Chapter Text
This is fine, Chloe tells herself for the millionth time today, like if she just repeats it in her head one more time, she might start believing it. Judging by the way her hands shake as she pulls another cigarette from the crumpled pack, she’s still got a way to go. The cheap plastic lighter sparks and fails twice, and then again. Guess the third time’s not the charm today.
“Come on, ” she mutters, flicking the little wheel over and over with no luck. A thin layer of black grime gathers on her thumb as the fucking thing stubbornly refuses to do its job. Fuck it. She drops the lighter onto the empty passenger seat and searches her pockets for the spare she always carries, but because today seems determined to fuck her over at every possible opportunity, it’s not fucking there.
Great. Well, this is off to a hell of a start. When did she say to meet again?
When things get stressful, Chloe often thinks of her dad. Sometimes she hears his voice, or sees the gentle smile he always wore when she did something and he’d reassure her he wasn’t mad, but he thought they should talk about it. Sat alone in her battered old pickup with her still unlit cigarette between her lips, a snatch of an old country song wanders uninvited into her head, one of her dear departed old man’s favorites.
“Well, they’re buildin’ a gallows outside my cell, and I got twenty-five minutes to go…”
And Chloe doesn’t even have the luxury of twenty-five minutes. That’s way more than she’d need to drive a block down to the gas station, pick up a new lighter, finish her smoke and walk into the diner with time to spare. Fifteen would be enough, even. But, because the world is a cruel place, she’s got seven, and if she’s late, she should just give up, right now, on the idea of having some kind of relationship with the only person that might still have her back in this radioactive dump of a town. That’s a pretty fucking big “might”, too, she thinks bitterly. How did it all get so messed up? Jesus, if Dad could see us now.
Two minutes to go. Fuck. What’s she so worried about? It’s not like she’s under Joyce’s roof any more. It’s not like that asshole her mom married, the piece of shit she first jumped in bed with not even twelve months after all the nastiness of the real world came along to swallow up Chloe’s young life, can smack her around and give her his drill sergeant bullshit if she’s not exactly on time for everything. Her life’s her own now, but this still matters, and that’s what threatens to kill her if she thinks about it too much, which of course, she has been. She’s played this conversation over and over in her mind for a week until she thinks she’s figured out everything that could possibly happen, and the thing that really gets her is how she still doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s actually going to go down when she steps through that door.
Here we fucking go…
It’s been three months, maybe more, since Chloe last set foot in here. You’d never tell. Nothing’s changed; nothing ever changes in Arcadia Bay, and especially not in the Two Whales. Same tiles on the floor, same touristy crap hanging over the counter - in fact, those t-shirts might have been there since before she was even born - same bunch of truckers and drifters taking up all the stools as they wolf down what’s left of their money after essential on-the-road expenses, booze, cigarettes and the harder stuff you can pick up around here if you know who to ask. I probably look like I’m here for that shit, too, Chloe thinks as she wipes her suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans. Go buy something, don’t loiter. You’re supposed to have your shit together, right? Be a grown-up.
“Welcome to the Two Whales,” says a familiar voice as she walks up to the counter. “Can I take your…oh, it’s you.”
Joyce. Still the same as Chloe remembers. What were you expecting?
“Yeah, it’s me,” says Chloe. “Hey.”
“I, um…I wondered if you were really gonna show up. I’m sorry, I guess I just didn’t want to get my hopes up too much in case…”
“Well, I’m here.”
“That you are, honey.”
“Can I get a cup of coffee? Please?”
“Sure,” Joyce says, smiling warmly as if this is perfectly normal. “On the house.”
“I’ve got money,” Chloe reaches into her pocket.
“I’m sure you have, but since you’re here, let me get it for you. I’ll be done in a few minutes, then we can…you know.”
“I know,” Chloe nods. “Thanks, mom.”
