AN: I now have even more reason to hate McTrashit—have you seen the crap she's making JY act out? Sick, seriously and when this woman gets kicked out on her ass, I will be parading her sorry self down the streets of New York, making her wear bells and a sign that reads "I am the woman who decimated a show millions loved." And, then, all of us can show her how much we so 'love' her.
A Love Story
35)
Amy knew he was awake, she could hear the television inside, blaring as if he was proud of it and she knew if she peeked in the front window, she'd find him sitting and watching it, awaiting his dinner. Readjusting her strenuous hold on the two bags of groceries, she eased around the house to the back door and, struggling, managed to unlock it.
Pausing on the threshold of the door, she kicked off her shoes and sighed softly at the cool air that welcomed her sore feet, enjoying the sensation for a few minutes before forcing herself to enter. The counter and stove were strewn with broken eggs and dirty pans; a pad of butter had been left by the sink; some beaten egg was dripping onto the floor from glass that lay sideways.
Carefully setting the bags on the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes in displeasure when her foot came down on something that cracked beneath the weight and a chilly goop that sank between her bare toes. Looking down, she found yet another egg, this one now shattered from being stepped on and several bits of shell making her wince in pain.
She wondered absently, how many of the dozen eggs had actually been ingested and how many had been wasted.
"How was work?"
"Fine," she answered quickly and he went back to his television; she could see him leaning back again in his chair and, with a sigh, she could see the fold-out table set before him. Quickly putting away the food she had brought, she hobbled into the living room quietly, not moving in front of what she was watching as she bent and grabbed up what cans she could, cramming them into one of the bags she had used to bring home the groceries.
Knowing better than to sit right now, she worked for several minutes hastily, trying to clean up what she could around his chair before a hand caught her arm, pulling her attention to dark eyes that met hers squarely, his image as the clichéd stupid drunk ruined by the glitter of nasty intelligent in his gaze. "Why are you limping?"
For a moment, as always, she considered not answering or lying but, knowing how he got when she was 'unappreciative,' she muttered, "My feet are sore, uncle Owen, it's nothing." Pulling her arms out of his hold, turning away, she heard him heave a sigh, shift thoughtfully as he turned the volume up, something that made her close her eyes in exhaustion but she stayed silent. "Why don't you buy yourself some new shoes?"
"I don't have enough money for that, uncle Owen."
"You act like I wouldn't loan you some."
She froze, biting the inside of her cheek in a sudden urge to scream when she picked up the way his voice had changed, becoming edged with anger that would have sounded almost pleasant if she hadn't known better for the last years of her life. Straightening, she looked over at him, smiling slightly. "I know you would, uncle Owen—you do so much for me."
"Of course I do," he snapped and she watched him lean forward, clicking off the television, his attention off her as he tossed the remote onto the plate and rolled his shoulders, still in his work clothes. "Have a good day at work?" he finally asked, for the second time, looking over and she nodded, reaching to pluck up the plate that needed to be cleaned. "Good," he said thoughtfully, nodding to himself.
He stood suddenly, sighing deeply as he made a face. "I'm telling you, sweetheart, there's nothing more frustrating than when someone comes in and talks about how they're car is rattling." He kicked an empty box that had once held spark pugs towards her and she scooped it up, shoving it into the already full bag. "Do you have any idea how many things could make a car rattle?"
"No, uncle Owen."
"No, of course you don't," he stated, checking that his cigarettes were in his pocket before heading out of the room and down the hall to his room, finally vanishing from sight with the click of a door and her sharp ears heard the creak of an old mattress as he settled down and, thankfully, no lock to be jimmied later so that she could check that he hadn't fallen asleep with a fire hazard in one hand.
"Hi!"
Amy jerked out of her dream so harshly that she uttered a squeak of surprise and snapped her head up from its place mashed into her bed. Aware that she had a Post-It stuck to her forehead, she blinked rapidly at the little girl who stood before her, blonde hair neatly pulled into pigtails and large blue eyes peering at the brunette owlishly.
"Hi!" she yelled again, broad grin on her face as she reached out and, with one small hand, peeled the note off of the woman's forehead, smiling brightly all the while. "What's you name?"
"Sleepy," she muttered absently, looking around and grimacing at the mess she lay in, several books open and acting a pillows and papers strewn about and several pens of different colors laid out around her. Grimacing at the ache in her neck, she slowly looked more completely at the girl, recognizing with delight that this was Mrs. Martin's granddaughter. "Hi there, hi-girl," she finally muttered, rolling shakily out of the bed and trying to stand up. "You're Kate, right?"
"I am—" She stopped, so suddenly in fact that Amy looked back at her in worry, half-expecting to find her gone but the child was looking at her with wide eyes and agape in what seemed like utter and total shock. "Kid, are you—" She was interrupted by the child, who yelled, "Say that again!"
"'Are you okay'?"
"No!"
"What?"
"My name! Say it like that again!"
"Kate?"
"Yes!"
"Oh… Kate?"
An excited sound exploded from the young child as, grinning happily, she grabbed Amy and began yanking furiously, squeaking, "You have to have lunch with us, Sleepy!" Shaking her head, trying to pull away, Amy found herself being torn out of the bedroom and then towards the stairs, being dragged along like well-loved teddy bear and unable to stop her movements.
She found it oddly enjoyable.
Zach was pissing her off.
Glaring at the phone, filing her nail with a vicious precision that was making the table under her elbow shake with force, Kendall gnawed her bottom lip. Her breakfast sat uneaten and, beside her, Ethan Ramsey leaned forward and asked, nodding to the plate, "Can I have that?" She shrugged and, with a small laugh of triumph, he snagged his prize of eggs benedict.
