A/N : Unseasonal holiday fics anyone? Reader prompt, Peter trying to shop for Mother's Day.
"Why do we have Mother's Day anyway?" Peter scuffed at the pavement with his feet, doing a great job of looking like he could hardly be bothered to move, "It's not a real thing, is it? Isn't it just an excuse to sell cards and candy?"
"I think it's connected with the Christian calendar in some way"
"Ahh, well, *we're* not Christians! So if I skipped out, Mom would probably be fine with that!"
For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, Erik sighed and clenched his jaw with frustration. Getting Peter to do something he didn't feel like was like herding an entire clutter of cats. Wait, it was worse. It was like trying to teach show-jumping to slugs.
"Your mother would most certainly not appreciate it if you 'skipped out', Peter" he said firmly, "Honestly I'm surprised at you, why don't you want to get her something?"
"It's not that," the boy protested, "Just... I dunno, I'm really bad at this kinda stuff. Can we do it tomorrow?"
"You've been saying that for a week. Tomorrow is Mother's Day"
Peter made a discontented huffing sound, rolled his eyes, buried his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. Though he realised that his father had a point, the idea of picking something for his mother filled him with a weird kind of dread that he would have found hard to articulate, instead coming up with one excuse after another for not wanting to go shopping with Erik. Eventually however he had run short of excuses, and virtually been dragged into town by his ear. Briefly, he missed being six years old and getting away with a badly-drawn card and a bunch of flowers gathered from the back yard, mostly weeds since Peter had never been able to tell the difference. Wondered if he was too old to make her a card, dismissed the thought just as quickly – in all honestly, his artistic skills hadn't improved any since he was six. Neither had his ability to tell flowers from weeds.
Erik took a firm hold of his shoulder, steered him into a card store so hard he almost tripped over his own feet, gave him a stern look. Rolling his eyes again, muttering a word his mother would have washed his mouth out for, he picked up a card from the display and grimaced
"Ugh… man, I think I'm gonna barf"
"I told you you didn't need that eleventh cupcake"
"Dude," he drew himself up importantly, "this incredible figure was built on cupcakes, THIS on the other hand? This is what I don't need!"
He shoved the card into his father's eyeline, waited patiently whilst he read the message. Glad when Erik had made a similar distasteful sneer
"That is quite revolting" he took the card, put it back, "Perhaps we can find her something a little less…"
"Disgusting?" Peter suggested, "Fake? Schmaltzy and gross and just plain wrong?"
"All of the above" Erik answered, "Maybe just flowers?"
"Flowers die. She doesn't like chocolate and yes I know how the hell does MY mother not like chocolate, these cards are terrible, and I'm not getting her a teddy. I actually love her, Dadneto, I'm not inflicting Hallmark sentiments on her"
He folded his arms, looked on the very edge of that petulant lower-lip-stuck-out look that made him seem like a moody teenager instead of a mid-twenties young man, giving off his very deepest air of 'you cannot force me to do this'.
"We're going about this the wrong way," Erik sighed, allowed Peter to stomp out of the store, followed him. "Perhaps…"
He stopped in the street, gave his son a grin that looked almost out of place – suddenly it seemed that Peter's streak of mischief had not entirely come from Magda.
"I think I have an idea" he said, "Come on –"
"If this involves balloons," Peter sighed, allowed his father to drag him up the street and to another store, "I'm really not gonna be pleased"