A/N: Okay, here it is; chapter one. We're still kind of in the background kind of stage right now, but next chapter we'll be getting into the real meat of the story. I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, it's a huge motivaton, guys, and I appreciate anything I can get. Unfortunately, this will be the last update for a while; I'm gonna be busy for the next two weeks or so, but don't worry, I'll be back. Think of it as, like, a hiatus :)
"In the book of life, the answers aren't always going to be in the back."
"It's the next left," Eric offered to the taxi driver sitting next to him, and the grim man turned to him and nodded briskly before flipping on his blinker and turning down the street Eric grew up on.
He smiled faintly as he watched the houses go by. There was a time when he'd known each of the families that lived in those houses, was friends with all of their kids, and knew the name of their dog. Those days were clearly over now, though, he realized as the taxi pulled up to the curb between his and Donna's old houses lazily. He'd be lying if he claimed that he wasn't sneaking glances at the house next door as the taxi driver helped him get his luggage out of the trunk.
'Bob and Midge Pinciotti' had been scratched off the mailbox, something he knew he should have been prepared for, as he knew from his parents that Bob had moved to Florida four years ago, but it still felt a little like a sucker punch to the gut. Still, it looked like the new owners were taking care of the house well; the lawn was neatly trimmed, someone had planted new flowers along the walkway, and a small orange swing set was nestled behind the large oak tree in the side yard.
"That'll be thirty-two fifty." The cab driver's gruff voice broke Eric from his reverie, and he cleared his throat and reached around to his back pocket, extracted the money from his wallet and handed it to the man.
"Thanks for the lift," he offered a small smile which was not returned by the cab driver, and turned towards the house he was standing in front of.
His childhood home looked mostly the same, he drew in conclusion as he headed up the driveway, suitcase in hand. He was surprised to find that the Vista Cruiser was still parked in it's stall in the garage, though a newer model Honda had replaced his father's old orange one. They'd taken the basketball hoop down, he noted, but the patio chairs near the sliding kitchen door were the same gaudy patterned print as always. Even his obstructed view of the kitchen through the glass door proved that his parents hadn't really re-decorated a thing in his absence; the same wallpaper covered the kitchen panels, and the cluttered chest of shelves was still sandwiched between the counters and the door. The only thing that made him blink and take a step back was the fact that about five young children were scattered throughout the kitchen; one hanging off the counters, some sitting at the table, a few more splayed out across the tile floor. And his mother, his happy, cheerful mother, was right in the center of them all.
Reaching the sliding door, he set down his suitcase heavily and peered in through the door. He was unsure of the protocol, here. If you've been away for five years, without so much as a single visit, do you still have the right to walk right into your kitchen? Do you knock? Do you just wait to be noticed?
Luckily Eric's problem solved itself, because seconds later Kitty Forman looked up, and when her eyes fell across her son for the first time in five years, her face lit up. "ERIC!"
She crossed the kitchen faster than a woman her age ought to be able to, and had thrown open the sliding door before Eric could manage to get any words out at all. She wrapped him in a hug, and Eric bent down slightly so that he could bury his face in her shoulder. It's funny how you don't realize how much you missed someone until you see them again. It's funny how a mother's love can reach across continents, soothe old wounds, and come back so easily.
"Mom," was all he was able to choke out, and after a long minute they finally pulled back, a wide smile stretched across Kitty's face and tears sparkling in her eyes.
"My baby's finally home." Her smile was so wide he wasn't sure how she could speak, but she reached up and threw another arm around his waist, pulling him close and leading him away from the door.
"Look at you," she murmured when they had moved a few steps. She patted his side. "You look so... so grown up." She smiled at her son, and even though she'd been vague, Eric knew what she meant. Although he'd never be bulky, he'd put on more weight in his arms and chest, courtesy of his apartment building's five star workout facilities in the basement. On lonely nights, when he had no parties to go to, or agents to shoot the shit with, he'd head down to the gym for a few hours. It took his mind off of... other things. Still, he knew his new wired appearance was probably a shock to his mother, the discovery that he was no longer the skinny little boy she'd loved when he'd left.
Kitty left him no time for explanation, though, as she turned to the gaggle of kids who inhabited her kitchen. "Kids," she started with a happy giggle, "This is my son, Eric. Can everybody say 'hi' to him?"
"Hi, Eric," the chorus rang out, most of them not even looking up from the coloring books he could now see they were working diligently on.
Kitty turned back to Eric, smiling, and apparently read the confusion on his face. "Oh, honey, you forgot that I run a daycare now, didn't you?"
