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Marisa had a bit of a routine, but she supposed those things were bound to happen when one reached a certain age. She had passed the time of seeking adventure at every corner, and life had stopped running madly, making her struggle to balance a crowded schedule with the awful responsibilities of adulthood. She found there was a definite sort of peace in the slow decrease of her hectic schedule, and as she had grown older, she had also grown to appreciate it, even though her husband had made it his life mission to keep routine at bay.
Adam had had a motto: if you change a little thing about how you go about your days every day, then you will never know routine; and if you never know routine, life will never be boring.
Now that he was gone, Marisa simply lacked the energy to change a little thing every day to spice up the linearity of life.
They had lived fifty-seven happy and beautiful years following that sentiment. Sometimes, they found it in simple things: instead of dutifully doing the dishes after every meal, he would let them sit in the sink for one night and tease her about the annoyed twist curving her mouth. Other days, at bedtime, he would lay on her side of the bed and laugh at the look of horror on her features as she would join him in their bedroom. Sometimes, he would just stop by the florist on his way home from work, or surprise her by leaving work early to meet her at their children’s school so they could walk them home together. Every now and then, he would forgo their peaceful routine of sitting in front of the TV in the evening and put on some music and invite her for a slow dance in the living room instead. Some weekends, she would wake up to their bags packed, the children or grandchildren already dressed, poorly made sandwiches in their hands, and he would cheerfully announce that they were going on an adventure.
Often, it was smaller, subtle things: calling one of their grandchildren to encourage them on their upcoming finals, changing the shelving unit in the dining room to give more room to Marisa’s collection of crystal glasses, sitting down on the swinging bench down by the porch and inviting her to gaze at the stars with him.
Adam had, with small and seldom perceptible gestures, added spice to her life in ways she hadn’t realized until he was gone.
She hadn’t realized that she hadn’t been bored a day in her life until she was sitting in her dining room, watching the empty chairs around the table and wondering how after all this time, she still hadn’t grown immune to the inextricable pain of loss.
She had grieved her body, her legs that used to walk miles to get to school and that now ached when she climbed the few stairs up to her porch. She had grieved her independence, how the vagaries of age had eventually cost her the ability to drive the long distance that separated them from their secondary house where she would settle onto the beach and let the air of the sea revive her fading strength. She had grieved her health, and the slowly increasing visits to the doctor, she who had never been sick a day in her life. She had grieved people, family, friends, sometimes even strangers.
But Adam. Oh, Adam.
She had never quite grieved the way she had him.
She had grieved his comforting hand on her shoulder when their daughter had moved out for college, his conniving smiles when he pretended to be senile when someone would treat them as if time passing necessarily meant they were to be regarded as fragile and weak, his boisterous laughter whenever their grandchildren would play around the house and argue with each other about the rules of a game they had entirely made up.
Adam used to say that men only required a few things from life to be happy, and that he had found them all in her. It had been in his wedding vows, and he had repeated it many times, throughout the years. She would huff and wave her hand in dismissal, but she still fondly remembered the proverbial butterflies dancing in her stomach every single time. And then he would joke, every single time, that he would never tell her what those things were, or she would find him far less romantic than it made him sound. He had never gotten around to telling her what they were, those few things, but she surmised they were simpler than she had imagined now that he was gone: a roof over their heads, a loving and healthy family, a few good friends, and a home where things broke at regular intervals to invite in its walls the beautiful gift of laughter.
Perhaps he would have said something else entirely, she thought, but she had known him for sixty years, so she would argue that she had a fairly good idea of her late husband’s character. He had been, above all, a truly good person, a person who had made every day enjoyable, every little routine that had managed to settle in their life an adventure of its own, a person who had made the swirling changes of the world around them and the hardships of life a little easier to decipher and endure.
And then he had left her all alone in a world where she no longer understood the language, with a very specific sort of loneliness she had no idea how to unravel.
She wasn’t alone all the time, thankfully. Her four grandchildren visited often, sometimes with ludicrous excuses as if they needed one to spend time with their grandmother. Often, her grandson Alec would bring along his five year old son and the house would be filled again with laughter and the exuberant joy of small feet running around, looking for trouble. They would play in the garden while she watched surreptitiously from the kitchen window and sometimes speak in low voices with each other, as if sharing some great secret about the universe. It reminded her of something, something simple but so much more precious than she had ever imagined it would be. The memories of a time where Adam had taken their children, and later their grandchildren, to feed the birds in the garden, teaching them about the freedom they possessed and that he had spent his life chasing, Marisa’s hand firmly tucked into his own.
It had been her grandchildren who had bought Boo for her, a year after Adam had passed away. Boo was a male Pembroke Welsh corgi with short little legs for which he compensated with large pointy ears and constant eagerness. His infectious energy had even been enough to revive some youthful energy to both Marisa and Roberto, Adam’s ten year old mutt, who had suddenly started to move around a lot more as if being around a young pup had made him forget that he was considered, in canine standards, a senior citizen himself.
So, Marisa had a bit of a routine. Taking the dogs out for a walk was a necessity, and although she sometimes grumbled about it, when it was raining or snowing, she had grown to love it as much as they both did. There was something thrilling about watching them enjoying themselves, their tails wagging with enthusiasm as they ran into another dog or walked by a particularly tempting fountain. And in a way, she had to admit, it was a routine without truly being one, because their curiosity for the world around them reminded her to look, also, for the little things. Those small, tiny details that made the world a beautiful and fascinating place to explore.
It was a hot day despite the summer coming to an end, and she had decided on spending a longer time in the park than she usually did, when her customary stroll took an unexpected turn.
“Beckett!” she heard a strong, slightly frenetic voice call somewhere in her back.
She turned around just in time to witness the wild run of a speckled Australian shepherd before it slid into a stop in front of Boo, its tail up in the air and front legs bending onto the ground. It took half a second for Boo to reciprocate the sentiment, his pointy ears perking in excitement as he barked in greeting. The Australian shepherd barked happily in answer.
A man came running after the dog, and pointed a reprimanding finger at the dog, a little out of breath.
“Beckett,” he huffed out, shaking his head.
The dog –Beckett, as it seemed– looked entirely unimpressed, and leaped playfully at Boo, ignoring his begrudged master.
“Why–” he started, and inhaled deeply, eyes imploring “–do you keep doing this?” When Beckett continued to ignore him, he turned to Marisa, offering her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry.”
Marisa waved him off with a smile.
“That’s Australian shepherds for you, isn’t it? They like to play tricks on their poor unsuspecting owners.”
His face fell. “Do they?”
He sounded a little choked up, as if it were all news to him, and Marisa couldn’t help but to frown as she sat down on a nearby bench.
“You’re a new owner?” she asked.
Beckett, who was now rolling around on the grass, head turned towards Boo as if in invitation, looked to be somewhere around one, too big to be a puppy but too small to be fully grown and hold any of the quiet wisdom Roberto seemed to convey whenever he was around younger dogs.
“I… You could say that,” he muttered. She patted the empty spot to her left, tilting her head in amusement, and the man heaved out, sinking next to her. He buried his face in his hands and groaned, and when he glanced back up at her, he looked like he was about to cry. “I just got him,” he murmured, voice trembling. “My best friend passed away unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago and… well, he had no living relatives or anyone close to being family but me, so I took Beckett in, but I’ve never had a dog and I don’t know the first thing about dogs and he refuses to listen to me and I don’t know what to do.”
He had big, crescent moon eyes of amber warmth, and his face bore the unerring essence of people who have endured too much, and yet keep enduring with the same unmovable strength and their vulnerability hidden like a precious gemstone. He blinked, and the tears that had been welling up in his eyes were gone, and then he was smiling, something sad and struggling to feel true.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you,” he said in a clipped, carefully aloof tone. He clasped his hands on his knees, and shook his head, as if to dismiss his previous anguish. “Not a sentence I thought I’d ever say to an elderly lady,” he quipped.
He seemed to believe she wouldn’t understand the double entendre of his word, and Marisa was struck with a flash of Adam’s smiling, wrinkled eyes shining with a spark of mischief. So, she answered this mere stranger the same way she had her late husband.
She gave him a deeply unimpressed look and lifted a single eyebrow. And much like Adam had at the time, when he would think his wit more subtle than it actually was, the man spluttered, his eyes broadening.
“Oh my God,” he blurted out, an edge of panic to his voice. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I’m being such a mess.”
Her own laughter caught her off guard, as if it didn’t expect itself to come out and so it bubbled out of her chest in all directions in a joyous chaos. It was an untidy, mischievous laugh and her whole body seemed to relax into its unexpectedness. It took a moment for her companion to join her. First, he stared at her bewilderedly, unsure how to react to this. Then, a small smile started poking at the corner of his mouth, genuine and unpolished this time. Before long, it was a long, raucous bout of giggling.
And they shared this moment, somehow both pleasantly surprised but resigned at the twists and turns of life.
There was still the ghost of a smile on his lips when he reached over to her with a hand out.
“I’m Magnus Bane.”
Marisa smiled warmly in answer, and shook the offered hand. “Marisa Trueblood.”
A bark tore them out of their exchange, and Magnus’ eyes widened comically as they fell on Beckett, who was chasing after a poor squirrel running for its life.
“Beckett, no!” he cried out, but the dog blissfully ignored him and started to scratch at the tree where the squirrel had found a refuge, its small body trembling as it kept climbing as high as it could. “Beckett!”
His call remained unnoticed, and despair was quickly back on Magnus’ features as he rose up to go to the dog, whose head swiftly turned to him. Beckett ran off before Magnus could grab his leash.
Marisa fought back a smile and dug in her purse to grab the knitted pouch she kept in there. Boo and Roberto immediately recognized it and trotted to her, staring at her in silent demand, tails wagging in unison. Marisa shook the tiny pouch, the sound of the treats it contained finally enough to catch Beckett’s attention, who promptly stopped running to look in her direction, ears perking up. He barked happily, and bolted to her.
“Beckett,” she said. “Sit.”
The Australian shepherd tilted his head at her.
“Sit,” she repeated more firmly.
The dog dutifully obeyed, although his body still buzzed with excitement, and Marisa plucked out a treat and gave it to him, patting his head in reward before doing the same with her own dogs. She reached down and grabbed Beckett’s leash, handing it over to Magnus, who was standing next to the bench, staring dumbfoundedly.
He blinked, and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he mumbled, taking the leash from her with a grateful smile. “Treats. Noted.”
“Treats are a good way to make them listen, but the best reward for them is usually lots of praise,” she said patiently. “You don’t want them to listen only if you give them treats. Right, Beckett?” The dog stayed sitting in front of her, tongue poking out a little. She chuckled and reached out to pet his head, cooing. “That’s a good boy.”
She looked back at Magnus. “They’re not so different from us,” she explained. “Mostly they want love and attention.”
“Love and attention,” Magnus parroted, as if he was making a mental note of her every word. “I can definitely do that.”
He sat down next to her, and leaned down to gently stroke Beckett’s back.
“Any other useful tips?”
She was about to reply when a loud ring interrupted her, making them both start in their seat. It took her a moment to realize the ring was coming from her purse. She plucked out the phone her daughter had gotten her for Christmas and read the name flashing on the screen with a smile, pressing the device against her ear.
“Hello?”
