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On Thursday nights, Penny went over to Ann’s to watch movies.
Sometimes the others would show up too, it wasn’t a closed movie night, but Penny was always there. It was nice to come back. When they’d all emerged, the six of them had crashed at Ann’s enormous house for a while— her sister, who’d inherited it, didn’t mind, and was probably relieved Ann wasn’t trying to take it over entirely since she was the eldest and it should have been hers— and it had been a good way to get back on their feet.
Grant’s adult daughter, once they made contact, had insisted he move in with her, and had apparently also hired a home health aide; they saw him regularly and he seemed to be hanging in there admirably, though he wasn’t exactly hale. Cole and Gayatri had got an apartment together through one of Cole’s contacts, and a month or two later when another one in the building had opened up they’d put in a word so Penny and Jax— who was still using her circus name until she picked a new one; it was less gendered than her original name— could take it.
Penny had felt bad about leaving Ann at her house alone— well, not alone, she had her sister, but still— but Jax definitely needed a degree of supervision, and they made good roommates. They all saw each other regularly, it wasn’t goodbye, but it still made coming back to Ann’s place comforting.
It also felt a little bit more like a date when you weren’t sleeping in the next room all the time. She was starting to think that was something she wanted.
Penny had recently gotten into baking, and she hefted the pan of butterscotch blondies she’d brought with her as a greeting at the door. Ann hugged her around the pan, giggled, and when they were on the couch and she was absentmindedly licking a crumb off her finger Penny thought she was just stupidly beautiful.
(It wasn’t actually a date, probably. It just felt like one.)
Tonight’s movie was Knives Out— Ann had missed a lot of good cinema, in the Circus, so there was never any shortage of things to watch. A movie, a comfy couch, a beer for Penny, a glass of wine for Ann, and some snacks to share made for a perfect evening, in Penny’s opinion. She even kept a set of pajamas here in case she ended up cracking more than the one beer— she’d been firmly informed she was always welcome to spend the night— though it was more often Ann who got a bit sauced.
Ann definitely drank a little too much, and Penny was trying to keep an eye on it, but she also couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away from her brain for a bit. She’d been in the sim for sixteen years. Her mom had died, which sounded like a blessing, but also two of her siblings had gotten married and none of them were teenagers anymore. Both of her married siblings had had framed pictures of her on a table at their weddings, with the other dearly departed. There were photos. Penny would drink too.
Once, her filter obliterated by vodka and Cointreau, Ann had said that ‘even Babette was married now’, and that was how Penny learnt that Annie used to sneak out to the Pearl Lounge where she’d wound up in a multi-year situationship with a buxom French dominatrix with golden curls. She had a wife and ten-year-old son now.
Penny would drink too.
But everything was okay, tonight. Ann was in a good mood, relaxed, invested in the movie. Penny was glad she’d thought to suggest this one; Daniel Craig getting to do a wild accent and character work was always a treat, and even though Penny was the only one between them bi enough to appreciate evil Chris Evans in nice sweaters, the snappy writing and family drama was definitely doing it for Annie. She’d made a few comments about how she might actually have been lucky to be in another dimension when the inheritance was getting sorted out in her own family, but they seemed like genuine jokes, not hiding pain.
Which was why Penny was so surprised when she caught a glint of tears out of the corner of her eye.
“Woah, are you okay?”
Ann looked like she was still focused on the screen, but she was blinking too much, and tears were streaming from her eyes— no, as she turned, Penny could see it was just her right eye, but still. She put a hand to her face, looked at the tears on her fingers, and swore quietly.
“I’ll— I’m fine, Penny, I’ll be right back.”
She got up from the sofa so fast she almost stumbled, scuttled away down the hallway, and Penny fumbled for the remote to pause the TV. The clunk of the bathroom door closing poked at her nerves, and she tried to breathe. Ann needed a minute, that was fine. She’d clean herself up, come back and they’d talk about it. It would be okay.
Penny folded her hands in her lap, tapped her foot. Ann would be right back, and they’d talk.
The hallway was silent. Something was wrong.
Penny got up and hustled down the hall to knock on the door.
“Annie? You okay in there?”
There was a clatter— she’d startled her. Penny bit her tongue.
“Just fine!” came the high-pitched, stressed reply. “Just give me a minute, I’m A-okay!”
“Right, yeah, sorry,” Penny said, backing up to the other side of the corridor. Wide-ass hallway in Ann’s huge fancy house; even though she’d lived here for weeks she kept noticing. That was why the door closing had been such a thunk, too; it must be real ancient hardwood or something ridiculous like that.
She could hear cloth moving on the other side of the door. Probably just Ann moving around. Doing something. What was she doing.
Penny realized her breath was coming hard, heart beating fast. She was thinking about closed doors. Jax was doing better than she had been, but still not great. She wasn’t actively suicidal anymore, but she was still cutting sometimes, and Penny had had to bust down a door once to take the razor from her, clean her up, put her to bed.
