Work Text:
Six of Cups: nostalgia, coming home, familiarity, safety, healing
“Most of the time the universe speaks to us very quietly in pockets of silence, in coincidences, in nature, in forgotten memories, in the shape of clouds, in moments of solitude, in small tugs at our hearts.” - Yumi Sakugawa
Renee sits in her hometown cafe, newly renovated with that fresh, un-creased leather smell accompanying coffee grinds. A book lay open to a random page. In all honesty she plucked it off the dusty bookcase sitting in her room before leaving only to look busy. Renee didn’t plan on reading any of it - she doesn’t even know what she picked off the shelf. She’s more interested in people watching than losing herself in the pages. Here, in the anonymity of the coffee shop she frequents during holiday breaks, she can lose herself in the ebb and flow of the patrons.
Palmetto adjourned for winter break only two days ago but she finds herself missing the noise of the dorms. Although she lived with two tidy young women, that didn’t make them quiet . Matt often strolled in, cuddled up to Dan on the sofa and turned on a movie (usually, very loud action movies with nothing but fight scenes). They lived next to Andrew’s lot where Nicky’s exclamations and Kevin’s impassioned yelling could be heard through the thin walls. The only people they didn’t hear much from was Aaron, Andrew and Neil. Besides the muted murmurs of their voices, they spoke little and low. The soccer team lives on the floor above them and she can practically recreate the rhythmic bumps they make. In a sense, Renee adjusted to noise.
It wasn’t like life before Stephanie was necessarily silent but it was filled with a different type of sound. Crunches, cracks, grunts, squelches that Renee found unpleasant but not unnecessary. She knew how to pull certain sounds from people by hitting in certain spots. It’s not like she would ever forget what she heard from her time before. But she largely preferred Wymack barking orders. To adjust her previous statement, Renee adjusted to the noise of her team.
Her team. The thought brings a smile to her face. Outside, the sun illuminates a patch of wildflowers blowing in the December air. Palmetto Foxes. The bell above the door announces a new customer. She loves her team with everything in her, every single one of them. They can be abrasive, cruel, mean; they aim to inflict pain and keep distances. But she knows that each of them has hurt in inexplicable ways. Renee understands the need for defense and walls, for armor and knives, better than anyone. Every day she wakes, she thanks God for bringing Stephanie into his life. Because of her, Renee grabbed that softness within and tugged, tugged, tugged. Now, she lives with an unshakable but gentle touch. It’s her repentance, her constant confessional- to be kind in a world that doesn’t believe in kindness. And that’s what she gives her team; her radical love, trust and belief. Renee believes in her team fiercely: in their capability to win and their strength to heal. She believes and she loves.
Even when she hears Kevin’s Exy game blasting through the wall at 2 am. Even when Andrew goes silent and Neil pensive and Aaron defensive. To the conventional, they wouldn’t see how she finds comfort in the Foxes. They would see young adults lumped together by their trauma and unified under trouble; they would see failure. But they weren’t David Wymack or Betty Dobson or Abby Winfield. The Foxes are home, plain and simple.
She sips her hot chocolate with melted whipped cream and marshmallows. Renee is by no means naive; she knows the team isn’t remotely unified. But, as she swirls around the lone marshmallow, a slow hope fills her. It’s no secret that the divisiveness of the team stems from Andrew’s reluctance to let his family go. He guards them even closer than she does. She respects him and his judgement completely. While Aaron and Nicky might not understand the significance of their agreement, Andrew’s promises have weight. A solid, unmistakable weight like blades against the skin. His promises hold presence. She won’t take that away from him. But there’s no need to take because the source of her hope has a name: Neil.
Renee knows he doesn’t completely trust her and she understands that also. Some days she doesn’t completely trust herself. Like she told him, she is a bad person trying very hard to be good. It’s not easy getting a read out of her, but the kindness isn’t a front. Her ability to incapacitate someone in under ten seconds has nothing to do with the smile she wears. And even though he struggles around her, she notices the shifts in their team dynamic.
Neil is a glue of sorts. He wouldn’t be a Fox without the issues that push him into defensive silences or terrified panic attacks. Under all the weight of his secrets, he still find space for the team. Not just to give his all on the court, but to make it a true team. Dan, bless her, tried. But she is still a college student, still the first woman captain, still a Fox. Even she had limits. Either Neil doesn’t have any or he completely ignores his limits because he’s sticking pieces of them together like his life depends on his success. Maybe it does, she shrugs to herself. She admires his raw determination, his dogged persistence. When she watches him struggle to create coherency from chaos, she smiles a little brighter.
In a way, she understands so well because the process is familiar to her. Life with Stephanie, with the Foxes at Palmetto, friendship and love is a new era in her life. She’s more accustomed to the violence, the danger and adrenaline. Natalie didn’t do love; she did her job. The knowledge a home waits for her at the end of the day with friends to lean on was unfamiliar. Some days Renee feels like an impostor; she looks down and sees blood under her fingernails. But then she reminds her that this love is earned and deserved. Neil needs a little reminder that his love is earned and deserved too. Renee can see it in the wary slit of his eyes and the slouch of his shoulders that he doesn’t believe in the permanency of his situation. That he’ll return to the court only to find smoldering ruins, standing in the middle clutching his duffel, all his hard work burned up. But where they fail in other regards, they succeed in making a home. Neil is making them a family. Renee leans into the quiet gratitude that rises. Blessings come in 5’3” packages.
Her phone vibrates against the wood tabletop. On the screen, text messages in the team group-chat flow in. Most are from Nicky gushing about Erik and Germany and pastries. Dan asks for photos; Nicky happy obliges. Allison debates with no one about the superiority of European menswear. Aaron complains about the number of messages but doesn’t mute the chat. Kevin, in his lone response, reminds everyone they should still be conditioning while on break. A flurry of Foxes respond with the middle finger emoji.
The normalcy, the routine of it all brings a quiet smile to Renee’s face.
She glances around the cafe to assess the exits and any suspicious activity, but the noon rush has died down. The cafe lulls in a content doze. A few baristas clean the machines and wipe down the counters. Renee is only one of three patrons, all absorbed in their own work. The wind outside has settled, leaving the wildflowers standing straight. Before she leaves, she resolves to journal. Dan gifted it to her before they parted: a pocket-sized dark gray bound with reinforced twine. Renee adores it for the sheer simplicity because it doesn’t expect anything from her. Motivational quotes don’t line the margins, no dates in the uppermost corners. It lets her exist in her thoughts. She doubly loves that Dan knows her so well.
Flipping to the most recent page, she jots down this afternoon’s thoughts. Neil is glue. The Foxes are home. Aaron favors middle-finger emojis.