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okay-victoria · 3 years

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Random Personal Rant

For anyone somehow here not from the original thread, this started off me getting asked what finishing school is and me getting shit off my chest that is only mildly relevant about how I could both be of the social class that gets sent to finishing school and grows up on welfare.

With an understanding that in many parts of the world it wouldn't qualify as so, as far as the US goes, my dad is from what counts as a very old money family from Baltimore & Philadelphia. Both his siblings went to college and one now owns a major hedge fund, and his sister is married to a C-level executive at a huge conglomerate. His parents went to college. His grandparents went to college. All eight of his great grandparents went to college. My dad...did not go to college. He was not about that life, and while I don't mean it as an insult, when I say his primary occupation until I was ~5 was a drummer in a mediocre band I mean that he opened for a lot of great acts, and if you lived in the Boston to Atlanta area in the 80s you may have heard him play, but he was never a huge national name. But he wasn't an amateur band playing for free at some random local gig either.

My mom grew up on a chicken farm in a Mennonite family in Pennsylvania but also completely rejected her heritage and became a model, sort of like my father, of mediocre status. Not Giselle Bundchen, but had national contracts and if you have a Graco ad/box from 1990-1993 you might see both me and her on it. They met because my mom's friends placed bets, one each, on who could sleep with a member of their favorite local band first and my mom picked my dad and...my mom was actually supposed to go be a model in Tokyo and found out she was pregnant with me and couldn't go 😂

So, after my parents had two kids back to back with a third on the way and determined they needed lifestyles more in line with having three children, they became much poorer than they originally were because my mom stopped working and my dad, with a barely-passed-high-school education but needing a true "day job" worked day labor in construction. My dad's father was too proud to give us money/help if my dad didn't beg for it; despite having eventually four young children my dad never did so we ended up on all the state assistance programs one could imagine. My grandma jokes that dinners at my parents house were BYOC - bring your own chair, because we didn't own any.

My mother and paternal grandmother had no such pride issues and I live in eternal gratitude that my welfare childhood was not as crappy as it should have been because my grandmother would have my mom accompany her on grocery runs and buy us food without my father or grandfather knowing, and every Christmas and birthday my grandparents/godparents could give us the one big ticket gift all the kids wanted that year. But, on the other side, I once got stung by a bee inside my mouth because my brother threw a hairbrush through a cracked window at me and broke it and we couldn't afford to fix it for about two years and a hornet got in one day and rested himself in my coke can (my parents were the very American type that fed me coca-cola in baby bottles at age 8 when I was jealous of my younger siblings lol).

It is hard not to believe in "toxic masculinity" when two men warring over dumbass pride issues would rather their children/grandchildren go without food than suck it up and decide 'help' isn't the worst word in the English language, and you know you've only been saved by two women who came from totally different backgrounds and entirely disapproved of each other but reached out the hand to shake when it came down to toddlers getting the short end of the don't-bend-the-knee stick. It wasn't that either of the men were bad people, I loved them both and got along great with both, but on a societal level I feel they were socialized in a very fucked up way if that was the end result, as both claimed "male pride" in these instances [my dad took multiple thousands of dollars I'd saved from working during college from me during the 2008-2010 financial crisis and didn't tell me and that was the reason I was given for why I hadn't been informed/asked, because it would be too emotionally difficult for an adult man to ask a young woman. My graduation present was them repaying me 1/3 of the money they'd taken from me without asking because I'd like, trusted them when it had been in a joint account that was a holdover from when I was <18 and couldn't have my own bank account].

While in some ways my parents on the surface achieved the American dream of going from nothing to a bunch of money, the real factor in play was that my dad's father was the bank. My parents had no credit and couldn't get real loans. My dad worked construction and during the two major periods that flipping houses was very lucrative, he never had to get an actual loan or pay actual interest, he just had to ask his father to pay out cash and then repay him at a flat 2% interest rate that didn't even accrue over time, just...whenever you are ready, repay the value of the loan + 2%. Because my father was doing something productive, in these instances, my grandfather was happy to pay, because it wasn't giving away money, it was loaning it. I had a very weird situation of mostly being poor but like also getting taken to the "big donors" events at the Kennedy Center and my grandparents regularly buying me a dress as a child worth more than my mom's wedding dress and also needing to pretend I fit in with these people.

And look. When I say "these people"...honestly, by and large, most wealthy people, whether inherited or not, are not the assholes you want to imagine. Most of them are extremely nice. Most of them are generous when it comes to the less fortunate who are in their personal sphere of being. Most of them are just really out of touch. The 100% kindest of all of them that I know once relayed to me that she thought people would be happier if once a year they did what she did...go to the airport with a purse packed full of absolute necessities, buy a one way ticket to the most appealing destination on the flight board, buy your clothes and book your accommodations after you'd arrived, and come back after you felt you'd 'centered' yourself. She didn't understand why there were so many unhappy people who weren't taking this very obvious route to being happier. I didn't quite know how to explain that saying "most" people couldn't afford to do that either financially or from a job/career angle didn't even cover it, as "most" sounds like 70% instead of 99.7%.

I was both my parents eldest son and eldest daughter in the worst combination possible. I was the eldest son because I was the most stereotypically male of all my siblings, in everything from desire to physically fight the battles I was given to dislike of shopping/fashion to lack of emotional connection to my relationships, so I can now fix your average household plumbing/drywall/electrical issue better than most "city" guys I interact with and remain less clingy to them in the process. I was also very much the oldest daughter from a responsibility perspective, I managed our household and from age 10 - 24 managed the finances of our family business, my mom almost died giving birth to my youngest brother after a ruptured uterus that should never have happened in the first place if we had adequate insurance to get her a non-emergency C-section (I was just past 9 years old at the time) and I was informally withdrawn from school for two years to take care of the family when she couldn't because there is no paid parental leave in the US and we got double-fucked by the medical industry because she got a bad "mesh" put in and then had to have a further surgery to repair that which we also had to pay for and didn't have the money to win a lawsuit over.

I don't know quite how to put this, but in the deepest fuck you of the universe, my rich-immigrant-ggggg grandfather's money led to him owning banks, insurance companies, etc, and the family cashed out in a big way when their ownership was bought by and merged with what is now Cigna, one of the biggest US healthcare insurers, and my nuclear family specifically got screwed by the American health insurance industry, but anyway, we were the people selected for that karmic comeuppance so if you want to feel schadenfreude at my expense, I'll allow it without begrudging the sentiment, my family might have fucked up your family’s life too, not just their own.

I got up twice a night to feed my brother because my dad had to sleep unmolested in my room to get to work and my mom was too weak to carry my brother or even hold him against her while she nursed so I had to hold him up to her. Adjusting to living in a city and hearing lots of random noises all the time was not easy when I'd had mom sound instincts from age 9.

I learned to drive the fall my youngest bro was born because my mom couldn't and I had to get my middle brother to preschool and go the grocery store on my own. While I hold absolutely no ill will towards my father or grandfather for this and given that about 1/3 of my paternal family either has an autism diagnosis or should, I fully feel the struggles they both went through to be communicated with, my father wouldn't ask for help, and my grandmother that lived 20 minutes away couldn't give enough help because my grandfather refused to do a single dish on his own as that was outside their "marriage contract" type agreement and she couldn't ever stay with us overnight when there wasn't a clearly-communicated need, so they let the burden fall on a 9 - 11 year old child and that really shaped a lot of my life in both good and bad ways. My youngest brother is 22, and we have only just climbed out of the medical debt his birth left us with between my dad's life insurance and my oldest brother and I paying for the extra cost of out-of-state college tuition.

The irony of all of this is that because my father died before his father, when my grandmother dies, my siblings and I will all inherit enough money (as a non-blood relative my mom, despite keeping her vows to part at death and not having remarried in eight years, is cut out entirely) to make this a non-issue, but my grandfather couldn't conscience spotting his unluckiest child some money in the end of days to pay for my youngest two brothers' education and take that worry off my father as he was dying. The day before he died I had to hold him down in bed to keep him from trying to climb in his truck to go to work because he was so anxious about trying to provide for us in spite of his father having fuck you money, because his father didn't think it was fair to the other siblings (who, at the time, still owned a major hedge fund and were married to a C-level executive of a huge conglomerate). A day and a half later I went back to my job because at the time I was then the sole provider for the family and didn't want to risk asking for the standard week's bereavement leave when I knew I was capable of showing up at work the next day and was fresh out of college so hadn't built up a reputation yet.

My father worked the day each of us was born, so I suppose it is only fair and he smiled at the choice. In spite of what it may seem, I gave a baller and very heartfelt speech at his funeral to all his rich friends that over and above everything, he'd taught us how to be happy with our own lives no matter what, and multiple of them emailed my mom in the aftermath to say they'd reassessed their relationship with their children in light of it, although...tbh I kind of doubt that lasted and they probably changed nothing 😅. The last good talk I had with him, two weeks before he died [his liver was going and it sent toxins to his brain that de-personed him after that and he no longer recognized me as his daughter, but as his sister], I reassured him that though we would all be sad he'd gone, we'd live on just fine without him because that's how he'd raised us, and according to my mom that was what gave him the final bit of peace he needed. Although honestly, I don't think I will ever see the strength in another human again that it took my grandmother to sit next to him and stroke his hand and tell him to close his eyes and imagine he was happy on a beach and die, for God's sake, because he was unaware and in pain and just prolonging it for our sake by then.

That type of obsession my grandfather had with assessing his children and grandchildren on the basis of economic productivity and a very black and white idea of "fair" is one you don't easily forget, I promise you. My hedge fund uncle is currently positioning himself to screw us out of our inheritance because of janky writing in the will and I'm doing my fuck all best to gain the wherewithal to go toe-to-toe with this cold motherfucker in court as the oldest and representative member of my happily much nicer and softer younger brothers who I want to remain that way not because I even care that much about the money, I know what bills affect your credit first and what you can put off paying and all of us have good enough career prospects to do our own thing, but just because I want to give the middle finger to a man that was a multi-millionaire and drew lines on his milk and orange juice bottles when I came over so he knew if I drank what my parents couldn't afford when I was approximately six. Anyway, ask me why I support major reforms in wealth taxation. I don't care who it goes to, just not that guy, you feel?

Having expendable income was very exciting for a bit after I started working but once I got to the hateable point of assessing my annual bonus and internally complaining that I'd spent the money I should have spent on a Sauternes cellar to drop five digits on bedset materials (to be fair they are drop dead gorgeous, very comfy and the factory pays a living wage for people to handmake the sheets/duvets/pillows to people in San Francisco, which is not cheap, so maybe I did more good than harm with that), I two seconds later nodded to myself and went "the government needs to confiscate more money from me". The narrative is always that the "undeserving" will use it for dumb things they don't need like iPhones or refrigerators...?...but like...I could also have gone to Bed Bath and Beyond and bought a very nice sheet/comforter set for at most a tenth of what I paid so am I really spending it responsibly either....?....who is going to get more joy out of this misspent money....?....not me, that is for sure, I probably would have had more fun going to BBB and laying on all the demo beds and buying something there.

My lifelong dream, which may become possible if/when I do have something of an inheritance, is to provide food security for one of the many towns in the US were most residents don't have it. It's the thing I remember the most distinctly over the years. I never could quite believe it when I got to the point that I could just...pay to eat at a restaurant. One of the most disappointed my mother has ever been in me is when I was twenty five and confessed I actually had no idea how much a gallon of milk cost in a city grocery store besides that it was probably between $1 and $5, because I didn't have to know. For now I make a weekly drop off of my excess produce to a mom group I met under somewhat weird circumstances but I was walking through the cut-through that went through the low-income housing back to my apartment at like 2 AM on a Saturday and these moms were out there partying and smoking weed with their kids all strapped in strollers around or the older ones watched by a rotating member of the group and I felt very safe and like these moms had a very good vibe of both living their own lives [seriously for mental health parents but in most cases specifically mothers need to be able to keep up relationships with people their age] but keeping their children safe and accounted for while doing so and trying their fuckin' best against all the odds to figure out how to make that happen when life had dealt them a shit hand.

...anyway, looping way back to the original question of what finishing school is, when I was almost done with middle school my dad had built a legit construction business that then very quickly took off because we lived in a commutable zip code to the now-rich-in-their-own-right people he went to high school with who trusted him to redo their homes. We eventually moved to that zip code but I stayed and commuted back to my old high school. But, i was a pretty wild kid which my father appreciated for a long while because I would follow him around on jobs and enjoy doing physical labor, but once I was mid-puberty and also he had to maybe show me to his high school friends that did not fly.

I snapped - not broke, snapped - my left thumb and my parents had to trap me like a wild animal to get me to go the hospital. Then I got a deep cut that partially injured a tendon in my leg and at eleven I tried to beat the shit out of my dad to prevent him from picking me up to strap me in the car and go to the hopsital. Next I got a deep splinter due to my eternal-barefoot tendencies and it wouldn't come out so got infected and I refused to go to the doctor [another weird back story but I was minorly sexually assaulted [[to be clear, not raped or anything big traumatic]] when I was eight and had to stay in hospital for a week and my parents couldn't be with me all the time so I have a permanent heebie-jeebie about going to the hospital, not true anxiety, I will go if I know I need to and I don't breathe heavy or anything, and I'm actually not permanently weirded out by sex or anything, just doctors in hospitals specifically I kind of unconsciously try to justify not needing to the extent I can rationalize it] and my dad was tired of my antics so he was like "fine if you don't go I will slice your foot in half with a Swiss Army knife to get it out" and I called his bluff and laid down on the floor, stuck my foot on his lap, and he didn't really know what to do when a barely fourteen year old girl called his bluff so my brothers watched in fascinated but horrified awe as I got my foot sliced open spectacularly so that the infection/splinter could come out and I didn't even make a sound out of spite despite it being quite painful to my recollection almost twenty years later.

They saw me cry from pain exactly one time when while trying to break up a fight between all three of them (it was over ice cream) I got pushed and my ankle got dislocated and what actually made me cry was snapping it back in place and they realized it was not a joke. These dumb assholes that I love have ragged on me for "skipping" chores the day after I was in the hospital because the day before that I had to spend 18 hours running Thanksgiving as a good sub-hostess like I didn't have a serious infection that needed treating and couldn't rest because none of them were up to any task beyond peeling potatoes.

After the Swiss Army knife incident, my dad's discussion of sending me to finishing school became real, which I knew when my mom made me take a walk with her and talked about it. Finishing school is like...etiquette school....? In ye olden day when finishing high school was not the norm for anyone, wealthy men finished high school and wealthy women often went to "finishing" school to have a combined education on being a proper lady but also being able to hold a decent conversation with your presumably-educated husband, so it wasn't entirely etiquette non-academic. It was more just like "what a rich man wants in a wife" school, which was sort of household management and knowing enough about cleaning/cooking to correct the staff if they fucked up, how to be a polite hostess, and how to not entirely bore him when you were alone together and had done your five minutes of sex or whatever so actually had to have a conversation. In modern times it has obviously expanded to be less bleak.

I said miss me with that, I can be a girl on my own, so I went full throttle into the girliest sport they offer in high school and ever since have gained the inestimable advantage of knowing how to also use femininity to my advantage, which I am very grateful to my parents for making me learn. It would be great if we lived in a world where that didn't count, but it did/still does, and they really set me up to operate in all the worlds.

It is weird for me to tell the story to Internet strangers because it's one of those things that makes your parents sound terrible and abusive in the general tone of the Internet nowadays, and while I support gender nonconforming children I don't remember my childhood or parents that way. But, I feel like the bits and pieces of my life I've given don't always make a ton of sense together without the context, so here it is, and in the end, I think a number of parts of it are areas where you can probably understand where it makes me have the opinions I do when I write.

Anyhoo, this makes my life sound far worse than it is, I actually have a great life and I am not unhappy with it at all and feel I was on the whole blessed with many more turns of luck than unluck, so, please, do not take this as a depressed artist rant, it is more like a rant of a very energetic person who rants about a lot of things all the time and didn’t need to come out but just did because the question was asked and the time was right with my life being in a bit of flux to think about how I got where I am and where I want to go and why.

Always remember no matter what problems it seems like I have, if I didn’t solve them on my 2 year round the world traveling hiatus I took from working, it’s my own fault, I definitely had the time and money to solve them and just chose not to.

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bechloeislegit · 3 years

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25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 7 - A Daughter for Christmas (Part 2)

Author's Prompt: Follow-up to my 2019 Pitchmas gift A Daughter for Christmas. Four years ago Beca Mitchell was surprised on Christmas day when her biological daughter found her. Beca and her wife, Chloe, welcomed her to their family. Four years later, Amanda Henderson (aka Manda Mitchell) is back to celebrate Christmas with the Mitchells and she brings a few more surprises.

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Seven-year-old Sophie Mitchell stood in front of the large Bay window with her five-and-a-half-year-old sister Sarah. They were watching for their older sister, Amanda, who was coming to spend Christmas with them.

Beca Mitchell is Amanda's mother. Beca had given her up for adoption twenty-two years ago when Beca was only sixteen. Amanda found Beca four years ago and Beca, and her wife, Chloe, accepted Amanda into their family with open arms.

Amanda had a good life before finding Beca; she loved that the Mitchells were so welcoming. Amanda felt blessed because not only did she have her birth mother, but she got a second mother in Chloe and two sisters who absolutely adored her. The feeling was mutual.

"She's here!" Sophie cried out as a car pulled into the driveway.

Amanda and a young man got out of the car. The young man looked nervously up at the house. Amanda took his hand and smiled at him.

"Don't worry," Amanda told him. "They're going to love you almost as much as I do."

Beca and Chloe came out of the kitchen.

"Who's the guy?" Sophie asked, her brow furrowed.

"What guy?" Beca asked, rushing over to the window, Chloe close behind her.

"He's cute," Chloe said, looking over Beca's shoulder.