Only the vile, obnoxious sound of her ringtone answered her and she pulled the phone away from her ear with a grimace. Next to her, Magnus was biting his lip on a smile.
“You have to click on the green phone,” he told her kindly.
Marisa stared back at the screen and did as she had been told, glancing back up at Magnus with a curved eyebrow.
“Now you can answer.”
Marisa nodded in understanding, and put the phone back against her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi Grandma! You finally managed to answer your phone!”
There was teasing embedded within every word, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be bothered by it in the slightest.
“Oh, my darling! I can hear you!” she marvelled, none the wiser to Magnus’ quiet chuckle at her side.
She focused on the laughter coming out of the phone instead. “I can hear you too. Where are you? I was supposed to pick you up to go to Mom’s tonight. I rang the bell and you didn’t answer, so I let myself in but the house is empty.”
“Oh dear,” Marisa gasped. “I think I lost track of time. I’m at the park with the boys, but I’ll head home right now, okay? I won’t be more than ten minutes.”
“Do you want me to come pick you up at the park?”
“No need, darling. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right there.”
“Alright. See you.”
“Yes. Bye now.”
She pulled the phone away and stared back at the screen.
“The red one to hang up,” Magnus told her, and Marisa followed the instruction with a deep scowl.
“I hate those things,” she mumbled, shoving the phone back in her purse.
Magnus chuckled, shrugging. “It takes a bit of training.”
“It’s not so different from having a dog, then,” she said playfully, pushing herself back on her feet. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, Magnus. My grandson is waiting for me at my house to take me to my daughter’s for dinner.”
“Oh,” Magnus said, with a little disappointment she was surprised to realize she felt too. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“I’ll be fine,” she promised.
“Okay. Well, enjoy your family dinner, then.” He bowed his head in polite greeting, a warm smile plastered on his face. “Thank you for the tip, I’ll remember it.”
There was something oddly familiar about Magnus, about the kindness in his eyes she imagined was immutable, the indescribable harmony of his smiles when they were genuine and heartfelt. There was something familiar, too, about the sadness she knew they hid underneath, and the brave front he was bearing even in front of strangers, perhaps mostly in front of strangers. There was something transparent about him and the content of his heart, something she had seldom met in her life and thus knew how incredibly precious it was.
“I’m here every day around three,” she told him. “I’d be happy to unveil all my canine knowledge to you whenever you need it.”
His smile was another of those rare, invaluable ones.
“I might take you up on that.”
.
Marisa made good on her word, but she had to admit she was surprised to find Magnus already sitting on the same bench when she made it to the park the following day.
Beckett was sitting at his side, but the moment it spotted Boo and Roberto approaching, the Australian shepherd started pulling at his leash relentlessly despite Magnus asking him to stop, until Marisa eventually reached them and the dogs were able to greet each other.
“Can you imagine being this happy to see someone you’ve last seen the day before?” Magnus asked absently, pointing a finger at Boo, who was earnestly sniffing Beckett’s bottom, tail wagging excitedly.
Marisa chuckled, taking the seat next to him. “Life would probably be a lot easier for all of us if we were a little more like dogs.”
Magnus huffed, flashing her a small smile. “You sound like Ragnor.”
Marisa turned her head to look at him. “Who’s Ragnor?”
Magnus blinked, seemingly remembering where he was and who he was with. “Oh,” he muttered. “He is… was my best friend. Beckett’s owner.”
Grief was a strange thing. When it hit the hardest, brutal and raw in its omnipotence, the sadness overwhelmed you and felt unbearable. And when it hit softly, in its insidious way, happy memories sometimes came back all at once and left devastation in their wake. In all its forms and shapes, it often didn’t take more than a word or a smell to realize that the feeling you had thought buried with your loved ones was just waiting for you there, concealed by the shadows drawn by time passing and the world continuing to run around you.
Sometimes, Marisa just had to take a step in the garage, take a look at the massage chair that had been there for years because Adam had bought it and used it a total amount of three times, and it was enough for unspeakable woe to overcome her. Sometimes, it felt like half of her heart was dragging her through life, forcing her to go on, and the next minute the other half was pulling her back, convincing her that she had to keep mourning, and crying, and feeling.
Grief was a daily battle, and in Magnus’ face, she could see the freshness of the wound, the confusion that still lingered at his sudden loss, the bitter powerlessness.
Marisa reached out, laying a hand over his own.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Magnus,” she said.
And again, Magnus blinked back those tears with equal courage and stubbornness, and shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said offhandedly, as if she had simply commented on the impeccable eyeliner that was marking his amber eyes. “I bought the treats.”
She could easily recognize an attempt at changing the subject when she was met with one, so Marisa simply smiled and patted his hand softly. He got the packet out of the faux leather messenger bag he had with him, shaking it proudly.
The three dogs immediately perked up, and Beckett jumped up on the bench. He almost managed to close his teeth on the packet, Magnus barely holding it up and out of the way in time.
“Beckett, no!” he warned, gently pushing on his bottom to push him back down on the ground, but the dog just climbed on his lap, whining pitifully. “Beckett, down!”
The dog whined one last time for good measure but eventually complied, ears flopping down in a rather decrepit manner.
“Good boy,” Magnus said, giving Marisa a side glance as if looking for approval.
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of absolute apprehension on his features.
“You’re a quick study.”
“I had a very competent teacher,” Magnus replied smoothly, with a teasing wink, his lips curving into a smirk.
Marisa playfully swatted his forearm. “You charmer!”
Magnus grinned, preening a little. “I try my best.”
Marisa found herself smiling again, seized once more with the same sensation of familiarity she had experienced the day before, and she wondered if it was because there was something distinctly warm and friendly about Magnus’ general demeanor, or if it could rather be blamed on her own wandering mind that had turned her loneliness into vain hope of finding in others the qualities she had rarely encountered in anyone but her Adam.
Magnus had the same tremendous intelligence in his eyes but none of the arrogance that too often came with it, an infinite kindness in its stead; and no matter how she tried to keep herself from feeling too fondly about this man she had just met, there was something about him that made her want to offer him the unique and too rare experience of receiving the same sort of kindness she knew he was used to giving away freely.
Perhaps it was that he was a little lonely, like her.
Perhaps it was that he was a little broken, like her.
She settled more comfortably into her seat and whistled, calling back to her feet Roberto and Boo, who had wandered a little too far, Beckett trotting behind them.
“So... I think you already have the foundation of training in the bag, but it never hurts to repeat it,” she started, and barely stopped herself from smiling fondly when Magnus nodded eagerly.
“Positive reinforcement,” he recited dutifully.
“Reinforcement can be anything your dog likes,” she explained. “It doesn’t have to be food. It can be praise, as I told you yesterday, or the chance to play with his favorite toy for example.”
Magnus nodded, brows notched in concentration. “I found a whole box of toys at Ragnor’s apartment,” he said. “But his favorite seems to be the scarf I got him for Christmas a couple of years ago. It’s goddamn cashmere, I can’t believe he let Beckett play with it.” He rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath an “Ungrateful bastard” that was too layered with affection to be mistaken for anything but fondness.
Marisa chuckled. “When my grandchildren gifted me Boo, he was just a puppy and, you know, puppies are hyperactive, more than an old lady like myself could handle at first. So my grandson, Alec, bought him a whole bunch of toys in a big cardbox. There were so many of them, of all sorts, and he put them all in the garden, waiting for Boo to play around with them and exert himself a little. Boo spent an hour meticulously destroying the cardbox instead.”
Magnus laughed heartily, and she laughed with him quite easily, the memory of Alec’s desperate attempts at interesting Boo with any of the actual toys he had bought flashing into her mind.
“Lesson number two,” Marisa said after a moment of silence where they both stared at Beckett and Boo, who were now trying to coerce Roberto into playing with them. The mutt seemed awfully unimpressed. “Your training session should be brief at first. No more than five to ten minutes.”
“Please, you underestimate both of our endurance, I’m sure.”
Marisa threw him another unimpressed look and Magnus raised both his hands up in surrender, biting his bottom lip on a chuckle. She rolled her eyes, leveling him with a staged look of gravity she had learned to master through force of habit. The smile vanished from his face in a second, his eyes widening in horror.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking both sheepish and mortified. “Ma’am.”
Marisa tried to keep the facade a little longer, but couldn’t quite conceal the upturn of her lips. She snorted, shaking her head, and watched with utter glee as realization dawns on Magnus’ face and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“It’s funny how you kids seem to think we lose all of our sense of humor after a certain age,” she said teasingly.
“You devil you,” Magnus scoffed out, but his surprise had obviously transformed into mirth.
Marisa shrugged, knowing it conveyed no innocence because she had made no effort in that regard. What also came with a certain age, although she wouldn’t say it in hope that Magnus would learn it on his own, was a mastery in the art of not giving a fuck.
From his overall looks –blood red shirt, purple-painted nails, carefully applied eyeliner, vintage boots, rings adorning his fingers and a string of necklaces pooling down his chest– she had a good hunch that Magnus was already on the right path on that front.
Session number two proved to be a success, and they quite naturally made arrangements to meet for session number three the next day.
.
By the end of the first week, Beckett was already demonstrating great progress, and Magnus his ability to brighten Marisa’s days in ways he was certainly unconscious of. Beckett was still on the wilder side of things, but Magnus managed to make him sit every time without using the treats now and although he still didn’t listen when Magnus told him not to do something, he at least had a moment of pause before going on with whatever trouble he had sniffed.
Marisa couldn’t really tell whether she was growing fonder of Magnus or Beckett, but it was happening either way. Each of her encounters with Magnus throughout the past week had been filled with laughter and fascinating chatter. She had learned that he was a writer when she had asked how come he had free time in the middle of the afternoon every day and he had told her he was working from home. They had launched into a lengthy conversation about modern literature and he had marvelled her with the tales of the worlds he was building with his words, waving excitedly to describe everything with such passion she had simply listened in silence, watching the ardent spark glimmering in his eyes. The spark had vanished for a moment when he had mentioned having been hit by writer’s block for the better part of the past year, and how his late best friend, and editor, had been a big help in helping him get past it. He had changed the subject after that, like he always did when their conversation took him back to the grief that was so obviously suffocating him every day.
She had gone to the library at the corner of her street the next day and bought the entirety of his Downworld series, finding out when the librarian had gushed about him being their favorite writer that Magnus was actually a New York Time bestselling author, and that he seemed to have quite the global reading audience. She hadn’t mentioned it when they had met in the afternoon, but the quiet, humble smile he had bore when she had showed him the book had made her scoff out a laughter when she had thought about it again while she was cooking dinner for herself that evening.
She had devoured all three hundred pages of the first book of the series in a single day, and when she had told Magnus how much she had loved it and how she couldn’t wait to start on the next one with a self-admitted childlike excitement, he had blushed a lovely shade of pink, his amber eyes shining in barely concealed pride.
They had found many other topics to talk about. She had told him a little bit more about Adam, her two children, four remaining grandchildren and great-grandson. He had listened intently, laughing when she would tell an anecdote about their childhood she could barely relate herself with a straight face, nodding in all the right places to show he was invested in her tales, and expressing righteous anger when she had confided in the story of how her daughter had found out her ex-husband was cheating on her.
Marisa had met many people in her long life, but very few were as interesting, kindhearted and unapologetically themselves as Magnus Bane.