That was painless, she thinks as she takes her cup and grabs the booth nearest the jukebox against the wall. If the thing’s out of order, which it has been on and off for about six years, nobody should be coming over this side of the diner to overhear their conversation. For something to do while she waits for Joyce to finish up behind the counter, Chloe sips her coffee and pulls out her phone. No messages, as usual. There’s not been much activity there since Rachel bailed, Joyce stopped trying and David decided he’d just wait until she got home and he had her cornered before he started on her. She wonders if she should start making more of an effort to get out of herself. It’s not like she doesn’t have anyone to talk to, if she wanted to talk. Some of the guys at work gave her their numbers. A couple even seem pretty decent.
Decent until you actually start texting, she reminds herself. Guys her age are about one thing only, and that’s just not Chloe’s deal. Guys older than her are worse, and girls of any age who might be down to hang out with her are pretty much nonexistent around here.
All the cool people had the right idea, getting out of this shithole. Steph. Max’s folks. Rachel too. I should’ve cut and run a long time ago.
“...and if you just try to be a little more patient with people, it’ll go a long way.”
That’s her mom’s voice, and it sounds like something she might have said back when anyone still thought there was some peace to be found between Chloe and that jackbooted asshole who invaded her home, except Joyce isn’t talking to Chloe. The girl walking beside her is tall and skinny with a pale face half hidden by the hood of a black zip-up jacket, just showing enough for Chloe to make out a bored and sulky look.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Joyce as the moody-looking girl turns away and storms out of the diner. She sighs, pulls the same face she used to pull when she realized she wasn’t winning an argument with Chloe, and finally turns her attention to her daughter waiting in the corner booth.
Yep, this is definitely happening. Chloe takes a sip of coffee to brace herself for what’s to come. Joyce sits.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “I swear, some of these kids don’t know a thing about customer service.”
“Who was that?” Chloe asks.
“Oh, that’s Victoria. Came in lookin’ for a job around November, I think. She’s alright, just a little rough with people sometimes.”
The name sets some wheels turning in Chloe’s head. Victoria…
Fuck no. It can’t be. There’s no way that girl is the same Victoria Chloe used to know.
Victoria Chase, queen bitch of Blackwell. If that’s her, the same girl who soured Chloe’s school days with her vapid idiotic negging, sniping, stuck-up preppy scumbag shit…there’s no point thinking about if, because it can’t be her. No-one with that kind of privilege would ever lower themselves to something as base and degrading as the world of real work.
“Anyway, how are you doin’, Chloe? You look well.”
I’m just about keeping myself fed and off the streets, as long as I don’t do anything crazy like go out or miss a shift at work when I get sick or wake up shaking and puking from the dreams I can’t afford to see a shrink about.
“I’m good,” she says. No need to go into detail. “You should, um, come see the new place some time.”
“I’d like that,” Joyce smiles.
Is this it? Are we just gonna sit and talk like nothing ever happened?
“Mom,” Chloe says, trying to keep her voice level, “I need to know, is it true what you said? You’re really…”
“Yes,” says Joyce.
“How…how come? Why?”
“Few reasons, I guess,” she sighs and shuts her eyes for a moment like it’s still raw for her. “When you left, Chloe, I…well, I suppose I got more acquainted with the kind of man David really is. Not a very good one.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, it was pretty shit.”
Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say shit before. How the fuck bad did that asshole treat her when he didn’t have a teenage girl to knock around?
“It got to a point I just couldn’t live with it any more. Same as you. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, Chloe, I really am. What you must think of me…”
“So you kicked his ass out? For real?”
“Something like that,” says Joyce. “Told him either he packed his things and left by the time I got back from work, or I’d be havin’ words with the police when they came in for coffee in the morning.”
“And he just did it?”
“Haven’t heard from him since.”
“Shit, mom, that’s…that’s badass.”
“I don’t quite think of it that way, but I guess I’m glad you approve.”
