How did we get here?
I mean, really... How did something that was suppose to be so wonderful turn out so badly? Was it me? Was it you? Is it just fate, cruel and wicked fate, toying with us mere mortals - causing us to believe that this world can be good and better and nice... when that is anything but the truth?
The only thing that is getting Ashley through this ordeal is the vision opposite her.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
And the kind of bitter scowl that is rarely seen in plain sight, the kind of fuming anger that could melt ice with its heat and intent.
Oh. And the large stain of red on that fairly expensive-looking sweater helps, too.
Ashley can't help herself, she grins so wide it hurts.
And then she leans back against the wall, crossing her arms comfortably in the process.
And, across the hallway, Paula Carlin's grim expression grows even harder.
/ / /
(exactly four hours ago)
"Did you burn them?"
"No!"
"But I can smell them, Ashley!"
"Of course you can smell them, they are being baked! You know, that thing you do with uncooked stuff that you want to become edible-"
"Look, just take them out and let them cool. They are done."
"There's ten minutes left on the timer."
"So? I did the toothpick thing five mintues ago."
"Wow, really scientific, a toothpick... Hold on, let me call the newspapers, I'm living with the next Julia Child!"
"You know, what the fuck is your problem?"
"My problem? I'm not the one who can't chill the hell out, I'm not the one who has turned our home into a freakin' winter wonderland, I'm not the one-"
"Fine. Whatever. Don't take the pies out, do take them out. I'm finished with trying to make this a nice Christmas for you and for my family."
"Oh no you don't, you don't get to storm out of here, that's what I do!"
"Where do you think I learned that little trick from, hmm?"
And Ashley watches, jaw clenched and way too many words still wanting to leave her mouth, as Spencer grabs a jacket, snatches the keys and slams the front door.
She stomps over to the stereo, which is playing 'I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm' - which just pisses Ashley off more, so she pops the cd out and tries to break it.
Which she thought would be easy and it isn't and that just adds fuel to the fire.
She finally flings it like a deadly frisbee and it lands in parts unknown.
After that, she walks back to the kitchen and opens one of the bottom cabinets, finding a mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Stupid fucking holiday, turning everyone into a jack-ass..." Ashley mutters as she pours more than she should into a heavy glass tumbler. She throws it back.
And then she does another. And another.
The faint scent of crusts turning to charcoal tugs at her senses and she groans audibly.
"The fucking pies..."
/ / /
"You're doing this for your daughter, whom you love. For Spencer. That's who this is for. For Spencer. Whom you love. That's why you are doing this."
Arthur sighs to himself and rolls his eyes as he faces the door of the elevator.
He loves his wife, he truly does, but she's got a bad habit of judging and not relenting.
And of, apparently, talking to herself when nervous or anxious.
His gaze flicks over to Glen, who is leaning against the wall of this slowly moving box, his huge winter coat on and bored stare fixed onto some hand-held gaming system of some kind.
The boy was what most would consider an 'adult', but still acted like an eight year old, goofing off and tugging on girls pig-tails and playing games.
Arthur wanted to tell his son to enjoy it while he could.
The wires jerk to a stop and Arthur turns around with a smile.
"Looks like we've arrived."
"Whoop-de-doo."
"Glen..."
Paula pushes past the both of them, barely waiting for the door to open, long fingers gripping the cassarole dish until the knuckles had turned a blinding white.
The two Carlin men silently catch up, standing behind Paula as she raps on the door three times.
When a quite obviously buzzed Ashley Davies answers, Arthur Carlin finds a crazy impulse welling up in his body, telling him to run.
Run as fast as he possibly can.
He'll never understand why he didn't listen.
/ / /
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"Having a beer."
"No shit, Sherlock. I mean, why here? Why now? Isn't time for your big, you know, Family Christmas Bonanza?"
The way Carmen said it made Spencer have two reactions - one of annoyance, at herself for running around calling this event by such a title and one of greater annoyance, at Ashley and her parents and the entire Christmas-obsessed world.
"Christmas can fuck off."
"What? No Family Christmas Bonanza?"
Carmen smirks, but has to duck out of the way of some angrily thrown peanuts from one of the bowls on the bar.
"Stop calling it that."
"But that's what you called it... and don't throw shit at me just because you aren't having your Family Christm-"
"I swear, you say it again and I can't be held responsible for my actions."
