Unthinkable (Tate Langdon)

010

Dedicated to pr-i-soner

October 29th, 1993.

It had been just over two weeks since Tate lost his brother, since Eve watched him come undone entirely in the woods.

He was sullen and cold, especially after the funeral. It was closed to the public, only Tate, his mother, and his sister invited to attend.

Eve didn't mind missing the opportunity to be there as much as she felt she should. She'd still never come up with better advice for Tate than to breathe and slow down.

Eventually, he stopped cursing and accusing his mother at every available opportunity and resumed functioning as a somewhat quieter version of himself.

It wasn't the Tate she knew, but it was still the Tate she loved, and so Eve endured his stony silences and thousand yard stares, comforted by the hope that all things healed with time.

She tried to move on, tried to preserve and sense of normalcy for them both and remind him at every opportunity that she loved him. His temper never again flared as it had and this made loving him comfortably quite easy.

It was always all too easy to forget what one did not wish to remember.

It was the end of October when Eve's mother hurled a fat envelope at her on her way out the door.

"Another rejection notice from one of them fancy colleges you think you're getting into, probably," the woman scoffed, lighting up a cigarette as she tooled around in her purse.

"Thanks, mother," Eve answered sarcastically, collecting the envelope from floor.

"There's a pizza in the freezer. I'll be home late," she instructed her daughter, collecting her wallet and keys. "Do your homework, don't have anyone in the house. Got it?"

Eve's mother did not wait for an answer, slamming the backdoor shut behind her.

Eve muttered a curse under her breath, pilfering through the cabinets and retrieving a poptart before flopping back down at the dining room table. She paged Tate with their familiar code - 108, for 'come over'.

With a heavy sigh, she eyeballed envelope - New York's School of Visual Arts, a school she had no real hope of being accepted to, but had tried for anyway.

She ripped the envelope open unceremoniously, eyes quickly scanning for the word 'rejected'. She'd seen it on a few college response letters at that point, and seeing it from SVA of all places would not surprise her.

"Oh my God."

Her hands shook as she errupted in a peal of laughter, mouth agape at the news printed in black and white on the letter.

Accepted.

She couldn't believe it.

Accepted to one of the most prestigious art schools in the country with a partial scholarship.

It was literally a realization of her wildest dreams, and her shrieks of excitement said as much as they echoed through the empty house.

Not only would she have the opportunity to study at an amazing school, but in New York, miles away from her mother, in the city of lights.

She couldn't contain herself, no reason to do so when there was no one else around to hear her yelling and carrying on like a lunatic.

That was of course until as if on cue, Tate let himself in the backdoor.

"Jesus, Eve, are you okay?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried. "I heard screaming."

She didn't think but instead acted, bounding over to him happily and leaning up to plant an exuberant kiss directly on his lips.

As confused as he must have been, Tate asked no questions. He simply returned her fervor in kissing her back, the two only pulling apart when both needed to draw a breath.

"Uh, hi?" Tate grinned down at her, a bit dazed. She answered the look with a gleaming smile of her own, both because of her news and the rare appearance of genuine happiness on his face.

"Hi yourself, handsome," she teased, backing off of him slightly. She was far too comfortable around Tate to feel embarrassed, but she knew she had gone a little overboard with no explanation.

"What's going on, Eve?" he asked with a laugh. "First you're screaming, and then you're bouncing around."

She grabbed the letter from the table, holding it up like a trophy for him to see.

"I did it, Tate. I got in," she exclaimed. She thrust the letter towards him and he accepted it warily.

"New York's Visual School of Arts," she giggled like a schoolgirl. "I did it!"

She watched as his face fell flat, neither pleased nor displeased as he read over the words.

---

Tate didn't know how to force his mouth to function properly, as dry and useless as it had become.

"It's... In New York," he finally stammered. The hand which held the acceptance letter was shaking.

"Obviously," Eve laughed softly. "Isn't this amazing? I never thought in a million years I'd -"

She kept speaking, but again, the sound drained away into an indecipherable droning. His vision tunneled into pinpoints, his chest too tight to breathe properly.

She wasn't leaving; she couldn't leave. She had promised.

He saw a quick flash of himself ripping the letter into shreds, as though that would make it go away. He barely contained the urge to do so in reality, that little voice in his head reminding him that he couldn't.

If he exploded then, it was game over.

He had to take it slow and easy. He had to show her, again, that she wasn't supposed to be apart from him. If he moved too quickly, reacted on impulse, he knew he'd ruin it all.

Drawing a slow breath, he pieced himself back together temporarily.

"Congratulations," he stumbled over the word, putting on his best approximation of a smile. "Are you... I mean, are you really going?"

"I don't know. It's expensive. Like, really expensive," she said and bit her lip. "My mom's not gonna help pay for anything, but who cares? I got in!"

He allowed the knowledge that maybe it wasn't set it stone tonl comfort him. Maybe there was still time to change her mind.

Just not that night.

"This calls for celebration," she announced, dancing to the freezer and pulling out a carton of ice cream and motioning for him to follow. "C'mon, let's go see what's on television."

He maintained the forced smile and followed after her, the wheels in his head turning at full speed.

He'd figure out some way to fix this.

He had no other choice.

×××

It never gets any easier for these two, does it? And we all know Tate's 'brilliant plan' can't be good news. Let me know what you're thinking so far, pretty please!