Chapter Seven: Fairy Godmother
January 5, 2011, 6:02 PM
"Hey, Mom."
"Toby!" she exclaimed, and he held the phone slightly away from his ear. This was why he never called her. "Toby, honey, I'm so glad you called, I need to talk to you about the weekend."
"Yeah, listen, Mom, so do I, you see, the thing is—"
"Your father promised me he'd get done early on Friday, but you know how he is, so I expect we won't get there until maybe eight, is a late dinner okay? Nine?"
"Sure, whatever, I'll just have a snack when I get home, but—"
"I'll call and get reservations at that—what was the place we ate last time?"
"Legal Sea Foods, Mom, but—"
"Now don't start with me about 'let's go to some small place on the water,' you know you can't trust them—"
"Legal's fine, Mom, I like Legal, but—"
"And then we'll just pop by your place, I have some things for you that I don't want to take to a hotel or leave in the car, you should really get a bigger place, Toby, and a guest room—"
"Mom! Would you please stop talking for a second?" Fed up with her interruptions, he'd gotten a little louder than he'd intended.
"Tobias Robert! There is no need to take that tone with me! I can hear you perfectly well."
He rolled his eyes, thankful that she'd never learned to use a webcam. Her discovery of Facebook had been bad enough. He thought longingly of his buddy David's mother, who flat-out refused to friend her son, claiming that he "didn't need her prying into his personal life." That would be bliss.
At least yelling had got her to shut up.
"Mom. I need to tell you something, so please listen."
"Tell me something? What is it? Did you pass your exam? Did you meet a girl? Are you going to move to California to be with Erin? Is she coming back? Is—"
"Mom! If you don't stop guessing, I'll never be able to tell you!"
"Well, honey, there's no need to be rude! What is it?"
I met this amazing girl, and she's my sister. I'm living with Linda Williams' daughter. I'm pretty sure the world has gone completely insane. But all he said was, "I have a guest staying with me."
"A guest? Who? Someone I know?"
"Um… she used to live in your town, but I don't think you'd remember her. She—"
"She? A girl? You do have a girl? And she's living with you?"
"It's not like that, Mom. She's a friend. She needed help."
"What, she needed a couch? What sort of trouble is she in?"
Best to jump in with both feet. "She has a kid… a baby… and she's not with the baby's father." They had planned this, last night, after dinner, after Ruth was asleep, when he'd told her about their visit. Sarah had told him not to lie, although he wasn't quite sure why. Lying and saying she was a young widow, a friend from college, maybe a soldier's wife, would make this so much easier, but she insisted. She'd given him a list of things to say, actually. "Has a kid," nevermind that it's not hers. "Not with the father," nevermind that she'd never met him. "Hopes to reconcile with her ex." That last was a stretch, she'd said, although she hadn't elaborated, really. After all, as she said, she was still "his."
It was positively Jesuitical. Also, he was mostly trying to just not think about the Goblin King. Sarah had left him, after all, and he hadn't seen "I miss the fucking Goblin King" in her face yesterday, either. Maybe he wouldn't ever show up. Maybe he was too angry. Or maybe he just didn't love her. No matter what, she was in the real world, now, with him, and the Goblin King was far away. He might even stay that way, if he knew what was good for him.
Also, he had apparently stunned his mother into momentary silence.
"You… have a guest… with a kid? A single mother? Toby, I can't say I approve of this, what will—"
"It's not my kid, it's not a friend's kid, I met her through a friend at my bank." That one was really a stretch. Fortunately, Mom was making all the correct assumptions, just like Sarah had predicted.
"Toby, but you—"
"I know, I know, loose women, taking advantage, Mom, it's not like that. She's nice. She just needs help. It's January. She's only staying a few weeks."
"And you expect us to take her to dinner? I'm sure she can't afford a babysitter. Don't tell me you're paying for one."
"What? No. No. Mom, she's great with the kid and she doesn't expect me to help unless there's a real emergency—like excessive blood, not like 'oh I just need to step out for a moment.' We'll go to dinner with the three of us, as planned. I just wanted you to know, because she'll be here after."
"Oh. Well. You know I still don't like it and your father won't like it either, but you're a grown-up boy now." Thanks, Mom, you really couldn't have said that any more condescendingly. "You'll just have to make your own decisions. Don't come to us looking for help for her, though."