"Did she say anything to you about bringing someone with her?" Beca asked Chloe.

"Nope," Chloe said.

They watched as Amanda and the young man walked up to the house. There was a knock on the door.

"Manda's here," Sarah said, rushing to the door, followed by the rest of the Mitchells.

Sarah threw open the door and rushed Amanda, grabbing her around the waist in a hug.

"Manda!" Sarah squealed. "You're finally here."

"Hey, Sarah," Amanda said. "It's good to see you!"

"Let her go, Sarah," Chloe said with a laugh. "We all want a Manda hug, too."

"Sorry," Sarah said, letting Amanda go.

"Come in," Chloe said, ushering Amanda and her guest inside.

As soon as Amanda made it through the door, she was enveloped in a Mitchell family hug. The young man stood by watching Amanda with her family with a nervous smile on his face. Amanda pulled back and pulled the anxious young man forward.

"Family Mitchell," Amanda said. "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Dylan Maxwell."

Beca and Chloe stood back, stunned. Amanda never mentioned having a boyfriend and now she's married?

"Husband?" Beca said. "Since when?"

"We made a quick stop in Vegas yesterday and got married," Amanda said.

"Does that mean we have a brother now?" Sarah asked.

"Sort of," Amanda said.

"How long have you two been together?" Beca asked.

"Six months."

"Six months?!"

"Beca, calm down," Chloe said, rubbing Beca's arm. "Welcome to the family, Dylan."

Chloe hugged Dylan.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell," Dylan said, pulling out of the hug.

"Please call me Chloe."

"Thank you, Chloe," Dylan said, smiling at Chloe.

"I'm Sophie," Sophie said and hugged Dylan.

"I'm Sarah," Sarah said, also hugging Dylan.

"Nice to meet you both," Dylan said, glancing at Beca.

Beca just glared at him.

"Be nice," Chloe whispered to Beca.

"She's only known him for six months," Beca whispered back. "And now they're married. That's too soon."

"I love him," Amanda said, having heard Beca. "And he loves me. We know we belong together."

"Are you pregnant?" Beca asked.

Amanda gasped. "How did you-"

"So, you are pregnant," Beca stated, interrupting Amanda.

Amanda gulped and nodded. Dylan moved to put Amanda between him and Beca.

"That's wonderful news," Chloe cried, pulling Amanda into a hug.

"I'm only two months along," Amanda said, hugging Chloe. "I wanted to tell you on Christmas day. And, I was going to do it all cutesy and everything."

"I'm sorry Mama Mitchell spoiled the surprise," Chloe said, turning to her wife. "Becs, don't you have something to say to Amanda?"

Beca didn't say anything. She just pulled Amanda into a hug.

"I am really happy for you," Beca whispered.

Beca wiped at her eyes when she pulled back from the hug. Amanda smiled at her and said, "Thank you."

Beca looked at Dylan and said, "We need to talk."

~~ Day 7 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

Amand paced back and forth outside the kitchen where Beca had taken Dylan to talk.

"Relax, Amanda," Chloe said. "You know Beca is all bark and no bite."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "But that was before she found out I was pregnant."

"She's happy about that," Chloe said. "She wasn't faking that. Everything will be fine."

In the kitchen, Beca offered Dylan a seat at the kitchen island.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Beca asked. "We have beer, wine, tea. . ."

"I'll just have some water, please," Dylan said.

Beca gave him the water and sat across from him.

"I'm guessing Amanda told you about us," Beca said. "About her being adopted and finding me after her adoptive parents died?"

Dylan nodded.

"She's become a big part of my family," Beca said. "Sophie and Sarah adore their big sister."

"I can say with absolute certainty," Dylan said. "The feeling is mutual. She talks about them, about all of you, all the time. I feel like I already know you."

"I admit I was a bit shocked when she first showed up on my doorstep," Beca said. "I was worried about how Chloe was going to react. I shouldn't have, because Chloe accepted her without any hesitation. Amanda has taken up space in all of our hearts. None of us want to see her get hurt. Especially me. Understand?"

"Believe me, Mrs. Mitchell," Dylan said. "I love her with every fiber of my being. And truth be told, I would have asked her to marry me even if she wasn't pregnant."

"Good," Beca said. "Welcome to the family. Be prepared to see a lot of us, especially when the baby is born."

"Amanda's already told me she wants you and Chloe there when the baby comes," Dylan said. "I'm more than okay with that. I am looking forward to getting to know all of you. I don't have any sisters, so Sophie and Sarah will be a welcome change from all the boys in my family."

"How many brothers do you have?"

"Five," Dylan replied. "Two older and three younger. The two oldest, David and Jeremy have two kids each. All boys, too."

"Do you think Amanda will have a girl and break the cycle?"

"My mom does," Dylan said with a laugh. "I don't care what the sex is, I just want a healthy baby."

"Good answer," Beca said, smiling. "Let's sit here for a few more minutes. I want to make Amanda squirm a bit for not telling us about you before today."

"She was really nervous about telling you about the baby," Dylan said.

"I know I didn't show it at first," Beca said. "But I really am excited for you both. For the marriage and the baby."

"Thank you," Dylan said. "That means a lot to me. To us."

"And, before I forget," Beca said. "I want you to truly understand how much I mean it when I say, you hurt her and you'll have to answer to me. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dylan replied, taking a drink of his water to quench his suddenly dry mouth.

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

It was ten minutes later when Beca and Dylan walked out of the kitchen, looking serious. Amanda ran over to Dylan.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

Dylan looked at Beca and smiled. "I've received the Mama Mitchell seal of approval and have been officially welcomed into your family," Dylan said. "And we came to a mutual understanding. I won't hurt you and she won't hurt me."

"You're such a softie," Chloe told Beca, kissing her on the cheek.

"I'm not going to apologize for being soft for all my girls," Beca said. "What's for dinner? I'm starved."

"Ooo, can we order pizza from Donatelli's?" Amanda asked. "I've got a craving for their pineapple pizza."

"Yes!" Sarah and Sophie squeal. "Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!"

"Okay, okay," Beca yelled over her daughters. "We can order pizza."

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

The next day, Beca pulled Amanda aside and asked her what she could get Dylan for Christmas.

"Can you find him a job?" Amanda asked and laughed. "He graduated in May and hasn't found anything yet." Her smile dropped as she said, "He's making himself sick, worrying about how he's going to support me and the baby."

"I can help with that," Beca said. "You're still on my health insurance so you will have coverage for any costs associated with your pregnancy. What was Dylan's major?"

"Advertising and Public Relations," Amanda said. "He wants to get into the entertainment industry and be a PR rep."

"I think I can help with that, too," Beca said, smiling. "I'll make some calls and see what I can do. Okay?"

"Thank you," Amanda said, hugging Beca.

"Now, what can I get him for Christmas?"

Amanda laughed. "He needs some nice work clothes for when he does get a job."

"Do you know his sizes?"

"Yeah."

"Great! Let's go shopping for Dylan."

Chloe said she'd stay home with Dylan, so Beca and the girls could go shopping.

"I'm surprised you want to go out shopping on Christmas Eve," Chloe told Beca as they were getting ready to leave.

"I want to have something under the tree for Dylan," Beca said. "Did you need me to pick up anything while we're out?"

"I think I might need a few things for dinner tomorrow," Chloe said. "I'll text you a list."

"Okay," Beca said, leaning in for a kiss.

Chloe kissed Beca and then Beca and the girls left. Chloe looked at Dylan.

"Care to join me in the kitchen?" Chloe asked. "I need to check and see what I need for dinner tomorrow so I can send the list to Beca."

"Sure," Dylan said and followed Chloe into the kitchen.

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

Christmas morning was hectic with lots of laughing and squeals of excitement as everyone opened their gifts. The family was sitting down to a late breakfast when Beca's phone rang.

Beca checked the caller ID and stood from the table, saying, "It's work. I have to take this."

"Beca," Chloe said. "It's Christmas. Can't you talk to whoever it is tomorrow?"

Beca waved Chloe over to her; once Chloe was close Beca whispered, "It's about a job for Dylan."

"Oh," Chloe said. "Go ahead then."

"Where's mama going?" Sarah asked when Chloe sat back down at the table.

"Someone from work called her," Chloe said. "She had to take it."

"Is she going to work?" Sophie asked.

"No, sweetie," Chloe said. "Once the call is over she'll be staying."

"Good," Sophie said. "I want to try out my new bike."

"Me, too," Sarah said.

"I'm sure mama will take you both out after we eat," Chloe said.

"Can we go, too?" Amanda asked.

"Of course," Sarah said.

Sophie and Sarah finished eating and asked to be excused. Chloe told them they could and they rushed off to play with their new toys.

A few minutes later, Beca came back to the table smiling. She looked at Dylan and said, "I don't know how long you were planning to stay, but I need you to be here on the 29th for a job interview."

"What?" Dylan asked, surprised. "What job interview?"

"The one I just set up for you," Beca said. "It's for an Assistant Public Relations Representative. It's entry-level and will get your foot in the door and help you gain real-time experience to become an actual PR Rep. What do you say?"

"I say, which of my new suits should I wear?" Dylan responded with a smile.

Amanda jumped up and ran over to hug Beca. "Thank you, Mama Mitchell."

"You're welcome," Beca said, patting Amanda on her back. "Merry Christmas."

Amanda sat back down and she and Dylan started talking about the possibility of living in L.A. if he got the job.

Beca started eating and Chloe leaned over to her and whispered, "Told you; you're a total softie."

"What did you expect me to do?" Beca asked. "He's the father of our first grandchild."

Beca suddenly paled and dropped her fork, causing a loud clatter as it hit her plate. Amanda and Dylan's heads whipped around to look over at her.

"Beca," Chloe said, caressing Beca's arm. "Are you okay?"

"We're thirty-eight," Beca said in awe. "Chlo, we're thirty-eight and we're going to be grandparents. GRANDparents, Chloe!"

Amanda and Dylan laughed.

"Beca," Chloe said, smiling as she pulled Beca toward her to kiss her. "Thirty-eight is a great age to become grandparents. We're still young enough to keep up with them. And we'll look hot doing it."

"I love you," Beca said. "Merry Christmas, babe."

"Merry Christmas, grandma,” Chloe said.

#bechloe fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #Christmas 2020

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Breakable Heaven (pt. II) - p.l. dubois

Part I

Part two is here! Things start to heat up in this chapter, exciting stuff’s happening! I hope you guys like reading it as much as I’m loving writing - please slide into my inbox, let me know what you think! Reblogs are amazing too, it’s how we know people are liking what we’re putting out and helps to reach more people! (Plus it’s one of the joys of my life to read the tags. Seriously, so much fun.)

Part II (7.2k)

June 18 (fri)

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to sell it,” Laurel said, running a hand through her hair. “The fewer people who know the truth, the better.”

Pierre nodded. “Agreed.” He sat back in his chair. “What do you think your parents will say?”

Laurel laughed. “Uh, they think I’m seeing someone, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “it was easier to just say I had a boyfriend than deal with their endless pestering, you know?”

“So they’d buy it if you just told them you were getting married?”

She shrugged. “I think so. You know we’re not particularly close, they haven’t met any of my boyfriends since I was in high school. So if I told them I was engaged, I don’t think they’d bat an eye, if I’m honest.” Pierre could sense there was more to the story, more that she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t want to press. “What about yours?” she asked.

“Well, we’ve got a couple options,” Pierre said, cracking a smile and leaning back into the cushions. “It was a drunken mistake.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then they’d just tell us to get a divorce.”

“We fell in love after the first date.”

“Even less believable,” Laurel said, the corner of her lip twitching.

“Or…,” Pierre said, kicking his feet up on the ottoman, a wicked grin on his face, “I got you pregnant and want to do the right thing.”

Laurel snorted. “Little issue there.”

“What?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

Pierre ducked his head, blushing. “Right. There’s that.”

She nodded. “There’s that.” She tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “I’ve got it.” Pierre looked up. “We’ve been friends for a long time, couple years or something. Madeline went to York, so we met when you and Patrice came to visit. We realized we had feelings for each other a few months ago, everything moved super quickly since we already knew each other and had that foundation.”

“So we thought ‘why wait,’” Pierre finished.

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Why wait, if we already knew.”

“It’s a classic friends-to-lovers story, a tale as old as time,” he sighed wistfully.

Laurel slapped his shoulder. “This is serious,” she said, but she was smiling all the same. “Okay, so we’ve at least got that worked out. Madeline and Patrice will obviously know, but other than that…” She trailed off.

He nodded, and an understanding passed between them. “It’s a need-to-know basis.”

“It is.” Laurel shifted her laptop on the coffee table, squeezing closer to Pierre so he could see the screen. “So, we have to go down to the courthouse for a meeting with the court clerk who will perform the ceremony, bring birth certificates and ID, and —”

He glanced over at Laurel, her tongue caught between her teeth. “And?”

“You have to publish a declaration of intent to marry twenty days before the wedding. Online. In public.”

Pierre looked oblivious. “So?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “So, it has the date of the wedding and our full names and our whole entire addresses. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’re kind of a professional hockey player.”

He shrugged. “All due respect, Laurel, but,” he glanced at the website, “who actually checks these things?” He had a point there, she thought, but she wasn’t about to let him win.

“But your address, you’re not worried about that getting out there?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But my building’s got a receptionist and I’ve got locks on my doors. And plus,” Pierre added, “I’ve really never had much of a problem flying under the radar here. When I go back home, back to the suburbs, sure. And a little bit in Columbus, obviously. But there’s what, two million people in Montréal? I’m not on the Habs, so even the hockey fans here really couldn’t care less.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Also, uh, living situation. We should probably talk about that.”

“You’re moving in with me?” He said it like a question, but not as if it was something that would surprise him, or something he was opposed to. He said it like it was something he already knew the answer to. “I’ve got three rooms, plenty of space, Phil and Georgia would love to have a new sister. You and Piper would fit right in,” he said, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “Plus it’s got a great gym in the lobby, you can cancel your membership to that seedy place downtown with that trainer who always stares at you when you do weights.” Laurel’s ears perked up; she was surprised he remembered. She did have a gym downtown that she tried to make it to a few times a week, and there was that one creepy trainer, but she had only mentioned it to him once in passing. “Plus it has hot yoga once a week, and I know you’ve been dying to try.” That much was true.

“At least let me help pay for rent,” she tried to bargain.

“Nope!” he said, wincing a second later. “I didn’t mean it in like a patronizing way, I know you’re perfectly capable of pulling your own weight. I meant like I bought it outright, so there’s no rent to be paid. I’ll let you pay the electricity bill if you want?”

Laurel grinned. “That would make me feel better, thank you.” After looking at her computer for a minute, she spoke again. “How long have you had the apartment for?”

Pierre scratched his chin. “Couple years? I bought it after signing the contract this year. Some guys buy a Lamborghini, I bought an apartment. I don’t own the place in Columbus though.”

“How come?” Laurel asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“Even with the contract, so much is up in the air. I could get traded in the middle of the season, or in the summer or whenever, and I don’t want to have just bought a house when I’ve got to move to Vancouver or wherever when the ink hasn’t even dried on the papers.”

This time, it was Laurel’s turn to leave with an unsaid question. “Is tomorrow good? To go down and get everything squared away at the courthouse?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’ve got some off-ice training in the morning, but any time after noon or so is good for me.”

Laurel nodded, making a few taps on her computer. “Okay, I’ve got us booked in at one, that good?”

“Yeah,” Pierre said, nodding in affirmation. “Now I’ve got to come up with an excuse to drive to my parents’ and get my birth certificate.”

---

It didn’t actually turn out to be all that difficult for Pierre; he made the drive back to Saint-Agathe-des-Monts later that afternoon, telling his parents he needed it to renew his health insurance card. He wasn’t sure they actually believed him, but his mom didn’t bat an eye before handing it over. Pierre spent the rest of the evening at home, cooking pasta, petting the dogs, and wondering what in the hell he had agreed to. He wasn’t second-guessing himself, not by a long-shot, but when she clicked that button to book their appointment, the gravity of the situation finally started to hit him. In less than a month, he was going to be getting married.

June 19 (sat)

Laurel met Pierre on the steps of the Montréal courthouse at a quarter to one the next day, clutching the straps of her tote like a lifeline. “Woah, Laurel, you’re holding that like you’ve got a bomb in there,” Pierre said.

She flashed him a nervous smile. “No bomb, just very official very legal documents. Don’t want to lose it.”

He held out his hand. “You ready?”

Laurel was surprised at the gesture. Not shocked that he was being kind, but that he was cognizant enough to recognize that she was nervous, and wanted to do something about it. She took his hand. “Ready.”

It only took a minute to find the office, and a few more before the receptionist called them back to the clerk’s office. She introduced herself as Juliette Bergeron, congratulated them on their engagement, and asked to see the paperwork. Passports and birth certificates were handed over, signatures were signed on dotted lines, and half an hour later, they walked out of the courthouse with an appointment for a wedding on July 10.

“Well, there’s that crossed off the checklist,” Laurel said, leaning up against the handrails as they stood on the courthouse steps. They had actually made a real checklist, a series of tasks on a shared Notes page of everything that needed to be completed before the wedding. Book the ceremony and post the public notice were done, but there were still a dozen-odd tasks left before they actually could get married. Starting with telling their parents. While they had developed as airtight a cover story as she supposed one could when they were committing what would charitably be referred to as citizenship fraud, they had agreed it was going to be far less messy to “come clean” as fiancés than after the wedding. Laurel had wanted to text them the news, or call so early they’d still be asleep and she could just avoid the conversation altogether, but Pierre had convinced her to FaceTime. “I know you guys aren’t super close, but I think they deserve that much, Laurel,” he had said, and he was right. Deep down, she knew he was right.

“Ready?” Pierre asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

Laurel flashed him a tight smile before pressing her mom’s contact. “As I’ll ever be.” Three agonizingly long rings later, her mom picked up.

