Those Returning
by Peaches
A/N: Aw, you like me! lol! And, to RetroHottie, the last chapter was like in the movies, when people have flashbacks, not necessarily reliving the past. It was meant to outline their relationship development. Sorry if it confused anybody.
3. Lectures
"Uncle TJ!" Yelled a small, chestnut haired girl in pigtails, running out of the house as he climbed out of his black Lexus. She had strawberry ice cream staining her white shirt and grass stains on the knees of her jeans. TJ smiled and scooped up the young girl, planting a kiss on her cheek as her mother walked out onto the porch, carrying a 9 month old boy with dark brown hair on her shoulder. The early summer breeze blew his own shaggy hair into his eyes.
"Hey, little brother," the tall, willowy woman greeted him as he set her daughter down and pulled his bags out of the back of the vehicle. He grinned at her, some of his boyish innocence returning to his 28 year old face, which was still noticeably dotted with tiny freckles across his nose.
"Hey, Becky," he said to his older sister, as his little 8 year old niece grabbed one of his smaller bags and hauled it inside. He walked up the front steps and stood in front of his sibling for a moment, trying to look serious before both of them broke into wide grins. He hugged her and picked his bags back up, following her into the old house from his boyhood days. Becky set the baby down in his playpen and lead TJ upstairs.
Their parents had long-since moved to Florida, leaving the house to Becky and her husband, Jake Hepditch. Not much had changed, except for a few pieces of new furniture and a few new coats of paint in some rooms. TJ smiled as he remembered to step over the top step to the second floor, which had always creaked. Becky lead him to his old room. He gazed around it with a look of respectful remembrance. His one and only baseball trophy still sat on his bureau next to his old reading lamp. His old computer, now obsolete, was still on his desk with old comics and other books.
"I never got around to moving your old stuff out," Becky explained as she watched TJ set his bags down on the bed. He smiled. "We're glad you came to visit," she continued. "The only time we get to see you is at Christmas down at mom and dad's. You haven't even been home since you were 19."
"Yeah, well," TJ shrugged, "I've been a little busy, you know? Egypt, Syria, Guatemala, Peru, Ecuador, Newfoundland . . . Or maybe you haven't noticed all the magazines mom keeps sending with my picture on them."
"Yeah, yeah," Becky said playfully, "We got them." She smiled as her daughter finally hauled the bag into her uncle's room. "Elsie, why don't you go watch Jason while I talk to your uncle?" she suggested softly. Elsie nodded importantly and scurried off down the stairs to guard her baby brother. Becky sat on the edge of the bed while TJ unpacked. "You know, Teej, I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Don't start," TJ muttered, knowing what she was going to say. Becky bit her lip and continued, pressing her luck with his temper, which she knew wasn't easily provoked.
"I'm just saying, she's going to be in town again, and you should talk to her . . . "
"Don't," TJ said simply. "Alright? I know I should talk to her, but . . . I just can't."
"I've gotta go start supper," Becky excused herself, looking sympathetic. As she left, Theodore sighed with frustration. Leave it to Becky to dredge up all the old memories he'd been fighting since he'd stepped off the plane, and back onto the soil of his boyhood.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Are you sure you don't want me to arrange for a bodyguard?"
Ashley Mignonette Spinelli sighed impatiently at her new assistant, a young, zit-blasted twenty-something year old, fresh out of the academy, no doubt with a rich daddy funding his designer label suits. His name was Nelson, and he had to be the most annoying employee she'd ever worked with.
"Nelson, this is Concord, Arkansas," Ashley explained carefully, flipping her newly styled raven hair over her shoulder. "Not Los Angeles. The craziest person in this town is that guy who stands outside Kelso's on Saturday mornings handing out Anarchist information pamphlets . . . if he's still alive!"
Nelson looked at her like she had grown a second head.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked haughtily. "I mean, not many celebrities would admit they came from this gods-forsaken dust-bowl." He gazed with distain out the window of the limousine, which Spinelli hadn't even wanted to take, considering only person rich enough to take a limo in Concord was Thaddeus T. Third the Fifth (or, was it Sixth, now?), and, despite her occupation, she hated drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
"I'm quite proud of the fact I came from Arkansas, Nelson," Spinelli told him matter-of-factly, with a hint of lemon in her voice. "I'll have you know that my first movie was shot in my old high school."