Despite the fact that he lived at the Valley Inn, he popped up every so often and this morning, it seemed, he wanted company as he flicked through the channels on her large screen. The last weeks having been spent wooing Simone, he was apparently feeling guilty for his neglect of their odd little friendship.
Neglect he alleviated by eating her eggs, apparently.
"Why don't you just call him?"
The 'he' the Brit spoke of needed no name and, with a grimace, Kendall felt a sharp touch of pain at how the file was now sanding away bits of her skin, having destroyed a large portion of the nail. Dropping the file to the table, she eased around it and paused just enough to kick away lightly in the vague direction of the phone before continuing her way to the kitchen area. "I can't call him," she snapped, looking in her fridge for something sweet enough to knock her teeth out and finding nothing.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"It's against the rules, Ethan." Her head popped back into view, freezer door slamming shut as she scowled at him, small container of Cherry Garcia held in one hand and gripping a spoon in the other in a way that reminded him forcibly of a Samurai warrior sizing up her opponent. Shaking the thought lose, he made room as she dropped back into her seat beside him. "See… I, mean… look, it's just against the rules, alright?"
Before he could open his mouth, she had changed tack and asked, voice dripping with venom, "I heard you gave the Annoying One a ride home a while ago." At his utterly baffled look, she gave a snort of disgust and snapped, "Maxine? What, is she your newest bestest friend, or something?" she added more quietly, poking at the ice cream with the spoon.
"She hurt her ankle."
"Hah," she hissed under her breath and, rolling his eyes, Ethan managed to suggest, "She isn't that bad, you know… she's just like you—" She gave a short, bitter laugh but he kept on going, saying more loudly, "Seriously, she isn't that bad once you get to know her… besides, she twisted her ankle and needed some help."
"No, no, no… no, see, you're wrong… when I wanted attention and wanted to be recognized as a Kane, I had class, see? But her… the Sequined Wonder from Vegas…! No, see, that no-good, ugly-faced, squeaky voiced ninny wouldn't know class if it came up and bit her in the ass!"
"She's not—"
"I'm sorry, Ethan, but do you remember how she acted when Binks was in her coma? One second she's all 'Bianca is my very best friend' and then, when Binks is in need of some help, she's running after Zach, meeping about being denied!" Jabbing the utensil savagely into the icy treat, she smacked a hand on her table, furious and not quite knowing why.
"She wants her place—"
"No, Ethan, she wants her money."
That, at least, made him stop and she sighed in relief, rubbing her temples tiredly as she gnawed the inside of her cheek absently, trying to smooth her frayed nerves and her pounding pulse. By the time she had managed to calm down, her eyes had once again fallen on that damn phone.
Was it too much to call her for God's sake?
"Are you crazy!"
"Oh, Tad, don't be so loud, you'll ruin the soufflé," she chastised him softly, watching said food item with intelligent eyes and carefully pulling her oven mitts off. Turning to him finally, she smiled brightly, trying to ignore the heavy bags under his eyes and the slight pallor that made her so worried. "You need a little bit of time with your daughter."
"You ambushed me!"
"You came here willingly," she whispered quietly, poking once in the chest with one finger and narrowing her eyes. "Honestly, Tad, if you couldn't figure out why Opal and I wanted to talk to you here so badly and if you couldn't pick our little 'ambush' than frankly you deserve to be ambushed."
"My daughter and— what do you— you don't—" Each attempt to speak was cut off as, with a mother's practiced ease, she shoved another food item at him, leaving him increasingly frustrated as she effectively kept his side of this discussion to a minimum. "Mom— you don't understand— why are you so obsessed—"
She spun him and pushed him with a surprising strength, propelling him through the kitchen door and into the living room of the Martin residence, pointing over his shoulder at the table already laid out with large platters and glasses that were waiting to be filled. "You and the little dear need some time to meet each other without other people butting their way in to interrupt."
"But it's none of your business!"
"Nonsense," Opal chirped, looking at Ruth as she reshuffled her Tarot cards if her lap, a pale clothe spread out across her legs. "Where's that lovely girl who's staying here, Ruthie? The one from Texas with all that hair?" she asked, laying the stack of cards in her lap and fiddling with one large dream catcher earring. "I want to talk to her about some things."
Tad rolled his eyes.
"She's upstairs. The poor dear apparently lost her wand." At Opal's soft sound of condolence, she nodded absently, checking how the ham slices were arranged as she continued. "Apparently it does a lot of stuff on full moons or dark moons and things like that. She's been inconsolable the last few days."
"Ah, the poor dear."
Tad, still standing with his arms full of stuff, managed to catch sight of the small figure coming down the stairs before either of his mothers did and, sighing deeply, he noted that she was pulling a sleepy-looking Amy Cohen along behind her, mouth running a million miles a minute.
Cohen, in pajama pants decorated with hockey pucks and a tank top, was staggering slightly, head back and yawning hugely as the two females stepped completely into the room. Spotting her, Opal immediately patted the empty spot next to her, waving happily as an invitation. Obediently, stretching arms high over her head, the tall young woman took a seat, stretching out her legs.
"Tad, please, sit down."
Too tired too argue and secretly relieved that his mothers had come up with this before he had to, he obeyed, setting the last items on the table and taking a seat, eyes on the child now attempting to get the chance to braid Amy's hair. Sighing, rubbing his face furiously, he timidly asked, "So, Cohen… you lost your wand…?"