He was, in all standards that mattered to her, an absolute delight.
So, she didn’t really think twice about taking her great-grandson along with her to their daily meeting the following Saturday. She rarely had the occasion of having him all to herself –more often than not, Alec trusted his own mother to look after him, but she had been delighted when he had called the next day and told her the little boy had specifically asked to be looked after by Nana while he had to work on the weekend.
Elliott was six years old, and like every little child growing up who hadn’t yet been corrupted by the reality of the world and the ups and downs of life, he thought he was invincible, which was making his father’s life a little more difficult than it ought to be, but also positively unboring. Like every little child, too, Elliott was convinced Marisa’s age was verging on three hundred years old, and although it certainly sometimes felt like her body was, she was always glad to remind him only witches lived that long and watch the look of absolute wonder and deep curiosity on his features. His father usually let things be with a smile and a small shake of his head.
When he had dropped Elliott off at her house in the morning, Marisa had been surprised to see him all dressed up, wearing a bowtie and his most elegant shirt. His unruly brown hair had been, for once, combed gracefully, which he had joyfully spent the next ten minutes ruining by running after Boo in the garden, the wind sweeping through it and meticulously undoing his father’s hard work.
When she had asked what the occasion was for him to look so dapper, the little boy had proudly announced, with all the phlegm his youthful innocence provided, that it simply was that he was spending the day with her, and that was enough of a special occasion in itself. That was all she could do not to melt, and watching her grandson Alec watch over Elliott with a look of infinite adoration and steady resilience had filled her with both warmth and inextricable nostalgia.
She had offered him a change of clothes before they had left for the park, but Elliott was in many ways similar to his father, and in stubbornness most of all. She had let it go with no hard feelings.
Magnus was already waiting for her when they made it to the park, and she could read the surprise in his eyes the moment he saw her approaching, Elliott’s hand clasped into her own, but it quickly morphed into the sweetest smile she had ever seen him bearing.
“Hello, Marisa. Who is this fine gentleman accompanying you?”
Elliott seemed to preen at the praise, and let go of Marisa’s hand to take a step forward, holding out a hand toward Magnus.
“I’m Elliott,” he said politely but firmly, as if he was either about to sell Magnus something or make him go through a job interview.
Magnus bit on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back a laugh, but took the offered hand, bowing his head in greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you, Elliott. I’m Magnus.”
Elliott kept looking at Magnus’ hands thoughtfully, brows notched in a rather adorable frown. “Why are your nails blue?” he blurted out, with no consideration for whether it was appropriate or not.
“To match with my scarf, of course,” Magnus replied without missing a beat, showing the boy the midnight blue silk scarf he was wearing with his olive green jacket.
Elliott seemed to consider it for a moment, but eventually nodded in what could only be approval.
“It looks pretty,” he admitted, and then looked back up at Magnus. “You’re pretty.”
Magnus grinned, something wide and elated, youthful and candid, and Marisa felt her heart clench in her chest at the sight. It made his usual cautiously guarded persona painfully obvious, and she couldn’t help but ache on his behalf, for the sorrow he was bravely trying to hide for everyone else’s sake but his own, for the selflessness he couldn’t possibly know that it showed of his character.
“Why thank you, Elliott,” Magnus said, tone soft. He leaned in as if to share an important secret, and added with a wink, “I really like your bowtie.”
Elliott smiled broadly. “I picked it to visit Nana. Daddy helped me put it on.”
“Dressing up for important occasions,” Magnus remarked in a conspiratorial hush. “Very smart.”
And that was how, as easily as he had charmed Marisa, Magnus Bane charmed her great-grandson as well.
Admittedly, and unsurprisingly perhaps, Elliott was even more charmed by Beckett, who came to whine at them a little moment later, demanding attention that the little boy was all too happy to provide. He immediately followed the dog to where Roberto was bathing in the late September sun, napping peacefully, and rolled down on the grass with both Beckett and Boo, immediately forgetting his carefully thought-out outfit in favor of playing.
Marisa took the seat next to Magnus on their usual bench.
“He’s adorable.”
Marisa nodded in agreement, peering from the side of her eye at her newfound and unexpected friend.
“You should see his father,” she said, trying her hardest to keep her features schooled into a mask of impassivity. “I think you two would get along with each other.”
Magnus hummed absently, eyes riveted on the unlikely pair a few feet away from them. Beckett was jumping up and down on his front legs, excitement buzzing through his body as Elliott stood in front of him with a long stick he had found on the ground, ready to throw it.
“He works with computers, developing stuff,” she continued, ignoring Magnus’ quiet little snort at her utter inability to actually explain or even remember what exactly her grandson was doing. “Very successful career, but he’s an even greater father. He worships that little boy and Elliott worships him right back.”
Magnus smiled a little at that, and if he had caught on to where exactly Marisa was trying to head with this conversation, he didn’t let it show, nor displayed the slightest hint of interest.
Marisa refrained from rolling her eyes at Magnus’ obliviousness, whether it was intended or not.
“He’s very handsome, too. That runs in the family. My genes are very strong.”
Magnus chuckled at that, turning his head to her, certainly to tell a friendly joke at her expense, but the words died on his lips as he took a good look at her, and he lifted an eyebrow instead, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He’s single,” Marisa finally said, playing the innocence with an offhanded shrug.
Magnus had definitely caught on, now. He gasped dramatically, but there was both mirth and a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“Marisa Trueblood,” he exclaimed, with a staged look of shock on his face. “Are you trying to set me up with your grandson?”
Marisa couldn’t hold back the smirk curving at the corner of her mouth any longer. “I was just saying,” she said. “I think you’d like him. And that he’d like you too. Maybe you two could watch the Net thing and then relax?”
“That is not how that saying goes, dear,” Magnus retorted with barely concealed malice. “And most importantly, that does not mean what you think it means.”
Marisa’s brows dipped in confusion, and it only seemed to amuse Magnus further because a laugh bubbled out of his chest, short-lived but sincere.
He reached out to pat her hand gently. “I have no doubt your grandson is positively delectable, Marisa, as is proven by the beneficiaries of the Trueblood genes I have met so far, but I am not looking to date at the moment. I have a book to write, a new editor to find because the last one decided to die on me, and simply too much on my mind at the moment.”
And there it was again, that same glimmer of devastation he could never keep at bay for long.
She knew, in all fairness, that love couldn’t solve everything.
Adam had loved her, dearly, but still it hadn’t been enough for her to come out unscathed of the death of her younger brother when he was only seventeen and she twenty-seven. Adam had adored her, unconditionally, but she had still cried and felt like the entire world was against her, when Alzheimers had gnawed on her mother ruthlessly until there was nothing of her left but the shadow of the woman she had once been. He had cherished her, unreservedly, but she had still felt her heart shatter into a million pieces she still hadn’t figured out how to put back together when her daughter had called her, weeping, to tell her that her younger son had died, killed by a drunk driver on his way home from school.
Love hadn’t magically abated her pain, but it had made it bearable, at times. It had made the air breathable, the hardships endurable, and life, overall, a little easier.
And Magnus –kind, beautiful, delightful Magnus– seemed to be utterly deserving and yet cruelly deprived of it.
In some ways, he reminded her of her Adam. In others, he was similar to Alec, and perhaps that was why she had made the association in her mind. He was closed off, always keen to talk about his life as long as it remained superficial, always satisfied to share his feelings on a matter as long as they would make him seem happy. There were walls around his heart, walls whose necessity she could only understand too well. She also knew how painful they would grow to be, in time. How trapped he would come to feel in their midst.
She trusted him, though, not only with the friendly hand she had extended him, not only with the odd but sincere friendship she had offered him, but also to recognize, when it would inevitably come for him, drawn by the goodness of his heart and the grace of his person, the moment when a brighter path would be traced for him to follow. She knew he would do so with his head held high and his heart slowly but surely throbbing in his chest.
It would come to him, in time, and she hoped she would still be there to witness it.
.
They parted ways after a couple of hours, longer than they usually met for, and it was mostly because Elliott had felt the need to explain to Magnus in intricate detail everything he had learned at school so far, ranging from the alphabet –which he couldn’t yet recite without singing the song– to spelling his own name.
Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, menacing, and Marisa’s three different attempts to let her great-grandson know that they should be leaving soon were met with calculated indifference and one particularly successful display of puppy eyes. He launched back into his thorough explanation of Spider-Man’s superpowers the moment he realized she had caved, and Magnus’ apologetic glance her way had simply made her shake her head fondly and accept her defeat.
Elliott wasn’t exactly a shy boy, but he was usually wearier around strangers, especially when his father was around and he could hide behind his long legs until he had grown confident that he had important intel to add to the conversation. He had taken to Magnus almost instantly, though, and there was no hesitation in his voice as he explained to this much older man what marvellous techniques he had invented not to color outside a drawing’s borders or how to train his own dog. Elliott had understood the first purpose of their meetings when Marisa had started to tutor Magnus on canine oral hygiene, and had decided that topic was boring and had instead lectured Magnus on the importance of buying clothes for his dog.
Magnus hadn’t seemed to mind the abrupt change of professor, and there had been a constant smile on his lips throughout Elliott’s entire and extremely thorough lesson, so Marisa had just let it happen, happy to lean back on the bench, Roberto’s chin tucked against her knee, the dog’s eyes shut in bliss as she stroked his head.
When Magnus had finally announced that he had to leave to meet a friend, Elliott had hardly been able to hide his disappointment, but Magnus’ genuine promise that they would certainly see each other again had immediately put his qualms at peace.
Rain had started to drizzle as they were walking back home, but it didn’t seem to perturb Elliott at all, who spent the entire way home telling Marisa everything that had happened at the park and with his new friend Magnus as if she hadn’t been there to see it all transpire.
Once inside, he settled in front of the television for a cartoon, rain spattering against the windows of the living room, Boo curled against his side, and went quiet, having finally talked enough for the day.
She had just finished heating up milk for their customary hot chocolates when the bell rang through the house, quickly followed by the sound of the door opening.
“It’s me!”
“Daddy!” Elliott’s excited voice shouted.
She walked into the living room in time to see Elliott leap off the couch and bolt to his father who was just walking in. Alec caught him mid-jump with a humph, grinning widely as Elliott planted a wet kiss on his cheek.
“How did it go with Nana?” he asked with a laughter, gently ruffling the little boy’s uncombed hair. “Were you good?”
Elliott nodded quickly, clearly unwilling to spend too much time talking about whether he had behaved or not. “It was so great!” he exclaimed, all but vibrating with thrill. “Daddy, we went to the park and my new friend Magnus said he liked my bowtie and he let me play with his dog and then I teached him about dog clothes and he said he’d buy Beckett a coat for the winter and Dad! Dad!”
He paused abruptly to take a breath, and Alec, looking a little overwhelmed, chanced a glance at Marisa, half amused and half surprised.
“I’m listening!” he told his son, clearly feeling like he was being scolded for something.
“Dad, Magnus has a watch that can buy things and it even tells him when he gets messages and it can play music! He’s like an Iron Man!”
“Why does this kid have an Apple watch?” Alec asked bewilderedly, clearly more bothered by that than the fact that his son was convinced he had met a real-life superhero.
Elliott giggled, as if Alec had said the most ridiculous thing. “Magnus is not a child! He’s old! He’s probably fifty like you.”