Carmen holds up her hands in an effort to wave the white flag, leaning over and popping the top off of a beer as well, taking a long sip.
"So, what's up?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Carmen chuckles and Spencer glares at the woman.
"What's so damn funny?"
"When you talk like that, you sound just like your mother. Very haughty."
"Great. Just another thing to add to the list of horror that is my life."
Carmen grins and sips on her beer, chancing a small clink to Spencer's half-empty bottle.
"C'mon, spill. Why are you here and why aren't you at your place?"
Spencer heaves a sigh and runs her fingers through her hair, feeling everything weigh down on her and creating a nice headache at the back of her skull.
"Ashley and I fought."
"...Over...?"
"Pies."
"Pies?"
"Yep."
"Oooookay... Um, why?"
"She was going to let them burn! And I had spent, like, three hours making them. Not to mention the fact that I was the one who decorated the place and I was the one who did all the food shopping. All the while, she would just snark about this and that and I just sucked it up and didn't call her on it. I mean, I know she doesn't give a shit about the holidays, she thinks they are just here to make insecure people spend money. And I know she sure as hell didn't want to spend a second of Christmas with my family, but they are my family! I can't tell them 'oh Merry Christmas, love you, please don't come by!' Even if I want to say that, sometimes, I won't do that, you know? That's not the kind of person I am. I'm a good person. I try to make things peaceful and calm. I try to understand the fact that my mother is a bitch and she does not like the fact that I am with Ashley. And I try to understand the fact that Ashley really dislikes my mother and will walk out of a room if my mother is coming near it. But I wanted a good Christmas, like the ones I had growing up, dammit! And I wanted some good fucking pies to eat and now they are probably burnt anyway and it's all just stupid!"
Spencer takes a very long pull off of her beer, barely noticing the fact that Carmen is standing there - silent and staring, bottle hovering between bar-top and mouth.
"Did you take a single breath during that whole thing?" Carmen finally asks.
Spencer finishes her beer and motions for another one.
/ / /
(exactly three hours ago)
Ashley sits at the dining table, feet up in another chair, swirling the alcohol in her glass and watching it look pretty in the candle-light.
Candles lit up all along the table, smelling like pine needles, and it is rather nice.
It's kind of nice and kind of perfect and she kind of wants to call Spencer and she kind of wants to beg the girl to come back.
Not just to apologize either.
But there is a certain buffer zone that is sorely missing between Ashley and the Carlin clan, which of course is usually Spencer.
Now, it's just an eerie silence.
"Have you even tried to reach her?"
Paula's voice shatters the awkward quiet. And Ashley is less than sober and that makes her less than caring about her actions, so she rolls her eyes.
"No. We both need to cool off first."
"What if she is hurt?"
"Why would she be hurt, Paula? We don't live in a damn jungle..."
That's when Arthur jumps in, hastily pointing to his plate.
"Um, this is really good, uh, stuffing, Ashley."
She waves him off with a lazy grin, ignoring the daggers coming from Paula's eyes and attempting to impale Ashley's flesh.
"I didn't make it, but I'll pass the compliments back to Spencer."
"If she ever returns." Paula mutters. But it is a mutter that is meant to be heard.
Ashley sits her glass down and stands up on legs that feel like lead. She must have drank a lot more than she originally thought. But she is able to place both palms on the table and lean towards Paula Carlin. She'll give the woman credit, though.
There isn't even a flash of worry or a flicker of backing down in that cold blue gaze.
Paula has eyes like steel. Spencer's eyes, though, they are not like that. They are like the ocean on a warm day or something else really poetic and Ashley finds her mind getting distracted.
She blinks a bit and tries to regain focus.
"Look, she'll be back. We had a fight. So, you know, don't get too excited or anything."
"Or maybe she has finally come to her senses."
"I know you'd love that..."
"I would."
Arthur pipes up once more, the look on his face being one of a futile sort of desperation.
"And these mashed potatoes! Just about the, uh, smoothest I've ever had..."
But he might as well have been talking to a wall.
Because Ashley is drunk and Paula is ticked off and there is a whole big pile of shit heading towards that fan.
/ / /
Glen stares really hard at his PSP Go, thumbs pushing down on various buttons, every once in a while stopping to take a bite of ham from his plate.
He is no longer at the table, opting to slide over to the couch in the den-like area of this rather large loft apartment.
The louder things get, the harder he seems to mash down on those buttons.