"Ah," Eric nodded his head and bit his lip, wondering how that fact could've slipped his mind. This was his mother after all. They talked on the phone every Sunday night. Had their short chats really become so fake and on-the-surface that they no longer shared key information like this with each other? Or had he just not been listening?
Kitty didn't seem offended, though, she just continued smiling at him. "Well, honey, I'll tell you what; it's almost five o' clock, so the rest of the parents will be arriving in the next couple of minutes for pick-ups. Why don't you just head upstairs to your old room and unpack your things, and then later your father and I want to take you out for dinner." She glanced at her watch to confirm her estimate, then nodded and looked up again. "He should be home from the store in about a half an hour, so we'll plan on leaving then, okay? There's lemonade in the fridge if you get thirsty, and cookies in the tin, but don't ruin your appetite, please."
He just nodded obediently and headed for the stairs, but was mesmerized for a moment by the way she herded the kids into the living room gently, stopping to flash him one last smile before the door swung shut behind her. He couldn't help but think; if he'd overlooked his mother's new career, what else had he missed? Being gone for five years is a long time, and he couldn't help but think, perhaps there was a lot that he had blocked out, simply because he hadn't wanted to hear it.
His parents had left his old room the same, which surprised him. He always kind of thought you had to be unexpectedly killed by a bus or something for that to happen. But his threaded bedspread was the same, right down to the Spiderman sheets, and his Farah Fawcett poster still hung behind his door; a nearby shelf held all of his Star Wars memorabilia. Leaving his suitcase in the middle of the floor, he reached out and wrapped his hand around a Luke Skywalker action figure. He smiled wistfully. God, he really hadn't realized back then just how good he'd had it. Not a thing in the world to worry about, loving parents, great friends. He swallowed; a great girl.
Suddenly curious, he crossed over to his bed and lifted up the mattress. The picture he'd been looking for fluttered out mockingly, and he snatched it up when it hit the floor. There she was, wearing her red prom dress from senior year. Her smile was infectious, her red hair sprayed across her pale shoulders. It was his favorite picture of her.
The last he'd heard of Donna, she'd gone off to college. Which one, he wasn't sure. His mother had just mentioned that she was trying to get her journalist degree, and hadn't said anything more about her. There'd been a million questions he'd wanted to ask; was she dating?, had she dyed her hair back to red?, did she ever talk about him?; but even though he desperately wanted to ask, he knew that if he was honest with himself, he was afraid of what her answers would be. So he didn't ask, and his mother didn't tell. It was an unspoken system that had worked out well for the past five years.
He stretched when he stood up, and hesitated a moment before slipping the picture into his back pocket instead of back under the mattress. Not caring to weigh the consequences or meaning of what he'd just done, Eric yawned and ran a hand through his hair, knowing secretly that he wasn't even going to unpack, since he'd be leaving Sunday. He just couldn't bear to break the news to his mother's hopeful face, so he'd have to make up an excuse. That shouldn't be hard; he was great at making up excuses, these days.
Suddenly remembering the lemonade his mother had claimed was in the fridge, he set off downstairs to wet his whistle after quickly changing into a nicer button down shirt. As he walked down the short hallway, he looked at the virtual family shrine his mother had lined up and down the wall. There were pictures of he and Laurie at the beach, on Santa's lap at the mall, covered head to toe in bubbles in the bathtub. One of he and Red squinting into the sun, his father's hand placed stoically on his shoulder, and another of Kitty and Eric dressed in matching aprons, flour on their faces and in their hair, wearing matching smiles. One more caught his eye; it was at the very end of the hall, just before the staircase. It was a picture of he, Fez, Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and... her, all dressed up, the night of that lame disco they'd gone to their junior year.
He was pulled in by the picture, as if he was in some sort of trance, and he smiled when he got closer. God, they were such dorks, he laughed inwardly to himself, ghosting his fingers over the outfit he'd thrown together, and rolling his eyes at Kelso's tight, tight pants. And yet, he thought, they looked so... happy. All of them did. He missed those days.
The familiar squeak of the second-to-last step startled him, and he turned around to come face to face with his father.
Red had aged well; actually, he looked mostly the same. He had a few new wrinkles and his hair was a little bit more patchy and thin, but the expression on his face was surprised. "Oh. Um," he muttered gruffly, looking unsure of what to say.
"Hi, dad," Eric offered, taking a step closer to his father and shoving his hands in his pockets.
Red relaxed. "Hi, son." Awkward pause. "It's, ah, it's been a long time."