"I wouldn't dream of it. I'll see you Friday, okay? Say hi to Dad for me."
He stabbed his thumb viciously into the "end call" button; the one thing he missed about flip phones was that satisfying snap when you ended a call that hadn't gone well. Although actually, that had probably gone about as well as he could have hoped. He knew she wouldn't approve of him "shacking up" with some girl he just met. Fucking puritanical sensibilities. As though he couldn't just be friends with a girl, either. His own birthday was seven months after his parents' anniversary; she hadn't been a saint either, so she could get off her fucking high horse.
Entering the living room, he found Sarah looking out into the night. The baby was asleep, thankfully.
"You heard all that?" he asked, quietly.
"My ears are better than yours, now," she answered, turning to face him. "I can't really say I expected any other response, but I hoped…. But it doesn't matter, now." She looked down.
He couldn't resist; he reached out and hugged her, one-armed, giving her an affectionate squeeze. "I know you want to see Dad, but he'll be here, after. Do you think he'll notice?"
"Notice?"
"You? He does remember being married to your mom."
She pursed her lips. "I—he won't—no. It won't be a problem." She looked down again. "They'll never know. Not unless I tell them, and even then, they might not believe. That's how it works—you know, but you still don't remember, nor will you. So I'll just be… your friend. Like we talked about."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Can you do that?"
"Yeah, I can."
"Good." She smiled. "And thanks." She stepped away from him, walking towards the kitchen. "Now, Ruthie's asleep; are you hungry?"
"Did you cook?" He had some frozen meals, and a lot of take-out menus. Yesterday they'd had leftover Chinese. Cooking was another skill he wanted to learn but hadn't quite made time for.
She laughed. "Well, if you count 'heating up Stouffers' as cooking, but yeah, there's lasagna." She shrugged. "I was an okay cook before—not great, but I wouldn't poison you—but I'm… rather out of practice." She opened the oven and removed the covered pan.
"So you didn't cook, Underground?"
"Nope. There was a covered dish in my room that generated food appropriate to the time of day. And you don't need to eat as much, there, either." She brought the dish to the table, and set it on a towel; he noticed then that she had already set the table. Noticing the direction of his gaze, she looked down, embarrassed.
"You…?" he asked, not even sure exactly what he was going to say.
"I thought it would be nice," she said. "You've done so much for me already, and I wanted to… to show you what I hope this will be like, at least for now."
"This?"
"If we stay beyond the next few weeks… like we talked about Monday."
Oh. "So what were you thinking?"
"Well… I still exist, legally, sort of, or at least I should. The problem is that no one remembers me; even if I'm in a computer, human eyes won't read my name, that kind of thing. He explained it in detail, once, when I asked. But in the meantime, I don't have ID or anything, so I can't really go get a job. Not to mention, without my degree and without any work history, no one's going to give me a job that pays anything decent. Certainly not enough to put Ruthie in daycare. Right?"
He nodded, slowly. "So…?"
"So I have a few ideas, if we plan as though—as though He isn't coming—" her voice caught, and he wanted to hug her, or maybe punch the Goblin King, or probably both. Someday he'd get her to let him go. Someday.
"Anyway," she had herself back under control, "for right now, I can't really work, but I have a lot of time, and some magic, and I can make your life easier. I'll do all the cooking and cleaning around here, shopping, laundry if you want, whatever. At the same time, I'll work on making myself exist again, legally, with magic. It'll probably always be awkward, but I might be able to nudge things along to the point where I can get documentation. Then, eventually, I'll have the option of going back to work. I was going to be a psychologist, did I tell you that?"
"A psychologist? Why?"
She shook her head. "Him. And you. And everything. Myths and fairy tales. I didn't believe the Underground was real—I thought I made it up. And I wanted to figure out why." She blinked. "Then it all was real. That was actually a little confusing. But the why was still important—why those stories resonate with us." She looked at him, her jaw captured in one hand, and suddenly he saw the professional, long denied; almost a stereotype of your sitcom analyst.
"What?"
"Can I ask… Toby, did you ever have an imaginary friend?"
"An imaginary friend?"