She’s smiling. It’s small, and kind of sad, but it’s real, something Chloe hasn’t seen from her mom in years. I guess maybe when they got married? Or even longer? Back when Dad was around? She never expected seeing her mom happy after all this time would fill her with as much warmth as it does.
“Well, congratulations, I guess.”
“Thanks, honey. Well, now we’ve gotten the woes of my love life out of the way, how about you?”
Chloe almost chokes on her coffee. Her eyes water as she swallows painfully, then she realizes her mom’s not joking.
“You’re asking…”
“I’m askin’,” Joyce nods. “You know I never had a problem with it, right?”
“Never thought you did,” Chloe mumbles.
“So?”
“No, mom, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Oh. I thought you might…”
“Well, I’m not,” says Chloe, maybe a little more firmly than she meant to. It’s nice - no, better than nice, it’s great - to feel like she’s getting along with her mom for the first time in years, but if it’s going to stay that way, she can do without dredging up all the mess left by her last relationship, all the pieces she’s still trying to pick up. She really doesn’t need to think about that shit right now.
And now, of course, she’s fucking thinking about it. The only queer girl left in Arcadia, how sad and lonely my life is.
“Okay, I won’t ask any more,” Joyce holds her hands out, palms towards Chloe. “I’m just happy to see you doin’ well, honey. How’s the job goin’ for you?”
Sometimes if I work way longer than I should have to, they pay me enough to buy illegal drugs so I can sleep at night.
“It’s good. Um, the assistant manager might be quitting in a few months, and she said if I wanna take her place, maybe she could look at making it happen.”
Assistant manager, a.k.a the next rung on the ladder that leads to a life of grinding resentment and missed chances. Real world, motherfuckers.
“Oh, that’s great news!”
Yeah, isn’t it just fucking wonderful?
“I guess so,” Chloe does her best to look like she doesn’t spend every minute at work wishing she was anywhere else, or like she’s dreading the thought of even more work, even more shit tying her to this town, this life, while at the same time seriously considering doing something she knows she’ll hate just for a little more money so one day, maybe, she can escape.
“Sounds like you’re doing just fine, kid,” Joyce smiles. “Listen, honey, I understand you’ve probably got better things to do with your day off than sit in this old place chattin’ to me, but I’ve really enjoyed catchin’ up with you.”
“Same,” says Chloe. “It’s…it’s been nice to see you, mom. Really.”
“Well, maybe you’d like to come by the house one night next week? I don’t do much cooking any more with it just being me, but I could put something together if you want to come for dinner.”
The house. The place your shithead ex-husband knew he had me cornered, knew he could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t leave any marks he couldn’t explain away before you got a chance to see me, and you believed him because it was easier for you. Tempting.
“Maybe.”
“Just let me know,” says Joyce.
“Thanks, mom.”
“No problem, honey.”
She looks for a moment like she might be about to lean over the table for a hug. Chloe freezes, wonders what the hell she’ll do if that happens - when was the last time she hugged me? - but Joyce just reaches out and touches her hand lightly for a second before getting to her feet. Her shoes go click on the worn tiles.
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve gotta get to the store before they close.”
You think your mom’s blowing you off for groceries now? Deal with your issues, bitch.
“Sure. I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
“Of course,” she nods. “Gimme a call if you want to come over, or just drop in again some time. You know where to find me.”
“Yeah,” Chloe tries a smile. “Um, I’ll see you around, mom.”
She kicked his ass out. Good for her.
But she sat by without a fucking word for years while he did all that shit to me, and she only did something about him when he started treating her like crap too.
Joyce is long gone by the time Chloe’s started to make some kind of sense of what she’s feeling. She tries a sip of coffee. It’s cold. Ugh, how the hell does anybody drink it cold? She stares into the murky depths of the cup and thinks about her mom, her dad, fucking David, and something else she hasn’t thought about for a long-ass time, the happy, normal life she could have had if the world hadn’t decided to piss all over Chloe Price.
Better late than never, she guesses.