#👗PUSSYWILLOWS DOTTIE!🔪

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Happy Girlfriends day,.. to myb girlfiemds 🥺💞💞

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Fruitful First Meeting

Ship: Beverly Sutphin x Billy Nieland

Word Count: 657

Summary: The last time I edited this piece was October of last year. I thought I hadn't finished writing it (turns out I had and just never posted it), but I'm rewatching Serial Mom for Mother's Day so I thought it was about time I put it out to the public. Anywho, Beverly and Billy's first meeting. CWs for poor maternal relationship, mentions of abusive relationship, deadnaming, food mentions.

Tag List: @canongf

William “Billy” Nieland lived a shitty life with his shitty mother, despite being an adult. On top of this, he was in a long-distance relationship that was similarly abusive, though he didn’t recognize it in his desperation for human connection. Sometime in the 80s, Billy’s mother dragged him and herself out to Baltimore, Maryland, where Billy’s abusive lover lived. Lying to himself, he believed at least finally seeing him in person might lift his spirits a bit… it didn’t, but then, he met Beverly Sutphin.

“******, there’s somebody at the door, go get it!” His mother snapped as she continued watching some game show and working on a cross stitch.

“Yes, mother…” He cautiously approached the front door of their home which was just a bit too big for only two people, taking a breath before opening it. “Can I help you…?” He immediately felt himself become even shier than normal. A tall, blonde, beautiful woman stood in front of him, carrying some sort of pie.

“Hi, I noticed you moved in a couple of days ago. I’m Beverly Sutphin, I live just across the street, I thought I’d come by and welcome you to the neighbourhood.” She beamed. She spoke very eloquently and Billy found the rasp in her voice quite charming.

“Oh, uhm,” he stumbled, twisting the hem of his sweater. He chuckled nervously. “Forgive me, I’ve never been very good at… speaking, a-heh.”

Beverly smiled patiently, offering up the pie. “It’s raspberry.”

Billy did not particularly enjoy raspberries, but he had a feeling he’d eat more than his fill of the desert. “Thank you. I’d invite you in but my mother… she doesn’t like guests.” He avoided her gaze as he took the pie from her well-manicured hands. The more he admired her, the more he felt like she had just stepped out of a magazine. Beverly frowned.

“Oh, that’s too bad. What’s the point of having neighbours if you don’t ever see them?”

Billy chuckled again. “I suppose that’s true… she’s an odd duck, to say the least.”

“******! Tell them we don’t want anything, you’re letting in a draft!” His mother barked again. He sighed, head drooping.

“Was that her?” Beverly asked, something sharp in her bluebell gaze. Billy nodded.

“B-but don’t mind it, really, I’ve dealt with it for a few decades now. I know how to handle it, honest. Thanks again for the pie, Mrs. Sutphin.”

“Please, call me Beverly. And why don’t you come by for coffee on Sunday? It sounds like you could use a break.”

“I’ll… see if I’m free. Bye, Beverly.”

“Take care… I didn’t catch your name.”

Billy pondered this. She had very clearly heard his mother, yet still asked for his name. Against his better judgment, he gave it to her. “Billy. Billy Nieland.”

Beverly smiled. “Well, it’s been very nice to meet you, Billy. Let me know if Sunday works out for you!” She called over her shoulder as she set off down the concrete path splitting the tiny front lawn, waving as she went. Billy closed the door, shifting the pie carefully to free up his hand, then took it into the kitchen.

“Who was it?” His mother asked.

“A neighbour. Beverly Sutphin. She brought us a pie, ma.”

“What kind of pie?”

“Raspberry.”

His mother sneered. “Guess it’s all for me, then. You won’t even try it despite our neighbour so lovingly making it for our grand arrival in this bright little town.”

“I want a piece,” he spoke firmly.

“Well, you better get it now, because as soon as it’s in the fridge, I’m not letting you touch it.”

Billy quickly went back to the kitchen and cut himself three equal-ish pieces, put them on a paper plate, and wrapped it in saran wrap, picking up a fork on his retreat to his bedroom. And while raspberries certainly weren't his favourite, the desert tasted like the promise of good things to come.

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going around to my mutuals’ houses (blogs) w/ beverly and offering them pie. girlfirend. :0)

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would it be wrong to make my tag for bev “PUSSYWILLOWS, DOTTIE!” 😝 /lh