May 29, 2009 13:56
It's funny, the things his mind turns to when--well, when he's walking along a magic beach to see an ex in the form of current-by-the-skin-of-their-teeth girlfriend. A year, Max said she'd been here. A whole bloody year.
Jude can't say it's that surprising, in a gut-deep way. He certainly hadn't seen much of her in the past year; wonders what she'll look like, here--younger or older than she was, happier, maybe? That's the hardest part, wanting her happy but not wanting it to be in his absence. It's what made him hesitate to ask her brother where she was, and hesitate further before making the trip.
He'd woken up from a dream about his father, see, where he'd gone home with him that Thanksgiving, sat at his table telling stories about jolly old England. His father's wife offered him more gravy and sent a dozenth wary look to her husband, eyes saying I never knew you, did I, and Jude had been miles and miles away from Max and Lucy. Hadn't even known their names.
He's thinking about that meeting now, with his feet dragging through the sand. I didn't come here for your love, or your approval, he just needs to see her, for everybody to know where everybody stands. And just as before, Max will be there when they're done.
Sometimes what you want, or don't want, is nothing at all to do with what you need.
lucy carrigan