“Laurel? What are you doing calling, honey? Is everything okay?”

She let out a nervous giggle. “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my parents?”

“No,” Cheryl clucked, “but to be fair, you don’t call often.”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck in discomfort. “That’s true. Uh, anyways, is dad there?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” her mom said, starting to catch onto the fact that maybe this wasn’t quite your run-of-the-mill check-in call. “What’s this all about, pumpkin?”

The old term of endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, brought tears to the corners of her eyes. “Can you call him in? I’d rather tell you both at the same time.”

Cheryl nodded, worry crossing her brow. “Doug? Laurel’s on the phone, she’s got something to tell us. Sounds important.”

“Coming,” Laurel heard her dad say in the background. A moment later, he padded into view. “Hey, Laurel, Mom said you’ve got some news?”

Laurel nodded. “Yeah, just something I thought you guys should know. It’s not bad, you’re just going to be surprised, so I need you to keep an open mind, okay?”

“Who is he?” Doug asked, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression.

She blanched. “He? Who’s he?” There’s no way he guessed...right?

“The jackass who got you pregnant, who else?”

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “Pregnant? Who said I’m pregnant? I’m not pregnant!”

Both of her parents let out an audible sigh of relief. “Well, Laurel, what conclusion did you expect us to jump to when you called us out of the blue and said you had important news?”

Laurel bit her lip; they had a point. “Fair. But, uh, rest assured, I’m not pregnant. I’m smarter than that.” She paused, steeling her nerves. “Remember that guy I told you I was seeing a few months ago?”

Her mom squinted like she was looking into the sun. “Vaguely? You didn’t really tell us much about him. Just that he was tall, nice, you met through friends.” It was a believable enough explanation back then, and Laurel was beyond grateful it dovetailed perfectly into the story she and Pierre had conjured up. “You didn’t even tell us his name.”

Laurel reached out her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the phone, and made a grabby motion for his hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Well, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois—”

Doug interrupted. “Very French.”

She grimaced. “I do live in Québec, Dad. But anyways, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois and we’re getting married.”

They sat still on the other end of the call, so still that if it weren’t for her mom’s rapid blinking she would have thought the call had been dropped. “Married?” her mom asked softly.

“Yes, married.”

“How long have you even been seeing each other?” Doug asked, dumbfounded.

“A little under six months. I know it’s not long, and I know it seems sudden, but we’ve known each other for a long time, you know? We met when I was still back in Toronto at university, Madeline introduced us.” Her parents nodded; Madeline, they knew. Madeline, they had met. Madeline, they trusted. “And we finally realized a little bit after New Year’s that we had feelings for each other, and it’s sort of been zero to a hundred ever since. We thought, if we knew we loved each other and we knew we were done looking, then what was the point of waiting for a year or two for it to be a ‘socially acceptable’ time to get married.” Laurel finished.

Cheryl wrapped her hands around her mug of tea, eyelids still shooting rapid-fire blinks at the screen. “But, Laurel, we haven’t even met this boy, we barely know anything about him!”

Pierre squeezed her hand. “Actually, he’s just off-camera. Want to say hi, P?”

He walked into view, waving politely at the screen. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Klerken, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Laurel’s had nothing but wonderful things to say.” A little flattery never hurt anybody, he thought.

“Lovely to meet you, Pierre-Luc,” Cheryl said. “Forgive us if we’re still a little shocked, Laurel’s not normally one to spring things on us like this.”

He laughed. “Perfectly fair. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet until now, but we’ve been trying to get used to the idea ourselves.”

Her dad leaned forward from his spot in the couch, giving Pierre as much of a once-over as he could from nearly 1500 miles away. “I’m not able to give you the normal talking-to I have with any of the other boys Laurel or Maggie have introduced us to, so this is going to have to do.” Maggie? Laurel had primed Pierre for the inevitable grilling, telling him that if it was anything like it had been in the past, it would be all bark and no bite. “So what do you do for work, Pierre-Luc?”

“I’m a professional hockey player in the NHL, I play for the Columbus Blue Jackets.”

Doug’s eyebrows went up. As much of a front as he tried to put up, he was still a middle-aged man from Minnesota, and there were few things that impressed middle-aged men from Minnesota more than their daughters being suddenly engaged to NHL players. “NHL, huh? That’s very impressive. So you’re from Québec, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Pierre answered. “My hometown’s a little outside of the city, but I live in Montréal now. My mom’s from Georgia, though, so I’ve got dual citizenship and some family still down there.”

Her parents didn’t take too kindly to the news that the wedding was in three weeks, since it was too tight a fit to be able to get time off, but promised to visit later in the summer to make a proper introduction to their new son-in-law. Her father continued to pepper him with questions about his hobbies, family, and how he takes his steak — according to the Doug Klerken rules, any man who orders anything above medium is not to be trusted — until Laurel mercifully cut him off, telling her parents they were late to meet up with some friends. “That wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said as Laurel slipped her phone into her purse, immediately plugging it into her portable charger as the FaceTime had drained all but 18% of her battery.

Laurel made a face. “They’re good people and they care about me, but…” She trailed off. “They never really understood why I’d want anything more than I was given. Anything more than the status quo. And it’s just caused a lot of friction between us.” Her eyes flashed as she remembered something. “One more thing.” Pierre’s ears perked up. “If and when you ever talk to my parents again, just...don’t bring up politics.” Laurel grimaced.

“Republicans?” he asked sympathetically.

She nodded. “Trump-supporting Republicans. It’s another one of the reasons we don’t talk much anymore. I’m liberal, I’d probably be NDP if I could vote here, and we just don’t share the same values on a lot of things.”

“That’s got to be pretty rough on you,” Pierre said.

“Yeah,” Laurel admitted. “Probably more than I want to let on, but I think it helps that I’m able to get some distance.”

Pierre took a deep breath in. “Your, uh, your dad mentioned something that I wanted to ask you about.”

Shit. Laurel had been able to avoid the conversation for long enough, but she was beginning to push her luck, and she couldn’t run forever. “Maggie?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I thought I should ask.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Laurel said. “Um, long story short, Maggie’s my sister. It’s July, so…” she did the mental math in her head, “she’d be almost 31. Total free spirit. She left town pretty soon after she graduated, came back every so often but not nearly enough. Last I heard, she was an au pair in Italy.”

“And when was that?”

“Two years ago.” Pierre figured that was as good a time as any to drop the subject, so he did. They had decided that, while they were still downtown, it would be a good opportunity to get the ring shopping out of the way. Pierre looked up the highest-rated jewelry store on Yelp, and they set off on foot.

Pierre opened the door for her as they stepped inside, greeted by a slightly over-enthusiastic salesman. “You paid for the ceremony fee, so I’m paying for the rings, okay?”

Laurel scoffed. “Hardly a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I’ll live,” he said, smirking.

Laurel had been wandering around by the solitaires for a few minutes when Pierre walked up behind her. “I know this isn’t going to be the wedding you’ve always dreamed of,” Pierre said, “but we’re going to make it the best we can.” He looked down at the cases, Laurel’s fingers dancing over the edge of the glass cover. “When you were in high school, or university, did you ever think about what kind of wedding you wanted?” Laurel gave a small nod. “And what kind of ring did you have?”

“I’ve always liked halo cuts,” she said softly.

Pierre inched his hand towards hers, wrapping his fingers around hers. They tensed for a second, but then relaxed into his grip. “Then let’s go get you that halo cut.”

There was no one else in the store aside from the salesman, so the couple was enveloped in a comfortable silence as they browsed. Her eyes stopped on a beautiful floral halo ring with an oval diamond. Pierre nodded to the salesman, who carefully took it off of its stand and handed it to Pierre, who carefully wiggled it onto Laurel’s fourth finger. If she closed her eyes, she was almost able to pretend that it was a proposal. Laurel brought her thumb to the ring, delicately running it over the pavé band with the ghost of a smile on her face. “What do you think?” Pierre asked, as if he couldn’t already tell her answer from the look on her face.

Laurel looked up at him. “I love it. It fits perfectly.”

“Like Cinderella’s slipper.” He turned to the salesman. “Combien ça coûte?” (How much does it cost?) Laurel heard a number that made her swallow hard, more than anything she’d ever have bought for herself, but Pierre insisted it was a non-issue as he handed his card over. “He said that they’ve got another sample one in the back, and you’re welcome to just wear that one out if it fits.”

“Sounds good.” The salesman handed over the bag with Pierre’s ring and her matching wedding band, thanking them for their purchase before opening the door back into the sunny Montréal afternoon. Laurel craned her neck to try and sneak a peek inside the bag. “Don’t I get to see yours?”

Pierre cracked a wry grin. “Gotta wait until the wedding, babe. Can’t a man have a little mystery?”

“Fair enough,” Laurel said, not missing his use of the pet name but brushing it off as simply a spur-of-the-moment choice. “Do you want to do the honors?” she asked, referring to the all-important checklist.

Pierre opened his phone with his spare hand, deftly navigating to the app and tapping twice. “Four down, seven to go. We’re on a roll.

June 24 (thurs)

Surprisingly, telling Pierre-Luc’s parents hadn’t been nearly as intimidating as breaking the news to her own, at least for Laurel. They were shocked — and confused, and had a lot of questions — but were welcoming nonetheless. Patrice was almost like a second son to them, and the fact that she already came with his stamp of approval went a long way into calming them down. “He’s always been quite the romantic, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. And he cares deeply about the people in his life. That’s you, now,” his mom had said. They drove up to meet them that Sunday, having brunch in his childhood home. That was, in essence, their first real “test” as a couple. They had never had to sell their relationship to anyone before; even when going out with Madeline and Patrice after their “engagement,” nothing ever seemed like it had changed. This time was different. This time had to be different.

His mom fawned over her engagement ring, asking her to spare no details in retelling the story of the proposal. Lucky for her, however, Laurel was the former president of the University of Toronto improv club, and coming up with background stories with exactly zero minutes to prepare was something of a specialty for her. Laurel immediately gushed about how unexpected it was; she was just expecting an evening walk through downtown until they turned down one of the piers by the basilica, reached the end overlooking the river, and Pierre dropped down on one knee. “I think I knew that he was the one way sooner than that, but it’s nice to finally have it be official,” she had said.

Laurel shook herself out of her memories, turning the door into the locker room. She grabbed a pair of scrubs out of her shared locker — she had never met Alice, the other nurse who used it, but they had made a habit of leaving each other Post-it note greetings — and stripped off her t-shirt and jeans. Shimmying on her scrub pants, she tied them, leaning back into the locker to get her bag as the door shut behind her. She glanced over to the door, waving to Claire. Claire was sweet, a transplant from Vancouver who had lived in Québec as a child and decided to come back to work. She was sweet, having just started working at the beginning of the summer, but she was young, even younger than Laurel. And while her perky and energetic nature lent itself well to the dynamics of the floor, it was a lot for her to get used to. “Hey!” Laurel said, waving as she pulled a chain out of her purse, trying to discreetly unhook it.

“Hey!” Claire responded, perky as ever. “How has your week been?” She worked Mondays and Thursdays with Laurel, but had the Saturday night shift as well.

Laurel threw her hair up into a bun. “Good, good, busy. Met up with some friends yesterday, so that was nice, but not much. Took Piper to the dog park.” With my fiancé, she neglected to add. She twisted her ring off, trying to slip it onto the chain without Claire noticing. Like most of her married colleagues, Laurel had taken to wearing her engagement ring on a chain around her neck while at work instead of on her finger. It was under her scrubs most of the time, keeping at bay the questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer, and made it much easier to pull on and off gloves when the occasion called for it. But Claire was eagle-eyed, catching the sparkle of the diamond just as she slid it onto the chain.

She audibly gasped. “Is that an engagement ring?”

Laurel had to think fast; once again, her improv skills were called up to bat. “No? It’s, uh, it’s a family heirloom, it was my grandma’s. Guess I didn’t think too much about which finger I put it on.” She could tell Claire didn’t quite believe her side of the story, but thankfully, she didn’t press.

“If you say so,” she said, giving a not-so-subtle wink.

June 27 (sun)

Laurel was sat in her living room, her TV on in the background as she scrolled absent-mindedly through her phone, savoring her last few hours before she had to go to bed for her 5:30 wake-up call. On a whim, she opened her Twitter. It wasn’t an app she used all that often — mostly just to keep in contact with the handful of high school and college friends who didn’t use Instagram — and she was well aware that she’d probably have to limit her use for her own sanity when she and Pierre went “public” after the wedding, but she liked being able to keep up with everyone. She followed her friends, a handful of celebrities and a few journalists, but her timeline wasn’t flooded with updates. Then she saw the little blue alert on the bottom. One new message. Clicking to her inbox, Laurel saw that it had been sent by Madeline four minutes earlier, a link to a tweet that just had the caption: “you should probably see this.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Laurel pressed the link. What could be so important that Madeline would have sent a message with that kind of urgency? And why didn’t she just text it? God, I hate puckbunny blogs, Laurel thought as she read the handle. Her eyes raced across the screen. So I was looking up the address of my friend’s wedding earlier since I lost my invitation and didn’t want to tell her, and saw this under??? I know he can be a private guy, but tell me you guys don’t think this is for PLD. Her eyes froze as soon as she finished reading, praying that somehow they were talking about a different PLD, that they hadn’t been found out and their cover hadn’t been blown and she wasn’t about to have a panic attack for the first time since junior year — and then she saw the screenshot. Of their wedding announcement. Their public wedding announcement that not only had their full names and places of birth, but the location of the ceremony, the time, and their addresses. God, this is exactly what Laurel had been worried about. She immediately reported the tweet for exposing personal information, then made the poor decision to look at the comments section. Some people insisted it was legitimate, some convinced it was just photoshop, some were convinced that it couldn’t be Pierre-Luc even it looked like him, because he was training in Columbus for the summer, right? Thank God, it didn’t seem like anyone had done a deep enough dive to figure out who she was; there weren’t any screenshots of her accounts or photos of her in the comments section. It was eight minutes from the time she reported it to when it was taken down, and while Laurel was grateful for the quick response, she felt like she was on a cliffside, one foot off of the edge, until it had been deleted.

Her phone lit up with a text notification from Pierre. Funny thing happened today.

Oh God, Laurel thought. Had he seen it? He hadn’t.

My mom asked what you were planning to do about flowers and got very upset when I said we didn’t have any plans. She let out a tense breath. Flowers, she could do. She wanted to get your number to send over the names of a few florists she knows in the area, but I thought I should check with you first to make sure that’s okay.

Laurel smiled, her right hand draped over the side of the couch to scratch Piper behind the ears. That sounds great, P.

As promised, his mom texted Laurel soon after, coming armed with recommendations of Montréal florists. She echoed her son’s words almost identically; You deserve to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of even if the circumstances are different, she had written. Her eyes pricked with tears as she fell asleep.

July 3 (sun)

It was a week before the wedding, and Laurel had started to pack up her apartment. It seemed much more practical to do it in stages then try to finish everything the weekend of the wedding. So she sat with Pierre on the floor of her bedroom, moving boxes between them as they packed away into the next season of her life. Some things, she obviously couldn’t put away yet — she still needed clothes and toothpaste, and they hadn’t been able to get all of her pots and pans down to the Goodwill yet. But books and keepsakes could be boxed up, and unless there was a snowstorm in July, she didn’t need her parka either.

“Oh, what’s this?” Pierre asked as he pulled a few more volumes off of her bookshelf. Laurel groaned when she saw what was in his hand.

“The 2013 Cloquet Senior High School yearbook. My sophomore year.”

He burst out laughing. “This, I’ve got to see.” He opened the cover. “Your mascot was the Lumberjacks?”

Laurel ducked her head, her cheeks heating. “Regrettably, yes. That’s what happens when your whole area used to be milling towns.”

Pierre’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said everything was about the mines, doesn’t your dad work in the mines?”

“He does,” Laurel said. “They had to figure out something to do after all of the trees had been cut down, you know?”

Pierre got the feeling it was really more of a rhetorical question. “What was your school like?”

She placed one of her old Harry Potter books into the box. “Small is the first word that comes to mind. My graduating class couldn’t have been much bigger than 150 or so? We’d get snow days a couple of times a year, most of the time if it wasn’t a blizzard everyone would end up going down to the school anyways, we’d all have big snowball fights on the football field. Actually,” she said, pulling out her phone from her back pocket, “I think I might still have a clip of one.” She pulled up her videos, scooting over to Pierre and leaning into his side so he could see the screen. Raucous laughter filtered through the speakers; the only things in sight were snow forts and the tiniest bits of beanies peeking over the top.

“THIS. IS. WAR!”

Laurel snickered. “I think that sounds like Nicholas, he was the varsity quarterback for a few years. Usually was the one leading the sieges.” She put her phone away a minute later after the clip ended. “But other than that? There were actually a lot of pretty interesting elective classes, I got to take photography, work in the preschool on campus, take a class on Anishinaabe studies.”

“Anishinaabe?” Pierre questioned.

“There’s a Native American reservation in town, the tribe’s Ojibwe so that’s the language family we studied. A lot of kids at the school, including one of my best friends Kristen, live on the reservation, so I think they wanted to not only have the class available for Native students who maybe wanted to learn more about their culture, but also for non-Native kids like me, so we’re able to gain a respect for whose land we’re living on,” Laurel explained.

“Makes sense,” he said, flipping through the pages. He snorted. “This photo might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Laurel peeked over his shoulder, cringing at her school picture. “I really couldn’t have dressed any more 2012 if I tried, Pierre. Aggressively off-the-shoulder top, one of those godforsaken hair feathers, I bet you’d find dark wash skinny jeans if you could see from the waist down.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my fiancée like that,” Pierre said. “I like the look, I swear. You were such a cute kid, oh my God.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. What happened to me, right?”

