodies, dropping them on the bed.
"Five. For the gym."
"Why only the gym?"
"Because you don't wear hoodies outside of the gym, Jules. That's basic fashion, DUH."
"That is not basic anything. That's insane."
"You wear hoodies to protect your post-workout body from the wind," Mara explained patiently. "The muscles are warm. The sweat is cooling. You throw on a hoodie to regulate temperature during the transition period. And maybe during travel, because not many people see you then, so it doesn't matter."
"And outside of those very specific circumstances?"
"Why would I deprive the world of seeing my magnificent self?" Mara spread her arms wide, gesturing to her entire body. "This is a gift, Jules. A gift. I have a divine duty — a sacred calling, if you will — to ensure that every man, and frankly quite a few women, who lays eyes on me has my image burned into their brain forever."
Jules opened her mouth. Closed it.
Mara was just getting started.
"Think about it," she continued, her voice taking on a passionate, almost evangelical quality. "Somewhere out there, right now, there's a teenage boy lying in his bed, trying to fall asleep. And you know what's going to help him drift off? Me. The memory of me in this skirt, or that dress, or these shorts that barely qualify as fabric. I'm going to be in his wet dreams tonight. And tomorrow night. And possibly for the rest of his adolescent life."
"Oh my god."
"And it's not just teenage boys. College guys. Thirty-somethings going through midlife crises. The occasional confused girl who's just figuring out she might not be entirely straight. I am a service, Jules. A public service. When people masturbate to the thought of me — and they do, they absolutely do — I am providing them with quality fap material. I am contributing to society. I am a Social fucking servant."
"I can't believe we're related."
"You should be proud. Your sister is the star of countless strangers' goon banks across the greater Los Angeles area. That's a legacy, Jules. That's a heritage."
Jules threw a hoodie at her head.
Mara caught it, grinning.
-x-
The laughter faded.
Jules sat down on the edge of Mara's bed, pushing aside a pile of objectionable clothing to make room. Her expression had gone serious again. Heavy.
"I feel really bad for her," Jules said quietly.
Mara didn't need to ask who she meant.
"Mom was..." Jules trailed off, searching for words. "I know she did terrible things. I know she hurt both of us. But seeing her like that... she's so broken, Mara. She's barely a person anymore."
Mara kept folding clothes. Didn't respond.
"I think... I think I'm going to stay in contact with her."
That made Mara's hands pause. Just for a second.
"Not like, constantly," Jules continued quickly. "Just... checking in. Making sure she's okay. Making sure she's actually staying clean and not just saying she is."
"Why?"
Jules looked at her. "Because she's family. And I feel like... when someone in your family is in the gutter like that, at the lowest point of their life, you're supposed to help them get back up. Even if they're the reason they're in the gutter in the first place."
Mara resumed folding. A little more aggressively than before.
"She was so different before," Jules said softly. "Before everything went wrong. She was a good mom to me. She loved me so much." A pause. "I want to help her become that person again. Or at least... someone who can function. Someone who isn't just waiting to die."
Mara's jaw tightened.
There were so many things she'd never told Jules.
She'd never told her how much she hated Amy. Not really. Not the full depth of it. She'd mentioned the resentment, the neglect, the coldness — but she'd never laid it all out. Never said I despise her with every fiber of my being and watching her cry today made me feel nothing but contempt, which overshadowed the small amount of pity and the thing that made her almost cry, which she refused to acknowledge.
She'd never told Jules about the seven months. Not the real version. Not the stealing and the drugs and the gang and Terrell and Jade and—
Okay, she'd never told Jules about the motels either, until recently. Or how she'd learned to fight. Or why she'd really gotten suspended from school.
Actually, now that she thought about it, she didn't tell Jules much at all.
She told Jules almost everything. Just not the dark stuff. Not the stuff that would make Jules look at her differently.
This is getting too introspective. Stop that.
"Do what you think is right," Mara said finally. Her voice was careful. Neutral. "If staying in contact with her helps you, then do it."
Jules watched her. Waiting.
"But I would appreciate," Mara continued, "if the bitch stays out of my life."
"Mara. Don't call her that."
Mara didn't respond. Didn't quip back. Didn't make a joke about it.
That silence said more than any words could.
Jules let it hang there for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I understand."
They went back to packing.
-x-
The Next Morning
The semi-truck arrived at 8 AM sharp.
It was one of those big moving trucks, perfect for when you need to relocate your entire life across the state and require something that can hold three bedrooms' worth of furniture, plus the accumulated junk of sixteen years of existence.
The driver was... exactly what you'd expect.
Mid-fifties, beer gut, trucker cap that had probably never been washed. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip when he stepped out of the cab, and another pack visible in his shirt pocket. His name was either Earl or Gary or something equally truck-drivery. Mara didn't catch it and didn't care.
"Youse the Vaughns?" he asked, the cigarette bobbing as he talked.
"That's us," David confirmed.
Earl-or-Gary nodded, surveyed the pile of boxes and furniture on the curb, and grunted. "Let's get this loaded then."
"Name's Marcus, by the way."
Mara blinked. Marcus? This sweaty, beer-gutted trucker stereotype was named Marcus? The same name as the hot gym bro who'd turned her down? The same name as the quiet numbers kid from Terrell's crew?
What the fuck was it with Marcuses in her life? Was she cursed? Was there some cosmic force out there just shoving Marcuses at her from every direction? She'd fucked zero Marcuses and yet they kept appearing like a biblical plague.
Marcus. Jesus Christ. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
-x-
Loading took two hours.
David did most of the heavy lifting. Marcus–She still can't get over it, did the arranging inside the truck, making sure everything was stacked properly and wouldn't shift during the drive. Jules helped where she could. Mara supervised.
("Supervised" meaning she sat on the porch and watched, occasionally offering helpful comments like "that box says fragile" and "you missed a spot.")
By the time they were done, the truck was packed tight. Their whole lives, compressed into a metal box on wheels.
Mara looked at the house. The empty house, stripped of everything that had made it theirs. Just walls and floors and echoes now.
She didn't feel nostalgic. She didn't feel sad.
She just felt... excited for the new phase of her life.
-x-
David locked the front door for the last time. Handed the keys to the neighbor who'd agreed to pass them to the new tenants.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands together with forced cheerfulness. "East Highland, here we come."
They piled into the car. David driving, Jules shotgun, Mara sprawled across the backseat with her legs taking up way more room than necessary.
Marcus started up the semi behind them, engine rumbling to life.
And just like that, they pulled away.
Mara watched LA shrink in the rearview mirror. The streets she'd walked. The buildings she'd known. The city that had made her into whatever she was now.
Goodbye, she thought. Thanks for the trauma and the hookups and the serial killer, I guess.
She closed her eyes.
East Highland was waiting.