Marisa snorted, and finally decided to intervene, saving Alec from the mild concern and definite questioning that were shifting across his features. Not to mention the slight offense that his son had just aged him over two decades without a care in the world.
“Magnus is thirty-two,” she explained. “He’s a friend I met at the park. We walk the dogs together every day.”
“Dad, Magnus is so cool,” Elliott said dreamily.
Alec hummed absently, leveling Marisa with a dubious look. He walked up to her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Should I be worried this Magnus guy is going to steal my rightful place as the coolest?”
“Maybe,” Marisa retorted with a teasing wink. “He’s quite something.”
Alec frowned, but didn’t say anything else, shaking his head in amused disapproval instead. “Well, you tell him to keep it down. My son isn’t allowed to think anyone is cooler than me until he is at least ten and realizes Izzy has been all along.”
Marisa chuckled, reaching out to pat his cheek.
“Keep doing what you’re doing and I’m positive you’ll always be the coolest for him,” she said fondly. Alec responded with a grateful smile, soft and pliant as it always was whenever the people he loved and trusted reminded him what a great father he was. A chuckle spilled out of her mouth as she added, “And Magnus would probably tell you something about how he’d much rather keep it up.”
Alec’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing bright red, and he coughed a little, as if he had choked on his own spit. “Grandma!” he blurted out, both astounded and mortified. “Who the hell are you introducing my son to?”
Marisa laughed with delight, but walked away in lieu of answering, going back to the kitchen to pour them all mugs of hot chocolate.
“Grandma,” Alec insisted, right on her heels.
Marisa picked up the milk from the stove, pouring it down Elliott’s usual Star Wars mug.
“Relax, darling. Magnus is great, and I promise he didn’t make any inappropriate jokes in front of your son.”
Alec seemed a little dubious for a moment, but eventually decided to trust her judgment because he nodded as he leaned against the counter next to her, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Should I meet him and make sure he’s not some psycho trying to take advantage of you, though?”
Marisa smirked, but kept her head ducked towards the mugs she was meticulously topping up with marshmellows to hide it from him. “Oh, you should definitely meet him,” she muttered.
Alec simply continued staring at her for a while, frowning, and she could pick up the exact moment realization dawned on him because she glanced up to hand a mug over to him, and he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible.” He took a sip, and Marisa watched fondly as a mustache of foamed milk was left over the light stubble on his upper lip. “Are you trying to play Cupid with my love life, Grandma?”
Marisa shrugged innocently, moving to the living room to bring his mug to Elliott, who was back watching his cartoon.
“I’m just saying you should meet him. You two would get along.”
“Which you concluded based on what exactly?” Alec asked, but the stern tone he was going with was belied by the amused smile apparent in the soft crinkles framing his hazel eyes.
“Grandma instincts,” she replied, and sat down on the couch, patting the spot on her right for him to join her. “You need some love in your life, boy.”
Alec shook his head but obediently sat at her side, putting his mug down to let Elliott climb on his lap, the little boy’s eyes still riveted on the screen.
“Got everything I need right here,” Alec said, pressing a kiss to his son’s wild brown hair.
Marisa smiled, and decided to let it go.
Her eyes drifted over the room, and quite naturally fell on the picture of Adam hanging on the wall over the mantlepiece. He seemed to be smiling cunningly right back at her.
.
Another month passed with just about the same routine, but Marisa found that she didn’t find this one boring at all. Her daily talks with Magnus were often the highlight of her day, when she didn’t get a chance to see her family. Her favorite times, however, were when she was looking after Elliott and she had a chance to witness him and Magnus interact and form an odd but close bond. Elliott had been starting to demand more and more to be staying at hers whenever his father had to work and needed someone to look after him, and Marisa would have been slightly vexed at the knowledge that it was largely thanks to Magnus if she hadn’t been enjoying his company as much as the little boy did.
There was something raw about him, about the way he strived to be kind to everyone even when he couldn’t bring himself to be kind to himself.
Slowly but surely, Magnus had wormed his way into her heart and she found that she had grown to love him the way you did a dear friend, for their faults and not in spite of them.
She was painfully aware of her friend’s solitude, and even more so of the fact that he seemed to condemn himself to it. He often mentioned his friend Catarina and her daughter Madzie, who was his goddaughter, but she could feel that he didn’t want to talk to her about the immense efforts he had to make every day to wear a mask that was slowly battering the essence of who he was to the sidelines. Sometimes, he spoke of a Raphael, but it was always to say how deeply he admired him for taking care of his family as he did, and Marisa had no trouble coming to the conclusion that he was afraid to add to his burden by evoking his own misery.
She had learned through the course of the past two months that he had no biological family left. His mother had died when he was just a boy, and although he hadn’t fully clarified the circumstances of her death, Marisa doubted it was a sickness or an accident that had taken her away from him. The haunted glimmer in his eyes when he had mentioned her suggested a far more brutal fate for the little boy Magnus had been then. His father had passed away too, and she didn’t know anything as to how either, but Magnus hadn’t seemed as crestfallen when he had told her so, wearing what had to be almost relief on his features.
From what she had gathered, he had no siblings either, and for all her moments of loneliness, Marisa had felt impossibly grateful for her family, for her daughter’s Sunday calls, her grandchildren’s frequent visits, her joyous Elliott.
It was a strange thing, to lose your family before you had time to form your own to replace it. It was a specific sort of loneliness, one she had known too, once, but one she had eventually forgotten the taste of, nurtured away by the music of laughter, countless birthday parties and found peace echoing against a home’s walls.
Magnus never talked about Ragnor, the wound too fresh. When during one of their long talks, he did wind up making a comment that, in his mind, was definitely alluding to his late friend, the pain was immediately back on his face, and he would cut the conversation short or change the subject. There had been one time in particular, as he was venting to her about his frustrations over finding a new editor, where he had seemed about to break. His usually smooth, silky voice had trembled, his hands shaking with a blend of anger and despair, his eyes slightly hazy; and then he had blinked, seemingly remembering where he was and who he was talking to, and his features had settled in an expression of false resilience and determined composure.
She had tried to tell him, on many occasions, that it was okay for him to let his pains and sorrows free, but Magnus was stubborn, especially in his will to keep his anguish to himself.
It was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon in mid-October, and Marisa hadn’t been prepared to find Magnus’ usual spot on the bench empty when she made her daily walk to the park. Apart from a few rare occasions, he was always there before her. She thought that perhaps it would be one of those days, so she sat down and waited.
She waited for an hour, but Magnus never did turn up.
She had the fleeting thought that perhaps he had decided to stop coming, Beckett’s training having long been completed by then. It was quickly replaced by another thought, much more prominent, that something might have happened to him, but the sole idea made her stomach lurch, so she pushed it aside and went home, telling herself she would see him the next day.
Magnus didn’t show up the next day either.
On the third day without seeing him, she plucked her phone out of her purse and, remembering the few lessons Magnus and all of her grandchildren had patiently albeit futilely given her on how to use the demonic device, decided to call Alec.
She hadn’t realized, up until that point, that she didn’t have Magnus’ phone number, but she had never had any particular use for it, for he had always made sure to let her know in advance if he was going to miss one of their daily meetings, as she did with him. She doubted she would find it in the phone book, considering he was fairly famous.
Alec picked up on the second ring, and his voice was layered with an unmistakable sense of urgency.
“Come back in five minutes,” he told someone else, before addressing her, “Grandma, are you okay?”
She couldn’t help but smile faintly at the evident concern in his voice.
“Yes, everything is fine, darling,” she said, and gave him a moment of silence to expel a sigh of relief.
“Did you make the call yourself or did your mysterious best friend Magnus help you?” he asked, teasing.
Marisa huffed at that, but it was devoid of true humor. “I did it myself,” she said, with a hint of pride that she felt a little ludicrous making so transparent. “But I’m actually calling you about Magnus.”
“What is it?” Alec asked, and although she could hear in his voice that he was a bit weary about why Magnus would be the reason of her phone call, he clearly had decided to humor her. “I’m not letting you set me up on a blind date, Grandma. We all know how it went when Jace tried that.”
Marisa’s lips twitched, and she would have laughed at the memory of Alec’s famously disastrous date with one of Jace’s colleagues from the gym had she not been so preoccupied.
“I haven’t seen him in three days,” she said instead. “We usually meet every day at the park, and if for some reason he can’t make it, he always tells me the day before, as I do in return. But he didn’t tell me anything on Monday when I last saw him, and I’m starting to worry.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
Marisa shook her head, before remembering he couldn’t see her. “I don’t have his number, and I was wondering if you could find it for me on the Google.”
There was a smile in Alec’s voice when he answered, “I can try. I need his last name, though.”
“Magnus Bane.”
“As in Magnus Bane the writer?” Alec asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.
“Yes, that’s him.”
Alec scoffed out a quiet laugh. “All this raving about your friend Magnus and you never once thought to mention that he is your grandson-in-law’s favorite author?”
“Who? Simon?” she inquired.
“Yup. He’s always tweeting about him whenever the hint of the new book is mentioned somewhere. He literally spent Thanksgiving a couple of years ago talking our ear off about his latest book, don’t you remember?”
Marisa tried to recall, but she honestly didn’t remember much from that dinner. It had been her first Thanksgiving without Adam sitting at her side, and her mind had been entirely focused on that rather than the cheerful chaos happening around the table.
“I can’t say I do,” she said. “I can’t say that I listen to everything he says, to be quite honest. That boy talks too much.”
Alec barked out a laugh. “I’m with you on that, Grandma.” There was a shuffle on his side of the line, but his deep voice was back a moment later. “I’m at work and I have a team meeting to conduct in five minutes, but I’ll have a look when I’m done and call you back, alright?”
“Okay. Thank you, my darling.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too,” she said, a smile spreading on her lips on its own accord.
He quickly hung up, and Marisa was left to stare at the park spreading in front of her. Boo was sniffing the ground actively, as if looking for his missing friend, and even Roberto, who was usually the calmer and more indifferent one, seemed to be on edge, his ears tilting up every time footsteps were approaching the bench.
Marisa sighed, and resigned herself to waiting.
.
Alec had called her back an hour later, telling her apologetically that all his efforts to find Magnus’ phone number had been vain, and that his remaining options would have been definitely illegal. He had offered to keep digging nonetheless, probably hearing the worry in her voice and as always forgoing everything else for the sake of his loved ones, but she had told him to let it go. He had apologized again, asking her if he could do anything else, but she had gently declined and told him she would see him that weekend for dinner and not to worry for her.
Everything was going to be alright.
Ten days passed without her hearing from Magnus. She would feel her heart pulsating with concern and apprehension every time she saw the empty spot on the bench that had slowly, throughout the past weeks, become their safe haven, a place where they could talk about everything without fear of judgment, where they could vent, and laugh, and confide in the other without further qualms than the simple, absolute joy of the slow build of a strong albeit odd friendship.
She had almost lost hope altogether when she walked into the park on the Monday of the second week and Boo bolted forward without as much as a warning, barking happily.
Magnus was sitting on the bench, Beckett on the ground next to him, leaping with excitement at being reunited with his canine friend. Marisa walked up to them, relief pouring through her in waves.
Magnus glanced up at her when she reached him, and her heart broke in her chest.
