Foggy walks into the classroom in three days before Mother's Day with a worried frown on his face.
Jessica shifts in her seat, tapping Matt on the elbow.
Matt breaks off from where he's reading, and looks up.
"Hey, Foggy," he says, cheerfully.
"Hey," Foggy says, but it's wrong, his tone isn't flat, he's not moving as lightly as he normally does.
"What's wrong?" Jessica asks.
Foggy bites his lip for a second, and then takes a deep breath. "Dad's dating someone."
Jessica's eyes widen. "Oh."
She knows that Foggy's Dad is raising him by himself, like Jack. Times when Foggy's Dad is watching them, they spend most of their time in the hardware store, playing hide and seek and trying to see whether they can do it without spilling anything off the shelf, or playing games in the apartment above the store.
"Can I ask you something?" Matt says, quietly.
Foggy frowns. "Depends."
"What happened to your Mom?" Matt says, the words tumbling out of his mouth rapidly. "You don't have to say anything, and I'm sorry, but. Just. What happened to her?"
Foggy flinches, and Jessica swallows.
"I'm sorry," Matt says, and his voice sounds thick. "Oh, Foggy, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–"
"It's okay," Foggy says, quickly.
"No, it's not, not if talking about it is gonna hurt–"
"Matt. She just...didn't want to be with my Dad and me," Foggy blurts out. "She wanted something else from her life, is what Dad always says."
"Oh," Matt fidgets. "Um. What did she want?"
"She went and became a lawyer," Foggy says, hopping up on the chair on Matt's other side.
Tentatively, Matt reaches out and squeezes Foggy's shoulder, the way Dad occasionally does with him on a bad day, and Foggy lets out a sigh.
"Is she nice? The girl your Dad is dating?" Jessica asks.
"I think so?" Foggy says. "Her name's Anna. She's been around the store a bit lately. Dad says we're going to hang out after school, in the shop."
Clap-clap clap-clap-clap clap-clap-clap-clap!
They immediately break off the conversation and clap the pattern back.
Mrs Grech smiles at them. "Hi, everybody. Take a seat, we're going to be talking about multiplication today."
Multiplication is nothing that she hasn't done with Mom before. The discs are stacked and grouped; two lots of two discs, and then two lots of two, and then two lots of two, and then two lots of two again means sixteen discs, between the four groups. It makes sense.
Foggy seems to be struggling with it, a bit, though, and Jessica watches as the teacher runs through the demonstration again.
"So you take two discs," the teacher says. "And then you put them into one group. That's one group of two discs."
Everybody nods. Jessica sighs, and shifts her position again. She's still thinking about Mother's Day. About Mother's Day last year. Mrs Allan had made them make Mother's Day cards, and Matt had helped her with hers, but there'd been something in the tilt of his expression that had made her ask.
Matty, what happened to your Mom?
Something in his expression had crumpled, before he'd looked away.
Dad says she got sick, and couldn't stay with us, he had said.
Did she die?
Matt had shrugged.
Dad didn't say that she did. He didn't say that she didn't.
Her nose had wrinkled from the confusion, and he had sighed.
She might have. Might not. I don't know. Dad doesn't talk about it, and neither do I.
She had slipped her head onto his shoulder, squeezed his hand, and then asked him if the card needed more glitter.
"Jessica, can you hear me?" Mrs Grech asks.
Jessica blinks. "Wait, what?"
"Five lots of two discs would be…"
"Ten discs," she answers. She's only been taught the multiplication tables as far as nine, but still, she knows them pretty well. Mom quizzes her on them, sometimes.
"How is she doing that?" Lisa asks David M., and David shrugs.
Matt grins at her, and Mrs Grech nods, satisfied. "Good, Jessica."
Warmth seeps through her fingers, up her arms, around her neck and down her body. She did good. On something important.
Foggy catches on after the second explanation, and Mrs Grech has them doing a work sheet of multiplications for the rest of the hour until recess, waiting for them to fill in the gaps. Matt leans over, from where he's sitting on her left.
"Should I make a card for Alyssa?" he whispers.
Jessica raises her eyebrows. "For Mother's Day?" she asks, and Matt frantically hushes her.
She can already see the worry crossing his face as he nods.
"Is – is it a bad idea?"
She can barely hear his whisper, it's so soft.
Jessica tilts her head back, thinking about it.
