A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I was clamoring for Kirsten/Sandy fics, but I thought I was the only one. I'm glad that I'm not alone, as I think they're the most fascinating couple on TV today. So here's the next installment...I intended it to go all the way up to Kirsten's college graduation, but it got away from me and so we've only gotten as far as Thanksgiving. Oh, and, I forgot to preface Chapter One with this...
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just love.
So it began. Chapter 2:
July 3, 1985:
As the movie ends, he gets up to switch off the TV. Returning to the couch, he asks softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what?" she responds, head down, face hidden by a curtain of blond hair.
"About why you cut your trip home short by about three weeks? About why when you called last night you were on the verge of tears, asking me to come pick you up from the airport? About why you've been upset and distant all day, despite my attempts to charm you?"
She sighs heavily. "It's...it's my dad."
"Ah. The mysterious Caleb Nichol, who you never talk about. OK, so...what's the story? Or do you still not want to say? Even though I haven't met your family...yet...I know all about your kid sister Hailey, your mom, the horse you had when you were eleven--Captain Oats, right?...But your father? To me, he's still a blank slate, except for what I read in Forbes, of course."
She sighs. "Believe me, Sandy, you're much better off not knowing." Seeing his hurt look, she says quickly, "No, I mean..."
"Can I ever count on meeting him, Kirsten?" he says quietly, and all of a sudden they aren't really talking about Caleb Nichol anymore.
"Sandy, I...do we have to have this conversation now?"
Her distress is so obvious that even though he wants to continue to press her, he can't. The only thing he can say is, "No. No, sweetie, we don't. Come here." He opens his arms and she snuggles up against his shoulder with a distinctly unladylike snuffle.
Che limps up and sniffs her bare ankle, before giving a short bark and jumping onto the couch between them. She gives a tear-filled chuckle as her hand comes down to stroke the little dog's wiry fur.
"Why'd you take Che in, Sandy?" she asks after a while.
"Well. As you can see, he's a very nice dog, and handsome, in his own unique way. He's intelligent, too!" She feels him smile against her hair.
She chuckles again, a little less waterlogged this time. "Right. Handsome. Very charming, especially at three in the morning when he just has to go out, but refuses to unless he's wearing his beret. And you have to get up and find it, and find your own, and stumble down the stairs..."
"Oh, don't remind me! And don't talk about it in front of him, or he'll start getting ideas."
They remain silent for a time, Kirsten still stroking the little dog. Finally, Sandy speaks again. "Sometimes, I think, we have to come to an understanding with the...creatures... that we choose to love. Che gets his beret, and his walks in the middle of the night, because he does things for me, too."
"Oh, really? Like what?" He can hear the smile in her voice now, and he's glad. Maybe he's just diverting her from the conversation that they both know they need to have, but now is not the time. He's making her happy, and that's all that matters right now.
"He got you to go to the park with me that day, didn't he? For that alone, he deserves to be treated like a king for the rest of his natural life."
She giggles, then sits up so she's looking him straight in the face. "Thanks, Sandy." She looks down at Che, and says, "And thank you. Now get up, you handsome mutt."
"Who, me? Whatever you say, darling!"
"Not you! Well, all right. You. But I was actually talking to Che..."
Later that night, Kirsten wakes to hear muffled yapping, feeling the small paws patting at her leg. Sandy mumbles, starts to get up, but she puts a hand on his chest and whispers, "No. Just tell me where the berets are."
************************************
November 28, 1985:
It's 10:30 a.m., and they're on the plane. Newport, and her family, are a half an hour away. Kirsten looks out the small window and wonders how she can possibly prepare Sandy for the Thanksgiving dinner to come.
As they come up the driveway in their rental car, she notes that he's, well, not speechless, exactly, because that would be impossible; he's the closest thing she's ever witnessed to it, though, because he can only manage to get out one sentence.
"This is your house?"
She laughs, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, it's a little...much, isn't it?"
They're standing in the massive foyer of a Newport mansion bigger than any space he thinks he's ever been in, up to and possibly including Madison Square Garden. "Sweetie, I know you told me your family was rich, but this..."
"It's just a house, Sandy!"
"Well, yeah! So is Buckingham Palace!"
"C'mon, I want you to meet my mom. I'm sure she's already in the kitchen."
She takes his hand and leads him through rooms...rooms filled with...stuff, lots and lots of stuff, until they arrive in the kitchen, which is surprisingly small and cozy. There's a woman there, impeccably turned out in a designer sweatsuit, hair just so, yet wearing a frumpy apron and chopping vegetables.