He was wearing a simple pair of jeans ripped at the knee and a sweater that, despite fitting tightly around his broad shoulders, seemed a little overgrown for him. He had applied light makeup, but Marisa could barely see the usual exuberant and stylish man who had become her friend through their daily encounters. He seemed to be barely the shadow of himself, the mask he had spent so much time and energy cultivating shattered at his feet.
She could see, as plainly as one could see, that the sadness had become a little too much. That the weight of the brave, strong facade he bore for the sake of everyone else but himself had grown too heavy to carry.
She sat down next to him, in what she realized had become a routine.
“I’m sorry for not showing up these past few days,” he said before she could greet him properly. “I’ve had a rough couple of weeks.”
She smiled, as softly and reassuringly as she could muster. Magnus tried to reciprocate, but his handsome features morphed into a grimace of sorrow instead.
She could feel the pain emanating from him as surely as she could feel her own, as plainly as it suffocated her when she looked across her kitchen window to the garden and saw the birds feeding on the seeds and grains she left for them because Adam wasn’t there to do so anymore. It was paralyzing at times, that sensation that her heart had been ripped out of her chest, that dormant knowledge that it was inevitable, that it would follow her for whatever time she had left to live.
Magnus was too young to feel like he was doomed to that hollowness in his chest.
She reached out, steadfast in her will to comfort him, and gently carded a hand through his hair.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Magnus melted under her touch, as if this tiny mark of affection had been exactly what he had craved for too long, and he expelled a deep breath.
“I had to take care of the sale of Ragnor’s apartment last week, and… well, you know.”
She did. Oh, how she did.
She smiled, encouraging him to go on. He opened his mouth to speak and promptly shut it again, as if considering whether or not he had any right to discharge his burden on her. She nodded, telling him everything would be fine with a simple gesture.
She couldn’t possibly know that, but she had faith in his ability to rise up again to face another day. Magnus had marvelled her in many ways, but she was still frequently in awe in front of his strength of character, especially because he didn’t seem to be aware of it himself.
Magnus was stronger than he realized, more powerful in all his grace, kindness and intelligence than he could possibly surmise.
It was, sadly, the way things went. For over fifty years, she had lived a life where she had never been lonely even when she was alone. And one day, she had been sitting in a hospital room, listening to her husband telling her not to worry, thanking her for the laughs, the fights, the cries. Telling her that everything was going to be alright. Easy for him to say, she had thought, quivering with sorrow at her impending loss and anger at the injustice that it represented for her. But Adam had just whispered again, with a small smile on his exhausted, beautiful face, “Everything will be fine, my love. Everything will be great.”
And who was she to tell a dying man how deeply wrong he was? Who was she to deny him the comfort that she would keep on living even after he was gone? She had stopped living too, that day. She had leaned against his arm, and when he had closed his eyes and died, it had felt like it was her heart that had stopped beating in her chest.
His last words had felt like a lie, and it had taken her a while to admit that perhaps they weren’t.
It had taken the joyful innocence of her great-grandchild, the quiet concern but immutable presence of her grandchildren, and those weekly phone calls from her daughter, even when she had visited the day before.
It had taken the meeting of a soul that was as broken as her own, of a laughter that had chimed as off-key as her own.
It had taken the pure, unguarded truth that no matter how much she made herself believe it, she was never alone in her pain.
Magnus stayed silent for a long time, but when he finally talked, it was barely over a whisper, and she had to lean in to hear him.
“I just… really miss him,” he breathed out, and for the first time since she had met him, he didn’t try to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “It’s all… so hard. And I don’t want to talk to people about it because they wouldn’t understand. I don’t want to talk to Catarina about it, because she has enough problems of her own raising a little girl in this world. But– God, Marisa. I don’t want to appear sad in front of them, but I am.” He choked up a little, and a tear spilled down his cheek, a single testimony to the raw anguish behind his words. “I just… He’s not the first person I lose, and I know he won’t be the last one, and I’m so fucking tired of it. I’m so fucking tired of being left alone.”
He buried his face in the sleeves of his sweater, breathing heavily. It was obvious from the tension in his body that he was trying to hold himself back, but the moment he breathed out, it was like something had finally unlocked inside him, and he started crying fully, tired little sobs that each seemed to make Marisa’ heart clutch with pain and sympathy a little more. Beckett whined pitifully, as if he was sharing his new master’s pain, and leaped on the bench next to him, resting his chin on his thigh.
Marisa wrapped her arms around Magnus and pulled him against her, tucking his head in her neck.
She had done the same many times before, for her daughter when she had her heart broken for the first time, and again when she had it broken for the last time by the man to whom she had given twenty-five years of her life. She had done it for her grandson when he had come to her to confess that he was gay and that he had no idea how to suffer a world that would try to shun and shame him for who he was and come out triumphant. She had done it for her granddaughter Isabelle, when life had taken her on a path she hadn’t been able to control anymore, and she had felt herself lose sense of what mattered. She had done it for Jace when he had been lost in his own identity, struggling to cope with the abuse his biological family had made him endure. She had done it for Aline when her relationship with her mother had gone askew after she had started emancipating herself from the life that had been designed for her.
She had done it for every slight injury, every little ache, every colossal hurt.
And she had felt, every single time, the injustice of it all, just as strongly as she was feeling it now, for life should have had no business rendering people with good intentions and better hearts so utterly miserable.
So she embraced Magnus for as long as he needed to, brushed her old fingers, crippled with arthritis, into his hair and whispered to his ear the only truth she knew, “It gets better. Even when you think it won’t, it does.”
When he seemed to simmer down a little, after long, excruciating minutes, she leaned her head onto his own, and told him what she was still learning herself.
“Death is a strange thing. Some people live their whole lives pretending it doesn’t exist and yet we all believe it is death’s finality that gives life its meaning.”
She leaned back to face him, gently brushing a thumb across his cheeks to wipe away his tears. Magnus gave her a feeble smile, and even through smudged eyeliner and puffy eyes, his natural beauty was blatant. He reached out absently to gently stroke Beckett’s head, who was still tucked against him in a brave attempt at comforting his owner.
“My husband Adam was so conscious of the ineluctable reality of death that he lived every day a little harder, every day with more passion and verve, more fury. As if he was so aware of the constant presence of death that he needed to defy it in every waking moment. Every laughter shared at the breakfast table, every moment of joy brought by our grandchildren, every ounce of pride at our daughter’s achievements and our son’s resilience.”
She felt warmth spread in her chest, thinking of those little moments that had seemed inconsequential at the time but had been paramount in ways neither of them could have surmised. It was a strange thing, too, how you could only realize how important a moment was once you were done living it and there was nothing for you to hold onto but the warm memories it had left in its wake.
“I don’t think he ever feared it. Death, I mean. When I looked at him in that hospital room and he was gone, there was a smile on his face.” A smile of her own grew on her lips, layered with the anguish she carried every day but genuine; she realized that had to be a victory in itself. “It’s silly to fear death, he would tell me, as silly as fearing pain when you break a bone or the flutter in your stomach when you see the one you love. It’s inevitable.”
She had laughed at him then. Perhaps she would still laugh at him now. Perhaps she would laugh at him again, soon.
“Truth is, we fear death but what we fear most is what will happen to us if it passes us by and leaves us there alone. They say it takes time to get over it, but it isn’t true. You never get over that kind of pain.”
She would have loved to tell him otherwise, to tell him that someday it would stop hurting altogether, but Magnus was no fool, and their friendship was based on honesty. In this peculiar moment, she felt like truth was of the essence, and she would not feed him false hopes or veiled promises. Magnus knew, whatever she could tell him, what a burden grief could be, and what a battle it was to keep breathing through its relentless assaults.
“No time is sufficient enough to heal that sort of wound. There is no cure to fix the pieces of yourself you bury with someone you love.”
She took his hand, and he was squeezing hers before she could do so herself.
“But Magnus, sweetheart, I can tell you this: you are never alone in your pain, no matter how much it feels like you said goodbye to the one person who could understand it, who could bring you comfort. You are never alone here, even when it feels like you are. Death is a ruthless thing, but it is mostly for the people left behind. Your friend is at peace now, and some day, you will think of him and although it will still hurt, you will recall the memories that belong to you both too fondly to let it overcome you. Just like I do with Adam.”
Sometimes, she tried to remember the exact shade of his eyes and felt like she couldn’t.
Sometimes, she heard his laugh in every whisper of the wind.
“The afternoons in the sun with our hands gripping each other,” she murmured, smiling. “The smell of coffee he always left for me when he had to leave for work early.” It was the best coffee she had ever had, and she had never managed to make it quite as good as his. “The Sundays in the garden. Those intimate smiles we shared when we realized how quickly our family was growing up. Those memories, Magnus, they are what makes living a little more bearable for those of us who stay behind, and I promise you that one day, and probably sooner than you think, they will be more prominent than your pain.”
Magnus inhaled deeply. He breathed out.
In the midst of the inferno she knew was still raging inside him, despite the comfort she had tried to bring him with her words, his shoulders sagged, as if a deep relief was washing over him, brought along by him finally allowing himself to let go of the front he had held onto for survival.
At last, she thought, gripping his hand tightly.
The pain in his chest wasn’t gone, she knew, but she hoped that perhaps his heart was beating normally again. That it would pass for a moment, until it was back, slightly less painful than the time before, and so on until the hurt would keep its place in the back of his mind, in the part of his heart that didn’t press constantly against his ribcage.
He gave her a smile, a little strained but sincere, a little sad but hopeful.
The park felt oddly silent, for once, as if time had slowed down to take a deep breath with them too.
They stayed like that for a long time, the dogs rummaging around, sniffing and playing. Magnus shut his eyes, leaning against the back of the bench, breathing slowly, her fingers enfolded in the palm of his hand.
She could still feel through his touch the cold, inconsolable despair that tore and shredded his body and his mind, but where sorrow and fury had flowed together forcefully into his brain before, he seemed to have accepted it at last.
He knew this pain, his pain, would be forever, but Marisa was starting to know him very well, and Magnus would not have been Magnus if he had let the darkness win.
She looked up at him, the meager peace etched on his face, his eyes closed to enjoy the last of the day’s cold sun, and smiled.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
Magnus opened his eyes, turned to her, and smiled back.
And it was just about enough.
.
When you had a family as ungovernable as Marisa’s, Thanksgiving dinners necessarily were quick to turn into chaos.
Marisa had insisted for a long time to host them at her house, and although she felt perfectly capable of doing so, it had been decided five years ago that she wouldn’t take care of cooking all by herself. She generally took care of the turkey and the tofu equivalents she could find for her grandson Jace and his wife Clary who were vegetarian. Maryse was in charge of roasted potatoes and other side dishes, and her new boyfriend Luke of making his now infamous pumpkin soup. Alec would take care of baking a pie for dessert, and her granddaughter Aline had the greatest recipe for homemade vanilla ice cream to accompany it. Maia, who was Alec’s best friend and a welcome guest to their family dinners for the past three years, was in charge of appetizers. It was an unspoken rule amongst their family that no matter the circumstances, neither Isabelle nor Jace should be in charge of anything that had closely or remotely to do with food. Instead, they took turns each year either bringing wine or buying decorations for the table.
Unfortunately, there had been a slight mix-up in who was supposed to bring the wine for dinner this year, which of course resulted in Jace and Isabelle feuding at once over whose fault it was, and too many table decorations for them to know what to do with.