"You were with us at Christmas," she says, slowly. "And I sleep over some nights. And so do you."
"Except for Sundays," Matt reminds her.
She nods.
"Except for Sundays."
She feels warmth curling through her toes, up her legs. "Yeah, you can make a card for Mom."
The cards are made in the last period of the day, after the second last bell has rung. Mrs Grech gets out the art supplies, explaining it to them, and Matt sees Foggy's expression go soft and hurt, and all of a sudden, Matt has a brilliant plan.
He grabs Foggy's shoulder and squeezes it to get his attention, but he must have squeezed too hard because Foggy flinches.
"Sorry," Matt apologises, immediately letting go. "I just thought. I don't have a Mom either. But. You have a nana, right?" he asks.
Foggy nods.
"We can make cards for them," Matt says.
Foggy tilts his head. "Everyone else is making cards for their Moms."
Matt shrugs. "Our Dads had to have Moms too. Why shouldn't we make cards for them?"
"Cards for our Dads?"
"N-no, that's not what I meant," Matt says, getting flustered now. He'd thought it would work, it had sounded so simple in his head. "That's what Father's Day is for, making cards for our Dads. But. For our nanas. We could make cards for them today?"
Slowly, Foggy nods, again.
"Sounds good," Foggy says. There's still a bit of a sad hunch to his shoulders, and Matt's not sure how to fix that, but he squeezes Foggy's shoulder again. Gently, this time.
"C'mon, guys," Jessica says, loudly. "The good paper's about to go."
Matt's at his Nana's place that night. Alyssa has to plan lessons, and Dad has a fight.
He always loves the afternoons at his Nana's place. She's tiny, at least compared to his Dad, and soft and has a wide lap that she's still willing to let him climb into, even though Dad's telling him that he's going to be too big for that soon.
Her smile is wide when he hands her the card he made for her. It had been hard getting it done in time. It's white with gold glitter on it, even though that hadn't been Plan A.
"Really? What colour did you think it should be?"
"Blue," Matt says, "but Jess won."
Nana makes an approving sound. "Listen to her. Smart cookie, that girl. Now come on, we're making apple pie today. First, we have to preheat the oven."
"Why does it always take so long?"
"Cooking temperature is very, very different to room temperature," Nana says. "Next, we make the dough."
She's better at cracking the eggs, so Matt just mixes the flour and water, whilst she cracks them into the bowl. Mixing it is always fun, and his mind wanders a little, as she sets him to kneading it and massaging it.
"Nana?"
"Yes, Matt?"
"You knew my Mom, right?"
She nods. "Maggie. Yes, I knew her."
Matt doesn't remember a lot about her. Some impressions linger. Bright blue eyes, and long red-brown hair. Snatches from a lullaby, hummed softly and with parts that repeated a lot. The smell of lavender.
He knows that she was there; that he loved her; and that she left.
"What was she like?" Matt asks her.
Nana's hands still a little before she sets the egg-shells into the trash. "I suppose you would be starting to forget."
Matt winces, but Nana spots it. "Shh, Matt, that wasn't a scolding. Let me think."
Nana tilts her head back and closes her eyes for a long moment before she opens them again.
"Your mother loved music," she says. "Anything with a good, driving beat, especially. Rock music. That band – Queen, I think – she adored them. She played the guitar, and the piano. She was always a bit of a dreamer, chasing the next song that came to mind. Worked in the record store on 10th and 39th." Nana pauses while she sprinkles some flour on the countertop and starts rolling it. "Your father adored her, and she loved him. They'd argue about records just for the hell of it – she loved Bowie, and your Dad, not so much. Liked the band about electricity."
"AC/DC," Matt supplies. He's lost count of the number of times Dad listens to Back in Black on the battered walkman on the kitchen table when he's cooking dinner.
"That one," Nana says, snapping her finger. "Yes, she loved that one. She liked breaking rules. Didn't like anyone to tell her what to do. Free spirit." Nana sighs. "In the end, though, I think she lost a lot because of that."
Matt tilts his head to the side. "What d'you mean?"
Nana hums. "How can I put this. It's not a bad thing to look at people's expectations and say, 'I don't want to do that.' If people say boys shouldn't do ballet, then it's not a bad thing to say, 'I want to do ballet.' But it's important you don't start doing things just because someone says you shouldn't do it. Because then, you're still not free of that expectation."
Matt blinks. "Um."
