A/N: Hey!
So here's another thing I wasn't really planning to write.
It's a follow up to le sentiment d'appartenance, so I would advise reading that first. It'll make more sense.
Things are not quite as we left them.
This pain, these problems
You know they're not forever
My love, my sweetheart
We're on to better weather
- It Can't Rain Forever by Oh, Honey
Doing her best to ignore the whispering and backward glances of the last few students leaving the auditorium, Betty slides her things back into her briefcase, double checking that she has every power cord she came in with for the lecture. This isn't her first guest appearance for one of Trev Brown's Creative Writing courses at Columbia, but with the recent announcement of not only her new book release but also of the movie adaptation talks surrounding her first novel, she's noticed a slight uptick in furtive side glances, and the class had been a bit more energized than last semester. She knows Trev had talked to them about her earlier in the curriculum, but it's different this year.
Trev speaks up after watching the last retreating back from the other side of the podium. "Thanks again, Betty. It's always nice hearing you talk about creative processes. Fresh perspective is a wonderful thing."
"You must be tired of hearing me speak about the same few things by now," Betty laughs.
"Believe it or not, your lectures have changed over the years—grown, I mean, in the good way," he presses.
"Well, my pleasure, as always. Them asking questions is a great way for me to think critically about my own work and habits, so it's a win-win. A little self-reflection is what everyone needs." Betty tightens her ponytail and gives him a smile before reaching for her phone. The screen flashes up brightly, and she can see she has a bunch of waiting notifications, a good number of them from Jughead.
"Hey, I was wondering if you had time for a drink? I'd love to pick your brain some more…" Trev trails off at the look she flashes him, a look of recognition taking up in the set of his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry, Trev," she starts. "I'm already half an hour late leaving, and I have people waiting on me."
"Oh, right." He nods. "Family."
"Yup," Betty chirrups, swinging her bag onto her shoulder and checking one last time that she's not leaving anything behind. "But email me! I can make time as long as I have some warning!"
"Okay, Betty, will do." Trev gives her a little wave before tucking his hands into his pockets and turning back to the whiteboard.
She's glad she wore sneakers today; she dashes out the door and around the corner, heading for the parking lot on the far side of campus. Her bag thumps heavily against her thigh, bouncing quickly behind her.
Her mental to do list flips around and around like a rolodex of chore categories, each with a sublist of bullet points and reminders. After climbing into the driver's seat, she scrolls through her notifications, picking out anything that looks important and saving the rest to deal with for when she gets home. A series of texts from Juggie unintentionally chronicles his hunt for their electric mixer, which he apparently found after an all-out manhunt by him and Jack, with an assist from Julie. There's an on-screen reminder that she hasn't met her word count goal for the day yet. Her editor sent an email asking to move up a meeting date by almost three weeks. Her optometrist's office left a voicemail message about what she can confidently assume is her upcoming yearly exam.
Taking a deep breath and filing all of those little notifications under the 'later' tab in her brain, Betty shoots off a quick text to Juggie asking if he needs her to pick anything up from the store on her way home, which gets her a quick 'no thanks we're good', and she shoves her keys into the ignition. The drive home is thankfully not too slow, even with traffic, and she makes good time.
Betty missed dinner because of the lecture slot, and so walking in to the smell of freshly baked cupcakes makes her stomach growl loudly, twisting and wrenching in her belly.
"Do I smell Great-Grandma Cooper's vanilla cupcakes?" she asks dramatically as she rounds the corner into the kitchen, enthusiasm partially fueled by the desire to stuff approximately three of them straight into her face, paper wrappers and all. She won't, of course, because they're all for Jack's first grade class in celebration of his birthday, which happens to fall on the weekend that's fast approaching.
There's a chorus of "Mom!" and a distinct puff-cloud of flour before she's receiving hugs from the two small-ish humans her and Jughead have brought into the world. As she's bombarded from the chest down and Jack grabs onto her forearm, she realizes with a sudden jolt that his hands are sticky and it's not flour that puffed into the air—it's powdered sugar.
