Elliot stepped out of the office building into the late afternoon light. Heat clung to the air, hinting that July was creeping around the corner.

Elliot cu across the sloping lawn of the Common when she stopped. An amused smile touched her lips as she redirected her steps. With a content sigh, she sank onto the grass beside Milo. He laid stretched out, one hand behind his head, the other holding a book. For awhile they sat there in silence, Milo reading while Elliot watched the surrounding people.

"There is no silence heavier than the silence baring unspoken thoughts," Elliot said.

Milo reached out and thumped her on the head with his book.

"The moment didn't need anything poetic said," he stated.

"Fine."

They fell back into silence. Eventually, Elliot looked at Milo.

"Do you often ignore girls when they sit next to you?" she asked.

"Only when it's you."

"I feel so honored."

"As you should."

Milo turned the page.

"Where's Cece?" he asked.

"And the truth comes out!" Elliot raised her hands, looking out at the Common. "I might share the same last name as her! I might even sound slightly like her and have the same ear lobes, but no! If I'm not Cece I warrant no attention whatsoever."

"I'm glad you've come to realize this." Milo glanced at his watch. "It only took you a year to figure it out."

"My family has often said that I am the smartest of us all."

"I pity your family."

Elliot pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. Milo flipped to another page.

"So Cece?" he asked.

Elliot didn't look at him.

"Haven't seen her for the last four days," she said. "I hope she's eating and sleeping, but really you never know."

"What's the bet?"

"Tristan says four chapters. I said six. But at this rate she just might finish the whole book."

"Your sister is odd."

"You say that, but you're the one in love with her."

"Don't think that that peculiarity hasn't made me reexamine my feelings on multiple occasions."

Elliot looked over at him, studying his tan skin and handsome features. Milo gave her a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised. He then looked back to his book.

"I don't like the thoughts that you are thinking. You should keep them to yourself," he said.

"How could you know what I'm thinking?"

Milo circled her face with his book.

"Easy read novel, remember?"

Elliot frowned and dropped her chin back onto her knees. A moment passed as she watched a group of girls huddled together, their low voices speaking of scandal. She turned back to Milo and he scowled.

"Why don't you ask Cece out?" Elliot asked.

He groaned and dropped his book.

"Because I've yet to procure a shield and a sword. That's the only way a male should approach your sister."

Elliot scoffed.

"She's not that bad."

Milo gave her a patronizing look.

"I once saw her stare at a guy for a full three minutes after he asked if he could have her number. There are daggers with duller blades than Cece's stare."

Elliot made a face.

"Okay, so maybe she's not great with relationships."

Milo snorted.

"I've heard of fruit flies having longer lasting relationships than your sister, and they only live for three days."

"She just doesn't need a guy and is happy where she is."

Milo picked his book back up and started reading again.

"So you understand why I have never approached her on the subject," he said.

"But you're different," Elliot said.

"Yes, I've learned how to dodge her whip like wit and patch myself up after her cutting remarks."

"She likes you."

Milo scoffed.

"She has a remarkable way of showing it. I was under the impression it was verbal abuse, thank you for setting me straight."

"Then go and find someone else."

"Oh, that I could."

Elliot tossed her hands up.

"Why not?" she asked. "There are a million and one girls out there. A lot of them more sane than Cece."

Milo dropped his hand onto his stomach and looked at Elliot.

"You are suffering from the delusion that I enjoy being in love with your sister. I do not. If I could find someone else, I already would have." He picked up his book, a frown marring his features. "You don't like someone like Cece and then not. Everyone else in the world seems like a dead fish in comparison."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Die a battered old man."

Elliot gave him a mocking smile.

"It's good you're staying positive."

Milo huffed and continued to read.

"Speaking of failures," he said. "How has your week with Beck been going?"

"You mean the person I blame all my troubles on?"

"I thought that was donkeys?"

"Darn unyielding animals. No, they have relinquished their title. Beck now owns it."

"Glad to hear it's going well."