Nana huffs a laugh. "Let me try that again."
"No, I think I got it," he interrupts, frowning. "It's okay to do things even if some people expect you not to do that, just so long as that's not why you're doing it?"
Nana nods. "Something like that."
Matt smiles, and then looks at the dough. "So what happens next?"
Nana smiles back, big and bright. "Now we fit the dough around the pan."
She doesn't tell him why his Mom left, and he doesn't ask.
He wakes up when he hears his Dad's footsteps entering the apartment.
"You look like shit, Jack," Nana says, her voice a little tired.
"Hi, Ma," Dad says. "You saw the match?"
"Mmhm. Always did say that Murdock boys have the devil in 'em," she says. "Grab it for me, will you?"
There's a thud. Dad must be reaching for the kit.
"Stitches?" Dad asks.
"And how," Nana agrees.
There's silence for a while. A thud. Maybe Dad needs to hold onto something?
"Did, uh, Matty watch?"
"Mmhm. He went to bed about half an hour ago," Nana says as there's a clicking sound.
"We made apple pie. You can take the leftovers home."
There's a smile in Dad's voice, as well as a bit of a gasp. "Apple pie?"
"With extra cinnamon. You're welcome," Nana chuckles. "There. Good as new."
Dad lets out a sigh. "Thanks, Ma."
"He asked about Maggie today. He's starting to forget, I think."
"...warn a guy next time, will you, Ma?" Dad sighs. "Did you tell him–"
"No. An apple pie is quite the distraction. And it's not my decision as to whether he learns about what happened. He deserves to know something, though, Jack."
Dad lets out a long, gusty sigh. "I know. Just. I still roll over some days, expecting her to be there. Still walk home expecting her to be there blasting You and I in the kitchen."
"There weren't a lot of those days towards the end," Nana says, a sad note in her voice.
"I think that's why I remember them so much," Dad says.
Nana hums. "I suppose that is why." She sighs. "You can take the couch. Or put the cushions on the floor, that's probably more comfortable for you."
"Thanks, Ma.
Matt rolls over, and tries to fall asleep.
At recess the next day, Matt tries not to wriggle too obviously with the question that comes to mind when he sees Foggy.
Jessica doesn't bother. In the middle of a rant about how dumb it is that Phil likes Donatello best of all, when it's obviously Raphael who's the best, she turns to Foggy and demands, "Well, is she nice?"
Foggy blinks. "Raphael?"
"No, the girl your Dad is dating," Jessica says, like she can't believe she has to spell it out for him.
Foggy smiles softly. "Yeah. She does seem nice."
"What's her name?"
"Anna. She says she's a nurse," Foggy says.
Matt's head snaps up. "Like someone who stitches people up?"
Foggy frowns at him. "Kinda what a nurse does, yeah."
"Oh."
Maybe he could learn to do that one day, he thinks. Learn how to stitch people up, like his Nana. Like Anna.
"Good," Jessica says, decisively. "Then she can stitch Matt's Dad up."
Foggy's head tilts to the side. "Why doesn't he go to the hospital?"
Matt shrugs. It's easier than trying to explain the days where they don't know whether Mr Morris' rent will be paid on time, or the way that Matt's favourite jumper has patches on the elbows, and that he's in Mrs Callahan's ballet class because she owes his Grandma the mother of all favours, according to a conversation he was probably not supposed to have overheard.
"Duh, because you don't get apple pie at the hospital," Jessica says, in an annoyed tone, and Matt shoots her a thankful look.
Foggy's eyes widen. "You got apple pie? When?"
"I made it yesterday, with my Nana," Matt says, opening his lunchbox and pointing to it. Jessica leans her chin on his shoulder, and he nudges her away. "Hey, we said we'd have it at lunchtime!"
"But it looks good now," she argues, leaning her chin in on his shoulder again.
He pokes her in the temple, and she yelps, and he snorts. "Nope," he says, replacing the lid on his lunchbox. "Besides, David M's almost done with the monkey bars."
Aaaand save.
Jessica's eyes narrow – I know what you're doing, Matt! – but then she looks over to the playground to check, and yeah, David M's starting to walk away from the monkey bars.
"Fiine," she grouses, standing, and brushing off her skirt. The tights under it are striped with a pretty pale green and navy pattern.
Matt grins, and follows her to the monkey bars, Foggy trailing after them.