Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own FNL and never will.
A/N: The first line of this is straight from "The Son," and these words have been stuck in my head since the first time I saw the episode a few months ago. I'm a little late to the FNL party but oh-so glad I got here. I just couldn't stop thinking of where Matt would turn in a moment of crisis, and then I realized - Tami Taylor, as her daughter, says is made for this kind of thing. Hope you enjoy.
She's good in crisis. She's pretty much built for crisis.
These words echo in Matt's mind as he stares at the hands on the walls. He's back home for the first time in weeks, and he's in his room because he doesn't know how to sit with his grandma or talk to his mom or even say anything to Julie. Landry would be more than willing to distract him, but he's not even sure he wants to be distracted. The only thing he knows for sure is that he has no idea what he wants to do.
But he keeps thinking about Mrs. Taylor and how helpful she was at the funeral home that day. He knows that without her there, he and his family would be thousands of dollars in debt because he wasn't thinking straight, and that guy could've sold him a mausoleum, and he'd have bought it just to get back out to the car to make sure his grandma was ok. But then Mrs. Taylor told him he should go out to the car, anyway and she just took care of all of it. He owes her more than he can ever repay.
The funeral... he leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and rubs the bridge of his nose. He tries not to think about that. He's been actively trying not to think about that everyday since it happened, but trying not to think about it means he is thinking about it, and that's the last thing he wants to be doing. He hears his mom and grandma out in the living room, and they're watching television and talking about - something - a new one? - but he doesn't care or have any desire to join the conversation. He just knows he has to get out of this house.
He walks through the living room, mumbling something about meeting Landry down at the Alamo Freeze, and manages to avoid eye contact with both women, heaving a sigh of relief when he's out on the front porch, digging in his pocket for his car keys. But once he's in the car, he sits, uncertain. He could drive to the Alamo Freeze. He'd undoubtedly find people he knows there, people who would be more than willing to just let him join their booth and sit there without saying a word. But he knows that's not what he wants. He does want to talk. He's just not sure how.
He starts the car and drives slowly down the street, not really thinking about his destination, not really thinking about much of anything. And yet, somehow, he isn't surprised, minutes later, to find himself in front of the Taylor house. He watches it for a moment, wondering if Julie's home, wondering what he'll say to her if she is - it's been a long time since they've spoken, and she doesn't even know he's back in town yet - but then he shudders, and he forces himself out of the car. Whatever happens, it's got to be better than being left alone with his own thoughts.
He rings the doorbell, and he hears a clatter inside, but when the door opens, it's not Julie, and it's not Coach. It's Mrs. Taylor, looking pretty harried in jeans and a t-shirt, and yet when she sees his face, her own lights up momentarily before her brow wrinkles in concern. He's not sure what it is in his own expression that's caused her to look so worried, but for some reason, right now, he hardly cares.
"Hi Matt," she says softly, reaching out to pull him inside. He obeys silently, and she says, "Gracie Bell is asleep, and Julie's not home yet - she's practicing for Academic Smackdown. Does - does she know you're back in town?"
Matt stares at her for a moment before quickly shaking his head. Tami looks at him searchingly for a moment before adding, "Coach is at practice, too. Do you want to come in for a drink or come back...?"
His voice won't seem to work. He's not sure why, but he simply walks past her and sits down on the couch. He doesn't know what he's doing - he's never been this forward before - but he feels like if anyone understands any of this, it's Mrs. Taylor.
He's right, of course. Tami takes one long look at him and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she's pouring, the box of tissues on the counter catches her eye, and after a brief hesitation, she grabs a few and stuffs them in her pocket. She hopes she's wrong, but she has a feeling they might come in handy before this visit is over.
When she walks back into the living room, she finds Matt slumped down on the couch, staring at the blank television monitor as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his life. She sits beside him, putting the water down on the coffee table, and then leans back against the couch, herself. After a minute in which neither of them says anything, she clears her throat and asks, "when did you get back?"
Her voice startles him slightly, and his head jerks up. "Yes - yesterday," he mumbles, and he reaches for the water to have something to do with his hands other than twist them together anxiously. Tami watches him carefully before asking, "and how are you doing with everything?"
It's a broad question, and he could say anything, but he can't bring himself to lie to her. He's not sure why, since he's had no trouble telling everyone else that he's doing fine, thank you ma'am, but not Mrs. Taylor. He sighs, his breath a lot shakier than he wants it to be, as he stutters, "I'm - I'm - I don't know." His grip tightens on the glass, and Tami sees his knuckles turn white.
She nods, careful not to look directly at him, as she says, "I wouldn't think you would. It's not an easy thing, and you have a lot to think about right now."
Matt nods. It's easier than trying to think of what to say, and she's right. He does have a lot to think about. He has a lifetime to think about everything he never got to say to his father - everything he'll never get to say. And he's hardly aware of what he's doing when he says, "I just don't know how to live with all of the things I'll never get to tell him. How do I do that?"
His voice is plaintive, and Tami's heart twists as she shifts a bit on the couch and puts her hand on Matt's shoulder. He doesn't look at her, but he doesn't shrug her off either, and she says, "You might think of it this way - would it have accomplished anything to tell him what you said the other night? You did once, didn't you? The last time he was home - didn't you tell him a little of how you were feeling? I think he knew, Matt... I think you did all you could, and he did what he could. I'm not sure telling him anything more would have changed anything. It might have made you feel a little better, but really, only you can do that for yourself."
"Especially now," he mutters, and she hears the tears in his voice. He hasn't looked up, but the glass in his hand has started to tremble, and she reaches out and gently takes it from his grip, putting it back on the table. Once she's done that, she sits with her hands in her lap listening to his shaky breathing and wondering if there's anything more she can say to make this any less painful for him. She's pretty sure there isn't, and this is confirmed for her when Matt suddenly looks up at her. His eyes are full of tears that he's not even trying to blink away, and he says, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I don't know why I came here. I just - I don't know what to say to my grandma. She just cries all the time, and I can't even be that sad." The tears are rolling down his face, and Tami wonders if he's even aware of how sad he is. He hunches forward, his face in his hands, and she moves over and puts her arm across his shoulders. For a few minutes, they sit there, and he gives in again for the first time since the night he showed up here, late for dinner, and ruined everyone's appetite for dessert. Tami doesn't say a word, just rubs small circles on his back like she's done for Julie so many times.
It takes Matt a lot longer to calm down than he thinks it will, and when he's finally ready to sit back up, sniffling and wiping his eyes, he's somewhat relieved to see that Mrs. Taylor hardly looks surprised. She reaches into her pocket, in fact, and silently hands him a tissue, which he accepts and quickly destroys, blowing his nose, and she hands him another. Neither of them says a word until she says quietly, "Hon, take a drink of water," and he realizes, suddenly, that from the minute she opened the door, she knew this was going to happen.
He sips the water and starts to feel incrementally calmer. "Thank you, Mrs. Taylor," he mumbles, but she puts her hand on his arm and shakes her head.
"You never need to thank me, Matt," she says gently. "You know you can come here any time you want. Maybe - maybe you'll think of coming by later to let Julie know you're back? I know she's been - she'll be glad to see you."
Matt nods. For the first time in weeks, he thinks he might be able to do that.