He looked at her from the side. “Nope.”

June 9 (fri)

It was the day before the wedding, and Laurel was trying to find a dress. She had been planning on wearing one — even if it was a courthouse wedding, she still wanted to look nice — but then she had spilled red wine onto the light blue one she had been thinking of wearing as she ironed it in the living room, and she didn’t want to put all of her eggs in one basket if the Oxiclean didn’t end up working. She called Madeline in a panic, who promised to be over as soon as she could with a few dresses of her own to see what she could do. There was a knock on the door, and Laurel practically flew across the room to fling it open, gathering Madeline in a hug even before she had crossed the threshold. Madeline patted her clumsily on the back. “There, there, Laur. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to fix it.”

Laurel ran one hand through her hair, her curls as frazzled as her mind. “It’s got to be. Half of my stuff’s already over at P’s place, what, do you want me to wear a,” she opened up her dresser, eyeing its meager contents, “bralette and lacy thong to my own wedding?”

Madeline shrugged. “I doubt Pierre would mind,” she said casually.

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “What do you mean?”

“Men are visual creatures, and you’re hot as hell, Laurel,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Still,” Laurel said, opening her closet and grabbing every single left over dress from its hanger, trying to distract herself from Madeline’s words, “I’d rather not be arrested for public indecency. I’m trying to stay in the country, remember?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “I remember.” She thumbed through the dresses on Laurel’s bed. “You’re not wearing a black dress to get married,” she said pointedly.

“It’s pretty?” Laurel tried to reason.

“It is, but it’s a wedding, not a funeral.” She moved onto the next one. “Bright red bodycon is great for the club, but not sure coquettish seductress is the look you’re going for.” The next one was a striped sweater dress; it was the middle of summer, so according to Madeline, that meant it was out. There was a navy shift dress that “could work, but it’s a little too much work and not enough play,” her friend had said. Laurel tried on Madeline’s dresses, but seeing as how she had three inches on her, the hemlines weren’t exactly in her favor. Madeline pulled out the last of the stack, gasping softly. “This one’s beautiful, where’s it from?”

Madeline looked at it, a knee-length ivory lace dress, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Madeline. “It was for Aurélie’s bachelorette party last year, probably explains. You were drunk off your ass that night.”

“I’m hurt by that characterization, but I don’t remember enough to correct you,” Madeline said. “It’s perfect though, why didn’t you choose this one in the first place?”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure?” Madeline gave her a look. “Fine, it just seems...It seems too much like an actual wedding dress. It’s white, or close enough, anyways,” she noted, fingering one of the delicate straps, “and gorgeous, and formal, and I’m worried if I wear it it’ll seem too real, and I’ll start thinking this is more than it is. Because all it is at the end of the day is a friend doing me a really, really big favor,” she finished, huffing and falling back onto her mattress.

“At the end of the day, it’s still a wedding,” Madeline corrected, laying down next to her. “And you’re still a bride and he’s still a groom and you deserve to feel beautiful and cherished and special on your wedding day, no matter its circumstances. And who knows? Maybe you two stay married, and fall in love, and you live happily ever after with your half-dozen dogs and 2.5 kids on some farm out in the suburbs.”

Laurel snorted. “As if.” But two hours later, long after Madeline had already left, she sat back on the bed, hand ghosting over the lace of her now-wedding dress, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Madeline had a point.

June 10 (sat)

It was the morning of the wedding, and Laurel was pacing her room in her sweatpants, Piper looking at her in confusion from the doorway. It was just past 7 and the appointment wasn’t until 10, but she still had to get dressed and do her hair and makeup and pick up the flowers and eat and — her internal monologue was interrupted by the doorbell. Still half-asleep, she ambled over to the door, pulling it open without even really checking to see who it was.

“Surprise!!” Patrice shouted, walking through the door, followed by Madeline and Pierre. “Madeline mentioned that you seemed a bit overwhelmed yesterday, so we thought we’d come over and get ready over here!”

Laurel shuffled out of the way as Piper jumped on Pierre, who laughed and calmed her down with a few scratches on her chin. She had really taken a liking to him and his two dogs, which had initially been a point of nervousness for Laurel. But they got along great, shared space well, and she seemed to love her new brother and sister. “That’s really nice of you guys, I appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “Um, I don’t have much food left because of the move, but I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard?”

“Silly you,” Pierre said, holding out a paper bag. “Did you think I’d leave my bride hungry on our wedding day? I got you sourdough french toast, should be on the top.” They had gone out to brunch once and she had ordered it, audibly moaning at how incredible it tasted. He remembered.

“And raspberry mochas!” Madeline said, presenting her with a cup.

Laurel took it, wrapping her spare arm around Madeline and kissing Pierre on the cheek. “This is incredible, guys. Really. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Exactly!” Madeline said, a perky expression on her face. “It’s a surprise!” She drifted into the kitchen, pulling out plates from Laurel’s cabinet and forks from her drawers. “Breakfast is served!”

Laurel let out a laugh as she grabbed the box with her french toast, taking a sip of her mocha. “I think the credit goes to the chefs at the restaurant, but whatever you say, Madi.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but we ordered it.

By the time they had all inhaled their breakfasts and cleaned the kitchen — Laurel and Pierre tag-teamed the dishes — it was almost eight, and Madeline whisked her into her room to get ready. “There should be a couple beers in the fridge, help yourselves!” Laurel shouted out the door as Madeline tried to wrestle her into the ensuite. For the most part, Madeline was good at listening to Laurel’s pleas against a dramatic makeup look. Muted rose lipstick, filled in her eyebrows, delicately pulled back her hair into a twisted bun. “Where’s your setting spray?” Madeline asked, rooting through her makeup bag.

“Top drawer on the left. Are you finally going to let me see?”

Madeline pulled the drawer out, uncapping the bottle and spritzing it over Laurel’s face. “Go for it.”

Laurel turned around, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Oh my God,” she said, turning her head so the glimmer of her highlighter caught in the early-morning sun streaming through the open window. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve put the dress on,” Madeline said, pulling it off of its hanger and draping it across the chair. Sweats came off and the dress went on, Madeline carefully pulling up the back zipper and straightening out her hem. Laurel bent down to put on her shoes, threading the silver straps through the tiny metal clasp before giving her leg a good shake. Madeline looked at her sceptically.

“What?” Laurel asked innocently. “I don’t want it to fall off halfway down the aisle.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door, Patrice’s voice floating in from the other side. “It’s 9:20, you two about ready to head out?”

“Coming!” Madeline called back, pulling Laurel up from the bed. “You ready, Laur?” Laurel gave a nervous nod. “Let’s go get you married.”

She stepped out into the living room, reaching up to her neck and fingering the silver filigree of her grandma’s wedding necklace, one of the only things she had left to remember her by. If she wasn’t able to complete the whole rhyme, at least she’d have her something old. “Who’s driving?” she asked.

Pierre wheeled around, mouth gaping like a fish when he saw her. Laurel immediately looked down to her dress, wondering if she had spilled one of her pre-wedding mimosas. “What is it?” she asked frantically. “Is there something in my teeth?”

He shook his head, tugging at the sleeves of his navy blue suit. “No, there’s nothing in your teeth, it’s perfect. You look beautiful.” They were in the car five minutes later, picked up the bouquet from the florist five minutes after that, and were outside of the courthouse by 9:50. Laurel took a deep breath, looking up at the glass doors of the Palais de Justice. Pierre threaded his fingers between hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

Laurel nodded, nervous but determined, sure that she was making the right decision. “Ready.” She barely remembered signing in, barely remembered going back to the clerk’s office, barely remembered her reading the mandated articles of the civil code. She gripped Pierre’s hands, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as she could, as the vows were read.

“Pierre-Luc Dubois, do you take Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, here present, to be your wife?” Juliette asked.

“I do.”

“Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, do you take Pierre-Luc Dubois, here present, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Laurel said, voice steady.

Juliette continued. “By virtue of the powers vested in me by law, I now declare you, Pierre-Luc Dubois, and you, Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, united in the bonds of marriage.” Patrice passed over the rings; Laurel slid Pierre’s onto his ring finger, he gently twisted hers to rest on top of her engagement ring. “You are now legally married. Allow me, on my own behalf and on behalf of all those present, to offer you our best wishes for your happiness. You may now kiss the bride.”

Laurel panicked for a moment, before looking up and meeting Pierre’s eyes. In the span of a second, she communicated her unspoken agreement with the tiniest nod of her head, and his lips were on hers. His arms were against the small of her back, hers wrapped around his neck, and even enough it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, it felt like hours. It felt like coming home.

#pierre-luc dubois #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey smut #nhl writing #pierre-luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl smut #nhl #hockey #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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hellyeahtrickster · 3 years

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It occurs to me that I have friends here that I don't have contact with in other spheres, so ... life update: my mother passed away unexpectedly last Friday. I'm doing as well as one would expect. Been going through her things as both a walk down memory lane and a goodbye. I keep coming across things she never got around to using, and it hits hard that now, she'll never have the chance. And I can't stop thinking of the stories we watched together that now she won't know the ending to, or shows I wanted to try with her. And then there's all the things we used to do together on the regular -- all the places I can never go with her to again. And all the places we wanted to go to "someday", but now she never will.

We were two weeks out from our second COVID shots, and 4 weeks from being totally vaccinated. We were finally going to get back to EPCOT, to see the Flower and Garden show. Finally going to get back to the Florida Mall. Going out to lunch. That I won't be doing this things with her anymore ... it's unfathomable. I can't wrap my head around it.

Thanks, anti-mask / anti-vaccine Covidiots, for prolonging the presence of this pandemic -- basically stealing the last year of my mother's life. She was anxious to see her elderly mother again, because we don't know how long *she* has left ... and now she never go to see her mother again. I knew losing my mom would happen someday, but my mother was relatively young yet, so I thought it would be a while ....

It doesn't help that she died after the second night on a new bed. See, she slept on her side all the time, what with the couch being narrow, but with a twin mattress, the bed was much wider. She snored a lot -- I highly suspect she had sleep apnea. When I found her the next morning, she was on her BACK. The doctor agreed that her cardiac arrest could have been caused by sleep apnea. In trying to make my mom more comfortable .... Yeah, I know, it's not my fault, but I cannot shake that thought away, that she's not here anymore because we tried to do something nice for her. How cruel the humour of the universe can be.

(I'd put the rest of this behind a cut, but I don't see that option anymore? Sorry!!)

And it REALLY doesn't help that, not only have I lost the person I was closest to, but now I am stuck alone with the person I least want to be with: my dad. I'm pretty liberal, and he's pretty conservative. We fight a LOT. We haven't really since mom died (things got a little tense here and there, but not like we usually are) ... but I know it won't last. It can't -- not when he believes BLM are terrorists, or that gays have an agenda. And now he keeps wanting to do things with me, like watch my shows, and a petulant part of me is like, no, this is mom's territory -- stay out. I don't want to do anything with him. (Especially since I know he'll start ranting once the shows start talking about racism and homophobia.)

My parents always had a volatile relationship. Mom didn't know you could get pregnant the first time, and when she found out she was pregnant, her Catholic family bullied her into marrying him.* And he cheated on her at LEAST once (with a girl who was only a few years older than me at the time -- I was 15, she was 19, he was 33). My mother was far from perfect, so I don't blame all the marital problems on him. But my point is they were married "in name only" for about the last 25 years, so it's ... offensive to me now that he would dare to act bereaved.

I know he can be hella manipulative, make himself seem generous so as to be loved, and then turn on you like a viper, getting irrationally angry. I can't drive, we live in a very rural area with no public trans, there are no friends or fam less than an hour away, I've had next to no job for the last 17 years, I barely feel like a functional human being (am coming to seriously suspect I have ADHD and Dyscalculia; I have diabetes and suspect have PCOS and a thyroid problem; all these things having strong interconnections; and I have no insurance, nor do I qualify for aid, thanks to living in Florida), and I feel utterly trapped. There's a reason Rapunzel is my fave princess. I've had bad experiences with cabs, so using Uber / Lyft kind of terrifies me. Plus, he'd want to know where I'm going, and likely either insist on coming too, or insist I can't go, because his house, his money, his rules. The ONLY time each year I get away is when I go to Dragon Con (and I'm worried he might forbid that in the future -- he has once before).

And then there's the problem of ... he has no one. As much as I can't stand him, he lost his job because of COVID, he's lost his wife, he has no real friends (total homebody), and like it or not, he has supported me financially for so long. Even if someone else were to take me in, or I can get a job and save to leave ... how can I leave him (a person with severe rheumatoid arthritis / in not-great health)? I owe him too damn much, and I feel like it would be entirely callous of me. Yes, I realise that that's the abuse talking, but ... it's also true?

Anyway, I feel like I'm on Sliders, and keep stepping into progressively worse timelines.

* Let me mention that I have long suspected my mother is -- was -- on the autism spectrum, but when I mentioned it to one of her sisters, the sister seemed skeptical, saying that if anything, mom had a penchant for reading out loud, so they thought maybe she had a reading disability, and took her to a specialist, but "that's it". (Mom was in "remedial" classes through high school, so it doesn't sound like they did enough -- and maybe couldn't because the science just wasn't there.) I explained that mom frequently seemed to have trouble grasping concepts, especially humour. Like when a radio ad featured someone reciting a love-letter to a tomato, she was all, "That's stupid -- tomatoes can't read!" Try as I might, I could not get her to understand that the love letter was a playful way to tell US about what makes the tomato so good.)

Anyway, when I talked to my grandmother recently, she said that my mom "always had a special way of looking at things," and that she guessed mom was "what do they call it -- neuro-something? 'Aspie'? High-functioning, but still." And I told my cousin about it, and he said, "Wait, I thought it was common knowledge in our family that your mom was autistic?" (Note: we have other, officially diagnosed family members who are on different areas of the spectrum.) People always commented when I was growing up that it was like my mom's role and mine was reversed -- like I was the parent, and she was the child.

But to think my family had *recognised* that something was up, and left me, a child, to deal with it on my own?? To think they *pressured* someone who was "special" into having a child?

I know my mom loved me, but my whole life, she said she wished I'd never been born, and so she'd never have married my dad -- I know both can be true, that she loved me but wished she'd never had me (she'd have never known what she was missing). She only survived her marriage because I was there; I've always felt she'd have had a better life if she hadn't married him. When she tried to leave him, her mother would not take her in, because divorce was against her mother's Catholic beliefs (never mind that my uncle divorced twice)

I loved my mother, but were fought a lot, and she frequently exasperated me as we struggled to communicate. She frequently left words out, but did not believe that she did; when we met her last PCP the first time, he looked at me and said, "Is she always like this, or is she having a stroke?" And she would always angrily proclaim that I wasn't listening, when most of the time, it's that I couldn't get her to understand that she was working from a misconception or misunderstanding in the first place, because she would focus on ONE THING, to the exclusion of all else.

An example of an exchange (copied from a letter I wrote to a friend): We got into a weird argument yesterday. She had asked me for pain reliever, a glass of tap water (you're supposed to drink a full glass of water with the pills), and a "cold water" from the fridge (it's too cold to drink it all at once, but we both prefer ice water in general). Later, I was picking stuff up from her table-tray, including a bottle of pain reliever, and put a bunch of stuff away. When I passed by again, she asked for more cold water. I happened to look as see that she had the tap water glass still full, even though she had asked tor it half an hour before. I asked if I needed to bring the pain pill bottle back, because she hadn't drunk the tap water yet -- had I taken the pill bottle too soon, or had she forgotten to drink the water? She was all, "no, I said I need COLD water!" I said I knew that, and I would bring it; I was just asking of she had taken her pills already, or if I needed to bring the pill bottle back too. Her (again): "I said I need COLD WATER!" Me: "I know, and I will bring that -- I just want to know why you haven't drunk the tap water yet? Did you take your pills?" Her: "No, I'll take them at bed!" Me: "So I should bring back the pill bottle? Did I put it away too early?" Her: "YOU DON'T LISTEN! I SAID I NEED COLD WATER!" Me: "And I said I will bring that -- I'm just asking if you also need your pain pills?" Her: "You already took the bottle!! Did you forget that already?"

And then I finally spotted the white pain pills on the napkin under the tap-water glass, so I knew that no, I didn't need to bring it. But it's a frequent struggle to figure out how to phrase questions so I get the answer I need -- nearly every time, I get her screaming at me that I don't listen.

She loved me, but she was never mothering. She hated to be touched, so never hugged me; I was pretty touch-starved. I learned to read because she was a very slow reader when reading me stories; I got impatient and learned to do it for myself. She couldn't help me with my homework. She resented having to take me to school recitals and science fairs. She wasn't someone I could get advice from. I admit I was often envious of characters who had physically-loving, compassionate, wise mother-figures (who weren't so binary about morality -- and so weren't always screaming that this or that character should die, no matter how small the transgression).

But I wish she were still here to frustrate me -- that's so much better than not having her at all. And I wish I had been better at keeping my temper.

She was an atheist, and firm in that belief. Maybe she's right, or maybe her firm belief is affecting me, because I would dream frequently about others I have loved and lost, and swear I feel them, but with her ... nothing. Just a gaping hole in the fabric of my waking life, threatening to suck all the light and hope into it.

#mine #rant #personal #tw: death #cw: death #the death of my mom #my mom

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bananxjin · 4 years

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Trophy Wife || 4

↦ Coworker!Seokjin x Reader

↦ WC: 8,839

↦ Drama || Angst || Fluff || Slow Burn

↦ Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Light verbal abuse

↦ Tagged: @lysannnnaa

↦ Summary: You thought you knew what you wanted – You were sure you knew what you wanted. You thought the be-all and end-all was a loving, domestic marriage with your fiance, Touru Kim; the love of your life, the future father of your children, and the man of your dreams, but things happen. Events begin to unfold, and the relationship falls apart. You see the true colors of your husband-to-be, and you realize that maybe he’s not what you built him up to be. With everything laid out in front of you, you knew the be-all and end-all was a loving, domestic marriage.