Elliot squinted into the sky, needing something to glare at.

"We've managed to stop fighting about the characters, but I'm not entirely sure we have made any head way in the story. So all in all, a splendid few days."

"What do you plan on doing?"

"Beside hiring a look alike and sending her to deal with Beck in my stead? Not a clue."

Elliot slapped the side of Milo's leg with the back of her hand and stood.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat," she said.

With a reluctant glare, Milo got up and tucked his book into his back pocket. They headed down the hill, the breeze alongside them.

"Where shall we go?" Milo asked.

Elliot shrugged.

"Cafe is as good a place as any other," she said.

"I'm not working there today."

"So?"

Milo gave her a sideways glance.

"How many places are you banned from?" he asked.

Elliot held up a defensive finger.

"I am not banned," she said. "They just don't appreciate my brand of humor. It goes over their heads."

"As I'm sure so many other things do that you throw at them. For instance, your sarcasm."

"It's not my fault it's a default reaction to people asking me 'what I want'." She turned to him, her face a mask of skepticism. "I mean seriously, how else are you suppose to answer that question other than 'a hot guy with a side of season tickets to the Red Sox'."

"Normal people offer up their choice of food."

"That is something," Elliot said. "Maybe I should try it one of these days. I would starve less."

"You're an artist, I think the starving is usually just implied."

Elliot laughed, the sound swallowed up by the roar of traffic.

The bell dinged over head as they stepped into the cafe. Elliot glanced towards the counter and made a face.

"Why aren't you working today?" she moaned. "Glenn is working. I don't like Glenn. He doesn't get my sarcasm or my jokes."

"We can add him to the many hundreds of other people who feel the same way," Milo said.

Elliot whacked him in the chest with her hand. They stepped up to the counter and Milo placed the order, while Elliot tried to not talk.

They settled around a table in one of the corners, conversations of their fellow cafe companions filling the air around them. The door opened and Milo glanced over. Elliot followed his gaze. A slender girl with pitch black hair, olive skin and a round expressive face stepped inside. Her gaze landed on their table and she waved as a bright, friendly smile came to her face. Elliot looked back at Milo. Before she could speak, the girl was standing before them.

"Hey Milo! Reading anything good?" the girl asked.

Elliot's eyes darted between the two of them.

"Some Dickens," Milo said. He gestured to Elliot. "Elliot this is Sana, we had Advanced Lit. together this year."

"You can call me Soso," Sana said. "Everyone else does." She laughed, the sound carefree. "Even the guy who sells flowers calls me SoSo."

Elliot smiled.

"It's nice to meet you SoSo," she said.

"Likewise," SoSo said. She turned to Milo. "I'll see you around."

She waved and walked over to the counter. Elliot smiled at Milo and he shook his head.

"Some times I wish your face would shut up," he said.

"Why not her?" Elliot asked.

Milo's phone started ringing and he pulled it out, smiling.

"Ah, my conveniently timed plot device has come to the rescue."

He stood and answered as he walked out the cafe. Elliot rested her chin in her hand, gazing around the cafe, listening as pieces of broken conversations filled her ears. She froze when her wandering eyes landed on a table in the back corner, and met the gaze of a familiar set of blue ones. Beck held her stare, his expression unresponsive. After a second, Elliot stood and walked over to him.

"I didn't know you came here?" she said, standing before his table.

"I know," he said.

Elliot frowned.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"I've come here from time to time to observe people and you have been here."

"You people watch?"

"Doesn't everyone?" he asked.

"Yes, but as a writer I find an excuse for it."

"As do I."

"Heard anything worth sharing?"

Beck nodded to a group of middle-aged women a few tables down.

"Cynthia doesn't know if Brad is cheating on her," he said.

Elliot took the seat beside him.

"What's your opinion?" she asked.

"What makes you think I have one? I'm merely here to listen."

"Oh, please of course you have an opinion. You're a psychology student."

Beck looked at her and Elliot leveled him with a challenging look.

