A/N: This is a short little Sally-centric story set towards the end of Percy & Annabeth's senior year, sometime after Estelle is born. Thanks for reading!
Sally hums as she piles laundry into the washing machine, breathing in the clean scent of detergent. There's something soothing about doing laundry, even if she has to squeeze it in before her baby daughter wakes up from her nap. It might seem silly, but with a newborn in the house, having even just these few minutes to herself is relaxing. That is, until something crinkles under her fingers and her heart stutters as she pulls the opened, empty foil packet from the pocket of her 17-year-old son's jeans.
A condom wrapper.
The rush of water filling the washer dims. She stares at the Trojan packet, her son's jeans dangling in her other hand. She always checks his pockets before doing the laundry. Half the time he leaves cash or drachmas or notes from school in there. Once, she hadn't checked and a pen he'd apparently forgotten about exploded. That had been a mess. But this…She swallows hard. The smell of detergent filling the room now makes her nauseous.
It's not that she's completely surprised. He's a senior. He's been dating his girlfriend nearly two years. And she's a nice girl, Sally reminds herself. Kind and pretty and smart, an honor student and a great influence on her son's academic career. Sally likes her a lot, though maybe not quite so much in this particular moment. She's anticipated this, though. Isn't that why she's had so many talks with her son about being smart and respectful?
But anticipating something and finding proof are two entirely different things.
At least they're being safe, she reminds herself, because isn't that what she's supposed to think? Especially since she herself had gotten pregnant when she was only a couple years older than they were now, partly because no one had explained condoms to her (although since her son's father is a Greek god, she's not sure that would have worked anyway). Not that she has any regrets, of course. Her fingers curl into a protective fist around the empty foil wrapper.
She wonders where and when and how it happened and whether this had been the first time or if it's been going on a while. All things she can, potentially, fully within her rights ask. All things she can never really know.
Flashes of memories unspool before her eyes. Her son's face when he'd returned home after the Battle of Manhattan and announced proudly that Annabeth was his girlfriend. Those first few months when he'd cast a furtive look around to make sure his mom and stepdad weren't paying attention before taking her hand or kissing her cheek. And the relentless determination Annabeth had shown during the months that Sally's son had been gone, using every resource she had available to try and locate him, and keeping Sally constantly updated on the search during one of the most helpless moments she's ever experienced as a mother.
"Hey, Mom."
She jumps and spins, the jeans flapping in one hand, her closed fist disappearing behind her back. Her son leans in the doorway, grinning lazily at her, dark hair messy on a Saturday morning, one of her chocolate chip cookies in his hand. She forces a smile. "Hi, honey. Need something?"
She studies him while he asks if he can throw a couple other things in. Lanky, but muscular. A swimmer's build. His face open and happy, nothing new or strange there as he tells her about planning to go out with friends tonight, asks her permission. Her voice is the tiniest bit strange, though, when she asks, "Will Annabeth be there?"
"Of course." His smile is bright. "She's my girlfriend."
"Of course," Sally says faintly. And she just can't picture it (not that she really wants to, but of course she can't help herself), not with her baby standing right in front of her, eating a cookie and asking her to do his laundry. So she simply tells him to bring the rest of his stuff in, and he grins and she closes her eyes when he kisses her cheek. When he disappears back down the hall, she drops the jeans in the wash and the wrapper in the trash, where it'll be buried under used dryer sheets and empty detergent jugs. There have been many times where she hasn't been able to be there for her son the way she wanted. There has been so much she's had to let him fight alone. So, for now, she'll keep this secret. She'll protect him, and his privacy, even from herself.
Of course, she thinks as she leaves the laundry room and her newborn daughter begins to wail down the hall, it couldn't hurt to have him change a few extra poopy diapers for his baby sister. Just as a gentle reminder of the potential consequences of certain choices.
She is his mother, after all.