He could have been in Florida, you see. He got an offer from a buddy at work and it sounded really nice - beaches and seventy degree weather and girls in bikinis - that's so much better than snow and ice. So much better than hauling a tree in for the folks and stringing popcorn for hours because your mother imagines she is Martha Stewart, so much better than whatever is going on about twenty or so feet away from him.
Still, the food is good. The ham is glazed with something sweet and his father was right - the mashed potatoes are like velvet.
Still, Glen would rather be drinking a beer on a beach.
Hell, he would settle for a beer out on the frozen stoop of this building if it meant he could successfully tune out his mother and Ashley going at it like a couple of well-dressed wild-cats.
His father finally gets a clue and escapes, giving up on trying to solve the issues between wife and daughter's girlfriend. Glen feels the couch shift and looks sideways at his father.
The man's face is actually kind of funny, stuck in a state of bewilderment.
But that fork is still moving at a steady pace, dinner not forgotten in the slightest.
They must have that in common.
Or, maybe, it's just their way of coping.
Who says that women have cornered the market in eating disorders anyway?
"This is a disaster." His father says and Glen sort of gives a snort of laughter, gaze back on his game.
"Surprise, surprise."
"If only Spencer were here, it wouldn't be so bad..."
"Maybe she's had enough."
"Of?"
"Uh, I don't know, the beginning of world war three over there."
And they both surrepitously look over at the kitchen, where currently Ashley is jerking plates out of Paula's hands... only to have Paula jerk them back to her person.
"I mean, they are fighting over cleaning dishes. That's fucking nuts." Glen says quietly, just a bit fearful of what might happen if either of the women caught him talking trash.
But his father just nods his head sadly in agreement.
"It is kind of... strange."
"Understatement."
The shattering of a plate or glass against the wooden floor startles the two Carlin men, both of them staring and waiting and muscles tensed in an ancient urge to flee danger.
But they are both like statues on the couch, unable to move, unable to even breathe.
"This isn't good." His father barely whispers.
"You ain't kidding." Glen hushes out, already thinking of ways to hide in another room or bolt for the front door.
And he isn't sure who started hating who first, who said that first biting comment, who caused this insane rift to spread far and wide, but it is about to explode and if anyone survives to tell the tale, it'll be a cautionary one, with the greatest lesson being so simple and so clear...
Always spend the holidays away from family.
/ / /
So, at some point, Spencer felt the anger ebb out of her system and that left her with just an annoying sense of sadness.
An annoyed sadness at how this whole event, put together in an effort to reclaim some sentimental crap from years gone by, had fallen apart before it even started.
She won't get to eat the food, at least not all piping hot and fresh. It will be leftovers by the time she gets home.
And she'll have to clean everything up herself, because Ashley always makes up the stupidest excuses to not clean - ever.
Her parents will be disappointed and Glen will bug her about not being there. Her mother, in particular, will probably use this as a reason to forever have Christmas at their house - which, in turn, means that Spencer won't see Ashley for any future Christmases.
And so it will all repeat. A vicious circle of red-and-green misery.
Beyond those depressing thoughts is something even more annoying.
And sad. And frustrating. And capable of dragging her anger back to the fore-front.
Ashley still hasn't called. Not one call. Not one chance for Spencer to see that name flash on the cell-phone screen and to ignore it and then, moments later, to listen to the remorseful voice-mail.
Not even a damn text. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. At. All.
They are not a cookie-cutter couple. They don't always agree on things and they don't always see eye-to-eye. Sometimes, Ashley says the wrong thing at the wrong time and has to grovel. Sometimes, Spencer gets stressed out and lashes out and has to make it up to the brunette.
It's just how they are.
They are not perfect people. They are just perfect for each other.
And they fight sometimes. Dumb fights. Serious fights. Silly fights that then turn into much more playful activities and Spencer has to swallow hard because her throat has a lump in it, that feeling of sadness growing with each sip of beer she takes and the longer that Ashley does not reach out to meet her half-way.
She wants to get to the playful part, on this night of all nights, on this Christmas Eve that she tried so hard to make nice for everyone.
A hand squeezes her shoulder and she looks up into sympathetic eyes.
"No Ashley yet?"
"No."
"Maybe you should call her?"
"Uh, no, she should call me. That's how we do things. She always makes the first move."
Carmen rolls her eyes as she lackadascially wipes down the bar.
"Wow, I'm glad I don't date. Too many rules to follow."