Luke was watching the scene from the threshold of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk poking at the corner of his lips when Marisa joined him, shaking her head in amusement.
Isabelle had turned to Alec to involve him in their quarrel, Alec’s eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights as his head jerked up from where he had been chatting with Aline and her girlfriend Helen, Elliott sitting down on his lap and playing with two figurines that Marisa couldn’t begin to guess the names of.
“Alec, tell this idiot it was my turn to bring the decorations!” she barked, tone layered with frustration.
“Why would I bring the wine?” Jace fired back, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “My wife is pregnant!”
“How is that even a valid excuse?”
“Alec, tell her it was her turn to bring the wine!” Jace turned to their older brother as well, eyes both angry and assertive.
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I could use a glass of wine right about now,” he mumbled.
Marisa chuckled, and Maryse walked up to them to rest her chin on Luke’s shoulder from behind to survey the scene. Isabelle and Jace were both looking at Alec, clearly waiting for him to settle this argument and decide on who was right or wrong. Alec was sitting very still on the couch, Elliott having left his lap to go play with the toys he brought along for the day, clearly bored by all the grown-up shenanigans happening around him.
Alec looked just about ready to make a run for it –which Marisa thought was probably the wisest decision– when he was, quite literally, saved by the bell. It rang through the house, interrupting the beginning of their argument that was about to start anew, and Alec rushed to his feet.
“I’ll get that!”
Luke turned to Marisa, his dark eyes roaming across the room as if to account for everyone.
“Are we expecting someone else?”
Marisa smiled, and nodded, ignoring the looks of confusion on their faces.
“Alec, come back!” Isabelle yelled after him.
“Yeah, you’re not getting away from this!” Jace added. “Who’s right?”
Marisa gave Luke the dish towel in her hands. “Don’t start overthinking this; of course you made enough pumpkin soup for all of us,” she told him, because she knew exactly where his mind had gone, and crossed the living room to poke her head in the hallway.
“Me. I’m right,” Alec called over his shoulder, looking parly exasperated but wholly fond. He reached the handle, still talking to his siblings. “For telling you you’re both idi–”
The word died on the edge of his lips, and Marisa struggled to hold back a laugh when Alec’s eyes broadened again, but this time for very different reasons.
Magnus often put meticulous care into picking his outfits, and today was no exception. He was wearing a pair of dark blue slacks and a black silk shirt embroidered with intricate silver patterns, the rest of his outfit hidden by the tailored lapels of his grey coat, but Marisa had no doubt it was as stylish and casually suave as the rest of it. His naturally good looks were enhanced by light makeup, brown eyes lined with black eyeliner and speckled with matching blue eyeshadow. His usual string of necklaces was pooling down his chest, rings adorning his finger, teaming with an earcuff whose shape she couldn’t distinguish from her spot. His nails were painted silver to match the pattern of his shirt.
Alec spluttered, and Marisa, who was observing the scene from the threshold of the door that led to the living room, found herself grinning.
“Uh, hi,” Alec said, finally, voice a little deeper than it usually was, as if he was trying very hard to keep it steady. “Can I help you?”
Magnus blinked, seemingly torn from his own haze, and his eyes raked a moment over Alec before settling on his face, looking stunned.
“Hi,” he said, and as soon as the word was out of his mouth, he regained his characteristic confidence, shifting so he was standing tall on his feet. He was just a few inches smaller than Alec, and Alec’s whole body tensed as if hyper-aware of Magnus’ every movement. “I’m Magnus.” He made it sound like a question, as if he wasn’t quite sure if Marisa had ever spoken of him. “Marisa invited me.”
He extended a hand, somewhat hesitant, and Alec took it at once, smiling a big, lopsided grin with a flash of pearly white teeth. Marisa felt her eyes crinkle with Alec’s –it had been a while since she had seen him smile as freely and radiantly as he was now. Magnus’ gaze shifted over his face in wonder.
Silence descended over them for a short while, a little guarded but also filled with the kind of grace that could only come from the uniqueness of a moment that would turn out to be pivotal even if they weren’t quite aware of it.
Still, Marisa had to resist the urge to cover her face with her hands in embarrassment on her grandson’s behalf as he kept his hand locked in Magnus’ but didn’t offer an introduction in return.
“I’m Alexander,” he mumbled at last. “Alec. Just Alec. Marisa’s grandson.”
Her embarrassment was clearly one-sided, because Magnus didn’t seem to be finding any of this awkward. Instead, he was beaming, and his brown eyes lit up with joy.
“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too,” Alec replied, and what Marisa would have given to whisper in his ear to let go of Magnus’ hand before he made it definitely and irrevocably awkward, mesmerized Magnus or not.
Magnus still didn’t seem to mind, though, because something shifted in his gaze that she had learned through the past couple of months to associate with Magnus’ mischievous but devilishly charming nature.
“Marisa wasn’t lying about those strong genes.”
He said it like an immutable truth, and although Alec appeared a little confused, he caught up on the meaning behind Magnus’ words quickly enough, undoubtedly aided by Magnus’ utterly unsubtle onceover and the enticing smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth.
Alec flushed and finally let go of Magnus’ hand to run his own into his hair instead.
“I–” he muttered, but realized a change of subject was a better strategy. “Come in.”
“I didn’t know what to bring or how many we would be so I might have gone a little overboard. I need another pair of arms to help me carry the wine out of my car,” Magnus said, jerking his chin towards the alley where he had parked. He gave Alec’s biceps a quick, appreciative look. “Yours will do perfectly.”
Magnus twirled on his heels and started walking away, and Marisa watched as Alec stood in the threshold, unsure what to do with himself, cheeks dusted with pink.
She rolled her eyes and waited until she was sure Magnus was out of earshot to call out, “Go, you smitten idiot.”
Alec started, swiftly turning around to glance at her, eyes wide.
“Grandma, what have you done?” he asked disbelievingly, almost accusingly, his voice coming out breathy.
Marisa couldn’t quite refrain from laughing this time, but she shrugged innocently. “Nothing,” she sing-sang. “Shoo,” she ushered for good measure, motioning for him to go.
Alec shook his head and quickly grabbed his coat from where it was hanging against the wall, following after Magnus.
Feeling rather proud of herself, Marisa turned back on her heels, walking back into the living room. She was met with a variety of questioning looks.
“What happened?” Maia asked. “Who was at the door?”
Marisa smirked. “I think we might get a proposal before the night is over,” she said in lieu of an answer. She chuckled, utterly satisfied with herself, and it did nothing to alleviate the inquisitive looks of her family’s faces.
That was, until Alec walked back into the living room, the cardbox he was carrying making a jingling sound of wine bottles clinking against each other, cheeks still a little flushed although Marisa couldn’t be sure whether it was from the cold or having just been graced with Magnus’ overall good looks.
Magnus was quick to step after him, carrying one of his own. He hadn’t lied about going overboard, but Marisa wasn’t surprised considering his generous nature. The quiet conversations died down completely as he did, and Magnus froze in the threshold, unsure what to do about the prying eyes all set on him.
“Uh,” he mumbled, licking his lips and offering them a shaky smile. She didn’t think it had much to do with being the center of the attention –he must have been used to it, by now, and for obvious reasons– but rather with whose attention he was the focus of. She had told him a lot about his family, about how extraordinary they all were, how special and loving and more. She imagined Magnus probably felt some kind of pressure for them to like him, which was ludicrous because they were also extremely intelligent people, and thus necessarily would. “Hi. I’m Magnus.”
“Damn, Grandma,” Isabelle blurted out, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. “You never said he was hot.”
“How come you go to the park and meet guys who look like that and when I do all I get is creeps and psychos?” Maia chimed in, with a grimace that was half pout.
“You brought wine!” Jace exclaimed at the same time, jumping off the couch to take the box out of Magnus’ arms. “You have my benediction to marry Alec. Welcome.”
Magnus barked out a laugh that seemed to be mostly surprise, and chanced a glance at Alec, who was giving his brother a look that clearly stated that he would like it a lot more if Jace could just keep his mouth shut and that if he didn’t do it on his own accord he would happily shove the entire turkey down his throat. There was no time for recovery or any shrewd retort, however, because Elliott came running into the room.
“Magnus!” he all but shrieked, smashing against his legs to hug them.
“Hey,” Magnus said, beaming. “If this isn’t my favorite superhero!”
“Come on,” Elliott immediately demanded, grabbing Magnus’ hand to drag him toward his playroom. “I want to show you my toys! Aunt Maia got me a Black Widow figurine and it’s so cool. Also I have blocks, we can build a house where she can live!”
“Eli,” Alec called strictly, ignoring the falsely bashful look on his son’s angelic face. “Magnus hasn’t even had a chance to say hello or take his coat off yet.”
“Not sure whether the second part is for Magnus’ benefit or Alec’s,” Aline muttered tauntingly. Jace guffawed, reaching out to give her a high five.
Alec ignored them both pointedly, focused on his son’s valiant attempt at a pout instead.
“Please Daddy, please, please, please, please.”
Alec rolled his eyes, but Magnus intervened before he could reply. “How about this?” he said, conspiratorially. He leaned in a little, as if telling Elliott a great secret. The little boy buzzed with excitement, and Alec seemed to positively melt right here and there. “I’m a bit overwhelmed because there are a lot of people I don’t know here. Can you give me a minute to take my coat off and then introduce me to everyone?”
Elliott seemed to consider the pros and cons for a moment, but he eventually nodded, looking suddenly very serious.
“Dad can take your coat,” he said, more of a statement than a question.
Alec scoffed, but his fondly exasperated expression faded the moment Magnus met his eyes and gave him a deeply amused albeit contrite glance.
He shrugged, extending a hand. There was something conniving about the look they shared, and Maryse came to stand next to her mother, lifting an eyebrow in her direction.
“I have so many questions,” she told her in a whisper.
“I feel like the answer to all of them is probably yes,” Marisa retorted with a mischievous smirk.
Maryse snorted, turning back to the scene in front of them.
Magnus had taken his coat off with an elegant fling of his hands and a roll of his shoulders, and he gave it to Alec, who was trying very hard not to stare at the way Magnus’ shirt was fitting tightly around his broad shoulders and muscular arms. It was a spectacular failure because he let his gaze run over Magnus’ body in a way that was distinctly unmistakable. Fortunately for him, Magnus was already too busy being dragged away by Elliott to notice, and Luke had too good a heart to let Alec make a fool of himself, unlike the rest of their undisciplined family.
He clasped a hand on Alec’s shoulder, anchoring him back from whatever world his mind had taken him to. Alec’s gaze drifted over the room and was met with various looks of absolute mischief. He groaned, rolled his eyes, and walked out of the room to put Magnus’ coat with the rest of them, showing his brother and sister a precisely chosen finger over his shoulder after making sure Elliott’s attention was elsewhere.
And indeed it was.
“You already know Nana.”
Marisa looked down at Elliott as he stopped in front of her, Magnus’ hand clutched into his own.
“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” she said, and found that not only it was completely true, it was even more so that this was a family event for all of them, and he fit perfectly in her heart at the place she reserved for those she loved wholly and unconditionally.
Magnus smiled, something soft and a little bashful. “Thank you for having me.”