"Mom!"
"Kirsten! Oh, honey, I'm so glad you could make it after all!" The two women embrace; Sandy's hanging back a little, because he's not exactly sure that Kirsten told her parents he was coming. He never really knows what kind of information flows between her and her family members that he's not privy to, because, even after all these months, she's still a little stand-offish about things like that. But then the older woman breaks the embrace with her daughter, looks directly at him skulking in the doorway, and says, "And you must be Sandford."
He advances into the kitchen. "Yes, ma'am. I am. But I'd prefer it if you would call me Sandy..."
She takes his hand, and says warmly, "I will. And you shall call me Rosemary. My daughter has told me so much about you! I'm looking forward to hearing all about your fascinating extracurricular work among those less fortunate."
Is it wishful thinking, or does he see a twinkle in her eye as she says that?
"So, Mom, I'm just going to get Sandy settled in the guest room, and then I'll come back down and help you."
"Oh! Oh, dear, no! Please... you don't have to do that! You and your friend should go out--show him what there is to do in Newport."
Kirsten mutters under her breath, so only Sandy can hear, "Oh, yeah. Because there's so much to do here." To her mother she asks, somewhat anxiously, "And Dad? Is he here?"
"No, dear. He's at the office. He'll be back for dinner."
As Sandy carries his small suitcase into the guest bedroom, he asks her, "So, what do you guys do around here for fun? Tan, wax, surf? Hey, I could get into surfing!"
"Sandy!" She usually says his name in a loving, but exasperated tone, but now there's an undercurrent of tension.
"What? I can swim! I can fit in with the Richie Riches of the world! Oh, I get it. It's your father, right? The great Caleb Nichol, deigning to have dinner with his family because his daughter's finally come home, bearing a boyfriend."
"I'll have you know, I've come bearing boyfriends before!"
"Oh! Oh, yeah, Jimmy...remind me why he's not your boyfriend anymore?"
She looks straight at him, then, and says, quietly, "Because he's not you."
Later that afternoon:
Kirsten thinks this visit home is going pretty well, considering...considering my dad's not home from the office yet...She's in the dining room, setting the table, while Sandy and her mom are in the kitchen, "making magic happen", as Sandy so airily put it. She hears the front door slam and her father call, "I'm home!" She's suddenly so terrified that the silver she's been arranging tumbles from her shaking hands with a clatter.
Caleb strides into the dining room and hugs her. "Kiki! Good to see you home!" He holds her out at arms length, taking in her outfit, lovingly put together with the help of some of her more thrift-store savvy Art History friends. "What on earth are you wearing? You look like a bag lady!"
"Cal, I think she looks perfectly lovely!" says Rosemary, coming into the dining room with her arms full of serving dishes. "It's the hallmark of the truly stylish that one can put together anything and wear it with grace and class." Kirsten flashes a small, grateful smile at her. Over her mother's shoulder, she can see Sandy hanging back a little, a questioning look on his face. She motions for him to enter.
"Dad, I'd like you to meet my...friend, Sandy Cohen. Sandy, this is my dad, Caleb."
Sandy advances, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir. Kirsten's told me a lot about you."
Caleb gives Sandy the once over before shaking his hand. "Really? She hasn't said anything to me about you. But then, there are a lot of things Kiki doesn't tell me anymore," he adds pointedly as he sits down at the table. "Where's Hailey?"
"Here I am, daddy!" the younger girl announces as she slides into her chair. As they begin passing the serving dishes, Hailey pipes up again, "Hey, daddy, did you know that Mr. Cohen has a three-legged dog? Isn't that cool?"
Caleb looks at Sandy. "Three legs, huh? What, you couldn't afford a whole dog?"
This is how it will be. Kirsten can already feel the familiar headache begin, right behind her eyes. Sandy coughs a little as a sip of water goes down the wrong way, and then replies smoothly, with a perfectly straight face, "Well, sir, you're right. The pet store is still holding his fourth leg as a deposit. I wanted to leave my watch instead, but you know businessmen. They drive a hard bargain, always keeping their eye on the bottom...leg, so to speak." He continues to eat, calmly, giving Caleb an affable smile. "The dog seems OK with it, and I can still get to class on time, so it's a win-win situation."
Both Caleb and Kirsten are staring at Sandy, open-mouthed. Rosemary coughs delicately into her napkin and then segues in her best social fashion. "Cal, Sandy is third-year law at Boalt Hall. Kirsten tells me he's very bright."