"Hey!" Juggie pipes up, looking at her over kid heads. "Wash your hands before you attack Mom!"
The fact that he's got a frilly apron on—complete with the sloppy, drooping bow tied at his lower back—and a smear of blue food colouring on his arm is pretty endearing. However, the bags under his eyes are looking more like bruises, and Betty winces internally.
It's late. She knows he's been at it since before her, up early this morning to work on a submission.
"Why don't you guys go get ready for bed, and I'll finish in here?" she suggests, immediately glancing down and away from him to the kids. "I'll make the icing tonight so you can colour it tomorrow and decorate all these delicious smelling cupcakes—wow, you guys did great!" she continues, craning her neck and having a good look around at the cooling racks packed with little domed tops, golden and perfect.
"Already?" Julie sighs, glancing over at the wall clock above the dining room table. "It's only…" Realization dawns on her face.
"Yeah." Betty grimaces knowingly. "It's already bedtime."
"But you just got home." Jack's voice takes on the slightest whining tone, and Betty gives him a tired smile.
"I know. Class ran long. I'm sorry," she consoles, rubbing his little shoulder. "But I'll be home tomorrow, and we can spend all afternoon getting the kitchen dirty, okay?"
A moment filled with noises of brief acknowledgement passes before Juggie speaks up, kitchen cloth bunched in his hand. "Mom's right! You know the drill. Jack first!" he states, making a sweeping gesture with the flour-logged rag.
Both heads start to shuffle in the direction of the hall, and Betty finally glances back to Jughead.
"I got this," she gestures around vaguely at the disarray of the kitchen. Cupcake liners, coloured sprinkles, cooling baking tins, batter-splattered utensils and measuring spoons and the unmistakable shape of a Kitchen-Aid bowl filled with other used equipment. "And that," she points upstairs, the thumping of the kids going about the task of getting ready for bed sounding more far-off than it is.
"Yeah?" he asks, the set of his eyebrows tired but hopeful.
"Yeah . Go." Betty nods, giving him a smile that doesn't quite warm her heart for some reason.
When he sets down the rag and apron and passes by her, she thinks she feels the briefest brush of his lips in her hair, and then he's gone, trudging up the stairs to the office, or the master bath, or bed—depending on whichever need is calling the loudest.
.
.
.
Betty periodically checks on Jack while he showers and gets his clothes out for the morning, and reads to him once he's settled, the sound of the shower helping to lull him to sleep along with her voice as his sister takes her turn in their shared bathroom.
When he finally drops off, hair splayed over his pillow in a way that reminds her sharply of Juggie, she tucks him in gently and tiptoes from the room, leaving the door open a crack and moving down the hall as she always does.
"Hi, baby." Betty edges Julie's door open a little wider, peeking into the blue-hued room still lit by the lamp on her side table.
"Hi," Julie snuffles, eyes drooping at the corners and belaying any of her attempts to disguise the importance of the encroaching bedtime.
"Do you want me to braid your hair tonight?"
Julie nods, and Betty pads over to the little girl's bed as she rearranges herself and presents the back of her head, blonde hair still faintly damp from the shower she just had. Once Betty settles behind her and finishes finger combing it into three strands, she opens her mouth again. "How was your day?"
"Good. Just school and stuff. We did volleyball in Gym again—we practiced our bumps. How was your day?"
Not for the first time, Betty is struck by how often her daughter sounds more like an adult than an eight year old.
"It was good, too. I did the last lecture for this semester. I don't like missing dinner at home."
"I know," Julie sighs, shoulders tired and head wobbling back and forth in time with Betty's gentle braiding. When she's done, she places a kiss on Julie's crown, curving around her daughter's frame and giving her a squeeze.
"Are you going to read for a little?" she asks, and Julie nods. "Okay. Lights out by 8, right?"
"Right."
"Any preference for lunch tomorrow?"
"Just not peanut butter and jelly again."
Betty laughs under her breath and tucks the blanket around Julie in once she's done shifting around again, settling against her headboard.
