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Quiet Days of Tea and Talking
"Are you comfortable, uh, Mother?" Fletcher asked, stumbling over the last word. He was still getting used to saying it.
He looked across the small table at Alice, where she sat in a wooden chair. He wondered if the back of the chair was too stiff, and if he should've put a cushion there. But his mother replied, "Yes, I'm comfortable."
The room was the picture of peace. Bright daylight flooded in from the windows, and the table was set with tea and a plate of cookies. Despite the quiet stillness of the scene, Fletcher felt anxious as he watched his mother lift her teacup and take a sip. Were her hands steady enough to hold it? And the tea wasn't too hot, was it?
She noticed his eyes on her. "Oh, my. You never stop worrying about me, even for a moment. Please relax. I'm your mother, not your newborn baby." Even while scolding him, her voice was soft and gentle.
"Sorry," he said. He considered saying more after that, but couldn't think of anything to add. In his mind, he could see the memories of her in the ether - those days when he and the rest of the team had needed to take care of her. Alice had been so unresponsive, even when her own son was softly speaking to her. She did little but gaze vacantly around her. Hope of the woman ever returning to her senses had been faint . . .
But Alice had improved incredibly during her time in the hospital. Mother and son had recently started to live together in the Raleigh mansion - the home where they should've lived all along - and during those few days, Fletcher witnessed her new condition. Her mind, once so far away, was mostly returned. Now, she looked straight at him, truly seeing him, and she responded when others talked to her. It was a joyous miracle.
Even so, she was still fragile in many ways. At times, when he asked her something, she seemed unable to answer. Privately, Fletcher couldn't deny to himself that it could be a little frustrating. He had a million topics he wanted to discuss with his mother. So much lost time to make up for. But he reminded himself that it was very fortunate that he had the opportunity to meet his mother at all. He'd spent much of his life believing he would never do so. And so, he contented himself to talk with her just a little at a time. If one day was over, there was always the next day.
"You behave more like a parent than I do," Alice mused. "Perhaps it's because you are unused to seeing me as your parent. I was absent for most of your life. I have so much parenting that I need to catch up on."
Fletcher began to say something, but Alice's somber tone suddenly turned lighthearted and joking. "So . . . my son, be sure to get enough sleep! And eat your vegetables. Don't just eat treats all day."
"Hey, you're the one who suggested having this chat! The snacks were your idea, Mother!" But he laughed while saying this.
A minute passed in pleasant silence as they enjoyed the tea and food. Alice's blue eyes wandered a lot, taking in the walls, the ceiling, all aspects of their surroundings. Fletcher wondered what she was thinking. The Raleigh mansion had been damaged long ago, and then rebuilt very recently. He knew that some parts of the house were familiar to Alice, and other parts were touched up and different to her memories. She'd mentioned this to him, on that day when they entered the house together for the first time.
Her eyes turned away from the window and found his face again. "You resemble your father. You have his hair and eyes."
She'd repeated this statement often in the past few days. Fletcher didn't blame her. He, too, was still marveling at the situation: how the other person in the house was nearly a stranger, and yet possessed familiar features.
"Yes," Fletcher said, remembering what he'd seen of his parents in Athena's vision. "But I have some of you, too. We have the same nose."
At once, he felt a bit silly for saying that. What was the purpose of commenting on his own nose? But then, maybe it was natural for such a thought to cross his mind. After all, he had spent years of his life in Pelt studying the faces of strangers, searching for any resemblance to his own. At any rate, Alice didn't seem to think it was a silly remark, since she flashed a small smile in response.
"Your looks came from us, but your name came from Berdon. When Athena carried you away as a baby, you hadn't even been named yet. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't." Actually, he did, but he wanted to encourage her to keep talking.
Alice's voice softened as she reminisced. "Your father and I were so indecisive about it. We wanted to make sure we picked a great name for you. In the end, the choice was made for us. We probably would not have considered 'Fletcher', but luckily I really like the name. I believe it suits you." She shook her head, as if shifting away from the memories and bringing herself back to the present. "I cannot thank Berdon enough for raising you. He did a wonderful job. If only Edmund could've met him too."
"You don't think he would've minded having some competition in the 'dad' role?" On the surface, Fletcher was joking, but inside he was filled with curiosity about his father's personality. Fletcher learned bits and pieces of info from others, but it never felt like enough.
