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about... a continuation on episode 11's High Yellow re-opening
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As the night winds down and the music fades, as Blue's hoisted up against Ralph Angel's shoulder while Darla rubs a hand from their son's back over to RA, as Nova wraps that same guiding arm around Too Sweet that she's been doing all night, Charley seeks out her own family. For hours, she and Micah have been doing their own dance. Never too close, never in the exact same orbit where they can have that talk that neither of them seem completely ready for. But it's late, and Charley knows the slouch to his shoulders and the tilt of his head that lets his mind rest just enough to give him the energy to keep going.
She leaves Remy with a squeeze of her hand to his wrist. His fingers trail along after her as she heads over to where Micah refills his water glass. Her smile's been consistent pretty much all night, but it stills just a bit once she's in hearing distance, once she could technically reach out and pull her son into her arms. Because what if that go he whispered earlier was less of a blessing and more of him sending her away? What if Micah's lost out again to the emotional terrain of being a fifteen year old whose parents are going through a very public and potentially messy divorce?
"Tired?" she offers. Micah holds his cup tight enough that his fingers break the lines of condensation. But at least he nods.
"A little." He breaks his sentence with a drink. "It's been a long day."
"It has." Harder without him by her side. Harder since he'd decided to cut her off when they'd begun the day joking in Vi's living room, nestled up against the arm of the couch like co-conspirators on a mission to hack into Gardini Prep. She'd even gotten to brush her fingers along his fade, which has admittedly been holding up well now that they're living in the South. Her little boy looks fresh. Handsome. A little more sharp lines, but they still blend into that same softness that she's nurtured within him.
Maybe it's the softness that lightens his grip on the glass.
Maybe it's the tiredness that brings his eyes completely up to hers for the first time since she and Remy took to the dance floor.
Whatever it is, she can't risk pushing too far and losing him. More than anything else, Micah grounds her. Being his mother is… everything to her, and fifteen years of being Mom cannot be destroyed with one kiss. Fifteen years of trust will not falter on her now. She refuses.
So she pulls her clutch between both hands and says, "I can see you at home." Then his eyes trail from her to where Remy stands, and she shakes her head before he can even ask the question. "I will see you at home. Tonight. Very soon, in fact. But I don't want to force you to ride with me and have a conversation that you don't want to have. You can head home with whoever you want."
His chest puffs forward. His jaw juts out, pride overtaking as he pushes. "And if it's Aunt Nova?"
Charley steadies out the shake in her bottom lip. Breathes through the rejection that she should've known could come. Would come.
She says, "Whoever you want. Though, Nova seems to be a little busy with Too Sweet. You'd have to make sure she has room." Of course, Nova would make room for Micah in a heartbeat. She would push aside furniture and reorganize all of the Ninth if it meant giving space for her family. Nova knows no boundaries, no limitations on how much love she can hold and share with the world. But here's the thing, neither does Charley. She just hasn't had to tap into that in a long while. Hasn't had to worry about more than keeping smiles on their faces and making sure that the girls chasing after her son were more reasonable than they were fast. "This is all new for me too," she admits.
Micah twists his cup around. Watches the water swirl. "Yeah, I know." It's a bit less dismissive than he was earlier today.
She tries tamping down on the way her chest warms and expands, but she steps in towards him anyway.
"Can I just…?" She waits until he focuses back on her to start. Eyes firm on Micah's, lips barely curling over her teeth, she says, "No matter what happens, Micah, you will always be the most important man in my life. You always come first. That doesn't change because of your father, or because of anyone who I might wind up seeing as time goes on. I want you to be happy. Okay, baby?"
But he shakes his head, and her jaw trembles until she clenches it together with a slam that shakes through her whole body.
Micah takes a step back, shrugs into his words. "That's — I want you to be happy too, Mom. I just…." He keeps spinning the glass. Keeps fighting to maintain that maturity and composure that she'd spent so long instilling into him when honestly he probably just wants to scream. The veins in his throat say as much. The tick of his jaw repeats it. "I don't think I was ready for you to, I don't know, fall."
"Fall?" She shakes her head. "I'm not falling for anyone."
He shakes the cup. "No, not like that. Just fall from grace, from these spaces that I had you and Dad in for my whole life so far, you know. I mean, God, Mom," and when his eyes meet hers, they're red-rimmed and begging, they're loosely sticking eyelashes and lips that scrunch out of a need to pull in tighter and clench around everything spilling out of him. "You were invincible. You wrangled full teams and press rooms to their knees. You got everyone on the Warriors' side before we even knew what had happened, and when you found out that it wasn't so easy, you gave it time and you didn't stay with Dad just because you wanted to make things easier for me. You're… you're more than just my mom, and I'm trying to figure out how to deal with that."
