It's not bleach, it's ozone. I always smell like it, more so when I use my powers.
[He just walks passed her and into the kitchen, setting the bag on the table and pulls out a couple of glass mason jars - chicken soup, with noodles and matzo balls.]
I don't really notice it anymore, but those with an enhanced sense of smell say I burn their nose.
[He pulls out a pot, gets a spoon, and starts heating the soup, leaving the spoon to stir it while he unpacks other things. A glass carafe of orange juice, which he sets on the counter top.]
Glasses?
[Then pulls out a bake pan - something chocolate - and slides it to the oven. From the frost on the sides of the pan, it was recently in the freezer. He puts the other jar of chicken soup, and two more of a hearty vegetable, in the refrigerator.]
[Mary's just sinking into silence, not reacting to much or saying anything unless prompted. Watching him cook is vaguely soothing, being taken care of feels secure and safe, but she's so uncertain and so lost that she can't even summon the gumption to string two words together.]
[He pulls one down, and pours her a glass, setting it in front of her, then puts it away. He fishes around, grabs peanut butter and starts to make a sandwich.]
[Dries the knife, giving it a toss and catching it easily, before putting it away.]
Mary, I'm aware he's known you much longer, but I feel I know you well enough to believe you wouldn't cheat on your husband. People said ugly things in a fight, God only knows how much I regret what I said to Magda in our last one, but if he truly thinks...I have to admit I'd be really confused.
[She meets his eyes intently, hanging onto every word as they leave his lips. It's wonderful, like a fucking lifeline to feel like someone is really listening, instead of just waiting for their turn to speak.]
He saw us go upstairs. I just thought he trusted me more than that. [She blinks, looking at him as plaintively as a little girl wanting answers.] I don't understand.
[It's in moments like this that she really does show her age. She's more than two decades younger than John, though she generally has such a handle on herself that it isn't obvious.]
[He's bad at that in an argument but politics has a way of tempering it.]
Did you explain I was drawing physics proofs on your table cloth?
[He doesn't either, because there are just lines you don't cross. Mary is married, he's involved with someone, and she sees him in a similar light to her dad. That would answer any concerns, right? He takes a seat at the table, nudging her glass at her.]
I don't either, but not only am I of an older generation, I was widowed young - before you had a toddler.
[In a similar light to her father, but... only sort of, sometimes. It's confused. She knows he cares, that he takes care of her, that he's incredibly sympathetic and caring and kind, and she doesn't know much of the bad about him. It's confused and so is she. She generally shoves it away until only the fatherly part is left.
Mary takes the glass when he nudges it closer.]
I tried, but he was so angry he didn't want to listen. I think it... it. [Closing her eyes, wavering a little in her seat. Thoughts. Words, strung one to the other.] It was. The lie. Figuring out how much I could hide. He probably thinks I could lie about anything.
The trust. When that's gone, what... what is there?
It depends. Trust can be rebuilt, Mary it can. It's never completely the same, it takes work, and it's hard. But if you love someone, you can get through unspeakable betrayals.
[Speaking of personal experience.]
You never forget, you don't really even forgive, but you do move passed it.
What do you mean, you don't forgive? I don't want a relationship that can't have forgiveness.
[Sinking down and threading her hands into her hair, staring down at the table half in despair. The thought of John never forgiving her... she's already sort of accepted that they can't move past it, but she'd rather that than pretend to be okay while he secretly harbors resentment.]
Back home. I went through a fairly...horrid doesn't cover it...very public split with someone I'd known over forty years. Things were said. Done. I ended up with a mindwipe - everything, and I mean everything - in terms of memory was wiped away. When I realized what was happening, I threw a piece of debris, aiming to maim. I succeed. Severance of the lumbar spine. We didn't speak for years. We're still cautious around each other. But before I was Pulled here, we were living together again, as he had when I was young. We'll never fully forgive each other - but we aren't angry or resentful any more.
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[He just walks passed her and into the kitchen, setting the bag on the table and pulls out a couple of glass mason jars - chicken soup, with noodles and matzo balls.]
Have a seat. Where do you keep your pots?
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[What the hell else can you say to that. She plops down in a chair, because he told her to, and points numbly at a cabinet.]
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[He pulls out a pot, gets a spoon, and starts heating the soup, leaving the spoon to stir it while he unpacks other things. A glass carafe of orange juice, which he sets on the counter top.]
Glasses?
[Then pulls out a bake pan - something chocolate - and slides it to the oven. From the frost on the sides of the pan, it was recently in the freezer. He puts the other jar of chicken soup, and two more of a hearty vegetable, in the refrigerator.]
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[Mary's just sinking into silence, not reacting to much or saying anything unless prompted. Watching him cook is vaguely soothing, being taken care of feels secure and safe, but she's so uncertain and so lost that she can't even summon the gumption to string two words together.]
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Drink you juice. Jelly?
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He accused me of being unfaithful.
[...So much for that silent thing. Oops. She dives back into her orange juice.]
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Eat. You need the protein.
[And turns, to wash the knife.]
Actual concern or something said out of anger?
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I don't know. It...
[Cramming that sandwich in her mouth now. She really doesn't need to start babbling about the fact that it was him John accused her of cheating with.]
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[Dries the knife, giving it a toss and catching it easily, before putting it away.]
Mary, I'm aware he's known you much longer, but I feel I know you well enough to believe you wouldn't cheat on your husband. People said ugly things in a fight, God only knows how much I regret what I said to Magda in our last one, but if he truly thinks...I have to admit I'd be really confused.
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He saw us go upstairs. I just thought he trusted me more than that. [She blinks, looking at him as plaintively as a little girl wanting answers.] I don't understand.
[It's in moments like this that she really does show her age. She's more than two decades younger than John, though she generally has such a handle on herself that it isn't obvious.]
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Did you explain I was drawing physics proofs on your table cloth?
[He doesn't either, because there are just lines you don't cross. Mary is married, he's involved with someone, and she sees him in a similar light to her dad. That would answer any concerns, right? He takes a seat at the table, nudging her glass at her.]
I don't either, but not only am I of an older generation, I was widowed young - before you had a toddler.
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Mary takes the glass when he nudges it closer.]
I tried, but he was so angry he didn't want to listen. I think it... it. [Closing her eyes, wavering a little in her seat. Thoughts. Words, strung one to the other.] It was. The lie. Figuring out how much I could hide. He probably thinks I could lie about anything.
The trust. When that's gone, what... what is there?
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[Speaking of personal experience.]
You never forget, you don't really even forgive, but you do move passed it.
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[Sinking down and threading her hands into her hair, staring down at the table half in despair. The thought of John never forgiving her... she's already sort of accepted that they can't move past it, but she'd rather that than pretend to be okay while he secretly harbors resentment.]
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