Be Who God Meant You To Be

Things are a bit busy at home right now. It's a good sort of busy, but it's also a very busy sort of busy.

So Meg is gratefully taking advantage of an unexpected trip to the end of the universe, where she take an hour to sit and have a cup of tea and read her book, without messing up anyone's schedules or getting behind on anything.

Some days, it's the little things.

It's close to 2AM when Meg finally gets home, and the house is dark except for the single light coming from the kitchen.

She has never, ever, done anything like this before. Meg didn't miss her curfew, called when she was running late, left detailed notes on where she was planning to be and when and with whom. Tried never to let her parents wonder and worry about her, especially after Kim . . . well, after there was enough to wonder and worry about there without Meg's adding to it.

John Ford looks up when his younger daughter lets herself into the house, relief clear on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Meg nods. "I'm fine. Where's Mom?"

"She went to bed. I said I'd stay up."

"Oh." So much for worrying, then. "Well, I'm sorry you had to," Meg says, still hovering near the door.

"Do you want to talk about it, Meg?" he asks.

"I . . . don't know," she says. "Maybe."

"All right," her father says.

Meg stands thinking for a moment, then leans back against the door. "What has Kim told you, about what happened three years ago, when she went away?" Meg asks.

"That there was something she needed to do, something involving . . ."

"All the weird stuff from Mom's family?"

"Not exactly how I would have phrased it," John says. "But the same idea, yes."

"And that's all?"

"And that it was important."

Meg hesitates, and then sits down at the kitchen table. "You're going to think I'm crazy," she says.

"I doubt that."

"No, you will," Meg says. "I mean, I know how this is going to sound. I thought Kim was crazy, when she told me."

John gives her a long, careful look. "Told you what?"

Meg doesn't exactly answer the question, not right away. "Do you remember when I had that date with Derek, and then you were worried that something had happened, because I was so . . . ?"

John nods. "Yes, I do."

"Well," Meg says, "something had happened, but it didn't involve Derek."

John takes a slow breath. "What did it involve?"

"I think we're going to need tea," Meg says.

It takes a long time to tell him all of it, but she does. All of it. What happened on Kim's first visit in a year and half, and what Kim told her then. Everything she heard later from Kim, and from Kim's friend Paul. All about Milliways, and its habit of turning up when she tries to do laundry or go to the library. About the people she's met there, and the places she's gone from there. (Except . . . she doesn't mention Castiel. Some things are . . . sacred. She thinks that's the word she wants.) And about all her conversations there and in Toronto with her sister.

John interrupts a few times, asks for clarification, but mostly he lets her talk, and looks a little more worried and a little more worried as she goes.

"I told you that you would think I was crazy," Meg says, when she's done.

"It's quite a story, Meg."

"I know. And I know it's asking a lot to ask you to believe me. But it's the truth, and I'm glad I told you. I've never liked having to keep it from you."

John studies his daughter from across the table. "I'm going to have to think about all this," he says.

But the choices basically boil down to believing that Meg is telling the truth, or believing that his hyper-rational, ever-so-very-logical, neat and orderly daughter has had a complete psychotic breakdown.

Meg's not sure which of those he'd actually prefer.

"Of course you are," Meg says. "I'd be worried if you just said 'okay.' But that . . . all of that . . . is why I don't want to see Kim when she comes. I'm out of things to say to her. I've tried. I'm done."

John sighs. "All right. I'll talk to your mother. If you really don't want to be here--"

"I really don't."

Her father nods. "All right," he says. "But you and I will talk again."

"Whenever you want."

Her father gets up, setting the tea mugs in the sink, and Meg is stuck by the fact that he suddenly looks older.

No. He suddenly looks old.

"Meg," he says, turning around and leaning back against the counter. "What you said earlier . . . we don't wish you were more like Kim."

"I know I disappoint Mom," Meg says.

"You mother loves you very much."

"I know. But I still disappoint her," Meg says. The two aren't mutually exclusive by a long shot. Look at Meg and Kim.

John Ford bends to kiss his daughter's forehead. "Believe it or not, we're very proud of the fact that you're Meg."

Meg would really like to believe it. She just isn't sure that she does. But all she says is, "All right."

"Get some sleep," John says. "It's very late."

Meg smiles slightly. "Or very early." She hugs him a little too tight for a moment. "You should get some sleep, too," she says. "Good night."

It's been so long since she called her sister that she has to look up the number.

It's a wonder Kim doesn't decide it's a prank call and hang up, in the silence that stretches between "Hello?" and "It's Meg."

It's a very short conversation; Kim was right, this isn't the sort of thing you discuss over the phone.

It's an understatement to say that John and Deirdre Ford are surprised when Meghan announces she's like to go to Toronto on Saturday to see her older sister.

"I just need to talk to Kim," Meg says, and that's all she offers by way of explanation. She can tell they're trying to be pleased or hopeful, but are actually kind of worried. Still, early on Saturday morning, her father drives her to the station, kisses her cheek and tells her to have a good trip, and waves through the window as the train leaves.

Two years ago -- maybe even one year ago -- a trip to Toronto to see Kim would have been cause for excitement and celebration and Meg would have chatted about it with the conductor and the man with the snack trolley and the woman across the aisle, would have willed the train to go faster.

But today . . . today she's silent, except for a perfunctory exchange of greetings with the conductor when she hands over her ticket. She sits, and wonders when trains started going so fast, and the closer the train gets to Toronto, the more tense her shoulders get, tight and defensive, like she's expecting someone to hit her. And, despite the fact that she brought a book to read, she just watches out the window.

A landscape viewed from a train is a curious thing. You can get a good look at things only when they are far away. The things that are right up next to the tracks flash by too quickly, you're past them as soon as you've identified them, and if you try to focus on any one thing, you miss a dozen others.

But distance from a thing gives you time to see it. Perspective.

Of course, distance creates its own problems, too.

This may yet be a terrible idea.

Kim's directions are clear and precise, and Meghan has no trouble finding her way from the station to the cafe at which the sisters are meeting. She hesitates, though, before she squares her shoulders and pushes open the door, scanning the tables for that white hair she still has to consciously remind herself Kim has now.