Some mornings feel like they drag their feet just to spite you. This was one of them. The porch creaked underneath my weight as I sat down to lace my shoes, waiting for Maya. They'd been a beautiful cream colour when I'd purchased them, but now the hems were worn and the colour dirty. Maude, my childhood cat, sat stiffly beside me, a groan coming out of her as she gently stretched her old bones out across the worn wood. The large pines across my yard swam in the wind, the beds barren of colour as the flowers closed up for the upcoming seasons. Two years ago, I might have noticed how the light filtered through the trees. Today, I only noticed the cold. I ran my fingers through Maude's fur, the once deep black now glazed in sporadic silver. A rhythmic clicking caused me to turn. Maya came gliding onto the grass aboard her old, rusty bicycle.
"Are you ever going to get rid of that thing?" I asked.
"Sure. When you're ready to carry me around on your back, give me a shout," Maya replied. I shot her a face, one lip curled, eyes rolled. She mimicked it perfectly before hopping off her bike and letting it fall to the ground with a loud clatter, causing Maude's head to roll back.
She let out a weak meow as Maya walked right past me and scooped her into her arms, carefully tucking her whiskers aside as she nuzzled her face into the dark fur. Maude began to purr as Maya fiddled with the doorknob, balancing the cat that lay limp in her arms.
"Are we not heading out?" I asked.
She shot me a look. "You know I have a nose like a bloodhound. You really thought I'd leave before getting a piece of whatever your mother is cooking up in that kitchen?" She kicked off her shoes and breezed into the house, leaving the door open behind her.
"Sure, go ahead." I muttered dryly, though she was already gone. I heard her call something to my mum, her voice quickly muffled—probably because her mouth was now full of the blueberry danishes Mom had been baking all morning.
I turned on my heel and followed her inside, not bothering to take off my shoes. Maya sat at the kitchen table, cheeks puffed with pastry, while my mother washed dishes at the sink. The sunlight caught in Mum's long, light auburn hair, and I found myself staring. It had darkened over the years, the strawberry blonde deepening into something richer, more elegant. We couldn't have looked more different. Her eyes were dark, like melted chocolate, while mine were a paler blue and her dark hair was no longer strawberry blonde, like my own. She turned around and caught me staring. "What are you two getting up to today?"
"Oh, you know, the usual." Maya said nonchalantly, "probably steal from the market and then go taunt the elderly people who like to sit in the park." She flipped her dark, caramel hair over one shoulder, not a single trace of sarcasm in her voice.
"Oh, come on." my mother moaned. "I said you were a bad influence once—ten years ago—and you've never let it go." She turned to Maya, who was stuffing two danishes into her jacket pockets, littering crumbs all over the floor. "I've got a reputation to uphold." She said, through a full mouth.
"Now," my mother continued, "I'd say you're a lovely, strong, incredibly driven young woman, and I'm glad you and Eve are friends."
Maya snorted through a mouthful of pastry.
"Anyway, we're heading out now that Maya's eaten. I'm off work for a few days, so don't worry about me for dinner!" I called as we headed out, snatching one of the danishes off the counter on my way.
"Did you still want to check out the library?" Maya asked, lifting her bike. She circled me slowly as I walked on foot, no way was I ever going to be caught dead riding a bike through town.
"Yeah. After hearing some of Ms. Wicks' stories, I'm dying to know more." I said thoughtfully.
Everyone around here thought that old woman was crazy, her sanity long gone, leaving only an elderly woman babbling about the unknown. I liked her company and wild stories. The uncertainty didn't scare me—if anything, I found it thrilling. I assumed she enjoyed our talks just as much; we could talk for hours, just the two of us.
Maya acted as if Ms.Wicks was from another universe. She came with me once to the little cottage but swore she wouldn't return.
"That woman is loyal to the foil," she said, "absolutely nuts."
I gave her a disapproving look. "Or maybe you're just boring."
"Doubtful." She mumbled, swallowing the last of her food.
As we strolled slowly down the winding streets of Cobalt Springs, I let my eyes wander over the scenery. Our town had long, meandering roads. Iron light posts stood every so often, casting a soft, warm glow when the sun wasn't enough. Tall pine and spruce trees dotted the town, mixed with maples tapped for syrup. The town's name came from the rich cobalt and nickel mines that had once thrived here. Founded centuries ago as a mining settlement, it had since become a quiet, cozy place—mostly retirees and small families now. There was never much excitement, except for the occasional gossip about the old crazy lady living on the outskirts.