Just not with Touru.

(A/N: I’ve never been to a BT21 store, but I treated it like a mock build-a-bear in this one, okay? Just humor me.)

✨ Masterlist ✨

“How would you feel if I went back to nursing school?”

You asked meekly, peeking in from the archway at your fiance, who’s hunched over on the couch, working away on his laptop. He stops abruptly upon hearing your question. Without even looking up from the screen, he responded, “Do you even need to ask me that question? You know exactly how I feel.”

You swallowed your anxiety as he resumed typing away. You’re allowed to ask for the things that you want, and he needs to accept that. “It’s just something that was really important to me, and I’d hate to just give it up.” You sighed, walking closer with your hands clasped behind your back. “It would be beneficial to our children even if I never made a career out of it, and--”

Touru forcibly slammed his laptop shut, making the glass coffee table shudder beneath the sudden force. He stood abruptly and stalked over, towering over you with a look of intimidation in his eye. “I am not discussing this with you right before we have to attend this fucking business dinner with my father.” He hissed, emphasising the swear word. “I’ve already told you plenty of times, we are on a set path to having a financially stable family life, and when we have our children--”

He didn’t miss how you leaned away from him. Pressing your back into the archway, visibly shaken. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before presenting to you a strained smile. “You don’t ever need to worry about working, sweetheart. I’m able to supply us with everything we’d ever need, just… Please trust me.”

It took everything in you to hold back the hurt you’re feeling; the tears of frustration from being misunderstood. It was never a question of whether or not you had to or even wanted to work. It was something that was so utterly important to you; something you felt like you had to do for your own sake, but it’s like he’s never understood that. Never cared enough to hear you out or even try to understand why it would be something that you want. Even though he was there for you after it all happened, did he just expect you to leave it all in the past?

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” You nodded, giving him a small smile. Part of you couldn’t help but blame Jin for this one. For him to instill this hope in you to go back to school and get your degree, but the other part was telling you it was your own, stupid decision to bring it up to Touru once again. You’ve known from the getgo where Touru stood. Even if it felt nice having Jin’s support, it wasn’t the support you needed to get you where you wanted to go.

Would things be different if you were marrying Jin?

You frowned at the thought. Although it’s not very fair to Touru, you still couldn’t help but wonder. You already knew Jin seemed to support you unconditionally -- For now, at least. There’s still so much about Jin that you don’t know. What if the way he acts is all a facade? He could be a completely different man behind closed doors, and you’d be none the wiser until it was too late. How could you ever compare him to Touru as a lover?

Jin is such an open book. You’re fooling yourself if you think anything about his personality is less than sincere.

You’re brought back to that lunch you had with him at the bistro. The smile he’d adorned while you sat there and gushed over Touru like he was God’s gift to you. Who are you kidding? He’s not the kind of person to hide anything from anyone. If anything, he’s the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and you have no doubts he’s going to make a wonderful husband someday. Hell, he’s not even yours, and yet he puts you on a pedestal like he would a lover. He didn’t scorn you when you told him you enjoyed the song that seemingly annoyed him, nor did he ever brush any of your concerns off, and the way he held onto your every word…

The way he stared at your lips…

Ogled you like he was longing for your attention. Your kiss.

“What if I wanted to kiss you in here?”

You sniffled suddenly, bringing your fingertips to your cheek. When did you start crying? More importantly, why were you crying? You scolded yourself for even thinking in such a way about Jin and immediately put those thoughts to rest. Touru’s right. You knew how he felt about you going back to school; you’ve known how he’s felt from the beginning, and it’s unfair of you to try and change the path you’re already on. You should try to support him more--

“Hey!” Touru’s voice carried from down the hall, causing you to jump.

You shook your head no. “I’m fine! I’m gonna go get dressed.” And with that, you escaped the living room before Touru could make any further comments. You didn’t miss the heavy sigh when you slipped past him.

“Yeah?”

“You need to start getting ready soon. We’re leaving in an hour -- Are you crying?” His voice was tinged with annoyance when he poked his head back into the living room.

Dinner was less than uneventful. For you, anyway.

Touru and his father felt like they were miles away as they discussed the finer details of their newfound business deal, a small pile of papers and manila folders had been shoved into one of the empty chairs once the food arrived. Touru sat beside you while his parents and his sister, April sat on the opposite side of the table. Mrs. Kim was wrapped up in a conversation with her daughter. You weren’t listening too much; Mrs. Kim mentioned loving the restaurant and how she wanted to take April back to Paris with her after Christmas ended, and April seemed thrilled at the idea.

Mrs Kim made some effort to indulge you in conversation when you all had first arrived. She asked about your mother, a touchy subject seeing as how they got off to a pretty rough start. Then she asked you if you were still working, “in that fast food job you love so much”, to which you had to correct her.

“But to answer your question, I am still working there! And I’m enjoying it quite a bit!” You responded with a bubbly tone. Mrs Kim hummed and took another sip of her wine while April regarded you with a look of disgust.

Suffice to say, spending time with Touru’s family was no walk in the park. Of course, his father held no real interest in you. He saw you as nothing more than the woman on his son’s arm who would provide him a healthy family. Really, as long as you didn’t try to deflect the family business in any way, Mr. Kim had a “Positive” outlook on you.

Mrs. Kim on the other hand, was a little harder to please. She didn’t think you were a good fit for her son. Her critique has never been short of harsh, be it on what you wear, what you eat, and on the rare occasion, the way you speak. You and your mother did well with what you had after you lost your father, but for your future mother-in-law, that wasn’t enough.

She’s only ever met your mother once, when you were nineteen -- Shortly after Touru had proposed to you. You knew how she could be, but you thought it’d be nice if they met each other before the wedding. You had even hoped they could become friends, but it was all in vain.

You could almost feel your mothers thinning patience from the kitchen. “My husband died three years ago.” She sighed. “The nurses did as much as they could to help him, but--”

“You live in such a small house! Does your husband not provide much of an income?” She wondered aloud.

“What about your husband’s health insurance? His life insurance? None of his expenses could’ve been covered under those?”

“The nurses?” Mrs. Kim spat, “Do you mean those Mediheal government nurses?”

Your mom hesitated, “Yes. That’s all we could afford.”

“His work didn’t offer him any of that. We got by with what we could, but it wasn’t enough.”

When you came back just seconds later with fresh tea, you could tell by the look on your mother's face she really didn’t appreciate Mrs. Kim standing in her house, much less the attitude she’d been met with, but she bit her tongue and suffered through it. For you.

The tension only got worse as the night went on. You were standing in the kitchen making dinner when you heard the telltale screech of your mother's temper.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Money Bags! But aside from money, what can your son provide for my daughter?!” She demanded. “Is he going to make her happy? Is he going to be good to her?! Money and family be damned! How can I expect him to be a good father to my grandchildren if he can’t even be a good husband to my daughter?”

“How dare you speak to me like that!”

You nearly dropped the hot pot on the floor as you set it down to rush back into the living room. Touru tried to defend himself, telling your mother, “I love your daughter, how can you say that about me?!” but Mrs. Kim had shoved him away, telling him to stay out of it. You did your best to defuse the situation, trying to make things right again, but the damage had been done.

Mrs. Kim had all but dragged Touru out of your house, slamming the door behind her. Your mom was fuming, fists clenched at her sides. “Mom--”

“I will not stand for you to marry into that family! That woman is a walking nightmare if I’ve ever seen one!” She yelled, stomping into the kitchen. You followed her, speaking quickly to try and calm her down, but there was nothing you could say to make the situation right.

“Do you even know what she said about you?!” She screeched, “What she said about my daughter?! My pride and joy?!” Tears brimmed at her eyes. “I heard her, (Y/n). Heard her with my own two ears! She had the audacity to ask that son of hers if he was sure about you! How you can’t give him anything aside from children!”

You felt tears brimming your own eyes. Not so much at her comments, but the fact that it had hurt your mom so badly to hear this stranger talk like that about her offspring. “Mom, it’s not a big deal. I don’t care what Mrs. Kim thinks about me--”

“Well I do!” She screamed. “You just expect me to sit back and listen to that -- That bitch talk about my daughter like she’s nothing?! Nothing more than a machine that bears babies for her ungrateful prick of a son!?”

It had only been the tip of the iceberg. You thought things would get better as time went on, but the rift in your relationship with your mom only grew bigger, and your relationship with Mrs. Kim never grew any stronger.

Finally, there was April. Touru’s little sister. God, when you met her, you did everything you possibly could to be good to her. Everything in hopes of becoming her friend, but she vehemently disregarded your every attempt through and through.

You practically begged Touru to let you attend her high school graduation last year. You bought her a giant teddy bear with her graduation year eloquently knitted into the belly and a graduation cap on his head, and you bought a big bouquet of red roses to tuck between his arms.

You stood off to the sidelines with the rest of the families absolutely overjoyed, filled to the brim with excitement. You grew up an only child, so you never really got to celebrate anything like graduations or birthdays with anyone aside from friends. Of course, all of your friends graduated the same year as you, so you were more than happy to celebrate April’s with her.

April had walked up to you and the rest of her family with a small smile on her face as her parents pulled her into a loving hug, giving her praise and congratulating her. She turned to you, looking a little less enthusiastic until you held the gift out to her. “Congratulations on your big day!” You yelled with excitement.

And for the first time, it felt like she actually gave you a real, genuine smile. Pulling the bear close to her and pulling the roses from his arms so she could sniff him. “Oh. Thank you, (Y/n).” She responded softly. “You… You really didn’t have to do this.”

“But I wanted to!” You responded. “This is a big deal for you, and I wanted to be here to support you!” You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled her into a hug. She stiffened underneath you, but at least attempted to hug you back. She was still smiling at you even after you pulled away. You really felt hopeful that your guy's relationship would actually improve.

The family had dinner reservations after the graduation, but they had to wait just a little longer since you needed to use the bathroom before you guys left. As you were heading out of the school to meet Touru in his car, you found the graduation bear, haphazardly stuffed in one of the garbage cans, and the roses had been dropped on the ground. It stung, but you never brought it up to her, or Touru. Hell, he probably watched her do it.

You frowned at the realization that you’ve never been able to really hit it off with Touru’s family. You wondered to yourself if they’d ever welcome you. You didn’t expect them to treat you like a daughter-in-law, or even a friend! Just treat you with some respect, was that asking for too much?

Jin’s family probably isn’t even half as rude as Touru’s family.

You took another sip of your wine as your thoughts were overrun with your coworker. You wondered what he’s doing; if he’s enjoying his evening. Perhaps he’s actually on a date tonight. Or maybe he’s just spending his night alone at that bar…

What if he met someone at that bar? What if he took her home?

You visibly cringe as thoughts of him with another woman crossed your mind. Luckily, everybody’s so wrapped up in their own conversations that they didn’t seem to have noticed your awkward movements, or the way you’re living in your head when you should probably at least try to socialize with the family.

You rolled your eyes to yourself. They don’t want to talk to you, you think. Jin would want to talk to you if he were here. He’d be sitting across from you like he was at the bistro, gazing at you with those warm, brown eyes. Telling you stories of his childhood and trying to take peeks into your personal life, or whatever you’d offer him.

You’re overcome with a tingly feeling in your hands; in your lips. This place is so much fancier than that bistro. If Jin were here with you, it would actually be a date; nothing platonic about it. You couldn’t help but wonder what Jin would look like all dressed up. Sure, he dressed nice for work, but nothing fancy. Something you couldn’t fathom Jin doing.

The idea of him wearing a tuxedo? Or even just a nice white button up while sitting across from you with those hooded eyes and million dollar smile -- All of that just for you. The very thought alone sent a wave of heat over your whole body. He’d be all dressed up to take you out on a date like this. Instead of a table, he’d probably opt for the more private intimacy of a booth. Halfway through the dinner, he’d move to the other side so he could sit beside you. Running his hand up your bare thigh and pressing liquor infused kisses to your neck. Afterwards, he’d drive you back to his place where the two of you can be alone. Where he can trap your chin between his fingers like he did that one night. Maybe pin you against the wall, and--

Oh, god! What’s wrong with you?!

You took another, long sip of your drink. Rubbing your thighs together in a failed attempt at calming yourself down. You must really be losing it lately. Either that, or you’re just severely touch-starved. Fantasizing about your friend taking you while you’re sitting at a nice dinner with your fiance's family?

It’s his fault, you thought to yourself. What right did he have putting these thoughts in your head? None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t teased you in the stockroom like he did. You’d love nothing more than to put that memory to rest, but you just couldn’t. The way his hand caressed your hip, or how he eyed your lips like they were his last meal. Neither of you have brought it up since, but you can’t escape it. It keeps you up at night. Everytime you close your eyes, all you can see are those pink lips. All you can hear is his ragged breathing, and his voice whispering, “What if I wanted to kiss you in here?” Deep, husky, and right in your ear.

Asshole.

You wondered if he really wanted to kiss you, or if he was just taking the piss. Something that you’ve been more and more curious about, however…

‘How do I feel about it? Am I developing feelings for Jin?’

Even now, spending an evening with your lover and his family -- Weren’t you supposed to be enjoying this time together? You’ve racked your brain time and time again, and no matter how you looked at it, you couldn’t find a single thing to be happy about tonight. Not the food, nor the company. In fact, any dinner or outing you’ve ever been to with Touru’s family has been downright uncomfortable.

No matter how much you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you found yourself desperately missing Jin’s company. Missing his dumb puns, or the way he’d danced outside the cafe. Even remembering the way he smiled down at you when you restrained him…

His stupid smile.

‘Have I really been harboring feelings for him this whole time?’

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that it took you a moment to register the messy head of black hair up by the bar. He’s turned away from you, clearly talking to one of the bartenders and fidgeting with the tie on his apron, but that hair… Those broad shoulders…

No, your mind screamed. That can’t possibly…

That is not the one person you’re missing right now. Not now.

Slowly inhaling through your nose and exhaling from your mouth, you pulled your phone out with a shaky grip, but for what? A distraction? A confrontation perhaps?

You considered texting Dahyun for help, but what’s she supposed to do for you? You’re nearly two hours away from home and you don’t know where you’re at. You can’t even say the dumb French restaurants name, let alone spell it out.

Maybe you should confront Jin. Just shoot him a simple text asking him where he’s at; what he’s doing. It’s not like you’ve been thinking about him for the last twenty minutes. You could even play it off like, “Hey! Just saw your doppelganger at this restaurant! Crazy, right?”

He nodded, taking her glass. “Certainly, milady.” He gave a short bow and hurried off to the bar. You stole a quick glance at Touru, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have noticed Jin. Not that he’d recognize him. Or at least, you hoped he wouldn’t. Not like this.

“Could I get you a fresh drink, Mademoiselle?”

You flinched, glaring up at the man with the shitty faux French accent. It did nothing to ward off Jin’s fat grin staring you back in the face. “Ooh! I need a refill!” April chimed in, holding her glass up to Jin. “Château Lafite, please.”

“Wow, they really do hire some of the most handsome men here, don’t they?” April giggled to her mother. “I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger! Maybe you should get his number.” Mrs. Kim responded in a hushed tone which only made April giggle more. You let their conversation roll off you. Hell, you could hardly be bothered to pay attention to anything other than Jin now that you knew he was here.

Wait… Jin is here.

Why is he here?!

His eye caught yours as he was making a mixed drink. He smiled and gave you a wink. You sucked in a quick breath, trying to subtly shake your head at him, but he’s already on his way back over before you could get the message across.

“Here you go, ma’am!” He set the wine down in front of April before turning back to you. “And for the pretty lady. Mon Coeur.” He purred, bringing back the faux accent.

You didn’t miss the odd look April gave you upon hearing Jin’s comment, but you couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her, instead giving Jin a strained smile, hoping he takes the hint.

“You told me to surprise you, yes?” He chuckled, playing it off effortlessly. “You look like someone who enjoys the sweeter things in life, so I made you this drink. It’s a mix of peach vodka, grenadine, lime soda, ice,” He counted the ingredients using his fingers, “And fresh peaches of course.” He purred with a wink before setting a paper napkin down beside your drink.

You took a slow sip of the pretty pink drink, your senses were immediately overcome with the sweetness exploding over your tastebuds. It sent a tingle down your spine, and you did your best to confine your smile from any prying eyes. One thing’s for sure, Jin knew your tastes when it came to alcohol.

You stiffly nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“If you need anything else, please let me know.” He gave a final nod to the rest of the family before hurrying back to the bar.

You used the napkin to wipe the corners of your mouth before you noticed a message on the underside.

“Meet me by the bathrooms in 15.”

You cleared your throat and folded the napkin in half, discreetly slipping it into your bag before taking another sip of your drink. “Wow. That waiter sure seemed awfully friendly with you, (Y/n).” Mrs. Kim noted in a snarky, loud tone. She gave her son the side eye, but Touru didn’t seem the least bit interested, too wrapped up in whatever story his father’s been sharing.

“It sure would seem that way. He gave her his heart after all.” April bit, motioning towards the drink in your hand. The words barely registered as you glanced down at the pink liquid in your cup.

His…

His heart?

You felt almost clueless sitting amongst them, listening to them talk about you like they’ve seen it all before. “I-it’s just a drink. I really don’t think it means anything…” You stuttered, trying to keep your poised posture. “Do you think they know each other?” Mrs. Kim spoke in a hushed tone. Her words immediately sent another chill down your spine. You couldn’t help glancing over at Touru, but still. Nothing.

“Maybe, but she isn’t nearly pretty enough for him.” April muttered against the lip of her glass, giving you a look as if to say, ‘Go on. Challenge me.’. Mrs. Kim giggled and playfully smacked her daughters arm, both of them acting as if their words were lost among the chatter. You swallowed your pride and played along, reminding yourself that their words shouldn’t mean anything to you.

