So, although this was originally intended to be a one shot, the wonderful Anirandom asked me to do a series and I couldn't resist! Thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback.
She's beginning to think this won't be as easy as she thought. Not the mother part. She never expected that to be easy-she knows for a fact that mothering is never easy. How could it be? You're constantly responsible for the wellbeing of another human, a tiny human no less, and that child already means more to you than anyone else in your life. The baby can be smiling, safe in your arms, or a teenager riding a scooter, but the fear never goes away. The fear that something may happen-the fear of loss. The fear of losing a person you love even more than you love yourself. That's not to mention the cuts and scrapes of a tackle gone wrong or their first bike ride. Not to mention fights and screaming matches over abandoned curfews and reckless actions. There's just so much that is hard about being a mother.
The part she didn't expect to be difficult, though, was the not caring part. The love that's unattached. The waiting for acceptance, any form of acceptance. She'd been gone for so long, only allowing herself brief visits, never being anything more than Andi's "big sister." She respected her parent's wishes for her to either stay around full time or to only see Andi on preselected occasions, and she had chosen the latter. But it had hurt. It hurt to have her mother push her away and pull Andi closer; it hurt that her mother held Andi every day while her own experiences with Andi were drawing to a close. It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. She needed to give her daughter the best life possible. And if that meant giving Andi to her parents-her responsible, independent, been-down-this-road-before parents-then so be it. And if her mother wanted her out of the picture to do that, then she had to leave. Andi deserved better. So much better than what she was capable of giving her.
So it should be easy, coming back to a place where you're rather unwelcome and having all your titles denounced. She's not a sister, or a mother, or a daughter. She's Rebecca. Sometimes she's Bex. It all shouldn't hurt. And yet it does. It's a sickly feeling in her stomach as it churns, to know that she really has nothing of herself to fall back on. She has no life here. No job, house, pets, nothing. The thing she does have, a family, has practically shut her out. Without that, she doesn't even know what she is, let alone who.
So when Andi smiled and sat on her bed holding their hospital bracelets, she was relieved. Maybe, somehow, this mess would work out. She could be a part of her daughter's life. And yes, maybe it was selfish to be pushing her way into Andi's life so quickly, but she couldn't add that to the list she already had running in her head of her wrongdoings. Being back, she couldn't bury the guilt and drown it in traveling and the occasional drunken night when it became too much. Here she knew Andi; she saw Andi every day. She couldn't ignore what was right in front of her.
"So what happened? Did you tell Buffy and Cyrus?" She asks, placing another plate on the table. She's pushing, that's clear, but it's the hope that shines through in her voice. Of checking off another person she has to hide from. Two people to be exact.
"No," Andi says, a look of embarrassment coming over her face.
"Andi," she moans. She takes a deep breath, cutting off her stream of words. This isn't about her: this is about Andi.
"I tried." Andi lets her shoulders sag. "But I only got to the part about you-know-who."
"Who?" Suddenly she's interested again, slightly confused, but interested nonetheless.
Andi looks up. "Jonah."
"Why is there a part about Jo-you-know-who," she quickly corrects. Andi relaxes her shaking head and brings her finger closer to her chest. Bex stifles a smile. Because it's a start: something Andi trusts in her, even if it is only a crush.
"Because I had to tell them the whole story," Andi says, walking closer to Bex. "It's not like I could start a story by saying my sister's my mother and my mother's my grandmother."
"I'm not your grandmother!" Celia calls from the kitchen. And there it is: the inevitable. The fact that it is hard to go through this process. Andi is still coming to terms with the implications, the entire family is, and her naive hope is rearing its ugly head yet again. She can't hope for this to be normal, a smooth endeavor of steps forward; it is not easy, it's strange and uncomfortable and just a little bit awful. There won't just be happiness and hugs and family reunions; there will be fights and tears and a step backward here and there. That is life, specifically, a life she chose. Not that she'd change it. She knows it was right at the time. But it is still a life she chose. She tunes back in to the end of a conversation, hearing her father get his new name, "Pops."
"See, change doesn't need to be hard." She tries to relate. She's learning how to do that now. "But, I get it. It's complicated."
"Complicated? Buffy and Cyrus can barely comprehend that I'm doing an after school sport."