"Fine," he said, turning back to the group of women. "I'm guessing by the way the woman, two seats down from Cynthia, blushes every time the subject of the 'other woman' is mentioned that it is in fact her who is cheating with Brad. I also believe that it has been going on for a short amount of time, since the guilt is still there. She also has a pet cat and struggles with her weight."

"Are you serious?" Elliot asked.

Beck smiled. "Not at all."

Elliot laughed. "You had me fooled, until the last part."

Beck shrugged and leaned further back in his chair.

"So do you think Brad is having an affair?" Elliot asked.

"No matter whether it has or hasn't happened the fact that Cynthia is doubting her husband does not bode well for the marriage. The lack of upkeep in her personal appearance doesn't help either."

"Agreed," Elliot said.

Beck looked at her and she looked back.

"What?" she asked.

"I expected some out burst about that being a sexist remark."

"Hey, if Cynthia doesn't take care of herself, how does she expect Brad to be content? Just because you're married doesn't mean you can let yourself go."

A hint of a smile appeared on Beck's face as he turned back to the group.

**************

Elliot's bedroom door swung open and light swelled. A slim figure with short black hair, speckled with silver, stepped inside, bringing with it the scent of lemons. Two thuds sounded in the stillness, as shoes were pulled off. A second later Elliot's mother climbed onto Elliot's bed and laid beside her. Still half asleep, Elliot wrapped her arms around her mother's arm and rested her head on her shoulder. Her mother brushed back a strand of hair and kissed her forehead.

"How's my baby girl?" her mother asked.

"Fine. How was London?"

"Grand with all it's city-isms."

Another figure appeared in the door's opening, hands on hips.

"The truth comes out," Cece said. "Now we know who your favorite is."

"Darling, you already knew this but he bites if you go into his room after eleven so I decided to visit my baby girl."

Cece walked over to the bed and sat down.

"How was London?" she said.

"Filled with streets and buildings."

"They still haven't changed that?" Cece asked.

"Apparently it would cost too much money to turn it into a petting zoo."

Their mother sat up. Her warm brown eyes looked between Cece and Elliot, a hint of mischief in the expression.

"Now," she said, looking at Cece. "Are you behind or ahead of schedule on your book?"

Cece perked up.

"Just finished my sixth chapter," Cece said, "so I am ahead by a week. I called my publicist and told him he could come off the ledge."

"Wonderful," their mother said. "Tristan owes me $15." She turned to Elliot. "How is Beck?"

"All his limbs are still in the same place and he still has all his fingers and toes. Though he does walk with a limp," Elliot said.

"Excellent," their mother said. "Cece you owe me $10. Now let's get tea."

Their mother stood, Cece and Elliot scrambling after her.

"It's one in the morning," Cece said.

Their mother waved a careless hand.

"Yes, but it's three o'clock somewhere."

As they walked down the hallway, a door opened and they turned back. Tristan stuck his head out, his hair disheveled. The annoyance in his expression vanished as he caught sight of his mother.

"Hello mother," he said, walking up and hugging her.

"Hello darling!"

He took a step back, eyeing the group.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the kitchen for some tea," their mother said.

"You didn't intend to invite me?" he asked.

"Oh darling, I would have, but it's past eleven," their mother said. "We all know how you hate people talking to you, asking you questions, inviting you places and just general human contact. We decided to show our love and ignore you completely."

"I'm touched, but I'll come," Tristan said.

Their mother clapped.

"Wonderful! It's good to see you out and about in the world. Even if it's just to see that everyone hasn't vanished and you are the last person alive," she said.

Tristan smiled.

"Don't play with my hopes like that."

They all moved down the stairs and into the dark kitchen, which was soon ringing with laughter and flooded with the warmth of tea and their mother.

**********************************************************************

Hey!

I love gray days! I think I have said this before but I shall repeat it because it's true! Gray days are the best! Yes, I'm odd but I don't want to talk about it! Instead, tell me what you thought?

Vote, comment, follow, share!! What type of day is your favorite?