By The Sea

It was considerably brighter where they resided now. The grey seemed to have lifted away from all of them, if only seeming in the past few years to be gone. It had been nearly eight years since they had rowed away, and no one spoke of the past.

Miette cooked breakfast sometimes, but usually it was One, as he generally kept the eggs from burning. Denrée never cooked breakfast. In fact, he was rarely allowed in the kitchen, even these days.

One had taken to the seas again, but this time on a tiny fishing boat. Every morning, he would press a kiss to Miette’s cheek before he left. Sometimes, especially on weekends, Miette accompanied him. She would don a red slicker and clamber into the boat, trying not to clamber. She rarely did any fishing, as One was best and quickest, but occasionally he had a cold, and she would fish for him. Generally, she just kept him company. Those days, she would get a kiss on the cheek when they arrived home and then again at supper and once more before bed.

It was a Sunday, and Miette and One were returning from fishing in the early morning hours. This catch they were allowed to keep for themselves. They would have fried fish on rolls for breakfast.

One noticed that Miette did not say much that morning. She helped him bake the rolls and she called Denrée to eat (though she needn’t have bothered; he was always ready, hovering), but aside from those interactions, she said little and did little.

“Is there any more?” Denrée asked as One sat at their little table to begin eating.
“Let Miette eat first.” One said, smiling up at her.
She took a roll and said nothing, staring out the window at the ocean with a sad, stolid gaze.
“Miette, can I have your fish?” Denrée asked.
Generally, though he always asked, Miette would have socked him gently on the arm and taken her fish, scowling warmly.
Today, she shrugged and pushed the plate towards her beloved little brother, who was almost twelve. As she realized that again, her face became pained and she walked out the back door, looking away from her seated family.
“What is wrong with her?” Denrée asked with his mouth full.
“Don’t know.” One replied, frowning.

Miette sat on the white rocks before the rolling, cerulean sea. She passed the roll back and forth in her white hands. Her black hair blew into her face and she pushed it back. She hoped One would come out after her, but she hoped he would stay inside and eat his breakfast and not notice at all.
But he wasn’t slow. He wasn’t stupid, or oblivious. That was one reason why she loved him so much.

She ate the roll slowly, and the familiar metal taste of tears mixed with the salt and round yeastiness of the roll. But she didn’t cry. She swallowed and swallowed again and didn’t cry. She was much too old for that.

Though no one spoke of the bad time before, Miette often thought about it. She recalled being almost twelve, just like beautiful Denrée was now. She thought about all that she’d done and gone through to save the little boy One had loved so much. Denrée was just as beautifully innocent now as he had been before. He was oblivious to the giggling girls following him to and from school. He was a beautiful boy, with big, green eyes and curls the color of wheat in the sun. Miette loved him very much and cared for him as she would her own child. She dressed him and bathed him before he was old enough to do those things successfully himself. And her ultimate model was One’s ferocious dedication, his unrelenting devotion to the boy’s welfare.

She thought of the lengths they had gone to in an effort to protect the boy those years ago, and she tasted the tears again as she wondered if One would do the same for her. And she wondered if One loved her.

She swallowed. Of course he loved her.

But did he love her the way she loved him? She held the roll between her knees and rubbed her eyes, willing those tears to leave her.

And Miette thought briefly of the other boys she’d tried to love. The ones she thought looked a little like One or acted a little like him. The boys she closed her eyes and kissed and kept her eyes closed until she could put her clothes back on.

She kissed them because she felt in the back of her throat and the bottom of her stomach that One was lost from her. That she would never be able to act upon the way she felt.

She was Little Sister. Little Sister Miette, though he never called her that. He called her by her name. And she felt chills when he touched her. She felt chills thinking about it.

Miette lay down, closed her eyes and imagined One was beside her. She would take his hand and kiss it. And he would kiss her hand. And they would hold each other and kiss each other and that was not all—
And Miette began to cry in earnest. Fat tears rolled down her face into her hair and she held the roll to her chest.

“Is your roll burnt, Miette?”
She choked, opened her eyes, and saw One on his knees, leaning over her face, upside down, and she had to laugh, though her tears made her hiccup and cough, and she sat up to sort herself out.

One sat close beside her on the white rocks as she rubbed her eyes and face and sniffed and coughed.

“Storms come soon.” One said, looking out past the rolling waves.
Miette said nothing.
“Miette is sad.” One said, and looked over at her before adding, “And mad.”
She did not respond, instead taking a bite of the mashed roll and chewing quickly, staring out.
“Why?” One asked.
She set her jaw. He saw that she looked like a stubborn little girl again then.
“Someone was mean to Miette?” he asked.
Her brow knit fiercely and she glared at him. He nodded in perceived understanding, looking back out at the sea.