Bex tilts her head, intrigued by the information she's receiving. There is so much she doesn't know about this girl. A few days before, Andi looked like a natural-she picked up the sport so quickly. And yet somehow this is a huge thing for everyone else to accept. What she knows about her daughter are pieces taped together, a whole picture waiting to be finished. A collage with missing pieces or a puzzle without the box.
"Who's hungry?" Ham asks, pulling Bex from her thoughts. Or her downward spiral. It's more fitting for the circumstances, she thinks.
"Me." Andi walks around to sit beside Celia, a routine tried and true as far as Bex can tell. She takes her seat, shaking slightly at the memories sitting at this table bring back, as her father takes his usual seat beside her...or at least what was once his usual.
"She's too young to be making these decisions!"
"I'm thirteen!" Bex says, stabbing her baked potato with her fork. "I just want to go on one sleepover."
"You're too young." Celia turns back to Ham. "She's too young."
"But, Mom-"
"-This discussion is over. Go to your room. You have a test tomorrow."
She shakes herself from the memory. If only they knew all that would happen within the next two years. She feels her father place a comforting hand over hers and she spares him a tiny smile. "It is so great to have you home." He pulls his napkin into his lap. "The whole family under one roof. It's been too long."
Bex nods. "And it feels really great to have everything out in the open. Finally." She lets out a breath, refusing to argue with her mother's "Wonderful." "Well it feels great to me. This is my first family dinner as your mom," she says, facing Andi.
"Can we just sit down for dinner?" Bex asks, holding her head in her hands, trying to burrow her way into the couch and, if she's lucky, maybe even disappear.
"Is she serious?" Celia turns to her husband. "She can't be serious."
"I'm right here, Mom." Bex pulls her hands away from her bloodshot eyes.
"Are you?" her mother scoffs. "I don't know what you've turned into lately, but this is not my daughter." Needless to say, family dinners were discontinued after that night. They weren't intended for a soon-to-be family of four.
She smiles, shooting a grin Andi's way. Baby steps.
As she turns back to her food, she catches her mother grinning, a secret held behind her eyes. "Albany," Celia says.
"Albany. I don't know what that means," Bex speaks up, trying her best to roll with the flow. She is the guest. She is the outsider. She puts a spoonful of broccoli on her plate.
"Annapolis."
"Atlanta."
The pit in her stomach deepens, the feeling of ineptness personified. "Okay, that's not helping."
"We play memory games at dinner," her daughter pipes up, a gorgeous smile crossing her face.
"Augusta." Celia smiles. "Pass the meat, please."
"Austin," Ham says, passing the meat.
"Dibs on the drumstick. Baton Rouge."
She's spiraling. The dialogue is hard to keep up with, impossible for her to maintain. The routine is evident and she is not privy to it. She's the third wheel, or the fourth wheel, in a family she is trying to join once more. She is spiraling.
"I don't think I want to do the spelling bee this year," Bex says after swallowing her last bite of spinach.
"Why not?" Ham asks. "You've done it every year. It's a tradition."
"I don't know." She pushes the chicken around on her plate, keeping her head down. "It's just," she shrugs, "there's an art club this year and I really want to do that."
"Well, you can always do both." He shoots her a smile.
"But I don't want to do both."
"Sweetie," Celia says, her tone loving but firm, "school has to come first."
Bex looks up, quick to agree with her mother. "I know. I do. And all my grades are good. Mrs. Carter even said my poem was the best in the fourth grade." As her mother smiles, she lets out a breath of relief, the corners of her lips pulling up as well.
"So you understand what I'm saying?" Celia checks.
Bex nods. "School comes first." She puts another piece of chicken in her mouth. "This is going to be so much fun."
"Do not speak with food in your mouth," Celia chides, handing her daughter a napkin to wipe her mouth.
"Sorry."
"Thank you." Celia clasps her hands in front of her, a bright grin on her face. "Should we get to practicing then?"
Bex swallows. "Practicing what?"
"For the spelling bee of course. You need to start practicing early if you want to go to finals."
"But I'm doing the art club."
Celia's nose pinches. "We agreed that you would do both. School comes first."
"But the spelling bee isn't school," Bex says.
"It is part of your education," Celia says.
Ham turns to his daughter. "You can do both, right, kiddo?" He smiles and ruffles her hair, not waiting for a response.
"So it's settled. Spell 'settee.'"
Bex looks back down at her plate. "Can you use it in a sentence?" she mumbles.