"You wouldn't give a damn if you were with Ashley."
"I guess... But, for real, if she doesn't call you... what then?"
Spencer sort of shrugs and sort of stares at her empty beer bottle.
"I don't know."
"I think you are being retarded."
"Excuse me?" Spencer's gaze darts back up and reeks of indignation. Carmen quickly removes the bowl of peanuts.
"Look, you want things to go back to normal, right?"
Spencer gives an affirmitive nod, going back to her staring contest with her bottle.
"Then just call her and say 'sorry I flipped out over the Family Christmas Bonanza, let's have sex now'."
Spencer's slow glare is like being caught by the laser-beam of a weapon and Carmen used to think that Spencer Carlin was a sweet girl - borderline naive even - but as of tonight, the bartender has had to revise that assessment.
Spencer Carlin is dangerous to a person's health.
/ / /
(exactly two hours ago)
She was normally a very calm person, very quick to not raise her voice and to not cause a scene. After all, that's how she was raised - you don't make a fuss and you don't go around shouting and you don't fight with other people.
If at all possible, you talk situations out and apply reason and come to some kind of satisfactory solution. And if you can't, then the best option is to walk away.
Normally, she would be keeping her lips sealed and her thoughts to herself, trying to remember the words of her mother.
'Now, Paula, a lady always keeps an air of confidence and grace about her. Don't sully that.'
Of course, Paula isn't sure how her mother would handle Ashley Davies.
Or the fact that her grand-daughter is gay.
Now, see, the thing about this whole matter isn't as black-and-white as one might imagine. Paula Carlin did, at one time, have an issue with Spencer - her one and only daughter - being gay.
Didn't that mean no big white wedding? Didn't that mean a land of no bouncing babies to cuddle and spoil in her retiring years?
But, over time, she got over this fact of life and accepted that being gay was a part of her daughter and if it came down to losing Spencer or keeping Spencer...
Well, Paula was all for keeping.
And it wasn't an idle, half-assed kind of effort either.
She watched The L Word, she knows what is going on in the lesbian world now. True, she did not really ever want to know if Spencer was using a... you know, a strap-on... but beyond such personal matters, Paula Carlin is okay with the gay.
What she is not okay with is Ashley Davies.
Oh, dear Lord, the day she met this girl - late to dinner, smelling of cigarette smoke, insisting on asking for Spencer's 'help' in the bathroom while they all sat there and tried to wait on dessert out of politeness. It was not the best first impression, to be sure.
But Paula gave Ashley one more chance, one more opportunity to seem like the kind of girl that she could trust her daughter's heart with.
And Ashley failed with flying colors. Paula doesn't even like to think of that dreadful night, which ended up with a drunk Ashley passed out in the back seat of the car.
She tried, in vain, to suggest that maybe Ashley was not the best choice.
But Spencer, stubborn as a mule Spencer, just wouldn't listen. She tried to make Arthur talk to their daughter, but he insisted on staying out of it.
She watched another season of The L Word and tried to fathom out the lesbian mind.
Ashley was like a more feminine version of Shane.
And Paula wanted her only daughter with a Bette. Or maybe a Tina, if that character could ever get her act together.
Someone with respect and someone with manners and someone who could help keep the house tidy. Ashley is not that kind of girl. Not in the slightest.
Like right now, Ashley should be calling Spencer. The brunette should be frantic that Spencer is not home yet, should be begging for forgiveness already, should be... should be...
Should be letting go of this damn plate before I scream!
There they are, the two of them with soapy hands and Ashley too inebriated to back off and Paula quickly losing whatever is left of her 'calm' temperment - and the plate hits the floor and breaks into a million pieces.
"Great. Just great. Way to go, Paula."
"I certainly wasn't the one who caused that to happen."
"Really? Because if you would have just let me have the stupid plate, it wouldn't be all over the floor now."
"Perhaps if you had just let me finish what I was doing instead of trying to fight me on it-"
Ashley throws up her hands in anger, loudly leaving the kitchen and Paula turns back to the sink.
And Paula bites her tongue so hard that she is sure it will start bleeding.
Confidence. Grace. Calm.
And she somehow stops herself from repeating that mantra that out loud.
/ / /
Never. Ever. Again.
Not for Christmas. Not for Thanksgiving. Not for a birthday.