"Surely you've heard of that."
"Umm…." He took a huge bite of lasagna to give himself time to think. Truth be told, he had had one imaginary… companion… but it was a little embarrassing, actually. Not very manly. He didn't want Sarah to think he was wimpy, or gay.
When he finally swallowed, he looked up. She was just watching him, smug amusement in every line of her face. She raised one eyebrow, and he almost felt her question. Apparently stuffing his face had been an inadequate ruse.
"I, um." He looked down. "You know how, in the stories, if the story has a poor heroine, she often gets a fairy godmother who can do things for her? Make it better? But if it's a hero, and he's poor, most of the time it's only his own cleverness that lets him succeed. But then there are stories where the girl has to be clever too, like Rumpelstiltskin. There aren't any stories where the hero gets a fairy godmother, though, at least, none of the big ones, the ones I know. And I always thought that wasn't fair." Fuck, now he was blushing. Very manly, that. "I mean, not that I didn't think I could be clever or whatever, but it should go both ways, you know? So… that was what I wanted. A fairy godmother."
He rested his head in his hands, looking down. He couldn't look at her. She would be laughing at him. He had never told anyone that, ever.
The silence stretched.
She probably thought he was an idiot.
The he heard her move, felt her hand on his back. Her hair fell in front of his face, and he felt her breath at his ear.
"You know I'll always be there for you, right?" she whispered.
You know I'll always be there for you, right? How many times had he heard that, through his teens? He'd been too old for imaginary fairy godmothers, then, he told himself. Of course he didn't hear any such thing.
But if he'd never heard any such thing, why did it sound like her voice? Why did she know exactly what to say?
When he finally managed to meet her eyes, marked, glowing, slanted, alien-but-familiar eyes—where had the glamor gone?—his mouth dried up; words failed him. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and then, finally, croaked out, "I—you—you mean you—"
"You don't remember, Toby, but I made you that promise before I went Underground."
"I—you—you mean I didn't—I—I really—"
"Would you call me a fairy godmother?" She smiled. More like a fairytale princess. "But someone… a bit supernatural… looking out for you? Yes. I could never do more than that whisper, not even when you wished for me, but I'm glad you heard me. I never stopped loving you, Toby." She looked down. "I always wondered why you never called again, after that first Christmas. I guess I know, now."
"Sarah, I…." Toby felt the absurd need to apologize for something that he had done—or, more properly, hadn't done—in the future, which was to her the past. He hadn't done it—wouldn't do it?—for the perfectly understandable reason that she had been here, with him, but it had still hurt her.
"No." She shook her head. "We—people in general—have enough to apologize for without creating new opportunities by apologizing for the future, or attempting to figure out how to apologize for potential future consequences following time travel. You'll only drive yourself crazy, if you try. I am glad to know, though. And I think…." She broke off, and walked back around to her own side of the table. He missed her warmth, her closeness.
"I think," she started again, and he looked up and met her eyes, startled to see that they sparkled with tears, though she was smiling. "I think some part of you—subconsciously—remembered me. You missed me."
"Sarah, I…" he started, but broke off at the sound of a whimper from the other room, a sound that he had already learned was about five seconds from turning into a full-throated wail.
She turned from him, the moment broken. "I should…."
"Go," he said, quickly. "I'll clean up." She shot him a grateful smile, and a moment later he heard the child's cries fade.
He stood, and rinsed the plates; his old dishwasher couldn't handle leftovers.
He didn't even know what he'd been about to say, not exactly. There was something complicated, here, something about her beautiful eyes and her engaging smile and the way her breath felt on his ear. Something about the way she lit up the room with her happiness, the way she delighted in the ways the world had changed, in all the things that he'd previously taken for granted.
Something about knowing that she'd always loved him, and that in some way, he'd always loved her, too. Something that made him want to dance for joy, or even better, grab her and swing her in circles and listen to that beautiful, musical laugh, see the light in her smiling eyes, hold her close and feel her arms around him. Something in the way she'd hardly left his mind for a moment, ever since the night she'd first knocked on his door.
That wasn't… was that… normal?
