After

Marcus

The sun is hot against my skin, against my upturned face as I sit in the grass. I can hear soft laughter; Tatiana, as Lance scoops her small frame into his arms and swings her through the air, gently, carefully. I have never seen him so careful, so clearly caring for a person, except with his sister. And her.

Syl.

She would have loved to be here.

She would have loved the feel of the sun on her skin, and the sound of Tatiana's laughter, and the small smile on Lance's face.

She would have loved the small table set up in a clearing of fallen trees, in the place where we spent so much time talking about nothing and everything.

She would have loved the way that, when I tilt my head just so, the outlines of our parents are limned in gold as they sit and speak in quiet voices, soft smiles on their faces, though they are still shadowed with pain.

The way that Tom, beside me, has his arm around Olivia, her head on his shoulder, his head leaning against the top of hers.

The way that we, all of us, have somehow been drawn together rather than torn apart by her leaving. That she, even though not here, is the one who is holding us together.

Hannah comes back from inside, running through the trees, her body long and lithe and thin, so that she blends in with the trees, her hair a startling splash of colour that fires with the sun. My heart beats a little faster inside of me, whenever I see her. I am glad that part of me has not died with her, with Syl. It helps me. She helps me. I don't know what I would do without her.

She runs her hand through my hair as she passes, and then she goes to Lance. He places Tatiana on the ground and kisses the top of her head, and then Hannah takes her hand and leads her in small, needless circles as they talk. They have grown closer, in this, too. Lance is grateful, I think. I can see it in his face. I have learned to read him almost as well as she could read people. But I'm not better than she was; I'm not there yet. Maybe one day I will be.

Lance watches them for a moment, and then he walks over to where we sit on the patchy ground and lowers himself down beside me, stretching his long legs out in front of him in the grass.

"She's having fun," I murmur, as we both watch Tatiana laugh at something Hannah says.

The small tracery of a smile flickers in his eyes, but his face is expressionless. "Yeah," he says.

"Is she doing well, with Michael and Evelyn?" I ask. He nods. We are quiet for a while.

Tom leans into me with his shoulder, a slight nudge, and then gets to his feet, holding a hand out to Olivia.

"Come on, Liv," he says. "Let's get some food."

"Food?" she says, hopefully, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. He laughs.

"Yeah. Food," he says. He darts me a meaningful glance and heads over to the table. I watch them go, and then I look at Lance; his eyes are still on his sister, and they are soft in a hard, sharp face.

I open my mouth to ask how he is, but before I do, he speaks. "How are you?" he says, his voice scathing and sarcastic. I close my mouth. "Oh, I'm fine. The girl I love is dead, my sister is sick, and I'm out celebrating. Because life is fucking amazing." Around Sylva, Lance never swore. He was quiet and well spoken and still a little scary, in his sharp way, but I have begun to understand that that is how he usually looks. Now, he swears. And I can't say that I hate it. He is easier to relate to when he actually shows emotion in any outward way. When he does anything other than kick at his car and stand on the edge of a cliff. This, I can deal with. Words, I can deal with.

"Don't ask me that question, Marc. If I hear it again, I'll gouge out my ears." He sounds tired and quiet, more himself than the snarky mockery that possessed his voice before.

"Isn't that expression used with 'eyes,' not 'ears?'" I ask.

He looks at me through narrowed eyes. "Not helping," he says, before looking away.

"Does it help that I'm not them? That I'm not a social worker or a nurse or a random person who reads the newspaper? That I actually care about the answer?" I ask.

He doesn't look at me, but his eyes darken, disconcertingly amber, eyes that would look at home on a wolf's face.

He looks down, runs a hand through his hair and grips the back of his neck as he stares at the ground beneath his legs. "I'm alright, I guess," he says, after a long moment, and he sounds defeated.

"Alright?" I prod, and he looks at me sharply.

"And how are you doing, Marcus?" he says, the words just as cutting.

"I feel like shit. But I guess, under the circumstances, I'm doing alright." I don't blink. Don't look away.

He sighs heavily and looks down again. "Why do you always do that?" he says, quietly. "Make me realise that I'm being a complete idiot." I shrug. "Just what she would have done," he says, and he sounds a little pained.

I watch Tom throw a grape at Olivia; it hits her nose, and she yells at him before laughing and chasing after him, throwing her own handful of grapes at his retreating back. "She was a manipulative little thing," I observe.

Lance looks at me, and then he laughs a little, a small, quiet thing that is hiding from the world, afraid to be heard. "She was," he says. "I loved it about her."

"Me, too," I say.

And we sit and we watch as the small group of people that has become our family all turn, and watch Tatiana. Because she is who we're here for, today.

"They're going to do the cake, soon," Lance says. "We should go."

"Ok," I say. And we get up and join everyone else, and Tom puts his arms around Olivia, and Hannah takes my hand, and Lance rests his on Tiana's shoulder while my parents and Syl's parents look on proudly. And I feel a little happier than I've been in a while.