Chapter 12: Understanding

As soon as Mark wrapped his arms around her, Abigail broke down entirely. Sobbing against him, she just cried. And Mark held on to her for a good few minutes, as she just cried against him.

Eventually, Abigail’s sobs passed, and turned to sniffles. Eventually, those passed as well. But Mark held on to her through the entire thing. Until eventually, she was too tired and drained to keep standing.

Mark seemed to sense her exhaustion, and guided her back onto the rock, and sat down beside her. He grabbed his jacket and threw it over the both of them, cradling her against him. He kept both arms around her the entire time.

They sat for a long time in silence, though it didn’t feel oppressive at all. It felt, oddly comforting, just sitting there with him.

The breeze had picked up a little, but Mark had nestled her inside his jacket, and pressed against his chest, she didn’t even feel the cold.

“I’m sorry for my assumptions,” Mark said, eventually. “That would have been very wrong of me at the best of times, but especially given the situation, I’m truly sorry.”

“’s okay,” Abigail sniffed into chest. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice breaking again. So she just kept quiet.

“No,” Mark said fiercely, shaking his head. “It’s not, it’s really not okay at all.” His bit hit his lip, and his hold on her seemed to tighten. “And I should be the last one to pass judgement.”

“What d’you mean?” Abigail asked tentatively, though she wasn’t exactly sure why she was being careful, she was sniffling into his chest, after all.

He was quiet for a few minutes, and Abigail thought he wouldn’t answer her. She understood, it was a bit of a personal question to ask.

“Because I understand,” Mark said eventually. “I understand what it’s like for people to make assumptions about you, and then judge you on those assumptions.”

For a brief moment, Abigail wondered if he was referring to her calling him a gardener. But then she shook the thought away, he spoke about life experiences, and she had only just met him yesterday.

“I grew up without anything, either,” Mark said, turning down to look at her for a moment, before looking away again. “An orphan, actually. My home burnt down in a fire, killing my parents inside, and I ran away before social services could find me. I’d heard horror stories about orphanages growing up, and I thought the streets would be better than that.”

Abigail gasped, burying her face into his chest out of shame. Here she had been complaining about her life, but she had at least always had a roof over her head. She had never known the extremes of hunger and fear that he no doubt had felt. And now, here she was, with so much to her name simply because of who her father was, and he was still a simple gardener, struggling to survive.

“I lived on the streets most of my life,” Mark said again. “Eventually, social services did find me, and I spent some time in an orphanage before I aged out. I started with what I had, and I worked myself up to where I am today, but,” Mark shook his head. “For a very long time I felt like I didn’t belong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I belonged on the streets.”

Abigail felt fresh tears streaming down her face, this time, out of sadness for Mark. He hadn’t deserved that. And absolutely no one deserved to feel like they belonged on the streets.

Even in her lowest points, she’d at least had her mother with her. She’d at least known that there was someone in the world that loved her, and someone that she could rely on to be there for her.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Abigail whispered into his chest. “No one deserves to live like that, or to feel like the only place they should be is the streets.”

Mark hummed in agreement, “And I think I knew that, too. But I still couldn’t shake it, you know?” Mark shook his head. “So you see, I should be the last person to judge anyone, even without knowing your whole story, I should have been more kind. I know people can be fighting intense battles that no one knows anything about. And for that, I am truly and sincerely, very sorry.”

Mark held on to her, and Abigail had no idea what to say to respond to that, so she simply wrapped her arms around him, trying to give him some comfort as well.

“You chose a great business to go into though,” Abigail remarked quietly, trying somewhat to brighten the mood. “Gardening always rewarding, and you get to work in some amazing places like this.”

Mark opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, and then closed it again, thinking better of it. Then he looked at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“Though I sometimes have to put up with spoiled little rich girls in my work,” Mark joked teasingly, poking her in the side.

“It must be so hard,” Abigail said dramatically. “Offering all those other girls your jacket and chest to cry into, too.”

“What other girls?” Mark asked seriously, tickling her lightly in the ribs.

Abigail laughed for a moment and indulged him, before pushing his hands away. Mark stopped without any further prodding from her, and she found herself staring into his eyes.

They were the same color as the sky, his hair a richer golden than the sun. He had smudges of dirt all over his face, and his jeans was ripped in some places. She found he looked absolutely adorable, and she was willing to bet that if he smiled, there would be dimples on his cheeks.

“I’m truly sorry about everything you’re going through,” Mark said again. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t kinder to you.”

“It’s okay,” Abigail waved it off, her sniffles had long since subsided. “Besides, I think you more than made up for it by allowing me to cry into your shirt.”

Mark laughed again, playfully dusting his shirt, like he was trying to get her tears off of it.

“So,” Mark said, settling down, and pulling her still closer against him, she excused that it was the wind, and he only had one jacket that was being shared between them, so she settled closer against him, too. “Can we call a truce? You’re not going to come out here every day and berate me anymore, are you?”

Abigail pretended to consider it for a moment. “Hmmm, that depends, would you be here every day if I wanted to? And would I get to see you every day still even if I didn’t berate you?”

“Hmmm,” Mark told her. “I think I could arrange to be here every day, even if you eased up on the torture for a bit.”

“Well,” Abigail said again, “I can’t just call a truce with you. I only know your superficial tragic back story and you know my superficial tragic back story. I don’t even know the deep and defining things about you yet.”

“Yeah?” Mark asked eagerly. “The deep and defining stuff would make us have a truce? What do you want to know? Ask away!”

Abigail thought hard for a second, trying to keep the air light and the conversation easy between them.

“Well,” Abigail said playfully. “What’s your favorite season? Your favorite drink? All the important parts of you, you know?”

“Do I get to know the important parts of you, too?” Mark asked, softly, his voice serious.

And suddenly, it felt like the light and easy conversation had disappeared, and they were talking about things that seemed unimportant, but held so much weight behind them.

She was caught for a moment, like a deer in the headlights. Except she was caught in his eyes, like sapphires staring into her.

“Yes,” Abigail whispered back, though the wind had picked up, and it would be harder to hear one another, how close they were made the volume they were speaking in negligible.

“Well,” Mark continued, as if genuinely thinking about what she’d asked. “Then my favorite season is the Fall, and my favorite drink has to be hot chocolate.”

Abigail gasped in exaggerated surprise, “No way!” She exclaimed. “My favorite season is the Fall too, and my favorite drink is Hot Chocolate too!”

Mark laughed, loud and happy. She felt it echo through him, and vibrate against her. And Abigail laughed along with him, for the first time since she’d come there.

And also for the first time since she’d come and lived with her father, she felt well and truly at peace.

Sitting in the middle of his uncared for forest, on a rock that supposed to be uprooted from the ground, laughing, curled into his gardener.