In fact, Ashley decides as she looks around for the broom and dust-pan and can't find it and slams the door to the hall closet shut with force, let's consider every day of every year to be a day that the Carlins and I do not interact.
Sure, she didn't want to spend the evening with Paula, but she could have managed it.
It might have taken some drinking. It might have taken her sneaking off for a little while, just to the bedroom, in order to breathe more freely.
But no, Spencer had to leave and they had to arrive and Ashley had to play hostess to a woman that cannot stand her.
And the fight, don't forget the fight.
Which Ashley regrets already. She regretted it the minute Spencer stepped out the door. She wanted to call, but was waiting to be fully okay and so she wouldn't say something dumb and screw things up again.
See, Ashley doesn't like Christmas and she says it is all about the fake cheer that stores push on shoppers, but it's more than that.
Christmas is a day meant for families.
And Ashley's family is one big train-wreck, filled up with too many people who don't like each other and use this particular holiday to let loose with the verbal insults.
And she became disillusioned with gifts and trees and fucking carols about sleigh bells.
Christmas became that day where her sister would brag about her life on stage, her mother would get wasted, her father wouldn't show up - and if he did show up, it would be with some skank on his arm - and the countless droves of nameless cousins would make catty comments about everything.
The Davies are a family of back-stabbers and ass-kissers.
And Ashley didn't want to turn out like them, so she fled for the opposite of false sincerity.
It just ended up making her a bitter fucking cynic.
Well, except for when it comes to Spencer.
She loves Spencer. A lot. More than anyone actually. And there are moments when Spencer is asleep and Ashley is late getting in from the radio station and she'll just hug that body close like it is the best thing since sliced bread.
Which it is. Spencer is all the good things and none of the bad, at least that's how Ashley sees it.
Even when they have spats and stew for hours, Ashley knows - without a doubt - that Spencer is 'the one'.
That fact didn't always sit well in Ashley's wary heart. But time and patience and talking and fighting and really good sex fixed up that stumbling block.
And they are good together, they are right together... But Paula Carlin doesn't see things that way.
Oh, Ashley tried to measure up.
That first dinner was important and she wanted Spencer's family to like her and she went all the way to some nice winery to get a bottle of merlot. She ended up stuck in traffic and chain-smoked due to nerves and was almost a hour late. One look into Paula Carlin's eyes told her that she was on thin ice.
Which raised Ashley hackles, because she doesn't like to be put on probation for being late to a damn dinner.
And the looks Ashley got when she asked Spencer to show her the bathroom were even worse! All she wanted was some advice on how to improve the evening, which Spencer responded to with that load of crap known as 'just be yourself and they'll love you'.
Fucking fat chance of that ever happening. It's been two years. I don't see things changing now.
And instead of a good meal with okay company, that she and Spencer could send packing after a couple of hours, she's searching high and low for a way to clean up a broken plate and Paula Carlin is washing dishes in her kitchen.
Not to mention that her earlier buzz is wearing off and she is getting one heck of a headache.
Ashley decides that this night is, officially, hell on Earth.
/ / /
It's a lot like being tossed into a lion's cage. Or falling into a nest of vipers.
Or even trying beat crowds on Black Friday.
Arthur knows all about such things - he's been a married man for the past twenty years, he knows that getting between his wife and whatever she cannot stand is like asking for trouble.
But the way he sees it is that things are already bad.
How much worse can they possibly get?
"Paula, maybe we should go on and let Ashley finish cleaning up-"
"She won't clean up any of this! She'll leave it for Spencer to do and she'll not apologize for it either."
"But I think it is better for everyone if we-"
"That girl, Arthur, I swear to you, she will ruin our daughters life. Do you want that to happen? Do you?"
"No, but I really don't think that is the case. I mean, it has been two years-"
"I just have to think that Spencer doesn't believe, for some reason, that she can do better. I'm not sure where this low self-esteem is coming from, she was always so sure of herself and didn't used storm off into the night when her family was showing up-"
A clatter upon the floor drew Arthur and Paula's attention. The metal dust pan sits there as Ashley angrily sweeps up the shards of china.
"Believe me, Paula, Spencer battles the need to run from you all the damn time." Ashley says with a tight grin, missing pieces of plate with every brush of the broom.
Paula, with her hands in yellow rubber gloves, gesticulates with the dish-rag whipping through the air.
"You do not know the first thing about Spencer and I or our relationship. She happens to love our time together."
