Quick Note: Chapter 9 goes up in two weeks, and from then on it will be a chapter per week. Enjoy!
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The next two days passed in a blur of house-related tasks. There had been more unpacking, as well as going through the contents of the basement – a large portion of which had been Aunt Marcy’s unconscionably large collection of Christmas decorations. After unexpectedly sobbing over a box of the tackiest decorative snowmen known to man, Aspen had called their mother and told her to put out the word that they would still host Christmas. The family had always celebrated Christmas on the Island, and Aspen couldn’t bear the thought of ending that tradition.
Couch shopping was both less sad and something they were able to do locally, and the fact that they were essentially spending someone else’s money made it easier for Aspen to navigate the sticker shock (a month’s rent in Toronto!). They ended up selecting a large sectional, thinking that additional seating would be welcome when the family invaded over the holidays. Delivery wouldn’t be for two weeks, but it wasn’t as if the house was bustling social hub.
When the day of their coffee date with Rav arrived, Aspen spent more time than was strictly necessary on their makeup and agonizing over an outfit that would read as ‘cute for something that’s not a date’. Finally, they opted for jeggings and a purple flannel and absolutely weren’t still second-guessing that choice when Rav pulled in to pick them up. (Once again, on account of the miserable rainy weather, he had offered a ride without them having to ask.)
At the café, Aspen was amused to discover that Rav was one of those weirdos whose primary source of liquid was astonishing quantities of coffee. He ordered a dark roast in a size so large it was practically American and took it completely black. Aspen confined themself to a small latte, and felt weirdly reassured that Rav wasn’t entirely perfect.
Once they had their orders, Rav confirmed their suspicions that this was Not A Date by getting out his sketchbook and showing them some quick sketches he’d done since they had proposed working together - several rough pencils as well as one small watercolor study. They so perfectly matched what Aspen had been thinking that they almost didn’t feel disappointed about the Not Date status of the outing. And that small disappointment was easily forgotten once they set out the samples they’d brought of their aunt’s “witch kitsch” – sigils for prosperity, love and the like with cutesy hand-embroidered floral borders.
The next hour passed quite agreeably as they chatted about directions the collaboration could take. Aspen got to admire Rav’s skill firsthand as he sketched out a few possibilities as they talked, his fingers moving with a practiced economy of motion that belied the vital energy of the lines he set down on the page.
When Rav closed his sketchbook and pronounced himself satisfied that he had enough to get started on a few test pieces, Aspen figured that would be their signal to leave. Instead, conversation drifted to other topics for a while until Aspen worked up the nerve to ask a more personal question.
“Can I—I mean, I understand if the answer is no, but could I look at your sketchbook?” they asked shyly. Rav’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and they found themself twisting their fingers nervously as they clarified. “I really liked the sketches you did just now, and I was curious.”
Rav’s surprise gave way to a slow self-conscious smile. He nudged the sketchbook, which was still sitting on the table, toward them and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Go nuts?”
Aspen hesitated, but curiosity ultimately overpowered their self-consciousness. They angled the sketchbook so it was facing them and flipped it open to a random page, exclaiming softly in surprise at a pen drawing of a single tree in a lonely looking field. As with his pencil sketches, the lines were energetic without ever crossing into messy. Aspen glanced up at Rav to see that he had slumped in his chair and shoved his hands in his pockets even as he looked pleased by Aspen’s reaction. Since he didn’t look like he wanted them to stop, Aspen started flipping through the pages, which were a mix of pen and pencil drawings of landscapes in various stages of refinement.
“Rav, these are beautiful,” they said softly, looking up from a particularly lovely rendering of what looked to be the cathedral forest – a destination Aspen had heard much about but had yet to visit.
Rav’s answering grin was a mix of pride and embarrassment as a light blush crept across his face. “I mean, landscapes are easy out here. You can’t throw a rock on the Island without hitting a piece of amazing scenery.”
Aspen rolled their eyes, emboldened by his obvious pleasure at their reaction. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but you’re a professional artist. Which means lots of people give you money for your art.”
“Yeah, but.” Rav’s grin widened. “What if everyone finds out I’ve actually been faking it all along?” he joked, tapping the side of his head.
“Rav.”
“I know.” He shrugged again. “What can I say? Anxiety is an asshole.”
“I don’t know what that’s like at all,” Aspen deadpanned.
“Go Team Anxiety.” Rav quipped, doing sarcastic jazz hands.
Aspen looked back down at the sketchbook, whose contents had filled them with a strange restlessness. “I’ve barely made it out of my house since I’ve been here, but… I don’t suppose you have any recommendations for good hiking spots?”