Later, once the kitchen is clean and the cupcakes have been stored in airtight containers, Betty flicks the lights off throughout the lower level, checking that the front door is bolted before making her way upstairs yet again. The frosting can wait until tomorrow, as can the emails and the reminders and the endless nagging list of notifications she didn't get to.
The light from the office is spilling out into the hallway when Betty approaches; the rest of the house is dark and quiet, and she can't tell if the suffocating feeling in her throat is some form of unnamed and unidentified sadness, or allergies. It's been a long day, either way.
"Jug?"
"Yeah?" he answers quietly, and she takes that as an invitation to open the door wider and lean into the room to speak to him.
"Everyone's down, lunches are made, and I'll take drop off duty tomorrow."
His fingers stop their idle hovering over his keyboard, and he looks over at her.
"But it's my day," he says, the lateness of the hour etched into every dip and contour of his face from his temple to his jawline.
"I know, but… Don't worry. I'll take care of it." She gives him the closest thing to a reassuring smile that she can conjure, and he does the same in return.
"Thanks, Betts," she hears as she turns away, pulling the door back into its original position before making her way to the far end of the hall and disappearing into the darkness.
She doesn't say a word when she feels the mattress move as he finally comes to bed, minutes or hours later.
.
.
.
The morning is a whirlwind of homework sheet location, lunchbox critiquing, and shoveling the last bites of breakfast into her children's mouths as they run out the door just barely on time. She only managed to throw on yoga pants and a slouchy sweater, her hair is in a tangled bun, and her work bag is bursting at the seams in the front seat, agenda and papers sticking out of the unzipped top. Betty pulls into the parking lot of the closest mall, intending to run in a grab a few groceries while she's out.
Except her editor is calling, and for once, she's not elbow deep in dishes, knee deep in powerpoint presentations, or completely submerged under the surface of writer's block.
So she answers.
"Hi Ethel," she greets, forcing her voice into something reminiscent of cheerful, a true feat considering all she really wants to do is go home and crawl back under the covers until 3:00 rolls around and it's time to pick Julie and Jack up again.
"Betty!" the woman on the other end chirps. "I wasn't expecting to hear anything other than your voicemail, this is excellent. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
Betty casts a glance around at the few other cars dotting the parking lot, all much closer to the nearest entrance than her. A plastic bag floats past on a breeze, rolling and folding and tumbling around and around before getting caught on the edge of a raised planter holding a large, green-covered tree.
They talk for 38 minutes, and Betty's butt is numb by the time she climbs out of the SUV. As she makes her way into the building, she texts Cheryl.
Hey, do you have any time free this morning for a call?
She gets a predictably quick response.
Anything for you, Bettykins. What time?
Betty checks the time.
In about an hour?
Call when you're situated.
Betty hurries around, dropping into the optometrist in person to confirm her appointment before making her way up and down the aisles of the grocery store, mentally checking off the shopping list she left on the kitchen counter. After loading the bags into the trunk and pulling her agenda out of her bag, she settles in, makes a few notes on scrap paper, and dials Cheryl.
"I was beginning to think you'd gone underground."
"Hello, Cher. How are you?"
"Just peachy, dearest. To what do I owe the call?"
"I just got off the phone with Ethel, and we had to bring some plans forward by a few weeks. I need to talk to Juggie about logistics, and I figured if anything on this end had changed, I should know now so we can make a plan with everything in mind."
"Ah, yes. Well," Cheryl pauses, and Betty can hear papers shuffling around and the telltale squeak of Cheryl's massive office chair as she shifts her weight in the seat. "Nothing new to add to your calendar of obligations, but the deal is just about signed. Casting starts next month if all goes smoothly. Although, you already know they optioned for the trilogy, which means that once this is underway, and some early cuts get seen, they're probably going to go ahead with screenwriting number two. It's still a long way off, but have you talked to Jughead yet?"
The plastic bag had dislodged in her absence, but had also found a new home caught on the wheel of an abandoned shopping cart just a few yards to the left of the planter.
"No, not yet."
"You should do that so I can put his name forward when the time comes."
A/N: Please don't forget to leave me a comment letting me know your thoughts on the time jump, and where you think this might go.
Thanks, lovelies!