You kept a close eye on the time, pushing the measly pieces of shrimp around on your salad and taking small sips of your drink every now and again. You were vibrating with anticipation as you took another peek at the large clock just across the room. It truly was the longest fifteen minutes you’d ever sat through, until finally…

You were good to go.

You barely tapped Touru on the leg murmuring, “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” Touru nodded and took your hand in his to give it a chaste kiss before indulging his father again. You made your way towards the back of the restaurant where you saw the bathroom signs -- Where you knew you’d be out of the family’s line of sight.

Sure enough, You saw that tall idiot leaning against the wall playing on his phone, dressed to the nines in black slacks, a deep maroon apron tied neatly around his waist, and to top it all off, a white button up with a silk black vest clinging deliciously to his abdomen.

Well, looks like you got part of your wish.

He smiled almost immediately when he looked up at you. “Hey, beautiful! I wasn’t sure if you were actually gonna do it--”

“Shut it!” You hissed, swatting at his arm with the back of your hand. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

Jin gestured to his outfit, giving you his best customer service smile. “What does it look like I’m doing here?” He laughed, his response sounding more like a statement rather than a question. “I work here on Friday and Saturday evenings for a little extra cash. Not to mention, having the bartending experience is a plus.” He winked.

“Oh, speaking of! How was your drink?” His eyes widened, filled to the brim with child-like wonder as he asked. “I made it myself, so your feedback is crucial right now.”

He’s your friend. Not your lover.

You sighed, “Jin, I didn’t come over here to make jokes with you--”

“Oh no, it’s not a joke! I really do wanna know! I put my heart and soul into that drink.” He winked again. “I guess in a way, you could say I gave you my heart.” He added with a sly smile. You could feel his words churning within as they settled at the bottom of your stomach. Is that what April meant?

“Will you quit flirting?” You sighed, “Seriously. I’m supposed to be having a nice dinner with Touru’s family, and--”

“Oh yeah, ‘cos you looked like you were just having the time of your life with those people.” He sneered, rolling his eyes for added effect. “I’ve been here all evening, (Y/n). I could tell from the moment you walked through the door that you were miserable.” His voice soft again as he took a step closer to you to rest his hand on your shoulder. You made a half attempt at shaking him off, but his palm only slipped down your bare bicep. You shivered, feeling the touch of his warmth against your cool skin.

“How about we blow this popsicle stand and go get sushi or something, yeah?” He asked with a small smile. “Or I can head back over to lover boy’s family and strike up a conversation.” He suggested, pulling his hand away from you so he could make exaggerated gestures, “Maybe flirt with Touru’s fiance in front of him a little more; see how far I can push my luck before he pummels my ass.” He laughed, causing you to smack his arm a few more times.

He smiled mischievously. “Well I suppose if you’re in the mood to do something for me, I guess can make myself disappear for the night.”

“Will you quit it?! You may think it’s funny, but I’ll have to deal with his pissy mood.” You hissed.

“Ooh, you’ll have to--”

“Seriously, Jin.”

You knit your eyebrows at him, taken aback by his suggestion. “Excuse you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever. I’ll help you move. But I really need to get back now before they get suspicious.” You sighed, checking your phone real quick to make sure Touru hasn’t already sent a slew of messages.

“It’s nothing like that! Just a little favor for a friend.”

You glared at him for a moment, “Are you making me buy your silence?”

Jin shrugged. “I’m not making you do anything. But if you’re not willing to do a little something for me -- Say, helping me move into my new apartment next month,” He winked, “Then I’ll be more than happy to liven up your evening. Just a little bit.”

“Awe, but you just got here.” Jin whined. Even going as far to jut his bottom lip out in an adorable little pout. It only annoyed you more. Not in a, ‘You get on my nerves’ way, but more like, ‘Why do you have to be this cute?’ Kind of way.

If this were an old time cartoon, this would probably be the part where steam started streaming out of your ears. You puffed your cheeks out and clenched and unclenched your fists a couple of times before smiling up at him. “I’ll see you later, Jin.”

“Yeah, but I’m not here to hang out with you--”

“You say that, but you did leave your fiance to come back here to meet me.” He teased with a suggestive smile. “Surely that means you wanted to see me at least a little bit, no?”

He frowned as you turned away, but he knew he could only keep you with him for so long. “Fine, I understand… Oh, and (Y/n)...” Jin grasped your hand before you could run away. “I’m just a text away if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”

You licked your lips, letting his hand linger in yours a lot longer than it needed to. You wanted nothing more than to clasp your fingers around his. You could still change your mind; you could still turn around and run away with him. Fuck the business dinner, Jin just offered to buy you sushi, and you were really going to turn that down?

You sighed as your rational thought won out. You gently pulled your hand away, and gave him one last smile over your shoulder. “I know. Thank you, Jin.”

You smoothed out your black midi dress several times, clueless as to what your hands should be doing. You clasped them in front of you for a moment until your fingers delicately wrapped around the hand he’d just held, though you weren’t sure why. Your hands weren’t as big as his. They surely weren’t as warm. You were already regretting your decision as Touru and his family were finally in your crosshairs again.

Best friend. Not your lover.

Despite the fancy music and the families chattering around you, all you could hear was the click clacking of your heels as if the sound had made it’s home at the base of your eardrums. Great. Another lie. Another reason why Touru shouldn’t trust you. How many more lies would you have to tell before Touru found out?

You sat back in your seat once again, subtly wiping your palms on your dress. Although it was sweat you were wiping off, you supposed Touru nor his family would know any better. “Is everything okay?” He asked suddenly, placing his hand upon yours.

Where Jin held your hand…

You gave him your best smile as you nodded at him. “Yeah. Uhm, Yuna called while I was in the bathroom.” You coughed. “She needs help moving, and I agreed to help her.”

Touru narrowed his eyes at you, slowly pulling his hand away from yours. “When? You know I rescheduled those venue showings for February, so if that’s the case--”

“She said she’ll get back to me with the date.” You stuttered, conjuring up a new story. “She’s narrowed her options down, but... She’s not closing until after Christmas.”

Dammit, Jin.

You looked back at Touru, his jaw set tight. The look in his eyes already told you you’d be in for a long night once this was all over. You took a deep breath and turned back to your food without another word. Even Mrs. Kim had been giving you a stern look over the brim of her champagne glass, clearly catching onto the tension between you and her son. April seemed to be the only one who didn’t notice or at the very least, didn’t want to be involved in the newfound family drama.

“Okay…” Touru replied suspiciously. “Well if it’s in February--”

“I already know it can’t be in February.” You snapped. Mr. Kim loudly cleared his throat and his cutlery scraped across his plate, causing you and Touru both to glance over at him. He gave you both a look as if to say, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’

You glared at the dry erase calendar set up directly above the weekly schedule. “Happy birthday, Jin!” Was scrawled in ugly bright green letters on the fourth day of December. Your fingers twitched at the thought of reaching up and erasing the note. Itching to erase his name and replace it with “asshole”. Anything to show your frustration with him. The last two days had been hell to get through, no thanks to Jin and his stupid moving nonsense.

What was that about anyway? Manipulating you into helping him move?

Thinking back on it, you could’ve just told him no. He could’ve made an ass of himself in front of Touru and his family, but…

Touru said he saw you and Jin goofing off at work, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he knows what Jin looks like; doesn’t mean he could easily pick Jin out of a line-up of the men you work with, right? So would he have noticed him if you’d decided to call his bluff?

You took a deep breath, trying to reel your thoughts back in before you would have to start your shift. You reminded yourself that you couldn’t put all the blame on Jin. Although it was a poor decision on his part to bargain with you -- Manipulate you into helping him, it was still your decision to go see him. All because you missed him. Missed his company.

You could always just back out, you thought to yourself. The dinner is over with; Jin could never follow through with his little charade now. What are the odds of him ever seeing Touru again? Not like he would do anything anyway. He’s too kind, too honest, too compassionate to ever--

Then it occurred to you. He never would’ve created a scene in front of Touru’s family. He never would’ve humiliated you or himself because he cared.

When are you going to figure out that he only says these things to get a reaction out of you?

You sighed. You’re not going to back out of the deal. You cared about Jin, too and you wanted to be there for him.

So what about his birthday?

“What are you sighing so dramatically about?”

The faint whisper against the shell of your ear startled you, causing you to turn around way too quickly and bumping right into Jin’s chest. His hands naturally jutted out to grab your hips, steadying you before he bursted out into laughter. “Jesus christ, Jin. I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.”

“I couldn’t help it. You seemed so distressed over here, I thought I’d come over and try to help.” He explained, releasing his hold on you so he could flick through the clothes in the dressing room, going about his normal routine as if everything were just fine.

“How’d dinner go the other night?” He asked casually. You frowned as you scooted by Jin so you could load some of the clothes onto your arm. “It was fine, I guess.” You shrugged. “Touru got mad at me…” You whispered, though you weren’t even sure if you wanted Jin to hear you.

“Wait, did he really?” He stopped suddenly, looking at you in complete shock. You gave him a small nod. “I mean I didn’t tell him I was helping you move, I told him it was for another friend. Oh by the way, as far as anyone is concerned, you’re not closing until after Christmas.”

“What? Oh…” His cheeks dusted pink. “Yeah. I mean that’s pretty close anyway. I’m closing December twenty first, but I can’t move in until January fifth.”

“I’ll make sure to mark it on my calendar then!” You chirped, heading over to the Women’s section. Jin was right on your heel, grabbing his own armful of clothes on the way out. “Wait, wait (Y/n) I’m really sorry. It wasn’t my intention to start a fight between you and Touru--”

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it, okay?” You responded nonchalantly as possible, “Touru… He’s easy to set off. If things aren’t going his way, then it gets under his skin. It’s nothing we haven’t been through before.”

Jin’s silent as you two go about putting clothes away in the Women's area. You bumped shoulders a couple times, half expecting Jin to make a joke or start up a new conversation, but now he seemed to be the one that was distraught.

“Even if it hadn’t been you -- If it had really been Yuna or Dahyun; anyone! He would’ve been upset.” You explained softly. “It’s a wrench thrown into our plans, and the beginning of the year is always really hard on him because of his position--”

“(Y/n)...”

“Jin, I’m serious.” You replied firmly, grabbing him by the biceps once you two were in the confines of the dressing room once again. It was a slow night with light foot traffic, so you and Jin could take it easy. You could actually take the time to have a conversation with him like this.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t--”

“But I said I would!” You whined. “Seriously, Jin. It’s no biggie. All I ask is that I be out of your place by four that day.” You replied firmly. “Touru usually gets home around six, so I’ll need to leave a little early. You know, for dinner and all.”

Jin frowned, but nodded in agreement anyway. “Fine. But if you can’t do it for any reason, just let me know?” He pleaded.

“Of course.”

You spent the next few days brooding over whether or not you should do something for Jin’s birthday. Anything at all.

You always went out of your way to buy birthday presents for your friends or have little surprise parties for them. Hell, even just taking them out to dinner! Just something to show that you cared.

It was much more difficult with Jin. Partially because you couldn’t find it in yourself to create another story for Touru. “Oh, I’m going to a friend's birthday dinner! I’ll be back later!” He knows most of your friends birthdays, so it’s not like he’d fall for it anyway. But on top of that, you couldn’t stop overthinking the whole ordeal.

What were you supposed to buy for a man in his mid-twenties on his birthday? New clothes? Candy? An air freshener? Who knows! Certainly not you! It’s not like you’ve had to worry about this with Touru. He doesn’t like presents, and instead prefers dinner and/or birthday sex -- Assuming he’s not busy. Birthday dinner or not, he wants birthday sex every year.

You blushed, knowing Touru’s birthday ideals were not going to cut it for your friend and coworker. You decided to stop by one of the little corner shops after work Monday evening. Maybe just a basket of goodies would suffice? With lots of sweets and treats? Ah, but that feels like a cop out; disingenuous, and even if Jin would probably settle for something like that, you would not.

On Tuesday, you were fortunate enough to have the day off, so out shopping you went! Unfortunately, there was only one car to split between you and Touru, and he always took that car to work -- Including today, so you were left to walk to places nearby or take the train into town.

You spent much of your morning in search of a gift in the local shops, but you really couldn’t find anything of interest. You were beginning to panic as you were quickly running out of time, and so by the early afternoon, you found yourself at the mall. Weaving your way in and out of shops, even asking shop clerks what they think a man Jin’s age would want. Many of them offered you some pretty good ideas, but nothing you hadn’t already considered yourself. You wound up at home empty handed.

Wednesday afternoon, and you were working alongside Kyla. You were really starting to lose the birthday spirit as you subtly perused your own shop's shelves, desperately searching for something Jin would like, however the idea of giving him something that obviously came from work seemed like another lazy attempt at a decent birthday gift, so you quickly put that idea to rest. You even asked Kyla what she was getting Jin for his birthday, but that ended up being useless as she simply shrugged and replied, “We don’t really get each other gifts. I just sign the company birthday card with a nice note, and he’s pretty satisfied with that.”

You did sign the company birthday card, but that still wasn’t enough for you.

Your shift ended. You were dragging your feet along the pavement as you made your way to the train station. You really couldn’t find one birthday gift for him? Maybe you should just take the easy route and make a goodie basket. Sure you won’t be satisfied giving him such a low-brow present, but he’ll probably be satisfied, and shouldn’t that be enough for you?

“Mommy! Look! The new toy line is out!”

You turned towards the child on the other side of the street, desperately pulling her mother into a toy shop. You smiled and jogged over to take a peek in the window. You saw all kinds of little plushies and big plushies of different animals, cartoon characters, and video game characters. Even some characters from trendy overseas shows that you’re not as familiar with.

Then you spotted the new toy line the little girl must’ve been so excited about. The shop had a grand display for eight new characters featuring a smiling alpaca, a mischievous looking cookie, a blue koala, a horse -- Which clearly wasn’t a horse -- A puppy in a yellow suit, an alien-looking creature with a giant heart for a head, and a bright pink bunny rabbit all perched on top of one more alien-looking creature with a deadpan face. Somehow, he looked weirdly protective of the other seven creatures sitting on top of him.

“What a strange and unusual group of characters…” You muttered to yourself, observing them with a quirked eyebrow and a gloved hand to your chin. Jin hadn’t breathed a word of liking anything like this, so why were you considering it?

You glanced down at the price. Oof. The whole set was just a little out of your price-range, but perhaps just one of them…

The blinking pink sign on the window showed that they’d be closing in less than an hour, so without another minute to waste, you rushed into the toy shop.

It wasn’t difficult to pick out the display for the new toy brand. A tall, eight tier tower stood in the middle aisle. Each tier dedicated to its own respective character, and they came in all different sizes. The plushies that wouldn’t fit on the tiers -- Which were a little bigger than the size of an average body pillow -- Sat on the floor just beneath the tower. Only one of each character sat on the floor, but you assumed it was due to their size, and not their stock.

You walked around the tower once. Twice. Three times, quietly observing the plushies. You were in awe of how adorable they were up close and how beautiful the designs were. Even the fabric felt plush like the people who worked on these toys really put a lot of love and care into them. No wonder they were so expensive. You almost considered being selfish enough to buy one for yourself, but you knew Touru would have questions if you brought a stuffed animal home.

Which one would suit Jin the best…

Despite how much you enjoyed looking at some of the other plushies, you kept coming back to the white alpaca, absolutely in awe of how much he reminded you of Jin. And so you decided it would be the white alpaca. Nothing too big; one with enough stuffing to cuddle at night. On the far wall opposite of the tower, you saw they had a small line of outfits offered for the respective characters. You smiled, picking out a fluffy pink parka and a red beanie to match. You also bought a pretty birthday bag and some tissue paper so the plushie could be properly packed tomorrow.

Thursday evening, and it was nearly time to go. With it being so close to the holidays, Touru was as busy as ever. He sent you a text on his lunch, letting you know he wouldn’t be home until midnight, so you’d be taking the train home tonight despite the chilling air and how late you’d be getting home.

You worked almost nine hours alongside Jin. Once he was sure Jin was on a walkie, Namjoon immediately made a big deal out of today being Jin’s birthday. Immediately, a slew of happy birthdays came flowing through the ear piece, making you smile. You glanced over at Jin who was just on the other side of Men’s basics, setting out new Christmas stock. He was radio silent, but he wore the biggest grin you’d ever witnessed on a man, his cheeks and even the tips of his ears were flushed bright pink from the sudden attention.

“Ah! Thank you so much, guys!” He giggled over the radio, and you couldn’t help but giggle with him. He was so embarrassed yet so touched. It was an endearing sight, one that you never wanted to forget.

After closing, you fell behind everyone else as they were walking out of the store, making an effort to hide the bag behind your back as you followed suit. As your coworkers dispersed, you caught the broad-shouldered man by his arm before he could reach his car.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, giving him a gentle tug. He turned immediately, shocked at first then happy to see who it was that had stopped him. “Hey yourself! What can I do ya for?” He asked in his usual dorky tone. Then he noticed you had your hands tucked behind your back. “What do you have behind your back?” He smirked.

You shivered a bit as it began to snow, cheeks tinted pink as he pointed out the obvious gift, but you hoped he’d write it off as you being cold. You considered running away from the embarrassing situation until you saw a little snowflake land on his nose. The way he wiggled his nose cutely at the featherlight touch was almost too much for your heart.

Kiss it. Kiss the snowflake off his nose, you coward.

All thoughts had escaped you. With all the grace of a shy five year old, you shoved the bag into Jin’s chest. “Here.” You breathed through parted lips before taking a small step back. “Happy birthday! I’m sorry, I feel like it’s not much.” You chastised yourself as Jin pulled the alpaca out from under the tissue paper.