"Yeah," Eric nodded, unsure of what to say next. Finally, he sighed and opened his arms for a hug. Red just stared at him for a long moment, looking more uncomfortable than Eric had ever seen him, and finally extended one hand for a handshake. Confused, Eric shook his hand and dropped his other arm.
They held their shake for just a second longer than was strictly necessary, and stood there in silence for a few moments, eyeing each other unsurely. "Well, I've got to go change for dinner," Red broke the silence, and Eric just stared at him, taken aback. He'd been gone for five years, and his own father had nothing to say to him?
"Sure, dad," Eric sighed, and Red looked relieved.
"I'll see you in about twenty minutes," Red raised a hand as he opened the door to the master bedroom. He paused before he stepped inside, though. "Oh, and, you're not wearing that shirt, are you?" He paused, and Eric looked down at his purple and blue plaid shirt. "Cause it makes you look like a dumbass."
With that he closed the door, and Eric managed a small smile at the thought that even the big-shot movie guy still needs to be brought down a peg or two sometimes.
He had just helped himself to a chocolate chip cookie when the swinging kitchen door pushed open. Expecting to see his mother standing there, Eric was surprised when a small girl with auburn hair tumbled forward and grabbed a yellow sippy cup off the counter.
Startled, he set the cookie down and glanced at the child, who was now peering up at him over the brim of her cup, her green eyes bright and innocent. They stared at each other for another ten seconds before Eric cleared the air awkwardly.
"Um. Hello."
She removed one hand from the cup to offer him a wave before she set the cup down and wiped at her juice mustache with her arm. Eric shifted his weight nervously; as a general rule, kids didn't like him. He didn't know what it was, he just found he didn't know how to interact with them. And all of the staring that this one was doing certainly wasn't helping. Still, he felt the need to say something, so he offered, meekly, "What's your name?"
"Natalia," the little girl answered matter-of-factly as she reached her hands behind her head to adjust her ponytail. She looked to be four, maybe five years old.
He nodded. "I'm Eric." He reached down to extend a hand for her to shake, and was delighted when she giggled and wrapped her tiny hand around his, clearly excited that she was being treated like a grown-up.
"I know who you are," she told him, eyes wide when she let go of his hand, "Miss Kitty is your gramma."
He smiled. "She's my mom," he corrected her gently, already starting to fidget when he realized that he'd run out of conversation points. There were about three seconds of silence before Natalia's eyes lit up.
"Is that Luke Skywalker?" She bellowed in that way little kids do when they're overly excited, and Eric realized, blushing, that he was still holding the action figure he'd found in his room. Natalia grabbed for it excitedly though, and he couldn't help but grin when she set it on the counter and started making swishing noises with the light saber Luke held in his right hand.
"You like Star Wars?" He asked her, half in disbelief that such a young child shared his favorite pastime.
"Yeah," Natalia answered in between making Luke jump from the counter to the table, "I've seen all the movies."
"Me too!" Eric told her excitedly, in a voice not too different than that of an excited five year old. Natalia looked up at him in surprise at the high pitch in his voice and let out a little giggle, thinking that he was kidding.
"You're silly," she told him with a grin, and Eric was only a little disappointed when she dropped the action figure on the table a second later, already forgotten. "Wanna see my new puppy? Her name's Sasha." Her voice peaked hopefully, and she reached for his hand.
"Oh," Eric stammered as her tiny hand curled around his. "Um, I don't think we can just, you know... leave. You have to wait here for your mommy or daddy to come get you."
"I don't have a daddy," she told him without skipping a beat, and Eric felt his heart fall to his knees. This sweet little Star Wars loving girl didn't have a dad who cared enough to stick around? He felt a surge of anger, and for a brief moment, he understood how Red probably felt most of the time. Dumbass.
The moment passed quickly, though, because Natalia was still tugging him along towards the kitchen door. "C'mon," she begged, "I live real close. You can see her from Miss Kitty's driveway."
Wait... what? "Talia," he started, the nickname coming to him easily and rolling off his tongue, "Wait a second." Because to his recollection, the only house you could see the backyard of from his driveway was... well, the Pinciotti's house. The Pinciotti's old house, he corrected himself, and he knelt down and was about to ask Natalia if she had an orange swing set when the living room door swung open to reveal none other than Donna Pinciotti. She was still young, and she was still pretty, but a look of complete shock clouded over her features when her eyes fell across Eric and stayed there.
"Mommy!"
Up Next: Eric and Donna have their first confrontation, and we'll find out what the rest of the gang has been up to...
Please review!! :)