"Memory games at dinner. Mom, are you serious?" She whines, scrunching her nose in distaste. Too many memories are closing in and all she can do is sit here and be present.
"The games were my idea." Andi shrugs. Great, now I've made her self-conscious, Bex groans to herself. Really doing a great job at this parenting thing.
She recovers quickly, but not without Celia's notice of her mistake. "And I hope you are serious because they're so fun." She hopes her words are convincing. "Can I play?"
"Sure," Andi grabs her glass. "We're listing state capitals."
Bex smiles. She may not know all the state capitals, but she knows a few. She's lived in a few. "Phoenix."
"In alphabetical order," Andi grimaces, careful with her words.
"Where were we?" She turns her head toward Ham, now entirely worried about the remainder of this dinner. Now it wasn't just about not knowing things about her family, it wasn't being good enough for them either.
"Baton Rouge," he whispers. She murmurs her assent, picking her brain for capitals.
"Um, can I have a minute?" Capitals. Capitals. Capitals.
"No," Celia says airily. "You missed, you're out."
"Oh, come on! Give me a second chance." Bex says, her voice rising with her temper. She throws her hands out.
"I already did." As if she needs more fire, more hardships, at this very moment. She needs a mother. Not someone who wishes her gone. She needs her mom.
She's about to retort when Andi speaks up. "You guys are taking all the fun out of learning at dinner." She's annoyed. That much Bex is able to tell.
"I'm sorry." Bex wipes her mouth with her napkin, then sets it neatly on the table. "Play your game." She smiles. "I have some work to do." She pushes her chair back and stands up, waving a friendly goodbye. "Have to find a new job. It's not going to find me itself." She chuckles. "Good night, guys." She turns and makes her way up the stairs, slowly and then all at once. She needs to get out of there. She needs to not be the person who left. She needs to not be the person her parents hated. She needs to be anything but who she is. What she doesn't see in her haste, however, is the look of disappointment on Andi's face.
"Knock, knock." Bex turns her head at the sound of her father, stretching out as she does so. She's been sitting in front of her computer for far too long.
"You know that's generally an action, not something you say," she smirks, hoping it covers the pain hiding just beneath the surface.
He doesn't fall for it. She doesn't blame him. He's probably one of the few people who really does know her. He walks further into the room and takes a seat next to her on the couch. "It's late, I don't want to keep you." He pats her back. "I just wanted to check in. I know this isn't easy."
She shakes her head, moving away from him. "This isn't easy. It's hard. It is hard," she repeats, saying each word slowly. "And all this stuff with Mom isn't helping."
"I know." He sighs. "I'll work on her. But I came here to talk about you." He pats the spot next to him, his eyes begging her to join him. She sits, fiddling with her fingers as she listens to him talk. "This is all very fast. So many things are changing and it's not always going to be smooth sailing." He chuckles. "You know it was never smooth sailing with you, either. It doesn't matter how prepared you are for a baby, for a family, it just happens. All parents face setbacks. Yours have just come a little late." He tilts her chin up. "Don't give up because of one setback."
She sighs, a single tear trickling down her face. She pulls away gently, wiping it off as soon as she's free. "Come on, Dad." She shakes her head. "We both know it wasn't just one setback."
He shrugs. "So what?" He looks around the room, his eyes refusing to settle on any one thing. "Do you know how many times your mother and I screwed up? How many times our parents have screwed up? How many times parents everywhere have screwed up?" He turns to face her once more. "Everyone has setbacks and things they wish they did differently. I keep thinking that maybe if I had stuck up for you more, before all this happened, when you were younger, maybe things would be different. Maybe we'd be close and maybe you wouldn't have left."
"Maybe I wouldn't have gotten pregnant?" she mutters, more to herself than to him.
"No." He takes her hands in his, giving them a tight squeeze. "I don't wish Andi wasn't here. I just wish you had been happier back then. That maybe we would've been close." He kisses the top of her head, then stands up, ruffling the ebony locks like he used to do all those years ago.
When he reaches the door, he turns back to say, "Andi wanted you to stay." He closes the door, a quiet, "I wanted you to stay," slipping out before the door clicked closed.
For a moment, in the quiet, she thinks that maybe he's right. It may hurt to hope, but any kind of hope has to be better than no hope at all. And then she falls asleep.
She wakes up the next morning to machinery whirring in her ear. She tries to sleep, to ignore the incessant pounding, but eventually gets up. "Mom," Bex calls, looking over the couch. At the lack of response, she raises her voice. "Mom." When Celia looks over, her legs slowing slightly, Bex adds, "You're in my bedroom."