She dismissed it as if it was nothing, and grabbed on the sleeve of his shirt to pull him down, giving him a strong hug, spotting Alec walking back into the room in her peripheral view. Magnus chuckled, wrapping his arms around her.
“I saw you spying on your grandson and I earlier,” he whispered against her ear.
“No idea what you’re talking about, dear,” she retorted without missing a beat, her voice ebbing to a murmur. “But in case you were wondering, he is still very much single.”
Magnus laughed quietly again, and let go of her to give her a conniving wink. He couldn’t stop for much longer, because Elliott was growing bored of watching them interact and was clearly eager to introduce Magnus to the rest of their family.
He moved to Maryse, who was still standing next to her mother, and before Magnus could say a word out, she gave Magnus a strong hug, murmuring something in his ear that Marisa couldn’t hear but had Magnus’s eyes soften. Next was Luke, and Elliott took Magnus’ hand again to introduce them.
Again, not everything went according to plan.
Simon walked into the room, carrying a tray of glasses that were arranged to fit one for everyone. They were rattling dangerously.
“Alright, I know we don’t have wine, but I made cocktails with some alcohol I found in the kitchen so you all can stop whining.” Simon looked up, and his eyes immediately fell on the new face in the room. A loud gasp spilled from his mouth. “Holy fuck, Magnus Bane!”
He had startled and Marisa watched powerlessly as one of the glasses dangled hazardously from the tray, and promptly dived to the ground, leading all the other ones in its fall, half of them landing on the freshly decorated table with a clatter. Magnus, Maryse and Luke, who were all close enough, leaped to try and stop it, but it was already too late.
Glass shattered, silence followed, and, as always in her unruly, desperately but beautifully chaotic family, laughter ensued.
Simon looked absolutely mortified, but if Marisa didn’t correct Alec and Jace when they tried to make him believe those had been ancient glasses that had been in their family for centuries, it was mostly as a benign form of retaliation.
.
It occurred to Marisa, a bit late perhaps, that she probably should have prepared Magnus for meeting her family.
She had told him about them all individually throughout the weeks they had known each other and bonded over crazy stories about them. She had told him how Isabelle had been arrested once for punching a guy who had been feeling bold enough to whistle at her in the street, unbothered by the two police officers who were patrolling just a few feet from her, and how Marisa had bailed her the next morning so that her brothers and parents wouldn’t learn about it and had bought her the designer bag she had been raving about for weeks to congratulate her. She had told him about Jace being so stubborn in his resolve that Clary wouldn’t want to get married because of her carefree spirit that she had ended up taking matters in her own hands and proposed herself. She had told him about Alec’s hesitant first steps as a father and how he had been so worried about doing the wrong thing that he had bought a dozen books on the matter that he had never even had to open for being a father had come as naturally to him as breathing. She had told him about the time Aline had been so distracted by the beautiful blonde working out at the gym that she had promptly face-planted on the treadmill and earned herself a wrist sprain. She had told him about Maryse and Luke’s newfound love, and how excited they both were at the prospect of opening an antiques shop together.
She had told him about them all, and yet Magnus was gravely unequipped to face them as a whole.
As soon as they were all sitting at the table and dinner was served –after the mess Simon had created had been wiped up, and the double set of decorations brought by the misunderstanding between Isabelle and Jace had proven to be quite the serendipity–, plates started to be passed over the table, dishes exchanged and conversations flowed from every side in an organized, but quite unsettling for the outsider, chaos.
Magnus was blending right in, however, and Marisa would have lied had she said she was surprised. He fit in her family as easily as he had in her life and her heart; with a slightly overwhelmed smile and an air of peaceful evidence.
She hadn’t prepared him for her family, but Magnus seemed to have created his own impressions over them and if the way he was already sharing fashion tips with Isabelle, getting in on the fun with Jace and Alec to tease Simon about the priceless glasses he had broken and exchanging shrewd commentary with Maryse and Luke over the wine was anything to go by, these impressions appeared quite positive, and reciprocated.
He was sitting next to Elliott, who had of course insisted, and sometimes she could see Magnus’ gaze shift to the little boy with a fondness that seemed to grow every time Elliott asked more and more questions to his aunt Clary about his soon-to-be cousin, going into great detail about everything he would teach the newborn. That fondness was only more prominent every time Alec had to remind his son to eat his vegetables and Elliott would pout some but still shove a green bean in his mouth.
Marisa couldn’t help but wonder what Adam would have thought of him, but it wasn’t much of a conundrum. Magnus was sweet, smart and witty, and they would have made a dreadful pair of misfits, the two of them. She could almost imagine them sharing double-entendre quips and eternal conversations over their favorite books. She knew Adam would have been the first one to tease Alec over the way his gaze was regularly shifting to Magnus, like a moth drawn to a flame, and to giggle indiscreetly when Magnus returned the attention with the same amount of yearning before they were both looking away with colors high on their cheekbones and increasingly charmed and barely concealed smiles on their faces every time.
She could easily surmise the way he would have poured a whisky for both him and Magnus at the end of dinner and taken him to the porch outside to tell him, with far less subtlety than he thought, how men only required a few things from life to be happy, turning a pointed look toward their oblivious grandson.
She still wasn’t entirely sure what those things were, but as she watched her family evolve into this peculiar sense of anarchy imbued with trust, respect and affection that defined and redefined the meaning of love and kinship, she thought she had a fairly good idea.
.
They had a family tradition for Thanksgiving that went back so far Marisa had long forgotten how it had started.
And thus, like clockwork, they moved to the garden after dinner. Magnus watched from the porch, a little dumbfounded, as Jace and Luke settled blankets and cushions in the grass, and they laid down, bundled into winter coats and warm blankets, telling each other stories and legends most of them had stopped believing in. Elliott was in the middle of their wobbly pillow fort, wrapped into Isabelle’s arms, eternally excited now that he was old enough to stay up through it all.
Marisa walked out on the porch as well, Alec on her heels with his arms full of even more blankets, and gently nudged Magnus forward.
“You can just take the swinging bench, it’ll be more comfortable,” she told him.
Magnus was contemplative for a moment, but nodded, taking the steps down and making his way to the bench that was sitting just down the porch, facing the large garden. He draped his arms around himself, rubbing his hands against his biceps to keep warm.
Marisa watched as Alec’s eyes tracked Magnus’ movements, and rolled her eyes, pushing him forward with far less finesse.
“Go offer him a blanket, he’s gonna be cold,” she whispered, leaving no room for negotiation.
Alec opened his mouth to reply, but she lifted an eyebrow and he thought better of it, shutting it abruptly.
“I said a blanket, not your arms,” she said with a mischievous smirk. “Although I’m sure he wouldn’t say no.”
“Grandma!” Alec hissed, and turned away before she could see the blush on his cheeks, taking the stairs down two at a time.
Marisa chuckled to herself, leaning against the railing of the porch to look over her family. Laughter erupted from where they had settled further in the garden, but she couldn’t hear why.
She could hear Alec clear his throat down the steps though, and she smiled as he made his way to Magnus, a hand brushing nervously at the nape of his neck while the other was offering him a blanket.
“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus said, immediately covering himself with it. He hesitated for a second, and then lifted the blanket to reveal the empty spot to his right, smiling. “Wanna share?”
Alec stared at him for a short moment, worrying on his bottom lip, and then nodded his head, settling by Magnus’ side. Magnus handed over the hem of the blanket and Alec wrapped it over himself. They started swinging slowly, quietly.
For a moment, they simply sat there in silence, but Marisa knew there was nothing uncomfortable about it. She gazed up at the stars, remembering Adam’s arm draped over her shoulders as she would excitedly tell him about the constellations she was so fond of, only to realize he wasn’t paying attention and looking at her all along. She felt tears brimming in her eyes, thinking of him, and wind swept across the porch, brushing against her wrinkled skin.
It made her smile.
“So,” she heard Alec say softly, “how did you end up becoming best friends with my grandmother?” Magnus turned his head to look at him, and Alec’s eyes widened. “Not that I’m not thrilled that you did! It’s just… not everyday that you see a thirty-something-year-old man befriend an old lady.”
Marisa would have been offended if it weren’t for Alec’s adorably self-conscious pinched lips.
Magnus chuckled, and raised his head to look at the stars as well. He considered his answer for a moment, and a tentative smile spread on his lips.
“Well, I think you could blame my dog for that,” he recounted. “I was walking him and let’s just say our relationship was still a little rocky at the time because he profited off a moment when I was distracted to try to escape and run straight into Boo. I ran after him, apologized profusely to your grandmother and then decided to tell her all my problems because that’s a completely sane thing to do with someone you’ve just met.”
Alec snorted with laughter, low but genuine. Magnus easily joined him, eyes sparkling at the memory.
“I don’t know if our friendship was sealed by the fact that she offered to help me train my dog because it was apparently very obvious to her that I was a bit of a trainwreck, or by the very unsavory joke I made about unloading myself on her.”
Alec choked on his own spit, levelling Magnus with a look of horror meddled with deep amusement.
“You didn’t.”
Magnus shrugged. “I did,” he said with a hint of shame in his voice that was belied by the mischievous glimmer of his eyes, shaking his head in pure dismay. “I still can’t believe I did but in my defense, I wasn’t really in my normal, rational mindset.”
Alec tilted his head a little, as if encouraging Magnus to go on.
Marisa waited with baited breath for Magnus to close himself off entirely again, the same way she had witnessed him do countless times before. She could see the tension seep into his shoulders from her place on the porch, but instead of making a joke like he normally would or changing the subject, he simply wrapped the blanket a little tighter against himself, and looked back at the stars, oblivious to Alec’s eyes still riveted on his face, drifting from the sharp line of his jaw to the elegant curve of his lips folding into a gentle smile.
“My best friend died a couple of weeks before I met Marisa,” he said, voice quiet. “Had a cardiac malfunction on his way back from work and it was too late by the time they got him to a hospital.”
“I’m sorry,” Alec breathed out immediately.
Magnus smiled, but there were tears shimmering in his eyes as he turned back to Alec.
“I was a mess, and I had no idea how to deal with any of it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t meet an old lady. I met another lonely soul like me, and a friend when I needed one the most. Someone who made me laugh when I thought I wasn’t capable of it anymore.”
Marisa felt her heart clench in her chest, a smiling spreading over her lips.
It was a strange thing, how sometimes instead of the ones offering advice or cures against all wrongs, the people that wind up meaning the most to us were the ones with whom we could share our pain. The ones we could trust to tend to our wounds with a hesitant but tender hand. The ones who stayed, even when they were powerless to heal and comfort. The ones who made the bereft flares of grief just that more bearable.
Something flashed in Alec’s eyes that Marisa couldn’t quite comprehend, until he spoke.
“My grandfather died two years ago,” he said quietly. “It’s been hard for all of us; he was a great man. I tried to be there for her as much as possible, but between Elliott, my job and everything else, I haven’t been as present as I would have liked. I’m glad she found a friend in you.”
There was something intimate and awfully candid about the way he said it, something sweet and sincere that made Magnus duck his head, toying with his hands over his lap.
“She knows you’re doing your best and she loves you, you know?” He gestured offhandedly at the rest of the family huddled a little further, Maia’s boisterous laughter chiming joyously in the air. “She sings your praises all the time, all of you.” He paused, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment as if he was hesitating to continue. Finally, he inhaled sharply, and murmured, voice filled with mirth, “Although, you’re the only one she tried to set me up with.”