"Mmm hmm," Nelson murmured, not listening. Thankfully, before Nelson could flaunt any more of the superior knowledge he'd acquired on Jeopardy, Ashley Spinelli saw the house of her childhood come into view. She breathed in with emotion as the modest, slate gray, two-storey house loomed, casting over her the shadows of her past.
"Pick me up at four on the twenty-eighth," she instructed Nelson coldly as she grabbed both of her suitcases and climbed out of the limousine. She was still cross from the 'gods-forsaken dust-bowl' comment he'd made a few moments prior. Without so much as a goodbye to Nelson, she thanked the driver, a pleasant middle-aged man named Tom, and slammed the door. The limo drove off toward the hotel booked for them, and Spinelli breathed in deeply, anything but ready to face the skeletons in the Spinelli Family's proverbial closet.
Her mother was outside to meet her before she even got to the porch.
"Pookie!" she cried, throwing her arms around her only daughter and squeezing her. Spinelli laughed and hugged her mother back.
"Hey, Ma," she said, struggling to keep a hold on her luggage. "You look great!" she told Flo as they parted. Flo was, indeed, still very attractive for someone her age. Her hair was still dark, with only wisps of silvery grey forming, and she still had an hourglass figure, though it was somewhat plumper then Spinelli remembered. Flo shrugged and smiled.
"I've got spaghetti ready for supper," she said. "And Rod's inside."
Spinelli's smile faded slightly at the mention of her step-father's name. He, she knew, had never liked his step-children much. He was a 'social drinker', basically a kind was of saying a drunk, and he had been known to be abusive at times.
"Great, Ma," Spinelli said cheerfully, not wanting to spoil her mother's mood. She followed her mother inside and shut the door behind her.
'Woah,' she thought, 'time warp!" Basically, nothing in the house had changed. There was the same furniture, wallpaper, carpets, basically everything except the appliances, which were, while not as new as the ones in Spinelli's own Sunset Boulevard home, fairly up-to-date.
"Rod!" Flo called out as they walked in. "Can you carry Ashley's suitcases upstairs?" The response was a barely audible grunt from somewhere in the den. Flo smiled apologetically. "How was your flight?"
"Fine," Spinelli said shortly, not liking to brag about first class. "Long, tiring, but otherwise okay."
"I doubt Rod will be up any time soon," Flo muttered grimly, then smiled, "so, why don't you and me catch up over some spaghetti?"
Spinelli grinned. It had been a long time since she'd had any of her mother's home cooking.
"Excellent," Spinelli smiled.
Later, over coffee, Flo brought up the subject Spinelli had been dreading since she'd gotten home.
"I hear Theodore is home," Florence said casually, taking a sip of her coffee, but Spinelli could read her mother like a book.
"Really?" she'd said with as much disinterest as she could fake. She sipped the brew quickly. Two, she decided, could play at this game.
"Got himself a job at Yale, on the cover of Time, and National Geographic, and People's 30 People Under 30 Who Will Change the World List . . . " Flo prattled on for a few moments about the achievements he'd conquered in only 10 years. Spinelli looked at the floor in shame.
"What's your point, Mother?" she asked with slight annoyance "I was on the Top 30 List, too". Her own deep chocolate eyes met her mother's, and, for a moment, neither spoke. Flo gave her daughter a look of sympathy.
"You know what my point is," she said firmly. "And I suggest you take heed of it before you screw up . . . again."
"I'll have you know," Ashley said steadily, "that I am doing quite alright for myself. I'm famous! People come up to me on the street everyday and ask for my autograph! I live next-door to Drew Barrymore, for Christ's Sake!"
"Watch your language!" Flo warned. Flo was a very religious Roman Catholic. Spinelli sighed and continued.