Celia shrugs, her face all hard lines. "You're in my gym."
Bex groans. "It's six a.m." She doesn't understand how her mother, the one who drilled respect and patience and all those other virtues into her, can't understand the issue with this.
"Gym opens early."
She sighs, not ready for anything at six a.m., much less a fight. "I'm not even awake yet and we're already fighting. How is that possible?"
"If it bothers you, we don't have to talk."
"Oh ever?" She asks before biting her tongue. I'm not going to engage, she says to herself. Don't react.
"I'm not the one that's complaining."
Bex takes a deep breath. Of course it wouldn't be easy. Nothing is ever easy. Andi wanted you to stay. She relents. "Can we try something?" Her mother keeps pumping away, so she walks over and pulls out an earbud. "Can we try something?" She knows she's tempting fate, the barely-there sense of civility hangs in the balance, but she pushes through. When Celia acknowledges her request, Bex begins. "Let's try to say one nice thing to each other. You just got to come up with one." She bites the bullet, deciding that she has to try. She has to make the first move. "I'll go first. You did a fantastic job raising my daughter, and it's hard to admit," she steels herself to say the words she knows are true, but that claw at her very being, "but probably a better job than I would have done. And I'm grateful. Very, very grateful." She lets out a breath, a certain feeling of ease washing over her. It's not the end, hell it's barely even the beginning, but she needed to say it. She needed to say it to move forward.
Bex sees the corners of her mother's lips curl slightly, and that is enough. That is one less thing to have hanging over their heads. The awful renditions of what-ifs. "I was going to say I like how you do your makeup."
Bex clenches her fists, her fingers slowly closing, as she counts to ten. It doesn't exactly clear the air between them and it isn't anything substantial, but she is willing to take it. She is willing to let that be the start. "That's a compliment and I'll take it." She smiles, remembering reading a magazine article about how smiling actually makes you happier, and continues. "See, we can get along if we want to."
Celia nods, a small concession. "Yeah, so it seems." She makes her way back to the elliptical, climbing up and resuming her vigorous workout.
Before the workout becomes too intense, Bex asks, "What do you say we try for a second sentence?"
"Let's not push our luck," Celia yells over the blare of her music.
Bex rolls her eyes, but leaves her bedroom, taking her accomplishments and cutting her losses. It's only six a.m. after all. She has the rest of their lives for progress.
However, as she's getting ready to walk downstairs to find some breakfast-something sugary if possible-Andi sticks her head out of her doorway. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Is everything okay?"
"I did something bad." Bex nods, coming closer. This talk of "bad" is not exactly in her comfort zone. She needs concrete. She needs situations. She needs to have dealt with this before.
As she closes Andi's door, her eyes catch on the wooden box sitting on her daughter's bed. "I took it," Andi says, refusing to maintain eye contact. "But I didn't look inside. I wanted to, but that would be an invasion of your privacy."
Bex's eyebrows furrow slightly. She's caught between "I expected this and your rambling is kind of adorable" and "I am the adult and that is personal property." She finally settles on, "So that makes stealing it okay?" with a joking glint in her eyes.
"No." Andi looks up, meeting Bex's eyes. "I'm sorry."
Bex sighs, the glint morphing into a full-blown grin. "Andi, if you want to look through it, go ahead." She motions to the box on the bed.
"Really?" Andi asks, jumping onto the bed. She pauses, "Wait, are you sure?"
"Yes!" Bex laughs, motioning for Andi to get on with it and to see more "Bex" than most people ever get. She realizes soon enough, though, that this is not that time. Andi flips through the pictures quickly, a look of determination in her eyes that makes Bex tilt her head. She'd predicted this too.
Andi slows, finally meeting her mother's eyes. Sighing, she asks, "He's not in here, is he?"
"Your dad? No." Bex moves to lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling of scarves. "I took him out."
"What?" Andi asks, and Bex can practically feel the disbelief radiating off her daughter.
She simply barrels on. "Because I expected you would invade my privacy. It's an honored tradition in this house." She rolls her eyes as she thinks of all the times it's happened. "I've had this box since I was your age. Mom opened it once, a little over thirteen years ago, she saw something she didn't want to see. So she learned her lesson." She then pushes the memories of that day from her mind. Propping herself up on her elbow, she adds a pointed "And, I learned mine."