Before she could think, Penny had her hand on the knob and her shoulder slamming against the door. It wasn’t locked, so she tumbled in with way more force than expected, nearly crashing into Ann where she stood in front of the mirror.
“Penny, what— I’m—“
“Sorry, you’re okay, I—“
Ann held her hands up in surrender, eyes wide.
Eye wide.
No, the other one was wide too, it was just all soft red and pink flesh in there instead of an eyeball. A few crumpled tissues were on the wide, shining counter, alongside a shot glass with a white thing floating in it like a piece of eggshell.
“I’m so sorry take your time I’ll be out on the couch I’m sorry—“
Penny dashed away, scrabbling almost on all fours like she had sometimes in the Circus. It made her feel a little sick.
She waited.
Ann padded back out from the hall, nervously scratching the back of her head, and sat down on the couch. Not next to Penny anymore— on the other side. Penny tried not to cringe.
She was wearing a plain black medical eyepatch, now, but she’d sat on Penny’s right where she couldn’t see it much— especially since Ann wasn’t looking right at her.
“I’m sorry,” Penny said, and then stopped as she realized Ann had said it too.
“Are you kidding, Annie? Why would you be sorry? I freaked out, I barged in on you in the bathroom, you told me not to, that was private, I’m sorry—“
“It’s all good, you’re all good, it’s okay! I ran off without explaining, no wonder you freaked out—“
“You don’t owe me an explanation for anything, it’s fine—“
Both of them stopped, actually looked at each other, sagged.
“It is okay,” Ann said, softly. “It’s probably stupid of me to hide it even from friends.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“But I will.”
Penny breathed. Ann futzed with her twists like she was trying to pull them in front of the eyepatch, but they didn’t cooperate and fell back to the side.
“…so… the button, then?”
“Yeah, that was… symbolic, I guess. I lost it when I was twelve, in an accident. There’s an implant in there, and then the ocular prosthesis on top that makes it look okay; I don’t have to take it out that often but sometimes it gets irritated and needs a wash, y’know. That’s why— I wasn’t actually crying, my tear ducts were just. Going nuts. I’m going to let it sit in the solution for a while.”
“What about the implant under it? If I can ask.”
“What about it?”
“I mean, do you have to take it out?”
“Oh, no,” Ann said, with a bit of a laugh, like it was nice to be talking about logistics instead of emotions. “It doesn’t come out, actually, the… membranes get sort of arranged over it and then they grow into place, that’s why it looks kind of gory when I don’t have the shell on.”
“That’s a little badass.”
Ann cracked up. “Thanks, Penny.”
It probably wasn’t for calling her badass.
“No problem,” she replied, trying to put all the honesty in her voice that she felt. “And if it helps, I couldn’t tell at all. You were twelve, huh? Were you at least doing something cool?”
Ann let out an amused breath.
“No, no, it was a completely boring accident. My— my mama was in the kitchen, and I was underfoot, getting in her way, and she just, you know, gestured a little too hard, and— hospital time! Hah.”
Penny’s stomach dropped. “Your mom put out your eye.”
“I was in her way,” Ann said, and it sounded rehearsed. Penny pulled her feet up onto the sofa and shifted so she was facing her, but didn’t say anything, watching her scrunched-up face, waiting.
Ann’s lip trembled. Penny put a hand on hers.
“…she was mad,” she said eventually, and Penny bit her lip to keep from making any noise. If Annie realized this was upsetting, she’d apologize and close back up again, and that would be so much worse than any awful details she could hear. “I hadn’t, um— I’d put away the clean dishes, but I hadn’t realized that one wasn’t all the way clean; the dishwasher— anyway. She needed that knife to cook with and she was upset it had a bit of onion on it, stuck to the blade, it— I hadn’t seen it, and she kept telling me I needed to look, and— it probably really was an accident, I don’t know. She did other things on purpose, but…”
Penny swallowed, squeezing Annie’s hand.
“She made sure I had a really nice prosthesis. The painting on it, it’s— based on photos from when I was little, so it really does look just like my eye. Everybody knew I’d had an accident, obviously, but we didn’t tell anybody how bad it was, so once I didn’t have to wear the patch anymore the shell was ready and we just, um, carried on. Mama said she didn’t want anyone to call me a freak.”
“She didn’t want anyone to know how badly she’d hurt you.”
“She was protecting me,” Annie said, her voice strained. “She knew kids can be mean. She didn’t want me to get bullied at school— worse than I was, I mean. Private school kids can be… anyway. She even got me new ones, the implant and the shell, once I was twenty and had stopped growing, so they’d sit right in my head, and that one— this one, the one I have now— it’s just as nice as the first one. Even though I was grown by then and probably should have paid for it myself.”
“You don’t need to make excuses for her,” Penny said, trying not to sound as aggressive as she felt about it.
“I’m not making excuses, I’m just saying—“
“You’re literally making excuses. I— I can’t believe she did that to you.”
“It was probably an accident.”