"I've been in 15 movies in 13 years! I've guest starred on The Simpsons, Will and Grace, 8 Simple Rules, Law and Order, and I've been on The Kelly Show, and countless other tv shows!" For some reason, Spinelli felt it important to list off some of her more impressive achievements as well. "I've been on Broadway, and I've won Oscars, and Golden Globes, and a Peoples Choice Award, and I've been on the cover of nearly every entertainment magazine in North America! I've even been honoured by Amnesty International and World Vision!" She finally fumed out her last words. "I am NOT a screw up, thank you very much! You know," she said sardonically, "If you're so proud of TJ's accomplishments, maybe he should be your son!"
"He could have been," Flo shot back calmly. Spinelli stopped dead, her words caught in her throat. "And," Flo continued, "if you have such a good new life, why do you have to convince yourself?"
Spinelli sighed angrily, knowing her mother was right, but having too much pride to admit so. She felt tears burning the back of her throat, but swallowed them back.
"I don't need this," she muttered. "I swear I don't need this! I have to give a speech in front of people who hated me in high school, but are going to pretend they're my best friend! My new assistant is a rude, high society dick, and, to top it all off, I have three scripts to read through while I'm in town!" She sighed again and looked at her mother pleadingly. "I'm finally a somebody! I'm not the pigtailed little brat I was in elementary school! Please, try to be proud of me!"
"I am proud of you," she assured her daughter gently. "I just wish you wouldn't run away from your problems. You've done it ever since you were small. Remember when you were 6, and you broke my favourite lamp. Rather then face me, you ran away to Gretchen's house. Mind you, it was only a block away." Flo sighed and took her daughter's hand comfortingly. "I know you're a somebody. I never thought you were a nobody! When you won the Globe for Best Supporting Actress back in high school, I was prouder of you then I had ever been!" Again she paused and watched her daughter's smoldering eyes brim with tears of shame. "You know what you have to do."
Spinelli stared into her mother's gentle eyes once more, and, finally, she nodded.
"Fine," she said grudgingly, "I'll talk to him."
"When?" Flo pressed. Spinelli smiled gratefully at her mother.
"At the reunion."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
by Peaches
A/N: Aw, you like me! lol! And, to RetroHottie, the last chapter was like in the movies, when people have flashbacks, not necessarily reliving the past. It was meant to outline their relationship development. Sorry if it confused anybody.
3. Lectures
"Uncle TJ!" Yelled a small, chestnut haired girl in pigtails, running out of the house as he climbed out of his black Lexus. She had strawberry ice cream staining her white shirt and grass stains on the knees of her jeans. TJ smiled and scooped up the young girl, planting a kiss on her cheek as her mother walked out onto the porch, carrying a 9 month old boy with dark brown hair on her shoulder. The early summer breeze blew his own shaggy hair into his eyes.
"Hey, little brother," the tall, willowy woman greeted him as he set her daughter down and pulled his bags out of the back of the vehicle. He grinned at her, some of his boyish innocence returning to his 28 year old face, which was still noticeably dotted with tiny freckles across his nose.
"Hey, Becky," he said to his older sister, as his little 8 year old niece grabbed one of his smaller bags and hauled it inside. He walked up the front steps and stood in front of his sibling for a moment, trying to look serious before both of them broke into wide grins. He hugged her and picked his bags back up, following her into the old house from his boyhood days. Becky set the baby down in his playpen and lead TJ upstairs.
Their parents had long-since moved to Florida, leaving the house to Becky and her husband, Jake Hepditch. Not much had changed, except for a few pieces of new furniture and a few new coats of paint in some rooms. TJ smiled as he remembered to step over the top step to the second floor, which had always creaked. Becky lead him to his old room. He gazed around it with a look of respectful remembrance. His one and only baseball trophy still sat on his bureau next to his old reading lamp. His old computer, now obsolete, was still on his desk with old comics and other books.
"I never got around to moving your old stuff out," Becky explained as she watched TJ set his bags down on the bed. He smiled. "We're glad you came to visit," she continued. "The only time we get to see you is at Christmas down at mom and dad's. You haven't even been home since you were 19."