His eyes widened in awe as he stared at the adorable plushie in his hand. Truthfully, he’s always loved cute stuff like this, and he was so excited for the BT21 Collection to be released, but funds were tight right now, especially with him wanting to get his own place, so he figured he could do without it.

“I wasn’t really sure what I should’ve gotten you, and believe me, I looked!” You rambled, finally drawing Jin’s eyes away from his new son. “I really wanted to get something that you could use, or something that would be meaningful to you somehow, ya know?”

He gazed at you silently while you looked at everything but him. If only you’d look up, you’d see how his eyes were filled with nothing but adoration for you. “I wanted to get you a goodie basket, but that didn’t feel good enough. Then I asked Kyla what she got you, but she said it’d be fine if I just signed the company birthday card, and I--!”

Your rambling came to a sudden halt when Jin tugged you into his chest, leaning over to encase you in his warm, snug embrace. You’re stunned into silence, gaze wavering for a moment before you slowly wrapped your arms around him to hug him back.

“I love it; he’s so adorable. Thank you.” He whispered. You could even feel the alpaca gently pressed against the back of your head from his hand placement. You smiled and rubbed his back before trying to pull away, but he only held on tighter. “I’m sorry,” He apologized in a husky voice, “can you give me a minute? I really just… Need to hold someone right now.”

Hesitant at first, but you’re wrapping your arms around him again in no time. Your face was buried in his black coat as you held him tighter than you had before. Jin did the same, resting his chin on your shoulder at first, then burying his face somewhere between your hair and your scarf. Softly, slowly you stroked your hand up and down his back, silently deciding you’d hold him as long as he needed you to. His soft sniffle was muffled by wool and hair. It was only more incentive for you to give him a gentle squeeze, reminding him you were there for him.

You came to the realization that there’s a lot you still don’t know about Jin, and there’s still a lot he doesn’t know about you. Things you’ve hidden from him to protect him -- To protect yourself. It only makes you wonder what untold secrets he’s been hiding from you. If he was trying to protect you from his own monsters.

Holding each other like this, no matter how comforting it might feel, it was also painful. Heartbreaking. You didn’t ever want it to end. Even if that meant you and him had to stand out in the freezing cold, buried under ten feet of snow for the rest of your days, you’d gladly accept that fate. As long as you’re with Jin, you felt like you could get through anything.

As long as he’s by your side…

You squeezed your eyes shut and willed those thoughts away. You weren’t ready to face those feelings yet. You knew you couldn’t act on them, and that’s what hurt the worst. You weren’t in too deep yet. You still had just enough time and dignity to pull yourself out of this little hole you’d dug for yourself inside of Jin’s heart, but you weren't ready. Not yet.

One day, you would have to let him go. One day, you’re going to say goodbye to Jin, and it’ll be the last time; you’ll never see him again, never hear his voice again. It was physically painful trying to imagine your life without him. Painful enough to create that lump in your throat, and tears in your eyes.

Not yet…

You squeezed him again, this time for your own sake instead of his. Reminding yourself that he’s still here with you.

It’ll happen. You’ll lose Jin in due time, but until that day comes, you would comfortably continue to enjoy Jin just like this. Little moments where the two of you needed each other. Not for anything in particular, just to be there for each other. For comfort and reassurance. Something both of you had been seeking for a long time.

You continued stroking Jin’s back as he rubbed his face against your scarf, both of you reveling in each other’s warm embrace until he started to loosen up a bit. Then letting go altogether. “Ah, I’m really sorry about that. I think I just really needed a hug!” He giggled, holding his new alpaca close to his chest. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“C’mon, I’m not letting you walk in this cold by yourself. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Okay.”

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

My aunt is a jerk, but gets her just desserts in the end

This is going to be a bit of a long one, and while I think it's worth it (or I wouldn't be posting it), I'll keep this as brief as possible. For those that just want the tl;dr I'll do my best to summarize at the end.

Back in the late 1980s my mother ("Nancy") was diagnosed with a degenerative neurological condition. My father was working long hours to put a roof over our heads and keep my mom seeing the best doctors, and eventually my parents realized that with two small kids and a body that was slowly but surely shutting down on her, she needed more help. We had an au pair for a while but it wasn't a great fit. There was talk of hiring a nursing company to provide in-home care but my mom's sister "Linda" very graciously offered to let us (my mom, my sister, and me) come live with their family, and that she would be happy to take care of her little sister. After a few months of working out the details my parents and my aunt and uncle agreed to the following:

- My dad would pay for construction of a large addition onto my aunt and uncle's home. This would be a fully separate home with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, and an unfinished basement.

- My aunt, who was unemployed, would be the primary caretaker for my mom for the foreseeable future. My aunt claimed that she'd care for her "until one of us dies" but I think we all expected it would be more like ten or fifteen years.

- My mom would have living rights to the addition until her death.

- Upon my mother's death, our claim to the addition would be relinquished and my aunt and uncle would own it outright.

In 1990 my mom, my sister, and I moved three hours away to live with my aunt and her family. (My dad stayed behind to continue working, and this separation did eventually result in a mostly friendly divorce.) Things went well enough at first, and within six or eight months the addition was built and we moved out of their spare room and into our new home. It would be a lie to say it was "massive", but it more than doubled the size of their house. We had our own exterior doors, our own heating and cooling, most every utility. Electricity and plumbing were shared, but I think that was about it. For the first eighteen months or so, my aunt mostly held up her end of the bargain, but soon after the cracks started to form. My uncle left my aunt in early 1991. Linda started getting lazy with my mom and consequently her health was suffering, so my dad hired a home nursing outfit to come in every day and care for her. Linda took this as permission to stop helping with anything at all. Mom soon became bedridden (not my aunt's fault, the disease is terrible) and couldn't leave the home, so Linda would do mom's shopping for her... but started buying more than just my Christmas presents or our groceries. A little at first, then a lot. Eventually my mom's credit card bills really caught my dad's notice. All told, we calculated that she had run up about $20,000 USD in purchases that were for either her or her kids. (This was in the early 1990s; according to the inflation calculator I just looked at, that's the equivalent of about $40,000 USD now.) My dad was working seventy hour weeks for the overtime so he could cover his own mortgage, repaying his 401k for the loan he took out to build the addition, and these massive credit card bills. By late 1993 there was a confrontation. My dad canceled the credit cards and said "you are spending me dry, I can't have surprise bills like these any more" and my aunt in turn said "get the fuck out of my house". Since it was an addition and not technically a separate home, and since my dad didn't have the money for an expensive legal battle, there was little we could do, living rights be damned.

Right at that same time, the house went into foreclosure. Linda had stopped paying the mortgage six or so months before (I'm fuzzy on this number, but it's in the ballpark) and the bank foreclosed. Linda didn't have the money to get current on the mortgage. My dad began making plans to buy the mortgage from the bank and take ownership of the whole property. Things were looking good on this front, and he told us that we'd be able to stay in our home (by this point I was twelve years old and had lots of friends, so I really did not want to move). His plan was that he would charge Linda a fair rent for her half of the house, we would continue to live in our half, and the door that connected the two halves would be forever locked, sort of like a duplex.

It's at this point that I need to introduce the last character to the story, whom I will call "Maria". Maria was the first wife of my mom's- and Linda's older brother. They had been married for a short time in the 1970s and Maria became very close with her new sisters-in-law. After she split from my uncle, she remained very friendly with both Linda's family and mine, and growing up I called her "Aunt Maria". Anyway, Linda now knows that my dad is planning on buying the house from the bank and she panics (makes sense, losing your home is scary). She calls anyone she can think of that will give her the money to get current on the mortgage, and Maria finally comes through and says "Yeah, of course I'll help you out." Linda calls my dad and gloats that she's not losing her house and reiterates that my mom, my sister, and I can move right the fuck out. My dad calls Maria and tries to convince her not to swoop in and save Linda's bacon: "a move is gonna be hard for the kids and extremely hard for Nancy, Linda has neglected Nancy and not held up her end of the bargain", etc. Maria says that she's committed to her decision. My dad gives one bit of advice that will wind up being very important: "Well then, don't just give her money to get current on her mortgage; she'll fall behind again soon enough, the house will still get foreclosed on, and you'll be out the money you gave her. Buy the mortgage from the bank instead and just charge Linda rent, that way you've at least got something for your money."

In early 1994, we move out of the addition. By early 1996, Maria rings my dad up. She did indeed buy the mortgage from the bank and now owns the property outright. Linda swore up and down that she would pay rent but lo and behold, she hasn't paid any rent over the last two years. Maria asked if my dad would be interested in buying the property from her. It was a bit of a stretch since he was paying for two homes (his, and the one I lived in with my mom and sister), but he put the money together and soon enough we owned the property in question. At this point, Linda is in touch with my dad and is no longer extremely nasty and threatening to him - she's as sweet as can be, promising that she will pay him rent and be a great tenant. My dad said "that's fine, you can rent the house, but if you miss a payment I will begin eviction proceedings immediately." They drew up a contract, signed it, and I think she made two rent payments before calling up and asking for more time. He told her "I'm sorry Linda, but if you don't have money in my hands by the due date spelled out in the contract, I am going to evict you." The date came and went, the money never showed up, and my dad gleefully began eviction proceedings. They knew my dad meant business and moved out on their own before the sheriff did it for them.

We owned the house as a rental property for several years, using the income to fund my mom's medical care. Despite being separated since 1990, my parents stayed married until 2002 so that my mom would have health insurance. My dad gave the house to my mom in the divorce settlement, and it was sold to pay for her care in a nursing facility, where she lived from 2000 until her death in 2009.

tl;dr - mom had a degenerative neurological condition, dad couldn't care for her and keep a roof over our heads, aunt offered to care for mom, dad built a large addition onto aunt's home with the understanding that we would live there (and that aunt would care for mom) until mom's death, aunt soon stopped caring for mom, aunt ran up huge bills on my mom's credit card, dad confronted aunt, aunt kicked us out, a few years later dad bought the house and kicked aunt out.

(source) story by (/u/daver3k)

#prorevenge #by /u/daver3k #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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theritualofourexistence · 4 years

Text

Ten years spent learning to think differently.

Everyone and their mom is posting about the past year, and in a lot of cases the past decade.

Let’s start with the past decade.

In the last ten years:

- I survived what I have grown to recognize as an abusive relationship.

- I played a lot of beautiful characters on stage.

- I spent over two years dating someone who now refuses to talk to me.

- I spent three and a half years dating someone different who I also don’t speak to any more.

- I spent hours and hours playing board games and/or video games with my favorite people and my family.

- I graduated summa cum laude from Gettysburg College. My English Honors Thesis remains the most downloaded item on Gettysburg’s online database of student and faculty publications. For commencement, I was seated in the chair immediately behind my abuser.

- I’ve gotten *a lot* of tattoos.

- I gained 60 pounds.

- I went to Nicaragua.

- I racked up a stupid amount of loans.

- I went to South Africa.

- I read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies and TV.

- I started getting panic attacks. I learned to manage those panic attacks.

- I spent five years working in restaurants.

- I made some tough decisions and put in a lot of work to redirect myself and identify new goals... resulting in getting my MA in Forensic Psychology.

- I spent 7 years in therapy.

- I said goodbye to two beloved pets and hello to three more.

- I took anti-depressants and medication for my anxiety.

- I navigated getting my own insurance.

- I saw Bruce Springsteen play my favorite song of all time.

- I helped my two best friends get married.

- I loved. A lot.

Those are, obviously, an extremely brief summary. This past year and the one that has just begun mark the 10-year anniversary of the worst period of my life... and the struggle to begin working past that period. It’s a heavy weight. And it makes it hard to think about the last decade without being bitter. So, as I move into 2020, I am choosing to not spend much time on thinking through the last decade. There was good and there was bad, but ultimately what matters at this point is choosing how to spend my time and energy on what happens next.

---

Now. 2019.

This past year I moved home with my mom.

I started one job adjacent to my desired field and one job very much a part of my desired field. I worked them both for around 10 months of this year. Not only have I gained incredible experience but I’ve helped people and, something I did not necessarily expect, I made a lot of good friends. I know people who scoff at being friends with your coworkers but that is the mark of 2019 for me. I struggle to make friends and I don’t have many in the area... so working at an office of people mostly my age from the same parts of Pennsylvania who all share the same passion and commitment to working a hard, hard job... well that was a gift in more ways than one. Though the future is a bit... vague... I don’t doubt that I can choose to carry these friendships forward and I am so, so grateful for them.

I got back on the health/exercise donkey. After tackling my iron deficiency anemia head-on, I worked hard to find a balance between mental and physical health. For me, this means finding some sort of exercise I can do often enough that I don’t hate. I have to be able to motivate myself and I have to feel like it has value. For the last 10 months, I’ve exercised regularly, something I am immensely proud of. I’ve gained fitness and, most importantly, I’ve motivated myself to keep working. I walk when I can and do intervals of what I lovingly call “fat sprints” 2-3 times a week. Even on vacation!

I saw one of my favorite musicians with my brother and his lady in one of the coolest cities I’ve ever visited.

I made a lot of cool paintings.

I spent a lot of energy working to help one of my best friends plan and execute her wedding. I don’t know that I will ever have a wedding of my own, so throwing myself head-first into doing whatever I could to help was something I found a lot of pleasure in... it was an honor to help the special day go smoothly... but it was fun too.

I did Ink-tober again.

I saw the ends of my chapters of How to Train Your Dragon, Game of Thrones, the Avengers, and Star Wars with the people I love most in the world.

I read some really, really good books.

---

Like all years there were things that were good and things that were not good.

I stand now in a place of some uncertainty.

But something that is different... very different from a decade ago but even different from the beginning of 2019... is that I am not afraid.

There are a lot of things I want to do. Just like I took steps forward in 2019, I will continue to take steps forward in 2020. I don’t know how many. I don’t know what those steps will look like. But every day we spend learning about ourselves and about each other, we have the opportunity to take steps forward.

I’m learning how to value steps forward. I’m refusing to take steps back. I’m understanding that sometimes our only way forward is to take some steps to the side first.

Take deep breaths.

Listen.

Learn.

Be still.

Lean into the things that are hard, the things that take the most effort.

Do your best. Recognizing that your best can vary a lot.

Continue to commit to understanding that all we can do is all we can do.

Help someone else. Help a lot of someone elses. Help yourself.

Build communities.

Use your privilege to balance the scales.

Take action.

Humans are remarkable. They are complex. They are resilient. I know this because I live it every day. If I can, you can too. Find joy in the human capacity to overcome... it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I hope that 2020 brings expansion of horizons. I won’t say happiness, because happiness is a myth. Value learning, value time spent with loved ones, value moments of contentment and comfort, value hard lessons, value new experiences, value the journey to self-love, value feelings of fulfillment and achievement. You are remarkable. And you’re so much bigger than “happiness.” Give yourself credit for your successes and learn from your set-backs. Use small victories like rare, perfectly-shaped handholds on the rock-wall of your human life.

Remember that no journey lasts only a year. Find comfort in that.

Onward and upward... in your own time, at your own pace, in your own way.

#new year #happy new year #recap #annual recap

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sroloc--elbisivni · 5 years

Text

It’s been three months since my dad died.

I think about him every day. Never in the same way twice. Sometimes it’s like last night, where I started remembering the way he grinned and the way he made salmon and how much I miss him and start crying into my pillow. Sometimes it’s like today, where I feel numb and dull and empty until I realize it’s been a quarter of a year and I’m not going to do anything for the rest of my life but get further and further away from him, and the person I was when I knew him. And then I start crying on a plywood platform thirty feet off the ground at work.

I’ve been working a lot this week. This whole semester, really. I’ve wanted to be busy. I’ve wanted to not think about things. And I hate it, because I know that thinking about him is one of the only ways he’ll get fully remembered, and I’m too afraid of getting lost in missing him, and I need to move on and be in the world and I don’t always want to.

But the further away I get, the more I lose. So let me tell you about my dad.

‘You’ being, the general world I guess. You don’t need to read this. I just need to say it. Pretend I can shout at the world “A GOOD MAN IS DEAD” and have it matter.

My dad was born in Grand Forks, North Dakota, and he had the state in his bones—one time I needed to know what city for paperwork, and I texted him to ask if it was Fargo, and he said “No, the other big eastern city.” He understood blizzards and thunderstorms and dressing for the cold, and he taught them to my brother and me even though we were growing up in coastal California, where only one of those happened, and then rarely.

He was brilliant. If you want to know anything about my dad, it was that he was brilliant, and he was kind, and he was loving. He also had several small strokes at the end of his life that meant he didn’t remember or retain things well, and that he got more irritable, and reclusive, and locked into routine. We didn’t know about the smaller strokes until a month before the one that would kill him. Just that he was getting more distant.

My dad was prickly at the oddest times, and he had a temper, and he hated telemarketers, and bad drivers. He lashed out when he got mad and got sulky when you lashed back. He could snipe, and pick at things you didn’t even realize you were sore about, and didn’t know how to listen to a problem without trying to fix it.

He was good at fixing problems. He would take apart a toaster to fish out a burnt piece of bread, and study up on the riding lawnmower engine and go at the engine over and over again, and learned like he breathed. He wanted to write a book about learning, about the way we think and how it actually works, and what thinking is and what learning is and therefore what teaching should be. He believed that learning was just patterns of action. He and my mother literally wrote a book on how to teach in a way that built things up, rather than trying to pick at people’s behavior until they did what you wanted.

My dad was a teacher. He was a wonderful teacher. He taught me how to ride a bike, and drive a car, even when I was yelling at him, and he taught me how mean, median, and mode worked for a third grade science project. He helped talk me through algebra, and fractions, and division. He tried to teach me editing, but that went badly, because I was fourteen and had decided I knew what was best, and he never knew how to let things he cared about go.