His mother laughed. "No, I think Edmund would feel grateful, just as I do. He was never the type to feel insecure or intimidated by others. I think he would be perfectly accepting of the presence of another father in his son's life. In fact, he'd probably make a bunch of jokes about it."
Alice's face was radiant, and it had nothing to do with the sunlight in the room. Without thinking, Fletcher remarked, "You look so happy when you talk about him."
"Oh, I loved everything about that man. He appeared so cheerful, to the point that some people thought he was an airhead, but he was actually very ferocious and brave when the situation called for it. He protected those close to him. He was kind and generous. I . . . I wish the two of you could've known each other."
Fletcher said nothing. He allowed the silence to sit at the table with them for a little while. What was there to say? He could mention the glimpses of Edmund that he'd seen in Athena's infusion dream, or in the family portrait that hung in this very house, but those seemed so small. Not comparable to actually knowing the man . . . Fletcher abruptly noticed that he'd been holding his cup in the air for a long time, so distracted by his thoughts that he hadn't remembered to drink from it. Hastily, he took a sip.
Eventually, Alice was the one who revived the conversation. "I'm so glad you were able to recover Athena from the ether. She used to be Edmund's demon - oh, of course you know that already. So she's one of our last connections to Edmund."
"Athena remembers him," Fletcher added. "And she remembers you too." Whenever Athena was in the same room as Alice, the demon had a habit of landing in Alice's lap and resting there. Despite a separation of nearly two decades, the affection was clearly still strong and warm.
"I'm glad," Alice murmured again. "Seeing Athena helps me remember him. She helps me remember my life before."
"Uh, right . . . before that time you spent as a captive . . ."
Without him asking the question aloud, she guessed what was on his mind. "I remember very little of those years I spent imprisoned. I know I was rescued by you and some of your friends, but I don't recall much of that, either. There are many blank spots in my memories."
"I see. To be honest, I don't think it's a bad thing if you forget about that section of your life," he said very quietly.
He didn't want to remember it, but the sound of Khan's voice rushed into his head. That cruel voice, describing the horrifying way the orcs had treated his mother . . . and how Fletcher's blood had boiled with rage . . . Fletcher blinked, trying to refocus on his surroundings, the peaceful and bright room, the woman sitting just across the table from him. He didn't want to dwell on what she had endured. He hoped she forgot it all, too.
"What else?" Alice mumbled. "There's so very much."
"I know what you mean." There was no end to the questions he wanted to ask her. He wanted to learn more about her childhood. About her time studying at Vocans. About the demons that his parents sadly lost in the attack on Raleighshire. The story of how she met his father. Although the subject could get tricky, he also wanted to hear Alice's opinion of her twin sister Josephine, as well as the Forsyth family she married into.
And he wanted her to tell him more about Arcturus and Lovett. What those two had been like as kids. What she thought of them now. In one of their earlier conversations, Alice had mentioned them. She and Edmund had gone to school with them. Alice had told Fletcher how happy she was that her old school friends had managed to befriend her son, even before they knew he was a Raleigh. Fletcher had listened attentively to every word, but unfortunately Alice had grown tired before the discussion could go on for long. Fletcher looked forward to continuing that conversation someday, but it was difficult with Alice's condition. He couldn't ask about too much at once, and there were so many other things he wanted to talk about, too.
Without warning, Alice got up from her seat. Her expression was distant. Fletcher asked, "What's going on?" But she turned and left the room without a word.
He followed her into another room. The one with the family portrait, hanging above the fireplace. There, in the carefully preserved painting, was Edmund, his arms wrapped around Alice, and her arms holding their newborn son. Fletcher watched his mother, who had come to stand in front of the painting. What was she thinking, as her eyes stared ahead at it?
"Oh." It seemed that Alice returned to herself. She blinked a few times. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what came over me. All of a sudden, I had an urge to look at this."
"That's okay. It is a nice painting."
He wished he had better words to describe it. But perhaps he didn't need to speak. Perhaps his mother already understood. As the two of them stood together in that room, he believed they were feeling the same thing. The aching sense of loss, due to Edmund's absence, as well as all the missing time that the family couldn't have together. But there was hope, too, because at least they could be together now. Because they still had their future, and they could look forward to many happy days to come.