Author's Notes: I have had this little ficlet sitting around in my documents for some time. I intended to post it as an easter egg to and lead us back to a world we would not face, but decided against including it as a chapter, since they are not the same fic. Consider this a thematically linked companion piece, then.
"It's going to be horrifically awkward," Julie says, taking a sip of her wine. "At best. At worst, it'll be openly hostile."
"Bullshit," Gill answers, and her cheeks are pink with anger. "I won't. Letting him do this to me again is just bullshit, and I won't. You're my partner, it's my son's engagement party. You're coming. I don't care if it makes my ex-husband uncomfortable."
Julie sighs, leans her glass against her knee. She's been avoiding this conversation for some time, knowing it would be like this, and uncertain of her conviction, even though she also knows she's probably right. "I know," she says, gentle, placating. "I don't, either, and you know that under any other circumstances I'd say sod him. Would, have, will in future. You know that. But this party isn't about you and me telling Dave to stick his misogynist homophobic double standards up his arse, it's about Sammy and Orla, who deserve to be able to celebrate their engagement without worrying about Dad ending up with his throat pinned to the floor by Mum's girlfriend's stiletto heel because he couldn't keep a civil tongue in his mouth. I just think it will be better for everyone if I'm not there."
"Everyone but me," Gill says. "I don't want to feel like you're something I should be ashamed of, hide away at parties. I won't let people think I've been cowed into doing that. I won't."
Julie sighs, and it's an ache. She doesn't want that either, but there's so much history there, too much, and she's never been able to stomach Dave's attitude. He can always get a rise out of her, and he knows it, and if it was tangled and difficult back in the days when Gill cared about the man, it's a whole different configuration of knots now. "I don't want to ruin the night for them."
"You won't." It's not Gill's voice, and Julie looks up to find Sammy standing in the doorway. He looks serious in that way that only young people can, deeply, and it's an expression that sits oddly on a face that looks so much like Dave's. Gill twists in her seat to look at him, and Julie watches him take a few steps into the room. "Sorry, my ears were burning."
"'s all right," Julie answers. "What do you think, then?" If it's his night, his opinion counts.
"I want you to come," Sammy says, easy and confident. "I've known you forever, and you and Mum, you make each other happy, and I want people to know I support that. Even Dad. Especially Dad. And, y'know, there's probably stuff I don't know about, but, like, if Beth was still with Dad, I would have asked her, and I would have just expected everyone to be adult about it, so I don't see why this should be any different."
Julie can't speak for a moment, has to take a sip of her wine to dislodge what feels remarkably like a lump in her throat. "And Orla?" she asks, eventually. "How is she with the possibility of fireworks at her engagement party?"
Sammy grins, and his smile is Gill's, all strange angles and restrained glee. "Well, she knows my entire family is mad, and she still wants to marry me, so I think she'll be okay."
His family. Is he including her in that group? From the look on his face, it seems that he is, and Julie has to look away. Only that's no good either, because her eyes land on Gill, who is watching her, smile smug but eyes shining with unshed tears, and she has to drop her own gaze to her lap lest the same kind of stupidity overcome her. "All right," she says, after a time, twisting the stem of the wine glass in her hand. "All right, I'll come, so you can stop looking at me like that, both of you." But when she looks up, they haven't, at all, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
Sammy steps in toward the table, a wine glass seeming to materialise in his hand. "I'm having some of this," he says, helping himself to their bottle, which Julie has to hand to him, is an effective way of diffusing the tension, because they both make startled noises of protest that die quickly, smothered in the wake of the conversation.
"By the way," he says, setting the bottle back down, "if it does come to blows, and that heel on the throat thing ends up happening, just give us some warning, will you? Because I want to put that on Youtube."
Gill snorts with laughter, and Julie smiles, and then somehow he's on her side of the table, leaning down, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. "Glad I changed your mind," he murmurs, pulls away. Gill reaches for him as he goes, and their fingers touch as their eyes meet, just briefly, a communication that not even Julie can quite fathom.
Gill's still smiling at her after he's gone, and Julie shakes her head, still hot in the cheeks and oddly choked up. "Bloody hell," she says, though, eventually. "He's your son all right."