"That's right, dad! Sandy's really doing well! He already has an internship lined up for next summer that could turn into a permanent job, and he's been making a lot of important contacts!" The minute the words leave her mouth she wants to take them back, remembering where, exactly, it is that Sandy will be interning. But it's too late, Caleb has honed in on her words, her desperate-to-please tone, and has turned to Sandy again.
"Well, that sounds promising, er...Sandy, is it? What firm? Anyone I know?"
Shit, shit, shit! She kicks Sandy's ankle under the table, and feels his hand come down reassuringly on her thigh as he says, "It's at the Alameda County Public Defender's office. It's really a great opportunity. I was the first one they offered it to, since I worked in Boalt's legal clinic last semester as a Spanish translator. It's amazing what some prosecutors think they can get away with just because the defendant doesn't speak much English."
Even though Kirsten feels a full-fledged migraine coming on, she can't help but admire the way Sandy's shut her dad down twice in five minutes, without losing his temper. His hand is still on her thigh, under the table, warm and comforting.
"I think it's very admirable that a boy with Sandy's abilities would put them to use in the service of those who have had limited opportunities. Don't you, Cal? All of us with talent, or money, should aspire to do the same." Rosemary's brought out the velvet glove with the steel inside, and for that, Kirsten is thankful.
Somehow, Thanksgiving dinner finishes with no further skirmishes, but Kirsten senses the night's not over, not by a long shot. As she helps her mother clean up the kitchen, she can hear her dad invite Sandy into the den for a brandy.
"Mom?"
"Yes, honey?" Rosemary turns, a dishcloth in her hand.
"Do you...like...Sandy?"
"What do you mean, honey? Of course! I like all of your friends."
"No, I mean...I like Sandy...a lot. I think I love him, mom," she finishes, wondering why admitting this should make her feel like crying.
"Oh, honey! Come here." She folds Kirsten into a hug and then says, softly, "It's a difficult thing, being your own person with your own feelings, isn't it?" Kirsten nods into her mother's neck, not trying to hold back the tears now. She continues, "I like this boy, and since you've been brave enough to bring him home, I don't have to guess how much he means to you." She pulls away slightly and looks Kirsten straight in the eye. "Your father is a difficult man, but I love him. And you know what?" Kirsten shakes her head. "He loves me, too. There are some things I don't like about him, mind you, and I'm sure he would say the same about me, but that's not the same thing, now, is it?"
"No, I guess not..."
"Your father was already well on his way to becoming what he is today when we met, Kirsten. But listen to me. He came from nothing, and no amount of money and power that he accrues could make him, or anyone else of our generation, forget that. I know my father never did. That's why..." she hesitates, trying to put her thoughts into words, "that's why he's..."
"Such a controlling bastard?" Kirsten can't help herself, although she can't believe these words are coming out of her mouth. "That's why he sucked up to Jimmy? Thought he was my 'perfect match', because Jimmy's family has been in Newport since there was a Newport? That's why Sandy will never be good enough?"
Rosemary sighs, and says, "Honey, for your father, no one will ever be good enough for you."
"Mom, that's not good enough for me! Sandy's a good man! He makes me laugh! He's kind, and smart, and different from anyone I've ever met. He gets me, mom!"
"I know, honey...I know he does. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. But honey, you have to make sure that you know what it means to..." she looks a little uncomfortable with the choice of words, "...get him, too. It's not enough that he understands you. If you want to make this work, you both have to take a long hard look at who each of you are, at the core."
*********************************
After her mother and father have gone to bed, Kirsten and Sandy sit outside in the still-soft late November air. "So," she ventures, "how did the after-dinner talk with my dad go?"
"I'm still reeling a little from the brandy, I think."
She smiles, slightly, and says, "Way to misdirect, counselor."
"OK. Not exactly well. He asked me if I was Jewish, as if the 'Cohen' part of my name wasn't enough of a tip-off."
"And you said...?"
"I said, 'Yes I am, and don't go talking shit about God's chosen people'!" She can feel his smile in the darkness.
"You did not!"
"Yes, I did! I said, 'Whether you like it or not, we run everything! We always have! We work behind the scenes!'" A pause, and then, "No, sweetie, I did not say that. I simply agreed that Cohen was, indeed, a Jewish name, and waited for his reply."
"And what was it? His reply, I mean?"
Sandy leans over to kiss her as he murmurs, "He didn't have one. I got him to shut up one more time."