“Some people very mean.” He said, and looked back at her to say, “A boy?”
She frowned more fiercely. She shook her head.
“One can help?” he offered, and put his arm around her.
Miette let him envelope her in his strong arms, her face hard. One noticed that she was hard all over.
“What’s really wrong?” he asked gently.
Miette looked up at him and wiped at her eyes.
“I have to leave.” She said.
“What?” he frowned.
“I have to leave.” She repeated. “I have to go.”
“Why?”
“I can’t stay here anymore.” She said.
“Nice boy?” One said.
Miette shook her head fiercely.
“There is no boy.” She said bitterly.
“Why leave?”
“Because.”
“Denrée bad?” he asked.
“No, no.”
“One mean?” he asked.
“No!” she said severely, “No, One. No.”
He let her out of his arms when she pulled a little.

“One loves Miette.” He said quietly, looking down.
She said nothing, her chin quavering.
“Why?” He asked again.
“Because you will never really love me.” She whispered.
“What?”
“I will always be Little Sister!” she exclaimed. “And I will never be anything more!”
“Miette Little Sister when Miette met One.” He said. “Long time ago.”
“I know!” she said. “And I grew up and I’m still Little Sister to you!”
“Miette Miette.” He argued. “Miette Little Sister long ago. Grown up now, Miette now.”
She said nothing.
“Soon Little Brother will grow up, then be Denrée.”
She looked far away, lips pursed.

“Why haven’t you gotten married?” she asked.
One was surprised. Miette had only asked him one other time about a wife.
“One thought about wife, but One only needs Little Brother and Miette.” He said.
“One gets wife, Miette would stay?”
“No.” She said resolutely.
“Why?” he said, and meant it about getting a wife at all.
“So I could stop holding my breath.” She said.

He looked at her straight. She was a grown up. But she had never really been a little sister. She was separate. She never needed him to take care of her. From the very beginning, she would eat her black eggs happily. She could fight if she needed to. She wasn’t ever afraid.

He had noticed her many times in the years. She was very beautiful; she always had been, though she was different now. He was stupid, ineloquent, but he was not blind. He had tried to refrain from thinking about her on any terms but brotherly, but it didn’t always work that way. One knew he was much too old for her and he was happy to see her with other men. He hoped she would start a family some day. He was only jealous sometimes. And he was very protective. Miette usually broke off her relationships, but on the occasions where she was done wrong by, One was quick to offer his brawn in service to her honor. She usually took care of the beatings, though. She could fight if she needed to, and she did if she wanted to.

“Miette waited?” For him?
She stared at him coldly and heatedly.
“Why?” he asked.
She glared.
“I love you.” She said.
“Too old.” He said, brows bent at her.
“I don’t care.”
“Miette should have a pretty boy.”
“I don’t want a pretty boy.”
“Miette and a smart, pretty, young man.” He tried again.
“I love you.” She said again.
“Miette and a smart, strong, pretty man with nice hair.”
“You.” She said, still of knit brow.
“Miette and a pretty man who speaks nice.”

She made an angry noise and launched into a volley of punches at his arm and shoulder and chest. He noticed that her fists didn’t hurt as much as she could make them hurt. His hands took hold of them and they fought like little birds, little fish, against his grasp. She wrenched them away from him and stood quickly, walking away, fists at her sides. He watched her only momentarily before following her.

“Miette!” he said, hand reaching out toward her.
She stopped and turned, her dark hair blowing in her face and sticking to wet cheeks, her face furious. He put his big hands on her shoulders. She came up to his chin now.
“Miette.” He said again.
Her face was still cross, but her hands laid on his forearms, running up and down them with the tenderness that was missing from her features. It was as if she were trying to reassure herself, not him. She patted his arms as her face fell again.
“I. Love. You.” She said again, desperation in her voice.
He smiled warmly and bent down and kissed her quickly on the lips. Her eyes were wide after.
“Why now?” he asked, and not earlier?
“I didn’t think it was right. And I hoped you would find someone else and I thought I could stand it but I can’t, One, I just can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.” She said it all in one breath, her eyes not innocent so much as honest.

He bent again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed.

---

Denrée chewed the last of One’s fish as he stared out the window at the only parents he’d ever known. He smiled as he watched them embracing. He didn’t know quite what they were doing, but it seemed like they should have done it a long, long time before.

He loved them more, much more, than any food.

That was high praise in his eyes.