“I can do you one better and show you if you want. Some of the best spots are harder to get to without a car.”
The invitation soothed an anxiety Aspen hadn’t noticed until it was removed – as it provided them with an excellent excuse to spend more time with Rav, who they were discovering was not just extremely attractive but also very likable. “I would love that!”
Just then, Rav’s watch vibrated loudly, interrupting whatever response he had been about to make.
“Damn. Sorry,” he apologized with an expressive grimace. “I’m too good at not looking at my phone, so I got a smartwatch to help me stop missing appointments. But then it’s always a rude surprise when it reminds me about stuff.”
“I’m a big fan of technological accessibility hacks. My whole brain is in here,” Aspen said, waving their phone.
Rav nodded sympathetically as he thumbed open his calendar, then sighed. “I’ve got an appointment with my accountant to go over tax stuff, since that’s coming up.”
Aspen blinked as they realized taxes were yet another Important Adult Thing that William had always handled. “Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought about taxes.”
“Your email’s on your website, yeah?” He smiled when Aspen nodded. “I can email you her info if you like?”
“That would be fantastic, thank you.”
Rav shrugged as he packed his sketchbook into a battered-looking messenger bag with lots of pins on it. “I can still give you a ride back if we leave now.”
“You’re sure it’s no trouble? I wouldn’t want to make you late.”
“It’s on my way,” he assured them.
“Great. Then I accept.”
✯ ✯ ✯
Rav had just turned onto Aspen’s street when they caught sight of the surly goth teen once again lurking indecisively in their driveway, and once again too hidden in their hoodie to determine anything beyond that. “Hey, do me a favor and block the driveway when you pull up?”
Rav quirked his eyebrow inquisitively even as he obliged.
“This kid keeps showing up in my driveway, then running off before I can ask what they need.” Aspen sighed. “And they obviously need something, or they wouldn’t keep coming back.”
Rav smiled. “Got it.”
Aspen rolled down their window and addressed the teen before they could run off again. “Hi there,” they said, carefully keeping their tone light and friendly. “I keep seeing you here. I expect you’d better come in so we can talk about how I can help you?”
The teen hunched even deeper into their hood, then surprised them by nodding shyly.
Aspen climbed out of Rav’s car, giving him a wave as he pulled away, and gestured for the teen to follow them toward the house. “Come on in then. We’ll do introductions where it’s less soggy. You can leave your bike on the porch, where it’ll be out of the rain.”
Since the rest of the house was still a disaster, and this was undoubtedly a witch-related inquiry, Aspen showed their guest in through the front entrance. The teen reluctantly sat in one of the waiting room chairs, looking as if they expected something to bite them. To give them space, Aspen opted to lean against the counter instead of sitting and was rewarded with a minute relaxation of tension.
“Aspen. They/them.”
“Corey. Uh. He/him.” Corey, who looked to be sixteen or seventeen, reached up and pulled back the hood of his soggy black sweatshirt, giving Aspen their first clear look of his face. Wary eyeliner-rimmed eyes in a dusky brown face regarded them suspiciously under neat short locs.
“Nice to meet you.” Aspen smiled. “So, based on how many times I’ve seen you, it seems like you need something but don’t know how to ask?”
Corey’s leg immediately started jiggling as he mumbled something too soft for Aspen to hear.
“Come again?”
“I need to do a supervised volunteer project for school,” he repeated, looking everywhere but at Aspen.
“Okay. And you want to volunteer… with me?”
Corey shrugged, pulled out a much-folded piece of paper, and handed it to Aspen, who didn’t miss the fact that his leg-jiggling had increased in intensity and that he was surreptitiously tapping his fingers against the chair.
Right. Ragingly neurodivergent, in addition to being Black and goth. It was no wonder he was so suspicious - he was clearly used to getting a hard time from adults.
Aspen kept that observation to themself and unfolded the paper, which was an agreement form. “What do you need to meet the requirement?”
“I need fifty volunteer hours by May 30th.” His jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he added, “or I get held back.”
Aspen’s first impulse - to ask why he’d left it so long – was so obviously incorrect that they discarded it immediately. Instead, they opened their calendar and counted weeks. “So that’s… at least five hours a week then.”
Corey just nodded and hunched further in on himself.
Aspen sighed. He seemed like a good kid who was having a hard time, and they weren’t about to turn him away if they could help it. However, they didn’t know what they would have the kid do for an entire fifty hours.