Andi nods, her eyes squinting as she tries to make sense of this. "So there is a picture?"
"There is a picture." She smiles, breaking her stern facade. She isn't mad; she just wants to be clear.
"And you're not going to show it to me?" Andi shakes her head. "How do you think that makes me feel?"
Bex decides to play a little, lightening the tense atmosphere. "Oh, I'm guessing as bad as it feels that you haven't told Buffy and Cyrus yet that I'm your mother," she teases, standing up.
It does the trick: Andi smiles. "I'm getting there."
Bex chuckles. "In my experience, this is a one step process." And then a downhill spiral, but she keeps that part to herself.
"Okay," Andi says, "I didn't snoop inside your box, but they did. And they found the picture of us. So they know you had a baby, they just don't know that it's me."
That throws Bex for a loop. "Who do they think it is?"
Andi shrinks into herself, "Your secret baby."
"They think I have a secret baby?" Bex puts her hands on her hips. How is it possible for this story to become any more distorted?
"Well, you do." Andi smirks. "Me," she says excitedly.
The enthusiasm is enough to break the building tension. "Then tell them," she laughs.
But then the darkness is back. The secrets and the lies. Apparently, she's hit a nerve. "It's not that easy. It took you thirteen years and you still have secrets you won't tell me. How long am I going to have to wait to hear those?" And Bex doesn't have an answer; Andi's right. She took thirteen years. There's a lot that still has to be said and a lot to work through. Her and Andi aren't in a place of sunshine and rainbows right now. She has to live with that.
"Easy, easy with those," Bex says as Andi hastily returns the photos to her box, snapping the lid shut. "Okay." She takes the box offered to her and follows her cue to leave, hearing her daughter flop onto the bed as she closes the door.
She's not wanted here.
She spends the following hours walking around the house, the neighborhood, the park trying to memorize state capitals. Andi wanted you to stay. "Helena, Honolulu, Indianapolis," she chants, finally back in the living room. "Jackson, Jefferson City, Juneau, wherever the fuck that is." She shakes her head. She's about to say Lansing when she hears her mother calling for Andi. She hides her notes away, smiling as her family enters the room. "Memory game. Are we playing?"
Her mother is unimpressed. "Why wouldn't we be?" Bex exhales. She's not going to let it get the best of her.
Ham nods over to Andi. "Andi, it's your turn to start."
"Hydrogen," she says dreamily, as if she has never been more content. Bex thinks she should question it, but right now there are more pressing matters than her kid being happy.
"Hydrogen?" She shakes her head. "What is that the capital of?"
Celia must have read her mind, looking at Andi with barely concealed interest. "Are you okay?"
Andi only smiles wider. "Very much so, thank you for asking."
Celia chuckles. "Helium."
"Lithium," Ham says, sharing a laugh with his wife. This is definitely an interesting Andi.
"What is going on?" Bex asks, looking from person to person. "I just spent four hours memorizing state capitals."
"Oh," Ham looks upset, "tonight's the periodic table."
"Andi, it's your turn," Celia pipes up.
Bex shakes her head. "Nope, no it's not." This is not going to be a repeat of last night. Andi wanted you to stay. "It's my turn. I'm here, I'm part of this family, and I am playing the dinner time memory game." She leans back in her chair, hands crossing over her chest. She's frustrated, but relaxes as she sees Andi's smile across from her. She really does want her there. "Which is what again?"
Celia answers this time, "Periodic elements in order of their atomic number."
Bex nods, then turns to her father. "And you said?"
"Lithium."
Bex moves her hand to her temple, rubbing the area in hopes of jogging her memory. Chemistry had never been her favorite subject. "Oh, come on periodic table, I know you're up in here somewhere." She's turning away from her mother's waiting stare and toward her father when she sees it. The little, folded piece of paper pointing in her direction. She looks back up, trying to be discrete. "Beryllium?"
Andi's face lights up. "Yes!"
"Yes?" Bex asks, jumping up in her seat. "I got it right?"
"Yes!" Andi says again, and Bex wants to see this excitement on Andi's face every day. Knowing she put that smile there, now that's even better.
"You are still in the game," her father says, smiling through his words.
"That's all I want." He hands her his cheat sheet, then gives her hand a little squeeze. "Is to still be in the game."
Thoughts? Comments? Requests?