"Yea, okay, you keep telling yourself that." Ashley replies, her grin getting more smug.
Arthur hesistantly steps in between them, eyes going back and forth in an effort to keep tabs on them both.
"Okay, everyone just needs to calm down and not say things they don't mean... right?"
He looks at Ashley, but she just rolls her eyes and tosses the plate pieces into the trashcan.
And his look at Paula is met with almost the same reaction, as his wife starts to irritatedly rinse out a glass.
"I mean all I say." Ashley smirks.
"That's so good to know, Ashley. I'd like to be just as blunt if you don't mind." Paula retorts.
"By all means. I mean, it's not like your in my kitchen trying to insult me or anything." Ashley snaps.
"It's more Spencer's kitchen than yours. I know for a fact you don't ever cook her a meal or clean up after yourself. I'm surprised you even know how to get to this room." Paula says with a sneer, still washing and rinsing as she speaks.
Ashley tosses the broom back, no longer caring where the damn thing actually goes, and gets in Paula's personal space.
"Well, now that I've figured out where the kitchen is, Paula, I'd like you to get the hell out of it."
But Paula keeps washing and rinsing and Arthur shoots a worried look over to the couch where Glen is - or, rather, where Glen was, but the boy has disappeared.
Great. Abandoned.
"I'm not going anywhere until I know Spencer is home safe and sound. Unlike you, I actually care about where she is." Paula states, turning her gaze away from the dirty dishes and meeting Ashley head-on.
And Ashley is practically growling. If it were a cartoon, Arthur is certain that there would be steam coming out of the brunette's ears.
So, he tries again. And, really, he shouldn't do so. He should stay back and let them duke it out, let them go completely crazy and be done with it.
He could try to find Glen. He could roam the streets and look for Spencer.
He could find the nearest bar and have a nice drink and watch a football game.
But no, Arthur Carlin is the face of eternal optimism - he always believes that there is a way out of all bad moments, it just takes a willingness to try.
Of course, this is one of those times where he should have taken all that social-work lingo and shoved it where the sun doesn't shine.
/ / /
(exactly one hour ago)
Glen is in the bathroom, door locked, still trying to make to the next level of this damn game of his. And he has made a call or two, one to that buddy in Florida, just to add salt to the wound.
And he hears the voices getting heated.
And he hears the poor and pointless voice of his father.
Glen shakes his head and goes back to his game.
/ / /
"Nope, that's your limit."
"I've only had two!"
"Yea... and that's your limit, Spencer. You cannot hold your alcohol, we all know this."
Spencer makes a sound that is somewhere between a grunt and a huff, both sounding highly offended.
"Whatever."
Carmen sighs heavily and, when Spencer continues to sulk, she reaches out fast and grabs the blonde girl's phone.
"Hey, give that back!"
"Nope."
"You little Latin bitch-"
"Not the best way to win me over, Spencer."
The girl seethes and glares. Carmen matches Spencer look for look, though.
"Fine. What do you want?"
"Call Ashley. Stop suffering. I mean, what if there is a reason she hasn't gotten in touch? What if she went out and got hurt or something?"
"Hurt? Ashley? Ashley doesn't get hurt, she doesn't even catch colds. Besides, it's not like we live in the damn jungle or something."
Carmen rolls her eyes for the hundredth time this evening.
"Then I'll call her."
"Don't you dare."
"Then you do it."
"...No."
Carmen cannot stand it any longer, so very glad that she never dates girls or gets involved with any of them - they are all certifiable and this whole fiasco just proves it to her.
She slams the phone back down onto the bar and Spencer grabs it without comment.
/ / /
She'll admit later that it was a bad move. A really bad move. But in the moment, you see, it seemed like the best thing ever.
Lots of things are like that.
Like shots on a school night. Like popping a pill at a rave.
Like... maybe rearing back your arm because you are going to slap your girlfriend's mother and your girlfriend's father is trying to calm everyone down and your elbow takes him out in the process.
She should have thought this out better, actually.
Arthur groans from the floor and his nose is bleeding and Ashley is sort of staring wide-eyed at the man, because she cannot believe that just happened and she doesn't really like the sight of blood. It kind of makes her sick to her stomach.
"You... you horrible... You hit my husband!" Paula screeches and Ashley shakes her head rapidly, not even glancing at the woman at the sink.
"It was an accident!"
"Oh, I'll show you an accident!"