"Yeah, well," TJ shrugged, "I've been a little busy, you know? Egypt, Syria, Guatemala, Peru, Ecuador, Newfoundland . . . Or maybe you haven't noticed all the magazines mom keeps sending with my picture on them."
"Yeah, yeah," Becky said playfully, "We got them." She smiled as her daughter finally hauled the bag into her uncle's room. "Elsie, why don't you go watch Jason while I talk to your uncle?" she suggested softly. Elsie nodded importantly and scurried off down the stairs to guard her baby brother. Becky sat on the edge of the bed while TJ unpacked. "You know, Teej, I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Don't start," TJ muttered, knowing what she was going to say. Becky bit her lip and continued, pressing her luck with his temper, which she knew wasn't easily provoked.
"I'm just saying, she's going to be in town again, and you should talk to her . . . "
"Don't," TJ said simply. "Alright? I know I should talk to her, but . . . I just can't."
"I've gotta go start supper," Becky excused herself, looking sympathetic. As she left, Theodore sighed with frustration. Leave it to Becky to dredge up all the old memories he'd been fighting since he'd stepped off the plane, and back onto the soil of his boyhood.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Are you sure you don't want me to arrange for a bodyguard?"
Ashley Mignonette Spinelli sighed impatiently at her new assistant, a young, zit-blasted twenty-something year old, fresh out of the academy, no doubt with a rich daddy funding his designer label suits. His name was Nelson, and he had to be the most annoying employee she'd ever worked with.
"Nelson, this is Concord, Arkansas," Ashley explained carefully, flipping her newly styled raven hair over her shoulder. "Not Los Angeles. The craziest person in this town is that guy who stands outside Kelso's on Saturday mornings handing out Anarchist information pamphlets . . . if he's still alive!"
Nelson looked at her like she had grown a second head.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked haughtily. "I mean, not many celebrities would admit they came from this gods-forsaken dust-bowl." He gazed with distain out the window of the limousine, which Spinelli hadn't even wanted to take, considering only person rich enough to take a limo in Concord was Thaddeus T. Third the Fifth (or, was it Sixth, now?), and, despite her occupation, she hated drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
"I'm quite proud of the fact I came from Arkansas, Nelson," Spinelli told him matter-of-factly, with a hint of lemon in her voice. "I'll have you know that my first movie was shot in my old high school."
"Mmm hmm," Nelson murmured, not listening. Thankfully, before Nelson could flaunt any more of the superior knowledge he'd acquired on Jeopardy, Ashley Spinelli saw the house of her childhood come into view. She breathed in with emotion as the modest, slate gray, two-storey house loomed, casting over her the shadows of her past.
"Pick me up at four on the twenty-eighth," she instructed Nelson coldly as she grabbed both of her suitcases and climbed out of the limousine. She was still cross from the 'gods-forsaken dust-bowl' comment he'd made a few moments prior. Without so much as a goodbye to Nelson, she thanked the driver, a pleasant middle-aged man named Tom, and slammed the door. The limo drove off toward the hotel booked for them, and Spinelli breathed in deeply, anything but ready to face the skeletons in the Spinelli Family's proverbial closet.
Her mother was outside to meet her before she even got to the porch.
"Pookie!" she cried, throwing her arms around her only daughter and squeezing her. Spinelli laughed and hugged her mother back.
"Hey, Ma," she said, struggling to keep a hold on her luggage. "You look great!" she told Flo as they parted. Flo was, indeed, still very attractive for someone her age. Her hair was still dark, with only wisps of silvery grey forming, and she still had an hourglass figure, though it was somewhat plumper then Spinelli remembered. Flo shrugged and smiled.
"I've got spaghetti ready for supper," she said. "And Rod's inside."
Spinelli's smile faded slightly at the mention of her step-father's name. He, she knew, had never liked his step-children much. He was a 'social drinker', basically a kind was of saying a drunk, and he had been known to be abusive at times.
"Great, Ma," Spinelli said cheerfully, not wanting to spoil her mother's mood. She followed her mother inside and shut the door behind her.