Maya skittered to a halt, swinging her leg over the bike seat as she dismounted. She leaned it against a large tree beside the library and marched inside. I followed her quietly behind. The library was one of the largest buildings in all of Cobalt Springs, its towering shelves heavy with history lining the walls, most of the interior was rumoured to still be original wood. I'd spent countless hours here growing up, nestled among thousands of books. This place felt like home—more so than anywhere else ever had. My feet padded softly across the floorboards, careful not to squeak, while Maya's presence was impossible to ignore. Heads turned as she sauntered through, her steps thudding loudly like a lumbering giant in a dense forest. Graceful, she was not. Quiet? Never. She was loud, boastful, and demanded attention.
"Alright," she said, turning to me with a smirk, completely ignoring the irritated looks from readers scattered at tables. "Where would these books even be?"
"I'm honestly not sure," I admitted, scanning the shelves from the foyer.
"Do you think that old bat made them up?" Maya mused with a sneer.
"Stop talking about her like that," I warned. "Or she might cast a spell on you." I snickered.
I flipped through the texts lining the walls, but nothing caught my eye. There were plenty of books that looked dull as dishwater—biographies, philosophy, and children's stories crowding the shelves. A sinking pit formed in my stomach as I realized what I wanted probably wasn't going to be found in a public library accessible to everyone. So I marched over to the educational section I loved, sliding the spine into my hand.
"An Incomplete History of Unfinished Things. Now, why on earth would you want that?" Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I—" I began.
"Actually, never mind. I don't want to know." Maya rasped, turning to wait by the door. The wirehaired librarian who sat at the front desk peered up at her over her glasses, raising her index finger to her lips. Maya smiled coyly in return.
I checked out the book, waving goodbye to the librarian I'd come to know well, then stepped outside where Maya graciously held the door open for me. As she climbed onto her bike, I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come with me to Ms. Wicks' cottage? She's asked me to water her plants while she's away."
Maya shook her head and circled around me as I walked, careful not to get too close to me. We rode and walked in silence for a while—something that had become more common between us lately. I noticed the way Maya's shoulders sagged, how her eyes stayed cast downward, losing the spark they'd held just months ago. The loud, boisterous girl I knew now felt like a hollow shell. The wind picked up as we continued in silence, the weight becoming a physical sensation across my chest.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked softly, already knowing where this would lead, but ready to listen for my best friend's sake. Maya shook her head slowly, the silence between us thick and heavy.
"I just can't believe she's gone," she whispered, stopping her bike with one foot planted firmly on the ground. Her gaze was fixed on the dirt beneath her tires. I eased to a stop beside her.
"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, because I don't—"
"You lost someone too—"
"Not the way you did," I answered gently. "But if you ever want someone to be around, even if all we do is sit in silence, you always know where to find me. It's always you and I."
I smiled, but the sadness was real. It hurt to see her hurting this much, and it hurt even more knowing that only time could heal it. Maya let out a long sigh.
"Can we sit?" she asked.
"Lead the way," I replied.
We settled beneath a large maple tree, its leaves whispering in the breeze. Maya laid her bike down in front of us and sighed deeply.
"I still feel like I should call out to her when I walk through the door. It's even harder because I can't afford to move out of that damn house. I'm stuck there with him," she said, voice tight with bitterness. "I'm stuck in a house I once loved with that bastard of a man."
Her stepfather, his thick hair and short stature his most notable featurest. After her mother's long battle with a terminal illness, she'd finally passed a few months ago. Maya was still raw with grief. With no siblings and only that wretched man in the house, I did my best to be there for her. She'd come over just to sit quietly while I read or worked on projects, and I'd tinker while she stayed close. Even though we were adults, or supposed to be, it felt like Maya had been forced to grow up overnight.
Her stepfather couldn't cover the bills on his own, so Maya had to help pay the mortgage. She had to dip into educational funds. That's why she still had her bike—it was her only way to get around. She'd dropped her hobbies months ago, some even before her mother died, all to keep a hold on her childhood home. We used to play every sport imaginable, try new clubs, act in productions, anything to keep life vibrant and alive. Now it was a struggle to get her to do anything, no matter how hard I tried.
"Have you looked at any places outside of town? Maybe somewhere bigger, a city that's super walkable. I could help you look," I offered, trying to come up with an actual solution instead of just sympathy.
"I've thought about it." She said, fingers twisting the blades of grass between them.
"But I don't know if I can give up that house, or leave you. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just drifting through all of this." Her voice dropped. "I wasn't ready to lose a parent."
"I don't think anyone ever is." I placed my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Silence passed for another moment.
"Let's sit and watch the sun go down."
So we did. Just like when we were kids, talking about how we were eventually going to leave this small town behind us.