And That Was That (aka, The Tent Thing) It had involved a lot of very carefully going over things to make sure there was nothing lying around that he couldn’t afford to risk allowing others to see, but John had felt that permitting Sammy Meeks the use of his tent for part of the time he was going to spend in Europe was the right thing to do. For one thing, it was better for it to have someone to look after it, water his plants and such, and for another, it was just…nice. What friends did. So he let her borrow his tent, with strict orders about not touching those of his religious articles which he didn’t take with him to England and France.
It was not, therefore, a surprise to find her still in said tent when he returned, jet lagged and with a headache and a profound distaste for human company after spending so long with so much of it, some of it extremely unexpected and still confusing even now that he was safely back in his own place. In the interests of politeness, he made some vague noises with a wave on his way to his kitchenette to make tea. After a cup and a half, he was feeling human enough to ask properly polite questions about how she’d been faring over the past few weeks. As he reached the bottom of the pot, however, he began to notice something else.
“Do you need help getting your stuff up and everything?” he asked finally, noticing articles here and there that were not his own and did not appear to have been packed. He was sure he had sent a note announcing when he expected to be home….
Sammy glanced between John and the bowl of popcorn sitting in the gap between her criss-crossed legs. Technically she did know he’d be back on this date, but she didn’t really know when today was. Or what time it was. It’d been a while since she’d moved much, honestly. “Oh,” she said with some surprise, her mouth partially full. “Nah, I think it’s fine where it is. Unless you’re gonna be, like, a really neat-freak-y roommate.” She grinned up at him and scooped up her bowl in both hands, extending it toward him. “Popcorn?”
John looked blankly between the proffered bowl of popcorn and the person offering it. “I’m going to assume there’s a joke in that statement that I don’t follow,” said John after considering this for a moment. The word ‘roommate’ was definitely in there, but John did not have roommates. For one thing, he lived in a tent in the woods. For another, the last time he’d had a roommate, the guy had ended up leaving the school after a year, so why someone - well, outside of specific circumstances that didn’t apply here - would appoint themselves his roommate voluntarily, he had no idea. Finally, of course, Sammy couldn’t be his roommate. She was a girl. He had no desire or reason to marry her and highly doubted she had any desire or reason to marry him. So incomprehensible other-people humor seemed the most likely solution. “The - roommate statement, not the popcorn statement,” he amended, accepting some of the popcorn.
“While it is in fact my burden to bear that I’m way too funny for you to understand,” Sammy replied seriously, retracting the bowl after he’d gotten a share, “This time, there was no joke to miss. I’ve enjoyed squatting here while you were gone, so I’m just gonna live here now.” Pleased with herself, she tossed another handful of popcorn into her mouth and munched happily. As far as she was concerned, that was that.
John did not consider that to be that, and spent quite a while arguing his perfectly valid points. He pointed out that he had meant his house to be a loan, not a partial gift. He pointed out that his house was not set up to act as a mixed monastery and that he had no reason or desire to marry her. He pointed out that Sammy was a social human and he was a grumpy scholar who only entertained friends and family and those not on a daily basis. Finally, he even pointed out that the only structure in his house intended to act as a bedroom was instead a space he used as his laboratory, and the daybed he used as a sofa and bed was very much a single-resident affair. He could sleep in his lab floor for a few days while she found other accommodations, but they couldn’t possibly be roommates. That, as far as he was concerned, was that.
A week later, using every curse word he knew and making up a few along the way, he dipped into the bank account he and Julian both pretended she didn’t put money into and went and bought a large trunk fitted with undetectable extension charms which enlarged its interior to a space just enough to lie down in. He then began working on it back at the tent, posting several notes on it stressing that he was quite serious about Sammy not touching it because things sometimes caught fire before he got them to do exactly what he wanted, aiming to increase its size to accommodate conversion into a laboratory.
And this, he thought grumpily as he worked, was what you got for being nice to people. They ended up convincing you to let them move in your house and convert your laboratory into a semi-permanent guestroom.
Several weeks later
For the life of her, Julian could not understand why John had chosen to come live on the East Coast after making up with the family. Yes, he had been slightly infatuated with his university since he was nine years old, and yes, Clark was practically his next door neighbor in Toronto, and yes, Julian would even admit that Mom was originally from the East, but still - John was not an Easterner. It was as if he was trying to make it difficult for her to keep an eye on him while he was at university. Especially now that she was so busy working on the Quest articles and concealing that she was the author of the Quest articles and on getting William nominated for that new committee, she could go weeks without seeing him.
Despite that, however, they were in fairly regular contact through letters, and he had not mentioned changing his living situation. He knew it would please her immensely if he found more appropriate accommodations and that she visited as much as she could, which was sometimes unexpectedly, so she was sure he would have told her if he had given up his spot in the woods. Despite this, however, and the fact that arriving at and entering his tent with a tray of lemon bars went normally, she stopped dead at the sight of an unfamiliar girl in the living room while John was nowhere in sight.
“I’m - sorry,” said Julian, more reflexively than anything. “But - who are you? And what’s this?”