'Woah,' she thought, 'time warp!" Basically, nothing in the house had changed. There was the same furniture, wallpaper, carpets, basically everything except the appliances, which were, while not as new as the ones in Spinelli's own Sunset Boulevard home, fairly up-to-date.
"Rod!" Flo called out as they walked in. "Can you carry Ashley's suitcases upstairs?" The response was a barely audible grunt from somewhere in the den. Flo smiled apologetically. "How was your flight?"
"Fine," Spinelli said shortly, not liking to brag about first class. "Long, tiring, but otherwise okay."
"I doubt Rod will be up any time soon," Flo muttered grimly, then smiled, "so, why don't you and me catch up over some spaghetti?"
Spinelli grinned. It had been a long time since she'd had any of her mother's home cooking.
"Excellent," Spinelli smiled.
Later, over coffee, Flo brought up the subject Spinelli had been dreading since she'd gotten home.
"I hear Theodore is home," Florence said casually, taking a sip of her coffee, but Spinelli could read her mother like a book.
"Really?" she'd said with as much disinterest as she could fake. She sipped the brew quickly. Two, she decided, could play at this game.
"Got himself a job at Yale, on the cover of Time, and National Geographic, and People's 30 People Under 30 Who Will Change the World List . . . " Flo prattled on for a few moments about the achievements he'd conquered in only 10 years. Spinelli looked at the floor in shame.
"What's your point, Mother?" she asked with slight annoyance "I was on the Top 30 List, too". Her own deep chocolate eyes met her mother's, and, for a moment, neither spoke. Flo gave her daughter a look of sympathy.
"You know what my point is," she said firmly. "And I suggest you take heed of it before you screw up . . . again."
"I'll have you know," Ashley said steadily, "that I am doing quite alright for myself. I'm famous! People come up to me on the street everyday and ask for my autograph! I live next-door to Drew Barrymore, for Christ's Sake!"
"Watch your language!" Flo warned. Flo was a very religious Roman Catholic. Spinelli sighed and continued.
"I've been in 15 movies in 13 years! I've guest starred on The Simpsons, Will and Grace, 8 Simple Rules, Law and Order, and I've been on The Kelly Show, and countless other tv shows!" For some reason, Spinelli felt it important to list off some of her more impressive achievements as well. "I've been on Broadway, and I've won Oscars, and Golden Globes, and a Peoples Choice Award, and I've been on the cover of nearly every entertainment magazine in North America! I've even been honoured by Amnesty International and World Vision!" She finally fumed out her last words. "I am NOT a screw up, thank you very much! You know," she said sardonically, "If you're so proud of TJ's accomplishments, maybe he should be your son!"
"He could have been," Flo shot back calmly. Spinelli stopped dead, her words caught in her throat. "And," Flo continued, "if you have such a good new life, why do you have to convince yourself?"
Spinelli sighed angrily, knowing her mother was right, but having too much pride to admit so. She felt tears burning the back of her throat, but swallowed them back.
"I don't need this," she muttered. "I swear I don't need this! I have to give a speech in front of people who hated me in high school, but are going to pretend they're my best friend! My new assistant is a rude, high society dick, and, to top it all off, I have three scripts to read through while I'm in town!" She sighed again and looked at her mother pleadingly. "I'm finally a somebody! I'm not the pigtailed little brat I was in elementary school! Please, try to be proud of me!"
"I am proud of you," she assured her daughter gently. "I just wish you wouldn't run away from your problems. You've done it ever since you were small. Remember when you were 6, and you broke my favourite lamp. Rather then face me, you ran away to Gretchen's house. Mind you, it was only a block away." Flo sighed and took her daughter's hand comfortingly. "I know you're a somebody. I never thought you were a nobody! When you won the Globe for Best Supporting Actress back in high school, I was prouder of you then I had ever been!" Again she paused and watched her daughter's smoldering eyes brim with tears of shame. "You know what you have to do."
Spinelli stared into her mother's gentle eyes once more, and, finally, she nodded.
"Fine," she said grudgingly, "I'll talk to him."
"When?" Flo pressed. Spinelli smiled gratefully at her mother.
"At the reunion."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~