Of course he wanted to feel close to her. She was his sister, after all, and he had twenty-five years to make up for. Twenty-five years of birthdays, of Christmases, of snowball fights and late-night movies and all the other things siblings were supposed to do together. Twenty-five years of a big sister who could have been the one he turned to when his mother was too wrapped up in his father to pay more attention to her son.
Twenty-five years that had been stolen by the fucking Goblin King. Of course he wanted to make up for lost time.
He wrapped tinfoil over the leftover lasagna and shoved it in the fridge; when he turned around, Sarah was at the sink, pouring out water to mix formula for the baby. She looked up at him and smiled that brilliant smile, and nothing else mattered. They'd find a way to make it work. His parents' objections meant nothing. When she looked at him like that, he had everything he wanted, and he wasn't going to let anyone take it away.
He followed her back into the living room, and sat down next to her on the couch, peeking over her shoulder at the child eating so contentedly. She looked sort of cute, there, and happy, and she was looking out at him with big, curious eyes. Was this what people liked about babies?
Ruth. Ruthie. That's what Sarah had chosen to call her. One tiny foot peeked out of the blankets; he reached out, hesitantly, and touched her tiny big toe. Humans sure did start out small. He shifted closer, leaning in to Sarah, and she looked up at him with another smile. He realized, suddenly, how close their faces were. Her hair smelled faintly of vanilla.
"She's so little," he said, voicing the thoughts he'd been entertaining, and trying to distract himself from the press of her thigh against his, the swell of her breasts beneath her shirt.
"They generally are, at this age," she answered, teasingly.
"I never—I mean—"
"Not used to babies?"
"I've never even held one." Mom and Dad were both only children; no cousins. Most of his friends weren't married yet.
"Do you want to try?"
"Um… okay." He did, because it would please her, and because it was ridiculous to be terrified of such a little person. "Do I need to… um… something about her head?"
Sarah laughed. "She can support her own head, you don't need to worry about that. Here." She turned to face him, and carefully reached out, placing the child in his arms. She whined a little as the motion disturbed her feeding, but calmed immediately as soon as she was steady again. She was warm, and so small. She was still looking at him, and sucking with quiet determination at the bottle.
She wasn't so very frightening, after all.
"Hello, little one," he said softly, looking into her eyes. She blinked, and he smiled at her.
At his smile, her whole face changed. Her eyes crinkled up and her lips parted in a wide, gummy grin. The bottle fell from her mouth, but she didn't seem to notice or care. He stole a glance at Sarah; she was smiling too, looking on proudly.
"I think she likes you," she said. "Do you want me to take her back?"
A tiny person was looking at him like he was the best thing in the world. Sarah was looking at him like he was a dream come true.
"I'm okay." He smiled at Ruthie again, and she made a little burbling noise.
"Alright… see if you can get her to finish, then. And let me know if you get tired of her." She handed him the bottle, and walked over to the corner where they had stashed Ruth's bassinet and other items, and began to tidy up.
He held the baby while she finished eating, and when she was done, Sarah showed him how to burp her, too, holding the baby to his shoulder, leaning against him as she demonstrated. It felt good to have her there, so close. It felt like she was his. Sarah was here, and happy, and Ruthie was quiet and content; dared he hope that yesterday's shadows were already forgotten? All he knew was that he could spend many days and nights like this, with Sarah, with the child. He felt like he had everything he'd never known he wanted.
A/N: Thanks, as always, for all your lovely comments.
I did a little experiment with this fic, and with writing ahead. When I wrote "As Easy," I wrote almost none of it ahead of time - the only thing I had finished far in advance of posting was Jareth's letter. I had hoped that writing more ahead with this story would give me time to continue to write ahead, but instead, I've found myself lacking inspiration, resting on "I know I have next week's update" instead of thinking about the week following. Conversely, knowing you're all waiting on me seems to make the words flow. So until we get back to pre-written material (the end), updates will be posted as they are finished.
One more thing: I have debated talking about this, because I don't want to spoil things (so if you're completely anti-spoiler, stop now!), but I don't want to put people off, either. What is going on with Toby is a very real phenomenon called genetic sexual attraction, which happens not infrequently between close family who meet as adults. This is still a Jareth and Sarah story. What Toby is dealing with is important to his character, but it is not something that will be pursued physically. Sarah would never go for it even if I was comfortable writing that.