Then, suddenly, they did. “Are you good with computers?”
Corey nodded again.
“You could burn through a lot of volunteer hours pretty quickly if you’re willing to help me convert my aunt’s old paper files into electronic records.”
The speed of Corey’s leg went back down a notch, which Aspen took as a positive sign. “I could help with that,” he agreed, his voice a surprisingly deep baritone when he wasn’t mumbling.
“I haven’t made any decisions about what kind of system to use, other than I’d need to be able to access it from my phone or laptop. So if you wanted to do some research and run options past me, that would be a big help too.”
Corey’s expression was still guarded but now the finger tapping had stopped. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “Yeah, I could do that too.”
“Great,” Aspen said brightly. “Hold that thought.”
Aspen went to retrieve their laptop from the living room, returned, and sat down – leaving a chair in between them as a buffer. It took a few minutes for them to navigate through the BC College’s website to find the correct form – with Corey waiting in stressed-out silence the entire time. After downloading the form, they switched tabs to start a new email and handed the laptop to Corey.
“Put your email in there. You’ll have to sign an apprenticeship form for privacy purposes before you can get started working with the actual records, since those are strictly confidential. That’s not to say you’re committing to anything beyond the fifty hours, though. You’re just agreeing to not share any of the information in those records.
“Because you’re a minor, your… an adult will need to sign this as well – electronic signatures are fine. When that’s done, send it back to me and I’ll fill out my portion and submit it.”
Corey nodded his assent and entered his email while Aspen went hunting for a pen to complete their part of the volunteering agreement form, which they signed with a flourish and handed it back. The teen accepted the paper with mute gratitude, refolding it more carefully than it appeared to have been previously before tucking it into an inside pocket of his bag.
“If you get that form to me tonight, you can come back… tomorrow afternoon? And I can show you my aunt’s files so you can see what we’re working with.”
Corey nodded as he unfolded himself awkwardly from his chair, then surprised Aspen with a quiet, “thank you” before he fled.
Aspen chuckled and made their way to the kitchen to make some tea. “Well, Dennis. What do you think?”
GOOD PUPPY.
They laughed.
✯ ✯ ✯
Aspen had made it nearly a week without talking to Becks about their dating dilemma, but they were so keyed-up before their coffee date with Nat that they finally cracked and sent her a text.
Aspen
Update.
But if you tell Mum any of this I’ll find someone else to talk to.
Becks
Would I do something like that?
Aspen
Given that Mum said she’d “heard I met someone”, yes. Absolutely.
Becks
How dare you bring facts into this.
Very well, I promise.
Aspen
Coffee with Rav = not a date.
Coffee with Nat = might be a date…?
Aspen snapped a nervous selfie of their outfit and sent it – their favorite witchy black dress and matching black boots. They’d pulled their hair into a low-effort up-do (fancy without being formal) and were wearing matching silver moon earrings and necklace.
Becks
Love the look. But what do you mean “might be” a date?
Aspen
The word “date” was never said but… she had her hand on my knee when she asked to do coffee.
Becks
EARTH TO ASPEN. IT’S A DATE, DUMMY.
Aspen
Look. I pined for Nat for YEARS and nothing happened. And now the second time I’ve seen her after twelve years we’re getting coffee? It feels too easy.
Like, if she wasn’t interested then, why would she be now?
Becks
1. She hadn’t come out as trans yet, yeah? Maybe she was in the closet about that too, since you were both still pretending to be boys.
2. Maybe you weren’t her type then, but you are now.
Aspen
… ….. .. …… … …. holy shit
Becks
I am very smart. Also, I might have a little experience with being closeted.
The sound of a knock at the front door made Aspen jump in surprise.
Aspen
She’s here. Wish me luck.
Aspen’s heart was in their throat as they answered the door. They promptly blue screened on seeing Nat’s look – a grey lace crop top, high-waisted black jeans, and a black leather jacket, with a heavy grey scarf her only concession to the chilly March weather.
“I like the new hair color!”
Aspen blinked, belatedly remembering that they’d spent half the day bleaching their roots and recoloring their hair to a purple that would fade over the next week to their preferred lavender. “Thanks. I. Um. You look great too.”
“Shall we?” Nat grinned.
Something in her expression reminded Aspen of Becks’ intriguing hypothesis that they hadn’t been Nat’s type before but were now. And were they imagining it, or had she spent a longer-than-friends amount of time checking out their look?
Shit. They’d taken too long to say something, hadn’t they?
They nodded with what they hoped wasn’t a weird smile. “Absolutely.”
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