Penny scrubbed her free hand through her hair, exasperated. “Okay, let’s go with that, even though I don’t think it was. Even if it was an accident, you’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to be mad your mom put out your eye. Did she even apologise, admit she fucked up— not that that would make it okay, but—“
“I was in her way,” Ann repeated, flatly. Penny took a deep breath. Ann wasn’t looking at her, her gaze downcast and her voice small. Like she was still that little girl. She looked like she was processing, so Penny held her tongue.
She wasn’t the best at touch, but she knew Annie craved it. Carefully, slowly, Penny slid across the couch until she was pressed against her side, leaned on her, still squeezing her hand. Annie was shaking, and she turned her hand over so she could hold Penny’s properly, and then she started to cry.
Really crying, this time, not just her eyes watering from irritation. Her back heaved, she leaned hard into Penny, but her sobs were almost silent, bitten back like she couldn’t bear to put that sound into the room. Like she was afraid of what would happen if she did.
Penny thought about Ann smiling, about her relentless, desperate cheer, about her constant apologies, her terror of upsetting anyone. She’d known for so long where it came from; she’d essentially told them all in the bar, and Penny had had her suspicions beforehand. She’d been furious for Annie’s sake for a long time, afraid to show her or she’d feel guilty about that too. But now, here, with her body warm against her side, free hand hiding her face, Penny thought about stuffing and muslin and a button, about Annie’s body being torn limb from limb, her eye popping off, her head or her hands exploding into comical snowfalls of fluff. Ragdoll, dragged around by the leg, popping her stitches, and not even getting to see the world. Ragdoll squished into corners and made into whatever her girl wants her to be. Ragdoll to be there for everyone else, to sop up tears and smile through them.
‘She did other things on purpose’, huh.
She let go of Annie’s hand, but only to put her arms around her properly. Annie shoved her face into Penny’s shoulder like she couldn’t breathe unless she was held, and Penny squeezed her tight. She thumbed at the base of Annie’s neck, other hand splayed across her ribs, and leaned against the back of the couch so Annie could put more weight on her, feel that she was there.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m here. She’s not. You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Ann whispered, wetly.
“Don’t be,” Penny said.
“I’ll try,” Ann replied, with something almost like a weak laugh.
They stayed that way until Annie’s breathing had evened out, until she sat up and smiled at her.
“This makes the fact that you can play softball even more impressive,” Penny said, pleased when it got the startled snort-laugh out of Annie she’d hoped for.
“You learn to compensate,” she said, flapping her hand like it was no big deal.
“For not having binocular vision when you’re hitting a ball coming at you with a stick? I may not get sports, but that’s nuts.”
Ann smiled weakly, knocked her shoulder into Penny’s. Penny leaned on her in turn.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she said carefully, “but you can tell me anything you do. It’s not a burden on me— or, if it is, it’s one I want. I want to be there for you, Annie.”
Ann sniffled, and found Penny’s hand again with her own, squeezed it.
“I am sorry I freaked you out, though,” she said. “When I ran off. Is Jax…?”
“Not my business to tell, but it’s been a little rough, yeah.”
Ann sighed. “I’m sorry. And that’s a sympathy sorry, before you tell me off for apologizing for something that has nothing to do with me.”
Penny laughed, squeezed her hand. “Sympathy accepted. But like I said, I want to know. I want to be there for her, and I want to be there for you.”
“Can’t we be there for you too?”
“Yeah, totally, just so long as you’re not running yourself ragged about it,” Penny said, knowing she was maybe being a hypocrite.
“Raggedy,” Ann said, and Penny cracked up.
“I can’t believe the Circus made you a Raggedy Ann doll and then we all wake up and you’re the least ragged looking person I’ve ever seen in my life. How are you so put together all the time.”
“I’m wearing a sweat suit, that’s not put together.”
“You’re wearing a matching periwinkle sweat suit, Annie.”
“I don’t even straighten my hair anymore.”
“That doesn’t make you look not put together and you know it, the spectral voice of the late Mrs Davis can go fuck itself.”
Ann cringed, and Penny worried she’d gone too far, but then she nodded.
“Mama, go fuck yourself,” she said, and then covered her mouth with her hand like she couldn’t believe she’d said it. Penny laughed, put her arms around her again.
“You’re good, Annie. You’re good. You’re so good.”
Ann sniffled, pawed for the box of tissues on the table, blew her nose with a hilariously dainty little squeak.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, okay, okay, I think— I think I’d rather think about the Thrombeys than the Davises right now. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely okay,” Penny said, grabbing the remote to start the movie going again. Ann leaned on her side, and Penny kept an arm around her waist, and Ann finished her glass of wine but didn’t pour another. Nobody was sauced, but it was still definitely going to be a night Penny made use of the pajamas she left here and one of the house’s massive stock of still-wrapped guest toothbrushes. She’d have to get up a little earlier in the morning than usual to get to work— Ann’s place was a ways outside of town— but that was fine. It was worth it.
Annie was worth so much more than she knew.