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You&& (working title) is a queer novella about when home is other people, including the monsters lurking in the woods. Check out the about page here. You&& is a sequel to Sometimes The Mountain Buries You.
Heather is an unimpressed kind of pissed sitting in Basin's kitchen with her arms crossing her chest. Her baseball cap sits on the cafe-turned-kitchen table, silver and grey flyaways escaping her low pony tail of ashen blonde.
Basin had to coax a livid Heather from shouting on their porch—"What do you mean they're not here?"—to unimpressed pissed in their kitchen.
"How's Jared?" Basin leans against the cupboard, kettle on the stove. "He looked pretty shocked."
Asking about Jared's wellbeing feels like a trick to Heather, a diversion. She sees nothing in Basin but innocuous patience for the kettle to boil and genuine concern, so she eases up the tight hold of her shoulders. "He's alright."
Basin nods, keeps nodding as their mind drifts away from their kitchen and Heather in it. "Look, uh," they had been overly aware of Heather's scrutinizing eyeing, but now wring their hands absentmindedly as they struggle to come up with a hopefully satisfying explanation for someone who didn't know about those things in the places no one lives. They're pretty sure Heather doesn't know, at least.
They don't want to have that conversation. They'd like to like living here and, whether or not Heather would believe them about the things in places no one lives, they figure the afterwards would be awkward.
Heather's scrutinizing eyeing softens when Basin starts looking so unsure, so young.
"When they came to," Basin continues, "they said no hospitals, no doctors."
Heather feels herself being lied to. She keeps her mouth shut, to let Basin say their part until they run out of words before maybe jumping down Basin's throat.
With the rumble of the kettle, Basin turns to pull two mugs out of the cupboard. "Honestly, they're kinda living, you know, out in the woods. Kinda..." Basin stares at the selection of tea for long enough the rumble becomes a thunder. They hold out two options for black tea.
Heather nods at one. "Private?"
Basin turns off the stove as the kettle whistles. "Secluded?" They think about how reticent their recent patient had been. "I don't know when I'll see them next." At the end of a loop around the kitchen Basin holds both cups, a little hand-painted creamer, its matching sugar bowl, and a squeeze bottle of honey that they deposit on the cafe-turned-kitchen table. They sit because it would be impolite not to, as far as they understand Heather—and they are still intent on placating Heather. They do, though, regret coaxing her inside from shouting on their porch with the promise of tea; the promise of sitting in a room together for longer than it would take them to think up an unsatisfactory explanation. "I can ask, if they'll meet you."
Gathering that Basin did intend to see them again, and presuming there would be some necessary check up, Heather stirs sugar and milk in her tea rather than maybe jumping down Basin's throat. "I'd appreciate it."
"I promise they didn't just like, die of their injuries and I buried them in the back or something." Basin smiles.
Heather doesn't.
Once Heather's left—after a look in the bedrooms and bathroom under the guise of "I haven't been here since it's been fixed up" to ensure that they really aren't here—Basin adds the landline for Heather's cabin to the map they've drawn of cabins and motorhomes with names and phone numbers. They clean the two cups, neither their favourite. With the kitchen wiped down, they return to reading trash from the secondhand bookstore for the second time in as many days.
Heather is an unimpressed kind of pissed sitting in Basin's kitchen with her arms crossing her chest. Her baseball cap sits on the cafe-turned-kitchen table, silver and grey flyaways escaping her low pony tail of ashen blonde.
Basin had to coax a livid Heather from shouting on their porch—"What do you mean they're not here?"—to unimpressed pissed in their kitchen.
"How's Jared?" Basin leans against the cupboard, kettle on the stove. "He looked pretty shocked."
Asking about Jared's wellbeing feels like a trick to Heather, a diversion. She sees nothing in Basin but innocuous patience for the kettle to boil and genuine concern, so she eases up the tight hold of her shoulders. "He's alright."
Basin nods, keeps nodding as their mind drifts away from their kitchen and Heather in it. "Look, uh," they had been overly aware of Heather's scrutinizing eyeing, but now wring their hands absentmindedly as they struggle to come up with a hopefully satisfying explanation for someone who didn't know about those things in the places no one lives. They're pretty sure Heather doesn't know, at least.
They don't want to have that conversation. They'd like to like living here and, whether or not Heather would believe them about the things in places no one lives, they figure the afterwards would be awkward.
Heather's scrutinizing eyeing softens when Basin starts looking so unsure, so young.
"When they came to," Basin continues, "they said no hospitals, no doctors."
Heather feels herself being lied to. She keeps her mouth shut, to let Basin say their part until they run out of words before maybe jumping down Basin's throat.
With the rumble of the kettle, Basin turns to pull two mugs out of the cupboard. "Honestly, they're kinda living, you know, out in the woods. Kinda..." Basin stares at the selection of tea for long enough the rumble becomes a thunder. They hold out two options for black tea.
Heather nods at one. "Private?"
Basin turns off the stove as the kettle whistles. "Secluded?" They think about how reticent their recent patient had been. "I don't know when I'll see them next." At the end of a loop around the kitchen Basin holds both cups, a little hand-painted creamer, its matching sugar bowl, and a squeeze bottle of honey that they deposit on the cafe-turned-kitchen table. They sit because it would be impolite not to, as far as they understand Heather—and they are still intent on placating Heather. They do, though, regret coaxing her inside from shouting on their porch with the promise of tea; the promise of sitting in a room together for longer than it would take them to think up an unsatisfactory explanation. "I can ask, if they'll meet you."
Gathering that Basin did intend to see them again, and presuming there would be some necessary check up, Heather stirs sugar and milk in her tea rather than maybe jumping down Basin's throat. "I'd appreciate it."
"I promise they didn't just like, die of their injuries and I buried them in the back or something." Basin smiles.
Heather doesn't.
Once Heather's left—after a look in the bedrooms and bathroom under the guise of "I haven't been here since it's been fixed up" to ensure that they really aren't here—Basin adds the landline for Heather's cabin to the map they've drawn of cabins and motorhomes with names and phone numbers. They clean the two cups, neither their favourite. With the kitchen wiped down, they return to reading trash from the secondhand bookstore for the second time in as many days.