“I’m Sammy,” she answered, not the least bit startled by the appearance of some woman she didn’t know. It might’ve been nice if surprise visitors came when she was a bit better dressed as opposed to wearing baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt with John’s college’s insignia that she’d somewhat stolen from him (yes, it was as comfy as it looked), but eh, beggars couldn’t really be choosers or whatever. “Are you looking for John?” she guessed. “Because he’s not home at the moment. I can tell him you came by? Or else you’re welcome to wait, but I’m not sure how long that’ll be.”
“Sammy,” repeated Julian flatly, at which the younger witch waggled finger guns in her direction. Now that she thought about it, this name did ring a distant bell. She was the one whose influence had somehow led to John ending up at a pride event, where he had doubtless been as out of place as Hemingway at a vegan food truck, or as much as her wide-legged, fitted pantsuit suit and heels and French silk scarf were beside Sammy’s outfit. “I see. Nice to meet you, I’m sure. I’m John’s sister.” As evidence, she pointed to a copy of her wedding photograph which was on one of the bookshelves, though angled in such a way that a book was largely concealing William. She decided to be charitable and assume John hadn’t carefully placed it that way on purpose. “And I can see that he’s not here, thank you. Lemon bar?”
“I’m not one to turn down food, so sure, I’ll try one,” Sammy grinned. She looked where John’s sister was pointing and, sure enough, there was her wedding picture, which John had definitely arranged that way on purpose. “You’re very pretty,” she stated. “Must’ve been a beautiful wedding. It’s….” Sammy paused, racking her brain. She snapped her fingers as the memory came. “Julian, right?”
“Julian Welles, yes,” agreed Julian about what her name was.
Before things could get yet more awkward (why was this person here? Why was she telling Julian she was welcome to wait in Julian’s brother’s house? Why was she wearing pyjamas in the daytime?), there was a crunching of footsteps outside and then her brother wandered in, carrying one of the kitchen stools in one of hand and some books and notebooks under his arm.
“Everyone’s out there today,” he started to say, but then stopped when he saw Julian. “Julian. Wasn’t expecting to be graced with your company today.”
“I see that,” said Julian, giving him a perfunctory hug. “It seems you’ve been telling people about me without telling me about them,” she scolded. “Would you care to explain that?”
“I’d rather eat one of those lemon bars,” said John, wandering toward the tray on the countertop. “I’m amazed you’ve got time for baking, with all the dinner parties and stuff in the Society Bee you’ve had lately.”
“I knew I’d feel guilty if I didn’t see you between your birthday and Christmas,” said Julian. “I’m sorry to interrupt while you have a - friend - over?” This was more or less a question directing him back toward the point. If he had married someone without telling them first, she was going to kill him, and then the girl, and then him again.
“Nothing to worry about,” said John vaguely. “She…kind of lives here now.”
This was said very matter-of-factly. Julian turned toward Sammy. “Please tell me he’s attempting humor,” she said.
“Unfortunately, comedy’s still not one of his skills,” Sammy joked. “I’m working on it. Nah, I live here. Right, hubby?” It was a stupid nickname she’d taken to both using to his face (to annoy him) and when referring to him (usually to annoy Jamie), and it came out without much thought. Like most things Sammy said. “How are those lemon things, by the way? I was just about to grab one, but then you got here and I got distracted.”
“Pretty good,” said John, not seeming to notice his sister’s eyes expanding past their normal bounds. “You should have one.”
Julian, for her part, stared at Sammy for a long, silent moment, her arms crossed, and then looked back toward her brother. “You have fifteen seconds to explain what she’s talking about before I start throwing things,” she said.
“I lent her my tent while we were in Europe, and then she just didn’t leave,” said John.
“That’s not a good reason for marrying someone! You just wait until I tell Mom about this - ”
Abruptly, Sammy burst into laughter. “Oh my god!” she cackled. “It’s so not like that.” She looked at John, considered briefly a world where that would ever happen, and launched into guffaws anew.
“We agree on something for once,” noted John. “We’re not married. She just has a wretched sense of humor at the worst possible times.”
“I don’t think Mom is going to care either way,” said Julian. “With Mom this - cohabitation thing might be even worse.” She glared at her brother. “And you have the nerve to say things about my dinner parties being a sin,” she grumbled.
“No, it’s not like that either - I pretty much live in that trunk - “ he pointed to the trunk in question “except when I’m in the kitchen, or someone comes over,” protested John. “I have nothing to do with this! I just live here!” He threw his hands up in protest and picked up the kettle as he brought them down. “Let’s just - have some tea and try to stop being so dramatic,” he suggested.
“You and your weird leaf water,” Sammy mumbled, shaking her head. “I’ll just have an energy drink, like a good, God-fearing American citizen.” She smiled cheerily at their guest. “Care to try one, Miss Welles?” She’d caught John’s mention of something something society, which usually meant formality if the Purebloods she’d met at Sonora were to be believed, and Sammy couldn’t resist stoking this flame; Julian was the fun kind of fiery, just like her brother.
Julian smiled back at Sammy the way she usually smiled back at William’s least entertaining work colleagues, at least if they didn’t have many prospects. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll take calming over stimulating right now.”
“And a life expectancy almost five years longer than the average American’s,” said John, hazarding a smile at his sister. “I’m trying hard to get her to see the Commonwealth light,” he explained.