He looks spent by the end of that, and she takes the cup from him to set it on the counter. "We can figure this out together, okay?"
He nods. "And I don't want to come between you and something that might make all this other stuff better to deal with."
"You're not," she tells him.
"Are you sure? Because you're over here with me instead of being with him."
She makes sure to keep her voice steady for this one. "I'm over here with you," she says, "because I want to be. Because you keep leaning into your shoulder like you need a pillow and a hug, and like you might need someone to give you an out on heading in early."
Micah ducks his head, but there's a little glimpse at a grin. A little relief in the flare of his nostrils and the shine on his ears. His voice turns mocking. "'My mom said I can't stay up.'" Then he drops it. "That's pretty lame."
She says, "I think we've earned the right to be a little boring."
He mulls it over. Cracks a smile finally. "We could snag a few of these balloons and head back to our room. Watch some re-runs On Demand."
"Only if I'm picking the show. No more Bojack when I'm in the room."
He chuckles. "Come on, Mom."
"Nuh-uh. Nope, not happening. But I do think there's still some kettlecorn in my bag." She wiggles her eyebrows. "I'll even remember to take out my contacts."
He hums his playful doubtfulness. "Before or after your eyes dry out?"
She shoves his shoulder. He flinches and falters in a dip that draws a bit of attention their way. His laugh gets everyone to turn back around though. Hers has at least one person pausing. Watching with eyes that seem to see all and know all in a way that she hadn't been prepared for.
It's not like Charley's new to having this sort of attention. Men have watched her practically her whole life, and being knowledgable and adept in the sports world only seems to bring on another sort of men who can't wait for the moment she wants to drift away from her husband. (Separated husband. Davis.) But Remy's attention stems from respect, from an awareness of who she is and where she comes from that she's just remembering how to tap into herself. His comes from a love of her family and her world that blossomed into a, let's say, appreciation for her as well.
He watches her like she's a book he's waited to read allthewhile knowing exactly how it ends and just where to crack the spine to for a good laugh.
She hides the flush of her cheeks with a look in the opposite direction. But Micah sees. He's growing more perceptive that boy. Just growing in general. Soon it might not even matter if she's a real person or not there at all. Soon he'll be off living his own life, and the only time she'll see him is when something goes wrong, or when he's forced back by obligation and homesickness.
She tugs him into a hug that neither of them seem fully prepared for. He stumbles into her arms, and she holds him as tight as she can without hurting them both. He groans, but he furrows his nose into her neck and squeezes her just as tight.
"So," she rocks them, "Does this mean you're riding with me?"
He rolls his eyes so hard she can feel them. "Duh. Just let me say bye." Then he loosens his grip and rushes off towards Nova and Too Sweet.
With the newfound space, Charley heads back to Remy, who's been lingering and giving them their space. He lifts his brows in a question, and the whole of her face splits into a smile brighter than any of the lights they hung for tonight. Micah might not be totally happy, but he's not ignoring her. He's not punishing her for finding a little light of her own.
Remy meets her halfway between the drinks table and the few people still swaying to the music. His arms swing at his sides. His eyes only drop to her lips once. "That good, huh?"
She pulls about as close to him as she can get away with without giving in to his charm. It might be a bit too close, but given the amount of alcohol passed around tonight, she doubts anyone will be tweeting about it.
"We're not out of the woods, but it's a start."
"I'm glad," he says. "So, I will see you around then."
She's a bit tongue in cheek. "Mhm, sooner rather than later." That gets that grin back on his face, and she feels the laugh tugged right out of her. "Are you being respectful again?"
He nods. "Kinda, kinda. I'm trying."
"Mm, okay, try harder," she says with feigned narrowed eyes that don't hold the same weight when her dimples are still visible. The two of them are scrunched faces to hold back broad smiles. An ease that's becoming more comfortable by the interaction. Enough so that she leans close to brush her lips against his cheek and barely freezes when she snags the corner of his lips instead. His cheeks pull up with the smirk, and she puts that distance between their faces again before she winds up kissing that look right off his face. Another time she will. But for now, she pulls three steps back and meets those glowing, tempting, taunting eyes.
"Good night, Remy."
He shifts forward, whispers like it's a secret — and a good one at that. "It really has been." And no amount of face scrunching can contain her smile anymore. "G'night, Charley." His eyes go beyond her to Micah. Nova. The both of them having wandered close enough to hear. Remy tips his head to them. "Family."
"Night, Remy," Nova chimes. (Charley won't look back, won't see the knowing tint and canines on full display at all that Nova's sure can happen now that Charley's free of everything holding her back.)
"Yeah, night," Micah says.
Charley turns then, to her son, who offers out his arm for her to thread through and leads her out the High Yellow like the gentleman she knows he will be.
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