That's when Ashley felt it like a shock to the system, all over her head and her chest, seeping through her shirt and sliding down her skin.
Water. Soapy and overly warm water. All over her.
And there Paula stands, blue eyes furious, with a good size pot now empty of dish-water.
And it's probably another bad move, this course of action she races towards.
But this one, oh this one, Ashley refuses to regret later on.
/ / /
Paula didn't have enough time to react or she would have hit the deck.
But she was glaring at Ashley one second and then looking back at Arthur, sprawled out on the floor with what was starting to look like not just an injured nose but a broken one.
It is a flash of red that gets her attention.
Lots of red, aimed right at her face.
Cranberry and currant sauce to be exact. All over her face and slipping down her neck and onto her nice cashmire sweater.
And there Ashley stands, triumphant with a now-empty crystal dish in her hands, with a smile fit the devil himself on her face.
"Wow, Paula, red is such a nice color on you." Ashley coos with a nasty smirk on her wet face.
And Paula wants to rein in her rage, but it is not working.
Not. One. Bit.
She is about to fill that pot up with more water and Ashley is diving for the stove, where Paula fears that is some kind of gravy in a sauce-pan, when Arthur shouts from the floor where he is struggling to get up again.
"Stob it! Stob it rwight now!"
Of course, his nose is messing up the sound of his voice, but his intent is very clear.
And Ashley freezes at the stove, hand on the pan.
And Paula stays close to the sink, pot in the water but not moving.
And there's poor Arthur, wincing and looking extremely pissed off as well, leaning against the counter.
"No more fwighting! No more foo fwying! Just stob it!"
Ashley eases away from the stove and stares at the floor like a punished child.
Paula clears her throat and lets go of the pot in her grasp.
"Now, subbody take me to tha hospiddle."
/ / /
She was ready to give in, her fingers hovering over that number, the top name on her list of contacts. If Ashley wasn't going to call her, then maybe Spencer would have to be the one to make the first move this time around.
It wouldn't kill me. I guess.
Just as she takes a deep breath and prepares to start that familiar conversation of reconcilliation, her cell phone buzzes in her hand.
And it isn't Ashley. It isn't even her mother.
It's Glen.
She lets it flash and buzz for a moment or two, then sighs as she decides to answer it.
"Hey Glen."
"Where are you?"
"Look, don't give me a hard time-"
"Well, you certainly missed a show, little sis."
"...What do you mean?"
"Mom and Ashley in fight to the death."
"Great. So sorry I missed that then."
"Well, there was an unintended casualty..."
And Spencer tries to picture it, the damage possibly done - Ashley all ticked off and taking it out on something, leaving an object fucked up. The girl had done it before with a laundry basket. Or her mother, talking without thinking or caring and hurting Ashley's feelings beyond repair, thus ending any chance of anyone getting along.
She swallows down the anxiousness, though, and braces herself for the answer.
"What do you mean, Glen?"
"Ashley broke Dad's nose."
"What?"
"Hey, it was unintentional... But Mom didn't see it that way and poured a bunch of water all over Ashley, to which Ashley retaliated by dousing Mom with a sauce of some kind."
"The... uh... the cranberry and-"
"Right, the cranberry and currant sauce. It was good by the way."
"...I don't even... I mean... I mean what the fuck, Glen? What the fuck happened? How did she...? And why did Mom...? Seriously, what the fuck?"
Glen's laughter is unbearably boistrous.
"I've never heard you drop so many f-bombs, little sis!"
She shakes her head and attempts to make sense of this Christmas Eve, of this dinner, of this whole night and how absolutely wrong it has gone.
And she can't make sense of it. It's impossible.
"Where are you guys?"
"At Wake Medical, in the E.R."
"Is everyone there?"
"Yep. Another cozy Carlin family moment."
"I'll, uh, I'll be there in just a bit."
They hang up and Spencer sits there, staring off into space as other sorry folks with nowhere to go during the holidays stare off into space, too.
Carmen finally returns after their minor cell-phone tiff, snapping her fingers by Spencer's ear.
"Hey... what's up? Didn't you hear me say your name?"
"...Carmen?"
"Yea?"
"I want another beer."
"Spencer-"
"I'm going to need it, I promise you."
She meets Carmen's look full of warning and something must be in her eyes, something weary and to be understood, because the woman just grabs a bottle and hands it over.
"On the house, Spencer."
/ / /
TBC
PART II... COMING VERY SOON...