Alec chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, she did do that,” he muttered, amused. “She was not very subtle about it.”
“So not subtle,” Magnus agreed.
Another silence.
They shared a smile, small but unguarded, and Marisa felt that neither of them needed her to look after them anymore, perfectly content where they were, and walked back inside the house.
.
“So,” Marisa said the next day, drawing the vowel a little longer than strictly necessary.
They had been sitting on their bench for a while now, and she had gone through an appropriate amount of small talks and had let Magnus tell her all about the riveting conversation he had had with Helen and Aline about their upcoming wedding.
She patted Beckett on the head in greeting, and the dog licked her fingers excitedly.
“So?” Magnus parroted, a taunting smirk quirking the corner of his lips up.
Marisa gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “Do you maybe have a date planned this week? Coffee? Dinner?”
“Not that I know of, unless this is an invitation,” Magnus retorted shrewdly.
Marisa frowned. “Next week then?”
“Nope.”
She heaved out a deep sigh, shaking her head. “Did you at least exchange numbers?”
“With who?” Magnus asked, and she simply and squarely swatted his forearm in lieu of an answer. He finally stopped teasing her, worrying on his bottom lip in a manner that made him look strikingly younger. “He didn’t ask and, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t either.”
Marisa pursed her lips. “I thought you two had really hit it off,” she said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. She had really believed that they would be a perfect match, but perhaps she had been wrong.
“We did,” Magnus replied, running a thumb over the small beauty spot over his right eyebrow. “He’s great, Marisa. Smart and witty and handsome and… yeah. Normally I would have asked him out, but he’s got a kid and a busy job and he doesn’t need my mess on top of all of that. I think he deserves better than that.”
Marisa sighed, cupping his cheek to smooth the self-depreciating scowl that had surfaced on his features. She took a quick look at her watch and smiled, getting up on her feet.
“Come on,” she told him. “Dinner at my house. Someone’s gotta help me get rid of all these leftovers.”
“But–” Magnus tried, but any attempt at negotiating was abruptly aborted by Marisa’s immovable glare. He rose from the bench too, tapping on his thigh for Beckett to follow, and hooked his arm with hers as she guided them out of the park. “You know, just because you’re an old lady doesn’t mean I have to let you boss me around, or that you’ll miraculously make me change my mind.”
Marisa chuckled, patting his biceps in staged comfort.
“Oh, honey.”
.
Magnus was setting the table while she was busy reheating leftovers in the oven when they heard the front door open. There was the pitter patter of little feet approaching, but Alec was the first one to walk in the kitchen.
He walked right to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Why are you heating up food?” he asked. “We have to go, you know Elliott will want to buy popcorn and–” He stopped abruptly, his gaze falling on Magnus, who had just walked into the kitchen from the living room door, looking just as bewildered. “M-Magnus, hi.”
Magnus hummed, lips parted in shock.
“Magnus!” Elliott immediately yelled, throwing himself into his arms. “Are you going to the movies with us?”
Marisa made a show of gasping dramatically, slamming a hand over her chest. “Oh no, I completely forgot about the movies.”
Alec narrowed his eyes on her. “Did you now?” he hissed, before shaking his head, holding a hand out for Elliott. “That’s okay. We’ll just go on our own.”
“You know what?” Marisa said, in a matter-of-fact tone that she doubted either of them were buying. “I’m actually not that hungry. Why don’t you stay here and have dinner with Magnus and I take Elliott to the movies? I’ve already heated it up and there’s no reason to waste perfectly good food.”
Alec opened his mouth, and she imagined so did Magnus behind her, but she patted Alec’s shoulder with resolute finality.
“Perfect, that’s settled then. Let’s go, Eli.”
“Marisa!” Magnus bemusedly called after her, but she had already walked away and grabbed her purse, Elliott trotting happily behind her. As long as he got to see his movie, there wasn’t much that could sour his mood. She suspected he might also have understood that she was up to something.
“I can’t hear you,” she fired back, shrugging her coat on. “Old lady ears.”
“You’re not as sly and clever as you think you are!”
Marisa ignored him.
“Grandma,” Alec whispered-yelled at her as he ambled inside the hallway after her, eyes wide. “What the hell?”
Marisa gave him a stern look. “Why on earth didn’t you ask for his number last night?”
Alec’s mouth dropped open. “Have you seen him?” he gritted out through clenched teeth. When she didn’t reply, curving an eyebrow in silent inquiry instead, he continued, “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny! I’m not even sure he’s interested. And I've got Elliott and–”
Marisa chuckled, prompting Alec to abruptly shut his mouth, and reached out to tug a loose strand of hair off his forehead.
“Oh, honey.”
And she stormed off with Elliott’s hand firmly tucked in her own, snickering to herself.
A gust of wind flung swiftly across her face, and her smile grew wider.
.
Most of the house was plunged into darkness when they made their way back a couple of hours later.
Marisa put a finger against her lips, motioning for Elliott to be quiet. The little boy seemed a little puzzled by the request, but nodded nonetheless. She unlocked the door and switched the light from the hallway on.
“Go brush your teeth and put your pajamas on, Eli,” she whispered.
She could hear a soft clatter coming from the other side of the house, and she could see that Elliott wanted to run there and tell his father every moment of the movie in great detail.
“If you’re already in your pajamas, your dad won’t be able to say no to you staying the night here,” she said, winking conspiratorially, although it had already been agreed upon beforehand.
Elliott tried to wink back and failed, shutting both his eyes at the same time, before fleeing to what had essentially become his bedroom in her house.
She moved to the living room, where two glasses of red wine still sat on the table, and crossed it to make her way to the kitchen quietly, following the sound of Alec and Magnus’ soft voices. The door was open, but she stayed in the threshold, watching them with a smile.
Alec had his back to her, facing the sink, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to do the dishes, and Magnus was leaning against the counter by his side, his body angled towards Alec, a clean cloth in his hand as he meticulously wiped a plate dry. Beckett was napping peacefully at his feet, and she imagined Boo and Roberto were also sleeping in their usual spot in the living room.
“I kept thinking about what you said last night,” Alec was saying, speaking low as if fearing to break the domestic peace they had found in such a simple task. “About how you found a friend in my grandmother and someone who made you laugh when you needed it the most.”
Magnus hummed, and Marisa could see a playful smirk on his lips as he moved to put away the plate, picking up the next one. “She’s definitely my favorite Trueblood. Haven’t decided on my favorite Lightwood yet, but you’re in pole position, darling. I do fancy you have good chances.”
Alec wouldn’t have been able to conceal the pure and unabashed pleasure that crossed through his features even if he had tried.
“Don’t tell Elliott,” he muttered, teasing.
Magnus scoffed, making a dismissive motion with the cloth in his hand. “He runs in a category of his own,” he retorted. “The competition would be unfair otherwise.”
Alec gave him a pointed look, as if he wasn’t buying it, and Magnus winked at him, grinning smugly. Alec chuckled and quickly turned back to the task at hands, but Marisa could see the tip of his ears dusted with a faint shade of pink
“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, “it reminded me of something my grandfather used to say. That men only required a few things from life to be happy, and that he had found all of them in her.” He scoffed out a soft laugh. “Then he’d joke about how he would never tell her what those things were because she wouldn’t like the answer, but that was just a way for him to hide that he was secretly a hopeless romantic. I know because when I was old enough to care but not enough to find the answer myself, I went up to him and asked what those things were.”
Alec paused, and Marisa felt her entire body pulsating with anticipation. Magnus was looking at him intently.
“Friendship, love and laughter,” Alec recited, as if he had been asked to learn the words by heart. “And if you’re lucky enough, you find them all in the same person.”
Marisa found herself smiling, because it was indeed quite romantic, but also quite evident when she and Adam had been as lucky as they had been to find each other so early in their lives and love each other for as long as they had, for as long as they could.
There was a long silence, only broken by the soft ripple of the water.
“Well, your grandmother is quite something, Alexander,” Magnus said eventually, smiling. “I think tonight proves it.”
Alec chuckled, the line of his shoulders relaxed in a way Marisa had rarely seen when he wasn’t interacting with their family.
“Can’t argue with that,” he replied, “although I can’t say I’m too mad at her for it.”
There was something almost bashful to the way he said it, and Magnus’ eyes softened as he gently nudged Alec’s arm with his own.
“Me neither.”
Alec turned his head to smile at Magnus, one of his soft, carefree lopsided grins, hazel eyes shining with something Marisa only knew too well. Magnus was glancing right back at him, and she felt she could hear the couple of beats his heart had skipped in consequence, but perhaps it was just a memory of a time where she had felt the same, being offered a hand to hold to guide her out of the darkness for the first time.
She could see the emotions shifting on his features, the internal conflict he was undergoing. She wanted to tell him to dare, dare to trust the flutter in his stomach, dare to hope, dare to believe that everything, from now on, would be great.
But Magnus didn’t need to be told any of that, didn’t need to be reassured that it was okay to seek comfort in the groundbreaking simplicity of a smile, didn’t need to be taught the pure rewarding folly that letting his heart feel with wild abandon would be.
His hand brushed against Alec’s elbow, slowly, tentatively, as if testing what damage or solace it could bring to the fragments of his heart he was barely starting to piece back together.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Alec leaned in and captured Magnus’ lips in a kiss.
Magnus threw the cloth on the counter behind him and kissed him back, cupping Alec’s face in his hands. Alec moved at the same time, hands drifting to settle against Magnus’ waist.
Magnus made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, and Alec immediately pulled back, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“Shit,” he mumbled, looking down at the wet mark his hands had left on Magnus’ shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t care,” Magnus murmured, and kissed him again.
Alec smiled against his lips and wrapped his arms around Magnus’ waist, pulling him closer.
Marisa shook her head and walked away, back to the living room. It was only then she noticed the stack of paper laid over her coffee table, bound into a semblance of a book. There was a post-it note on top of it, and Marisa bent down to read what it said.
I’ve been working on this for the past two months and I finally finished it last night after going home. It’s a story about finding friendship in odd places. Still don’t have a definite editor yet, so I thought maybe you could read it and tell me what you think. Love, Magnus.
Marisa picked it up, eyes drifting over the front page. ‘Everything is great’ by Magnus Bane, it read. She turned the page, and her breath hitched in her throat.
To Ragnor, for all the memories.
And to Marisa, for teaching me what to do with them.
She heard the sound of footsteps running across the house, Elliott shouting a cheerful ‘Daddy!’ before undoubtedly sprinting to the kitchen. It was followed by a choked but happy ‘Hey!’ from Alec, and then by three melodious laughs echoing against the walls, and she thought that some day soon, she would have to thank Magnus, too, for the lessons he had unknowingly given her.
She stood in the middle of the living room, and wondered where Adam would have been sitting that night, he who had hated routines too much to have a designated seat.
She sat down on the plushed chair he had secretly loved the most and looked up at the picture of him that hung above the mantelpiece. His hazel eyes were shining in the picture, his lips curved with the hint of a smile.
Looking into the eyes she had loved with all her heart and would love until her dying breath, with all the pride and adoration only a kept promise could convey, Marisa found herself smiling too.
“Everything is fine, my love. Everything is great.”