Disclaimer: Just for the sake of having it. I do not own (sadly) the characters nor Wisteria Lane etc, they all belong to Marc Cherry. Lucky guy.
A/n: this is set in S1, near the episode: There will be Trumpets. Enjoy!
– Less Than Perfect –
Bree had always liked some measure of order in her life.
When it started she knew not, for as far as her memory served her, she could never remember a time when she was improper, unprepared, and simply not perfect enough for her standards. As far as she knew, she had been severely agitated if she had just missed one mark for her tests, arriving home with a ninety-nine percentile instead of a hundred. She would be terribly peeved if there was but one crumple in the blouses and various other articles of clothing that she ironed. To her, it was unseemly, something that would ruin the whole image if she went out wearing it like that. To other, it was perfect. As they gushed over her immaculate ironing, they would fail to notice the small crease on the left sleeve, and their ignorance somewhat irked her.
She would always feel guilty about being less than perfect.
If anyone had asked her these days.
The dinner table had been so empty for the past week or so. So, devoid of cheer, though there was not really much in the first place. But since Andrew had been brought, no, hauled, off to camp –"By your own hands!" her mind accused –there seemed to be less conversation during meals. The three of them had just sat in their respective chairs, and taken silent meals, any attempt at conversation would be greeted with an awkward pause, wherein it would hover over them embarrassingly for a while, before fading into the air around.
It feels like we are mourning his death.
And indeed it seemed like it as well.
They tried not to look at his empty chair, neatly pushed in, alone and unused. But it was just so difficult not to give it a passing glance, after all, the table –and the house –was only so big. They would have to pass his room some time, see those pictures of him lovingly framed up and hung on the wall beside the stairs as they made their way upstairs. Truly, the person in question was absent, but in his absence, his presence till lingered on in the house like a thick fog.
Bree had forced herself not to think about it, or rather, about him. Out of sight, out of mind, she had repeated that mantra to herself repeatedly. But he was her child, and a parent would not so easily forget a child that she had lost, no matter how long. She tried not to think what had made him turn out this way. Was it within him all along, just wait to surface? Was it her? Or was it the way she tried to take over his life?
The conversations with Rex long buried came re-surfacing, like zombies out of a B-grade horror movie. They were slowly overwhelming her in their entirety, their many voices enveloping her mind till it became a horrible cacophony of voices talking. The flashes of guilt came as she remembered what Rex had said a few years ago, when their children had progressed to teenagers.
For their sakes Bree! They are teenagers, not little kids anymore! We don't have to continue running after them day and night, asking them to do this and that, to finish their homework in time, to make their beds… they have a mind of their own. They know what are they doing! All they need is the loosening of that rein you have on them. Let them start having their own space, their own life. Even if they choose to ruin their lives, then it's their own doing, and nothing of yours. You always say to control their lives, well, now, let them be the masters of their fate. They can't forever be under your wing for all their lives!
She had silently accepted that, and agreed to it. But Bree Van De Kamp was never one who would go down easily, and Rex, of all people, had known that for a fact. Was it just too much to keep her, their, children close to them for a little longer?
Sometimes, she had to admit, children do grow up too fast.
She had tried her best to control them, to help them make the best use of their lives as possible. She was a good mother. It was not her fault that Andrew had selfishly decided to waste his life without thought of its consequences and subsequent impact on their lives. Not to mention blaming it all on her! What atrocity!
Although… she had to admit, she might have played a hand in his descent. Like her house where things were never out of place, she had wanted them to match her expectations, to keep themselves tidy, and –dare she think of the word? –essentially perfect.
What had they grown up to be?
Her son was a drug addict! One who was currently at a juvenile delinquent camp. At least Danielle came out fine… if one forgot the fact that she had wanted to sleep with John.
Silently, she gave herself a pat on the back for handling that situation so nicely, her daughter had never suspected that she even laid a finger on that matter. John came out to be the villain, but that was a small price to pay for ensuring her daughter's purity.
Her life was spiraling down faster than an F-16 with a damaged wing. Sometimes it seemed as though the gun that George had given her that picnic weeks ago was calling to her. One bullet though her mind, like Mary-Alice did, everything would be over, there would be no more troubles…
She brought that idea to screeching halt.
A coward she was definitely not. How often over the years had her life gone out of control? None, but still, this was nothing she was unable to handle when it attacked her full-force. She would do it herself, if Rex and Danielle were unable to help her.
The former was too busy worrying over Maisy's black book, and the latter was too heartbroken, and missing her brother to much to remotely do anything. She was almost zombie-like these days, doing things like clockwork, aimlessly wandering around in the house, moping away. Bree almost made a reminder of talking to her daughter before a memory surfaced in her mind.
-Flashback (three days ago)-
"Let her be! She will get over it someday," Rex said even as she brought up their daughter's current 'condition'. "Look, before you protest, I love Danielle as much as you do, and don't bring up the excuse that she hung out in your womb for nine months back in the 80s. She's sixteen, she knows what she wants and needs. What she doesn't need are us meddling in her life.
"What if she wants us to comfort her, but she doesn't want to tell us? She may be suffering in silence, a little parental help may benefit her. She will understand that no matter what, she has to face the world in the end, that even if she mopes forever, John would not come back to her!"
"Think about it, Bree, when you were her age and trying to recover after a heartache, did you want your parents to intervene?"
"Well, come to think of it –"
"The point is, let her have her own space for a while, if she is still like this after a week or so –which is admittedly rather long –you can go talk to her, all right?"
-End Flashback-
She had grudgingly agreed to his words. She would try doing it his way for now, wait a week. Indeed, a week would be long, but if Danielle would be able to get over it by then, then she knew her daughter would be fine.
As for Andrew… as much as she was mad at him for his actions, he was still her flesh and blood. Even as she hated to admit, she knew she would still love him even if he was a murderer.
He probably doesn't even know that.
At this point in time, he probably hated her very being for all she had done. All she could hope was that he would come to his senses someday, and realise that what she did was for his own good. Hopefully it would not be too late by then.
The events of the day when she had packed him off to camp were still fresh in her mind. The accusatory look on his face, and the shock that she would do something like this. And Rex…
He had stood up for her, and tried to protect her. Perhaps their marriage would still work…
A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder, as her husband came to stand beside her.
"What are you thinking about?"
She shrugged, "nothing much."
She saw the questioning look in his eyes, and knew that he thought that was not her answer. He would ask again when they were back in the house, and perhaps, she would tell him. But for now…
"It's getting dark out," he said. "Let's go in."
Silently she agreed and he wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked back into the house.
Yes, her life might be falling apart at the seams, but if Rex was there together with her, the crisis would be over all the quicker.
END.