He was a teacher for all of his adult life, even though he only ended up in the teacher’s program at his college because he took the RA’s keys after the RA left them lying around and he thought that was irresponsible, and the authority in charge of his punishment was his mother’s friend and also the Dean of Education. He stayed in the education program at the University of North Dakota for the next several years, helped found the school’s first no-hazing fraternity, found a skull with some friends at an archaeological dig site and held onto it for a couple years, went nocturnal for a while, and wrote his dissertation on the way we learn and the history of education. He talked about cave paintings, as early human abstract thought, but he didn’t get to see them until last year, when we went to France. My brother and I had to make sure he didn’t fall, as we went down into the cave, because it was rough and sloping and he was unsteady on feet he couldn’t quite feel anymore.

My dad had diabetes. My dad loved food. By the end of his life, he had lost feeling almost all the way to his knees, and insulin was taking up more room in our fridge than the eggs and milk put together. He was a great believer in the power of ice cream, as a special treat or just to hide in the fridge for when you wanted a taste. His favorite food that I baked was chocolate chip cookies. I made them with his mom’s recipe. Every time i was baking, he’d walk by and try to steal a piece. He stole popcorn every time we made some, too. Called it a ‘popcorn tax’. He used food as a love language, which made it awkward every time you ended up stopping on the way home for dinner without him, on a night he was cooking. He loved going out to eat, and would always talk to the waiter. He would always talk to anyone, really. More than the rest of us would like. My brother and i would always complain that he didn’t have to tell people our whole story, that they didn’t care. But he cared, and sometimes strangers did too, and sometimes they became friends.

My dad loved having friends. He loved knowing people, and talking to them, and learning from them and teaching them. He loved people, but had the misfortune of marrying an introvert and fathering two more. He was the popular kid in high school, on the football team and the newspaper. It was a Catholic high school—he was a Catholic until college, and then he started asking a lot of questions and never really went back. But he remembered all the theory, and all the questions, and all the things they tried to answer, and he could tell you about them if you wanted to know. My mom remembers when he met her aunt for the first time, a former nun, and they spent a good hour debating the finer points of something she couldn’t understand and barely remembered about the Holy Stations. He was good at that, at making you feel in every conversation that he was looking right at you, and interested in what he saw.

He got his doctorate in education, moved to Colorado, learned to ski, learned to parallel park—at 38, something I never failed to bring up when he was trying to teach me to drive—got married, became a step-father, started a charter school, had a wonderful couple of years teaching things the way he felt people would learn them, worked a paper route to try and keep it going, closed the school, dressed his stepkids up as Jawas for Halloween, got divorced—not necessarily in that order. I wish I’d asked my dad more about this part of his life. All I have are unconnected stories. Eventually he went back to North Dakota, and met my mom, and they spent the rest of his life together as “itinerant academics,” trading off who found a job at another university when they wanted to move. They got married at a courthouse two days before Christmas, because my dad needed health insurance and Mercury was going into retrograde. They had a kid in St. Paul and another in Tacoma. They were progressive educators, at a time when that wasn’t a comfortable thing to be in the Northern Midwest, and they made the giraffe their mascot because they kept ‘sticking their necks out’. I didn’t really appreciate that my parents were rebels against a system until I found out that in his first year of teaching, my dad and his friend had adjoining classrooms, and they came in with sledgehammers one weekend and knocked down the wall so they could have a big open classroom.

I found that out at his funeral. So many people my parents know are scattered all over the country, which is great for road trips and hard for gathering. They sent stories instead.

My dad played the guitar, and he sang in his first year of college—at a Catholic school choir, before he transferred, and the Beach Boys on the bus. He loved the Grateful Dead, and Jimmy Buffet, and the Eagles, and Peter Paul and Mary, and the Kingston Trio, and Bob Dylan, and he loved singing along in the car and dancing along in the kitchen, shuffle-step bouncing to the beat. He wore a sweatshirt with the logo of the elementary school my brother and I went to for fifteen years at least, from the time I was in kindergarten to the time he died. I remember it getting covered with cat hair, after the cat followed us on a walk to school too far to turn around and take her home, so he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. She shed in terror. He used to carry the little half size cello I started learning on to school and back, every Wednesday and Friday, on his back making jokes about being a Sherpa.

My dad liked jokes. My dad liked to laugh. He loved comic strips, and insisted that my brother and I be allowed to read as many as we wanted. Probably the reason he and I got so very good at reading. I would recite Calvin and Hobbes and Garfield and Baby Blues to him, retelling what I remembered and hoping he’d laugh at the punchline. I’d show him things I found on the Internet when I got older, still trying and trying to make him laugh. I was less and less successful over time.

He was excited about the new Star Wars movies. I remember him telling me from his computer in his office, showing me the article. I remember going to the midnight showing of Episode VII, but not VIII—he couldn’t stay up that late. We saw Rogue One with my uncle, weeks after it came out. My dad was always the one who took us to movies as a kid. He liked stories. He liked to have fun. He liked Terry Pratchett and Robert B Parker novels and books about how the universe worked that took him months to finish. He had a brother, a younger brother, and lost him months after he lost his dad, years after he lost his mom. He saved things from them—the couch he grew up with, half a dozen chairs, boxes and boxes of books and records, a flag on the wall, a breakfront with china in it, all kinds of other keepsakes. My dad liked things. liked to save things. Liked to remember people—and he had a good memory. Up until the end. I came out to him about my gender six times, because he just couldn’t retain it when I told him. and every single time, he was supportive, and careful, and kind, even when he didn’t understand.

He loved our dog so much. He would make her food just so, with kibble and wet food and bacon grease all mixed together and heated in the microwave just so she’d like it. He used to take her on walks, every single day, and took her everywhere in the car with him. They walked on the beach a lot. My dad loved the beach, probably because he lived so far away from it until he was 51. I was born when he was 52.

My dad worried a lot about math education. how people get traumatized by math, and when they become teachers and parents, they pass on that learning math is hard. He worked for UC Berkeley for years, running a program to give engineering students the skills to become teachers. He ran a summer camp in Emeryville for STEM for high schoolers. Or…middle schoolers? I don’t remember anymore. He made these math models, abaci and blocks that showed ones and twos and tens and how numbers fit together into bigger numbers, and then he painted them all the colors of the rainbow so they wouldn’t be scary. So they’d be toys, something fun and beautiful and clever.

There are so many more things, about what a full and beautiful and complicated human he was that I can’t pull to mind or don’t have the words for, but I need you to know he was more than everything I’ve managed to pour here.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the best dad I could have had. He was smart enough to answer all the questions I asked him, and he gave wonderful hugs, and he loved with a heart as big and open as the prairie sky. And I miss him, so, so, much, and it hurts to think of how I’ve been missing him for a long time, as little pieces of him broke off and drifted away when we weren’t noticing.

His name was George W. Gagnon, Junior. People called him ’Sandy’ as a kid to keep him distinct from his dad, because he had blonde hair as a baby. When I was little, it was dark, dark brown on the sides and circling the bald top. In the beginning of July it was a snowy white.

He’s my dad, and he’s gone, and I’ve spent the past three months knowing that I’m never going to go home again, not really. And knowing that ‘family’ is too big and whole a word to fill with what we have left.

I can’t cry in front of other people anymore. And I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling, or what the world is like now. I just want people to know.

A good man is dead. He loved, and was loved, and laughed, and learned, and ate good food and made bad jokes. And even after writing all of that—I still miss him, and he’s still gone.

#sroloc babbles #grief #Personal crap #my dad

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wxkryarb-blog · 5 years

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dearstepdaughter · 2 years

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Dear stepdaugter,

It’s with a heavy heart that I write this. you can into my life when you were 10. I was so excited about having a step daughter, but I soon learned that there was no room in your heart for me. I accepted it and just went on. But I sat and watched. I watched your dad try time and time again to have you at the house during the times you were supposed to be with him. I watched him try his best to impress you and be the dad you deserved. But I also saw the force in the background working against him... a mother that wanted you to hate him as much as she does. A mother who wanted total control over you and wanted your dad to have no say so. Any time your dad tried to discipline you, you just ran back to your moms.. time and time again. I watched a dad that was sad because his daughter was sadly slipping away and he couldn’t do anything about it. He wanted to but there was never anything that was good enough. There came a time when you got a boyfriend and he didn’t feel like you were quite old enough to date. And guess what happened? You retreated back to your mothers and didn’t even want to see your dad because of him saying you weren’t old enough to date. To spite your dad, your mother let a boy move in with a 15 year old girl. Not only did your dad want to protect you but your reputation as well. Because let’s face it.. when you shack up with your boyfriend at a young age, there’s only one word people are going to call you. I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself. And the thing is.. your dad never disliked your boyfriend. It wasn’t about him.. it was about you. you never listening to any rules he set but just running away when he did what any and every good dad does. You didn’t like him telling you no. You never have. You try to negotiate your way out of it and you couldn’t. So what did you do? You didn’t talk to your dad for months. he would have loved to talk to you, but sadly he did not want to budge on his rules because he knew what you were doing was wrong. He wanted to make amends with you and try and be understanding as best as a could. So he offered to buy you a car because you drive back and forth to Lagrange daily so you needed something dependable. He didn’t want you breaking down in a bad neighborhood and getting hurt. He wanted you to be able to focus on school and not worry about having a job so that you would have plenty of time for school and not worry about bills. You say he bought your love but honestly the only way he can ever get you to even come to his house is to buy you something. He wanted you to have a car that you liked and he hoped it would bring y’all closer together over time. He was so excited that you started coming over again. We both were. We walked on eggshells trying not to make you mad about anything so you wouldn’t stop coming. He has been so proud of you for working hard and making good grades. He always brags about how hard of a worker you are And how much potential you have to do great things. I mean always. He wasn’t always happy about the decisions you were making. No 16 year old should be staying with her boyfriend over night. I’m sure there are not any other kids doing that your age. But he tried his best to over look that even though he didn’t like it. He knew what other kids and their parents were saying about you. He and I both noticed that your dreams stopped being about going to college and being successful had turned into smaller dreams. You can’t wait to move in with your boyfriend and get married and have babies. Those aren’t dreams of a 17 year old. But let me let you in on a secret. A lot of marriages end over finances. It is really hard to live on your own. House payments or rent, house insurance, car payments, car insurance, health insurance, utilities, cell phone bills, food, medical bills, and other odds and ends that you will need like clothes or oil changes or things like that. You and Nic both work very low paying jobs. Neither of you make enough to survive out on your own. When you put that together in a marriage and throw in a baby all you will get is

hard times and a divorce. You don’t want that. If you truly love nic and he loves you then you will want to do what you need to now to have the best income and be able to make a happy home so you have the best chance for success. Nobody and I mean none of us want you to fail. We only want great things for you. You have so many tardies this year and while you are making great grades, being tardy doesn’t cut it in the real world. You can’t be tardy to a job or you will be fired. I know you say you are stressed but honestly this is as easy as your life is ever going to get. The older you get, the harder and more stressful it becomes. You will wish back for the times life was easier. I know you only see the bad in your dad but he really is trying to help you. You say he is holding a car over your head, but. Usually the first thing a parent takes away from their teen is their car. Teens get grounded from their cars all the time. It’s not some horrible thing that nobody does. Honestly when he texted you the first time, all you had to say was you are sorry and that you would try to do better. That’s literally it. But you refuse to do anything that your dad asks of you and really only because it is your dad asking. If it was your mom, you wouldn’t act like that. So why would you say hurtful things to your dad all because he is trying to help you be better? you could have said okay and tried your hardest to be on time. It’s not some outrageous request. schools full of kids do it every day. why are you any different? You have to follow the rules like everyone else. He is supposed to be your dad, not your friend. It is his job to lead you in the right direction. I know you think we are “rich” but we actually really struggle financially. Your dad has worked 6-7 days a week for hours on end until he’s dead tired just to be able to provide that car for you. He tries his hardest to provide and out of every one he cares about, he didn’t want to let you down. He wanted to provide a good car for you so you didn’t have to worry about working a lot of hours to pay for one. He loves for you to come to dinner with us but we did have to stop paying because honestly financially we do struggle and we aren’t able to pay for everybody. It’s not because we just don’t want to but we really don’t have the money. We honestly would love to be able to pay for every body and not have it be an issue but we just can’t afford it right now. We have both downgraded on car payments to make room for your car payment. And we didn’t mind doing that at all because we wanted to reward you for being a good kid. the one complaint I have is you have a terrible attitude. You can be so ugly and mean to him and when he would literally give his life for yours. And I know you think it’s just us but you do this with a lot of people. Youve argued with Nics mom, nics grandmother, Heather every other week, nic himself, your nana, and lord knows who else. You take a nasty tone with people and hold nothing back. That’s not always called taking up for yourself. It’s sometimes just mean and hurtful for no reason. It literally kills your dad. and he doesn’t deserve that. He might hurt your feelings but I promise you it is never on purpose. He has always only wanted the best for you. He didn’t WANT to take your car. He only wanted for you to be at school on time like you are supposed to be. But if he does anything to make you mad then you immediately want to cut him off. He can do a million things for you and you always focus on the one thing he didn’t. If you don’t want a relationship with your dad then you don’t have to have one. He’s not going to force it. He wants you to come see him and call him and all that if you want to. But it seems like you would like to see and spend time with anyone else but him. And I know that hurts his heart so bad. I can’t even stress how proud of you he is and how much he brags on your accomplishments. You will never know or understand the love your dad has for you until you have your own kids. I do my best to stay out of anything and let him make

his own choices with you. I promised I would and I have. But I did want to tell you how he feels too because he’s not good at it. He doesn’t know I’m even saying anything. i Know you don’t believe it but we both do love you. It may not be the way you think we should but we do. You are smart beyond belief. You are pretty and you have so much going for you. Just don’t waste that on things that aren’t important. you Have a gift from God for being bold. Use that to be a leader. I know you have a big heart. And I know you don’t always understand why your dad does things He does.. but I promise in time as you get older then you will. I know you are angry and hurt, but pray about it. Pray for relief from your pain and that God leads you the right way and helps you make the best decisions. you only have one dad and he only has on daughter and that will never change. The only reasons these things hurt you both so bad is because you love each other. You may need some time away and that’s understandable but don’t go your life without compromising and never talking to your dad again. Time flies by and you won’t ever be able to get that time back again. I just want to end this by saying I love you. I pray you get all the things you want in life.

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asknewcyberlife · 6 years

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98, 101, 911

98: How far have you gone in order to do research for a muse?

I have done really weird research for Kamski, including:

reading about how long it takes a person to become unconscious if they’re being drowned

figuring out where, geographically, outside detroit Kamski can live that’s both sparsely populated and within reasonable distance

spending at least half an hour reading about emancipation laws in California, where I don’t live

101: Did you ever have to learn something in order to play a character?

Kamski likes food and I really do not. Every time I have to write him eating something Fancy or enjoying wine or whatever I have to google it. I’m hoping that with time this will actually translate into me knowing how to make more food(s) than scrambled eggs, breakfast cereal, coffee I left on my desk for three hours, and whatever-vegetables-are-left “salad.”

911: What is the worst thing that you’ve ever done to a muse?

Transki is the only muse I’ve done this much backstory for, and in his case I’d say it’s probably piling all this childhood trauma on him.

The scene where he leaves a message for his mom was probably the hardest to write, though:

Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. (313) 244-0645 is not available. At the tone, please record your message.

[beep]

Hi Mom, this is Natalie.

I know we haven’t talked in a long time. I hope you and Dad and Abigail are doing well.

I know that you said don’t want to talk to me until I stop pretending to be a man.

I know you say that you love me and that you want me to be happy, and you’ll be here for me while I fight against these sinful urges. I know that you want me to pray, that you want me to go to a therapist that will convince me I’m a girl who will marry a man, and you believe that one day I’ll come back to God and I’ll be good again. And you’ll love me again. Conditionally.

Sometimes I hope that’s true, and that you’re right, because it would be so much easier.

I mean, easier to never have known that this was even a possibility. You know. I always thought it was other people who got estranged from their families, never people like me.

But wanting something to be true doesn’t make it true. You talking about what God wants isn’t going to change that. I don’t understand how a loving God would want you to treat your kids like this.

They told me you were notified when I filed, but I was legally emancipated last month. No need to give details. They said that there was sufficient cause.

I don’t need to be on your phone plan or health insurance or anything like that any more. You know I’m on scholarship and I already cover my own tuition and stuff, so you don’t need to worry about that either. I’m going to be graduating this summer anyway, probably in uh, early August. I won a good amount of money at some programming competitions this semester, and I have a job, so it should be no problem. I just wanted to let you know.

Oh, uh, Merry Christmas.

I’m sorry.

The backstory there is that although his parents always kind of ignored him and were emotionally distant, it got massively worse once he came out as trans at 14.

Come get your fucking child, Mr. and Mrs. Kamski, instead of leaving your unwanted IQ-of-171 brat to grow up believing the world hates him, there’s no one he can trust, and he had better grow up just as cold and nasty. Have you not read a single supervillain origin story? You literally created a monster when he could have become a genuinely good super-genius and cured cancer or something if anyone was around to actually raise him.

That doesn’t excuse his behavior, by the way, but with the way I write him and the background I gave him, I want people to get the sense that he could have been different.

#bllackbiirdd #responses #elijah kamski #dbh ask blog #dbh kamski #long post #[[sorry this got SO FUCKING LONG but i got angry on Elijah's behalf]]#ooc post

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letsimportanttreecollection-blog · 6 years

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My home insurance company is terminating my policy because I need a new roof?

"My home insurance company is terminating my policy because I need a new roof?

My home insurance company sent me a letter saying they are going to terminate my policy in few weeks because the roof is worn and needs to be replaced, but I bought my house a year ago and it passed inspection and my inspection paper says i have 3 to 5 more years left on my roof so i don't understand why or how my home insurance company can just terminate my policy. By the way the home insurance company is TRAVELERS if that helps.

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://freecarinsurance.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr