motownfiction - Tumblr blog

[motownfiction]

Writing two characters who you intend from the beginning to have a romantic relationship, writing characters for each other, is absolutely fantastic in its own right, but there is something to be said for writing two characters independently, and then a good bit into the writing process seeing them side-by-side and going “GASSSSPP WAIT A MINUTE”

[motownfiction]

happy birthday to elenore o’connor

[motownfiction]

ok. hi!

i feel like i have to be transparent about the reasons i haven't been writing as much lately, especially now that i have answers.

in late 2023, i wrote sporadically because i was struggling with my physical health in ways i wasn't really aware of. i'm very happy to report that my reasons this month have nothing to do with that.

as some of you beyond my circle of friends might know, this year was the last of my phd program. i defend my dissertation in a week and a half, which is wild. but since the school year began, i've been applying for all kinds of academic jobs. i applied for some within my field and some outside of it (i.e. english composition, something i have lots of experience in but don't always love!). in early february, i found the perfect job posting in my field, one day after interviewing for another decently fitting job. never one to count myself out, i applied for it and got an interview about four weeks later.

after one conversation with some of the faculty, i knew in my bones that this was the place i wanted to be, and i hoped they felt the same way. it was a strong feeling -- one i haven't really had about other jobs and schools in the same way. it gave me the same feeling as my undergraduate institution, and if you know me, you know how much i loved my undergraduate institution/how much i've wanted to work at a school just like it. i always said, "i would go back there and teach if i could." and even though i couldn't go back home, this school felt like a similar answer to what i wanted.

yesterday, after visiting the campus, meeting the faculty and some students, and teaching an example lesson about my passions, they offered me the position. this morning, i accepted.

i am so incredibly grateful that i get to live my dream. and i get to do it at a school where everyone is in love with what they do, from faculty to students. there is nothing better than loving your job and learning how to be really good at it, and that's where i get to be. there were a few minutes there, early in the school year, where i was so panicked that i wouldn't be able to teach, that it would all stop when i defended. but it won't. i don't have to be heartsick thinking i'll never talk to students about pasquale and giuseppe's horse in shoeshine again; that i'll never get to give my spiel about the "R" rating keeping teens from seeing the movies that will most speak to their struggles. because i get to do that and so much MORE! and hopefully for a very long time!

so, this is why i haven't been writing. because i've been doing that thing that lucy did, just off the page, just in the margins where you couldn't see. i don't plan on stopping -- never! it's just that things might get a little slower as i venture into the next (ultra exciting) phase of my career.

and now i can write more accurately about lucy's own job search process!

[motownfiction]

"safe" place

Susie asks Steph how she likes her dorm at Central. Since Susie never went away to college, she’s always been curious (always been pushing, but that’s a story Steph isn’t willing to tell right now, maybe not ever). Steph talks about her roommate Jill, how she has interesting posters of movies that Steph has never heard of, how she listens to all kinds of music (but not as much music as Sam), how she mostly wears black to emulate the Beat poets she thinks she should love so much. And then she calls the dorm a “safe” place. With air quotes. Without even thinking about it. “Safe” place.

It makes Susie laugh over her arugula. What could possibly be sarcastic about safe? She wonders about Steph’s doubts, too, because she doesn’t really seem to have any. But she doesn’t push. Thank goodness she doesn’t push.

Because then, Steph might have to tell her about how pretty Jill looks when she ties her hair up before studying … how great she smells when she puts on that cheap chocolate-scented perfume, best suited for a little girl trying on perfume for the first time. Drugstore chic really shouldn’t work this well for someone who’s nineteen and not nine. Steph might have to tell her mother about how Jill is into her until Steph reciprocates too hard, too obviously, too much. She might have to tell her mother that when Jill isn’t there, she spends a lot of time wishing she was … a lot of time wishing they could work out whatever it is Jill is afraid of. Whatever it is they’re both afraid of.

But Susie doesn’t push.

And Steph holds the door shut.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 11!)

[motownfiction]

vivisection

When he was little, Sam heard a lot of stories about teenagers in high school dissecting frogs in their science classes. His babysitter (the one he was in love with, or at least as much in love as a little kid can be) told him about how when she had to dissect a frog in school, she got a lady frog. Sam wasn’t sure why that mattered until she told him that she and her lab partner, a surprisingly squeamish football player, had to scrape out all the eggs by themselves. The visual never left Sam’s head. For a couple years, he was picturing scrambled eggs inside a frog. When he found out they really looked more like caviar, he almost lost his mind.

Somehow, though, no one remembered to tell him that you dissect dead frogs. Until the day he and his lab partner, a quiet girl with Coke bottle glasses, found themselves face-to-face with their frog, he was pretty sure he’d have to do a whole vivisection. For a second, he’s relieved. And then he sees the frog on the sterile plate in front of him. Cold. Lying there. Dead. All dead. No. Not even Brian May could fix this one.

Sam is pretty sure nothing should ever have to be dead. Nothing and no one. He’s not sure he sees the point. He can’t say that in a Catholic school, of course, where he’s supposed to look forward to death – so long as it’s natural, so long as you don’t steal God’s thunder (another phrase he’s probably not supposed to use – too Greek, too pagan). But what’s the point of being dead? What can you enjoy? What can enjoy you? He looks at that frog, and he knows. If that’s what life means, why would anyone give it?

He agrees to slice open the frog.

About a million eggs spill out of her guts.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 9! i know how late that is, but please see my last text post for explanations, apologies, insecurities, etc.)

[motownfiction]

i know i haven't been writing lately, which makes me feel really guilty. as i've said before, i know i'm not "big" enough to stop writing for a minute and then expect people to stay following or caring. if you knew how busy the past few weeks have been, you'd understand. but if you're listening, i'm working on it. really, i am.

[motownfiction]

charlie/elenore, will/lucy, steph/anyone

here, here, and here!

[motownfiction]

words of love

Steph has the same song stuck in her head every time she kisses Katie. It’s Buddy Holly. “Words of Love.” A strange song to pair with a budding romance, she knows. But Buddy Holly’s music sits right on the precipice of swooning romance and melancholic hopefulness that the one you love would love you back. And when you think about it that way, it’s perfect.

Being with Katie is almost surreal. Steph doesn’t remember thinking about her that way when they were in high school. She barely remembers thinking about any girl that way back then, which is only sort of a lie (a lie she remembers whenever Lucy Callaghan wears red in her general vicinity). But even though she can’t remember a time before college when she thought about Katie … Katie’s hair, Katie’s eyes, kissing Katie, finding an excuse to take Katie up to her room for the night, Katie, Katie … it’s like she’s always been there. Always been the center of Steph’s heart and mind. Like no matter what could have happened in this world, they were always on their way to one another. For always.

When she’s with Katie, Steph feels young. She feels as pretty as she did when they were two kids in college, one of them pretending like their nights together were hundreds of one-time things. Surely, Steph knew she was lying to herself then, and not just because she kept coming back for more and more of Katie. But because who wouldn’t want to spend every night with someone so soft, so sweet, so beautiful? How is no one else in the world madly in love with her, too? And that’s what it is. Words of love, just like Buddy Holly said.

How nice.

[motownfiction]

an old fashioned love song

Lucy’s not sure when it happens. Maybe around her thirtieth birthday. Maybe it was earlier. But over the past few years (decades, actually, but who would admit that?), her favorite songs have been … migrating.

She noticed it the first time on a trip back home to Detroit. She was driving past what used to be Elenore’s dance studio when she heard the Dexys cover of “Jackie Wilson Said” on the classic rock station, where it should never be. It freaked her out, but maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe the classic rock station went a little almost college rock for a minute there. Yes. That must have been it. It couldn’t have been anything else.

But in the past few years, Lucy hasn’t been able to live in that much denial. As soon as the grocery store becomes the most likely place for her to hear most of her favorite songs, she knows she’s gotten very, very old.

To be fair, most of Lucy’s favorite songs are older than she is. A little older, anyway. When she was a little girl, she listened to music like her parents and like her very cool babysitter in Connecticut with the short dark hair. She always wanted to be older, and she thought music was the best place to start. And, of course, it was … until they started playing her favorite songs in grocery stores.

It hits her harder than ever on July 3, 2023. She and Will took the rest of the family to a little town in North Carolina for the holiday, and they’re shopping at a local market for tomorrow’s meals. As they peruse the aisle for the best hot dog buns, Lucy hears it. “An Old Fashioned Love Song” by Three Dog Night. She begins to sing under her breath, almost like she can’t control herself.

Just an old fashioned love song / playing on the radio …

Will looks up from the hot dog buns and smiles at her like he knows too much. He always knows too much. That’s what you get for marrying your boyfriend when you’re both sixteen. You memorize each other like … well …

Just an old fashioned love song / one I’m sure they wrote for you and me.

“I always forget you like this song,” he says, tossing a good package of buns into their cart. “It always seems too cheesy for you.”

“Please,” Lucy says. “I love cheese. And not just cheddar and gouda. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t like a little … production.”

“I love how you can make everything sound just a little dirty.”

“I love how you can take it that way, even when very few people would.”

“Hey. It’s a testament to how well we know each other.”

“And how well we fuck.”

“Same thing?”

“If one is lucky. Which we are.”

“You’re right. We always have been, haven’t we?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Will laughs and pushes the cart down to the next aisle. The song follows them there. It doesn’t seem to bother Will that they’ve gotten a bit old. Aging never really seems to bother Will. He’s one of those guys who’s happy being alive … who loves taking a deep breath before blowing out the candles on his birthday cake just to prove he can still do it.

Lucy loves that about him. Every corner of him is so … breathing.

“You don’t also secretly like 10cc, do you?” Will asks.

“Oh, fuck no,” Lucy says. “We do many things for love, but listening to 10cc for more than three seconds while you fiddle with the station is not really one of them.”

Will stops pushing the cart. He spins on his heels, takes Lucy in his arms, and kisses her swiftly, like a cartoon character counting his blessings before the anvil gets him on the head.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Lucy says.

Will chuckles. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. With Lucy, he never really does. The song still follows them into the next aisle.

Just an old fashioned love song / coming down in three-part harmony.

[motownfiction]

when the stars go blue

Elenore fronts most of the money for Veronica’s birthday party. It’s a tradition in their family to throw a pretty nice Sweet Sixteen soiree. Not like the kind you’d see on MTV around the time Veronica was born, but something special. Something memorable. Lucy’s Sweet Sixteen was at a masonic temple right up the road from her old house. Elenore’s Sweet Sixteen was at a community center in the city. Veronica’s, interestingly, will be at the same place. It feels good that way. Feels special.

Charlie insists on paying for something. Elenore tells him that he doesn’t have to, that it’s her responsibility as the mother, but Charlie won’t have it. He needs to do something, he says. He says he spends a lot of time doing too much of nothing. Things sure have been different since they both got divorced. For one thing, Sean’s not even coming to the party. All those years as Veronica’s stepfather, and he just doesn’t think it would be appropriate this time around. Charlie will be there, though. And he’s paying for the DJ.

Admittedly, Charlie does not hire the best DJ in the world … or in the state, the city, the neighborhood. He hires a kid from NYU who’s just looking for a free meal and a few extra bucks to replace the AirPods he lost on the subway three weeks earlier. Elenore asks him what he’s majoring in; he says something about poetry and trauma studies. Gallatin kids.

But he sticks to Veronica’s carefully curated playlist. Four hours of songs she loves, plus a few that her grandfather insisted should be there to please the crowd. Elenore still thinks it’s funny that her dad knows more about songs that teenagers like than Veronica, an actual teenager, does. When she thinks about it, though, it makes sense. Sam’s not around to hear the music. Will might as well hear it for him.

About halfway through the night, the DJ plays “When the Stars Go Blue.” The one by Bono and The Corrs. Very Irish. Perfect for this family, at any rate. It’s a slow song, so a lot of the kids from Veronica’s school disperse and hide in different corners of the room. Kids don’t dance anymore, and what a shame. Elenore fell in temporary love more times than she can count because of school dances. She’s including Sean in that, too. Temporary love.

As she looks around the room, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She jumps, but she’s not really relieved when she sees Charlie standing there. More like confused. He looks handsome, to be sure, but that’s not much of a surprise. Charlie always looks handsome. It’s a Doyle thing. Elenore swallows hard. She has to catch herself. This isn’t an available man. This is Charlie. Unmarried Charlie, but Veronica’s father Charlie. That’s how it is. That’s how it will be.

“Do you want to dance?” Charlie asks.

Elenore tells herself she’s going to hesitate … to say no to his offer … but before she knows it, she’s on the dance floor with him. People are staring. Her parents are staring. Making judgments, hazarding guesses, panicking like no other. But when Elenore feels Charlie’s arms around her, she doesn’t care. It’s just the two of them and the music.

“It was nice of you to bring in a DJ,” Elenore says. “I don’t really think some speakers and an iPhone would have been the same.”

“It’s what Sam would have wanted,” Charlie says. “I like to do what he would have wanted. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

She breathes. Would Sam have wanted this? Maybe, if it made her happy. Or maybe she just uses him as a conduit to do the things she wants. What does she want?

“This song always reminds me of you,” Charlie says.

Elenore blushes.

“Why?” she asks.

“You look really pretty in blue. I always thought so.”

Elenore throws her head back and laughs. She does look pretty in blue. She gets it from her mother, a blue-eyed beauty who looks like a dream in any shade. But does Charlie remember? Does he remember she was wearing blue on the night they first kissed? Does he remember how pretty he used to say she looked in pink?

“I think you look pretty in every color,” he adds.

It makes Elenore even more nervous.

But she doesn’t show it. She keeps dancing and lies to herself that this is a platonic moment … that any moment she’s shared with Charlie in the past eighteen years has been, too.

[motownfiction]

send me a ship & i will put my music player on shuffle and write a ficlet based the first song that comes up

[motownfiction]

potholes

The worst thing about Sadie’s late-night drives are the potholes.

Potholes are part of living in Michigan. The Big Three lets massive trucks drive on the backroads, and all the cars they help to make pay the price. No one wins except the Big Three. No one loses more than Sadie.

That’s how it feels. That’s how it’s so easy to feel.

Before, Sadie would yelp when she drove over the potholes, just like anyone else. It didn’t matter that she grew up with them, that her earliest memories of driving involve weaving in and out of pylons. They would always surprise her. Once, she drove over a pothole while the radio station she was listening to played “Dear Prudence” right after “Back in the U.S.S.R.” Before, that was the most surprised she’d ever been in the car. Before, it was her most memorable car ride.

Sometimes she wonders if there were potholes involved on the night Sam died. Maybe the tires got caught in a big one, and the ice made it harder to get out. The cops never did say anything about that, but Sadie never trusted them, anyway. Maybe there were potholes involved. Maybe Sam was surprised by them, too. Maybe they played “Where Did Our Love Go?” after “Tainted Love.” Sadie knows they didn’t. She knows it was “Jingle Bell Rock” because she’s been dreading the switch to Christmas music since Charlie mentioned what was playing on the radio. How many months ago was that? What month is it now? How much time does Sadie have before she has to run away?

Run away?

She tries to think about what she means, but she runs over another pothole. It doesn’t bother her at all. It couldn’t.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 8!)

[motownfiction]

profiteroles

It’s 5:00 in the morning on a Wednesday, and Will’s not sure why he just woke up. He rolls over to find Lucy, sitting up in bed, holding her head in her hands.

“Lucy?” Will asks. “What’s going on? Headache?”

“No,” Lucy says. “Worse.”

Will bolts upright.

“What’s worse?”

“I forgot to get something for the feast in Emma’s French class,” Lucy says. “She put my name on the list. I was supposed to bring something. She’s going to be the only kid whose mom fucked up. They’re going to look at her like she’s lazy. My daughter is not lazy! She’s nine years old! She can’t make things on her own because she’ll burn her little fingers. Oh, Will. What am I gonna do?”

Will leans over and wraps Lucy up in his arms. She’s frozen at first, but after a minute, she melts right into him. He smiles. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

“It’s just that putting together this English major reception has been killing me,” she says. “But how can I do that? How can I do that? I’m Lucy. I had a kid when I was seventeen. If anyone knows how to handle a job and a kid, it’s me. I never forgot anything for Elenore.”

“That isn’t even true,” Will says. “And you beat yourself up about it every time.”

Lucy sighs.

“It feels worse now,” she says. “I should just be better.”

“You’re wonderful,” Will says. “But you’re not alone. Emma doesn’t just have a mom. She has a dad, and her dad is more than willing to take over.”

Lucy smiles. She grabs Will’s face and kisses him, but she’s tired, so she only gets his chin. She groans with embarrassment, and Will laughs.

“That’s why I proposed to you,” she says.

“Uh-huh,” Will says. “Did you forget?”

“Little bit.”

“OK.”

Lucy curls up even closer to Will, and he doesn’t know how it’s possible that this still makes him happier than anything in the world. He’s not complaining. He’s just confused. All these men who talk about losing interest in their wives … what’s wrong with them? He’ll never know, and he doesn’t want to.

“What should I get for Emma’s class?” Will asks.

“She signed me up for profiteroles,” Lucy says.

“OK, so, cream puffs. Got it. I know where to go.”

And right here, Lucy bursts out laughing. She’s fully awake for the first time since her panic began. She falls down to her back and rolls around on the sheets, still laughing. Will can’t help himself. He doesn’t get the joke, but Lucy’s laugh is so wonderful, it makes him lose it, too.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” Lucy says. “Quite the opposite.”

“Yeah?”

Lucy sits up and looks at Will again. The love in her eyes is enough to keep Will going throughout the day. He’ll buy a whole bakery. Not because Lucy asked him to. But because Lucy loving him makes him want to.

“You are maybe the only husband who immediately knows what profiteroles are,” Lucy says. “And I love you.”

Will grins. He slowly lies back down on his pillow. He doesn’t say a word back to Lucy, but he doesn’t have to. He never has to.

“Just give me another hour to sleep,” he says. “Then I’ll buy all the profiteroles in Manhattan.”

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 7!)

[motownfiction]

one year after the accident

One year after the accident, Lucy still can’t even think about Cherries Jubilee at Baskin-Robbins. It’s not that she’s ever actually eaten it. As a matter of fact, she’s not sure she’s ever known anyone who’s eaten it. It’s just that whenever she would go into the Baskin-Robbins down on the corner with Sam, they’d make jokes about “obviously getting a scoop of Cherries Jubilee.” The joke began sometime in the ninth grade, when Lucy was going through a phase, trying to find the most unique names for a baby girl in her future. How insightful of her, really. When she read Cherries Jubilee on one of the ice cream tubs, she thought one of those would make a great name. Probably Jubilee. She made the mistake of saying it loud, and Sam – never one to miss a beat – immediately said, “Why not both?” Thankfully, Lucy laughed, and it spiraled into a joke that lasted until the day he died. No one else was ever really in on it. That’s what made it special. Lucy and her friend of distinction.

One year after the accident, Lucy can’t think about “Angel Baby” without remembering that time at her parents’ Fourth of July barbecue. It was the summer between ninth and tenth grade, right after she got the guts to tell Sadie that she was in love with Will. But she didn’t need to admit to Sam. Sam understood everybody. The minute that strange song by Rosie & the Originals began to play from the Callaghans’ turntable, Sam knew what was going on. Will didn’t. He was minding his own business, eating a hot dog, assuming that Lucy could never do something romantic for him, not after all this time. But Sam knew. He sprung into action, spilling some of his Coke on the vinyl tablecloth, and met Lucy in the middle of the driveway for a slow dance. He sang the song in a high falsetto because of course he knew all the words to it. He said they’d make Will jealous. Lucy laughs now, thinking Sam must have wanted to make Will jealous of Lucy, too. Maybe. What a sweetie he was, even then. Especially then.

One year after the accident, Lucy tells herself that she doesn’t have the right to miss Sam. Sure, they had a few special moments, but everyone else in her life was closer to him. Sure, they loved each other as friends, but that’s not the same as losing a son, a brother, an in-law, a godfather, a best friend whom you’ve loved even longer than the wife you’ve known since first grade. None of those people want to see her grieve for him. She’d be making it about herself. It’s not that she didn’t lose Sam. It’s that the people she loves lost him more.

One year after the accident, Lucy tries to pretend like there isn’t a hole in her heart … like her soul doesn’t scratch like a record after it’s been left on the wrong side too long. One year after the accident, she doesn’t even think about whether she should be feeling any way else. That’s just not what you do.

It’s not what you do.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 6!)

[motownfiction]

swan

Steph and her mother don’t go on a lot of vacations. When Susie decided to send her only daughter to a Catholic school so she’d grow up in small classes surrounded by kids who probably wouldn’t be mean to her, she pretty much ruled out any hope of traveling. But once per summer, ever since Steph was five, they’ve gone for a day trip on Lake Erie. For Steph, it’s the best day of the summer.

And she knows Lake Erie isn’t much. It’s probably the ugliest and filthiest of all the Great Lakes. But when you live by one of the Great Lakes, that’s nothing to sneeze at. Even the shittiest one has its upsides. That’s how Steph feels today, sitting on the beach in her brand-new white bikini (the one she saved up for with Christmas money and part-time shifts as a hostess), listening to music on the Walkman her grandmother got her for her birthday last year. Life is good. Life is better than good.

She really needed this day trip. This summer more than any summer. Most days, she’s looking for an excuse to avoid Daniel just as much as she’s looking for an excuse to meet up with him. Today, though, she doesn’t have to think about that. She doesn’t have to think about the butterflies in her stomach when Daniel softly says hey. She doesn’t have to think about Sam’s big, beautiful, ignorant eyes. She’s hurting both of them.

But she’s not thinking about it.

She lies back on her scratchy old beach towel and lets the music fill her ears. It’s T. Rex, “Ride a White Swan,” a song that couldn’t possibly remind her of Daniel or Sam.

Except for the fact that Sam introduced her to Marc Bolan.

Except for the fact that Sam infuses every part of her day, even when he’s not around, even when she’s with Daniel.

But not now.

Ride it on out like a bird in the sky ways.

That’s how you do it.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 4!)

[motownfiction]

lacrosse

Every Wednesday night, Daniel picks Rosemary up from rehearsals for the play. She’s not in the play, of course. She has just enough of her father’s cool gene to know that being in a high school musical is lame as hell, unless it’s Disney’s High School Musical. But she did end up in a drama elective at school this year, and part of her grade is working backstage for the school’s production of Grease.

“At least the music is good,” she said on the way home after the first rehearsal. “And I don’t think you can get sick of it, either.”

They’re three weeks into rehearsals now, and Rosemary still hasn’t reported being annoyed by any of the songs. Instead, all she does is talk about Tommy, the boy playing Eugene, AKA the school’s biggest nerd. Apparently, he got the part because life imitates reality.

Rosemary tells him everything she can about Tommy on those rides home from the school gym. The whole time, Daniel doesn’t say much. He just nods where he feels it’s appropriate. She probably doesn’t think he’s paying attention. Maybe she even thinks he’s one of those fathers who wakes up one day in complete denial that his daughter might have romantic interests. Neither of those things would be true. It’s just that he loves listening to his daughter say whatever she needs to say. He loves hearing the details she chooses to include. It’s a fascinating thing, he thinks, to discover what your children admire as they become adults. You wonder how much of it is because of you. You wonder what they’re avoiding because of you, too.

But of course Daniel listens to Rosemary. He doesn’t just listen, either. He remembers. He remembers that Tommy still plays with Legos despite being seventeen years old, that he was born in Ohio but moved to Michigan when he was two, that his dad played lacrosse in high school and was devastated when Tommy turned out to have all the coordination of a fish on a bicycle, that his mom grew up in La Crosse, Wisconsin, which was how his parents broke the ice when they first met. It’s very sweet, what she knows. She’s a good listener who knows how to love. She gets that from Sadie.

“Sounds like you really like this kid,” Daniel says.

Rosemary’s eyes go wide. Yep. Must not have known her dad was paying attention.

“I think I do,” she says. “But I don’t want to go overboard.”

“Going overboard is in your blood. You’ve met your mom. You remember your Uncle Sam. And I don’t think I have to talk to you about Charlie.”

Rosemary snorts.

“Please don’t,” she says.

“I think it’s good you like somebody,” Daniel says. “Gives you something fun to think about, doesn’t it?”

Rosemary sinks into the passenger seat and twirls a long strand of hair on her index finger.

“I guess,” she says. “It’s also torture. I don’t think Tommy knows that a girl could like him. I don’t think he knows that’s an option.”

Daniel nods. Tommy isn’t a thing like he was back in high school, but somehow, Daniel feels like he understands him, anyway. When you don’t believe you’re worthy of someone’s affections, you refuse to see them, even when they’re clear. But Daniel’s not letting Rosemary go down without a fight.

“Ask your mom more about how she and I finally got together,” he says.

Rosemary laughs, just a little.

“I’ve heard that story a million times,” she says. “What could I possibly still have to learn from it, you know? At this point?”

But Daniel shrugs. For once, he knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“Ask your mom,” he says again. “Ask her to tell the story differently.”

He watches the wheels turn in Rosemary’s eyes – the eyes she got from him, the eyes he’ll always be proud of – and he’s pretty sure he’s doing a good thing.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 3!)

[motownfiction]

girl names

Sam would be lying if he said he never thought about having children one day. He did think about it. As a matter of fact, there was a time when he thought about it a lot.

It seems almost funny now. To remember that once, as a teenager, he swore to high heaven that he and Steph Armstrong would be together forever. They’d be a brand new family with brand new rules, and no parent would love or praise any child more than another. They’d have a bunch of kids. As many as Steph was willing to carry. They’d have a bunch of kids, and they’d be happy, teaching them how to love themselves and each other. Maybe they’d even be like the Von Trapp Family Singers, without all the fleeing from evil dictatorships. It’s not the best reference Sam’s ever come up with, but he’s under a lot of pressure. He’s under a lot of pain.

One would think that after fourteen years since he and Steph broke up over the phone, he’d be able to stop thinking about her and how he fucked everything up. But that would be too easy. She haunts him most days, and that’s to say nothing of all the times they still find each other, the occasional night they’ll still spend together. It always flames out, but Sam knows it doesn’t have to. Why else would he be lying awake at night at the end of the century, thinking about how they used to lie here together and plan for the world?

Their boy names were etched in stone. George Bailey Doyle and Matt Garth Doyle, after It’s a Wonderful Life and Red River, two movies they always watched whenever they came on TV. It was the girl names that were always in flux. Sam was a big fan of Beatles girls. Probably because that’s what he knew with Sadie, Lucy, and eventually, Elenore. His favorite was always Julia. It sounded like a name for a girl who should always descend a spiral staircase. Julia, Julia.

Steph liked trendier names. Sam remembers because it always sort of pissed him off. He said he couldn’t imagine having a daughter named Tiffany or Madison because those names wouldn’t age well. He couldn’t imagine Tiffany Doyle ever being anyone’s grandmother. Steph was a good sport about that. It always made her laugh. She asked him once if they could compromise with Audrey. Sam liked that one. He’s thinking now maybe it was his real favorite.

He’s not sure why girl names are keeping him up at night in 1999. Something tells him he should need one.

He falls asleep before he can think of a good reason.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 2!)