A/N: I'm not the world's happiest with this chapter, but here it is. When I get to the end, I plan on reading the whole thing from start to finish(something I've never done before) and reworking it so it's a lot better. Then maybe I'll be able to put my finger on what irks me with this chapter... possibly the confrontation, because I'm such a non-confrontational person myself.
It all comes back. Every little thing that I remember floods into my conscious like the bursting of a dam. I see the house now; the house I grew up in, the house I grew out of. The only thing keeping me from swimming through these newly opened memories is the small hand holding mine. I still don't know if I can do this. But maybe that's part of the point. Whenever I do things, they're always planned, and I'm always sure. Being unsure could give me some sort of advantage that I've never had- I'll react with complete honesty. Not knowing what I'll be facing, the only thing I can be certain of is exactly that. The certainty of uncertainty in every aspect of our lives is a strange phenomenon, one that I fear more than almost any other.
The car slows to a stop on the perfectly kept concrete driveway, leading to a three car garage. I always found that part of our house stupid: three car garage, but until Glen and Clay were seventeen, we only had two. I found most of our house to be like that: six bedrooms, but we only needed five if we had a guest room, three if Glen and Clay shared. The bathroom in the farthest corner of the house away from any living space had a full shower and bath tub. I know I'm just thinking these thoughts because I want to avoid my current predicament. It's helping the avoidance, but it's not going to help me in the long run.
"Ready?" Ashley's voice tickles my cheek comfortingly.
I don't reply because everyone already knows the answer. Chelsea and Clay lead the way, their smiles large and fake, with a tray of brownies in their hands. Brownies like the ones my mother used to cook on lazy Sunday afternoons. In the summer, she'd open the windows because the oven caused the entire kitchen to steam like a sauna. My brothers and I used to sit in there and play 20 questions while we checked on the brownies every five minutes. When they were finally done and Mom took them out, we'd have to play another 50,000 rounds before they were ready to be iced. Then she'd finally give into our begging and let us each have a little slice before dinner. But never in my memory did she take one herself.
Clay knocks on the door, and it's not opened by my mother. Glen stands behind it, a giggling Elle at his side. The giggles subside when she sees Clay and Chelsea there. Her face turns into a frown when she spots me and Ashley. True to form, Ashley grins and waves at her, but Elle(wisely, considering our last encounter) takes this as a cue to hide behind Glen. He stares at us in stony silence, his eyes full of tension about to pour onto us like an erupting volcano.
"Glen, honey, what is it?" There's that voice again. Mom's. I never realized before just how sugary it is, how fake it is, but I see that now. So does Ashley, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
"Does she always talk like that?" she whispers.
Mom arrives at the door, wearing one of the typical light sweaters she wears throughout the year no matter what the temperature. The sight of her makes me nauseous, terrified, and vengeful all at the same time. Ashley shifts so her arm is around my shoulder, but I'm still not convinced getting back into the car and driving away at the speed of light is the wrong thing to do.
"Don't just stand there, Glen," she laughs nervously. "Let everyone in."
Step by step, we shuffle up the sidewalk, onto the patio, right next to her. She hides it well, but I can see the disapproving glare, the sneer on her face as she looks at me. But her face displays something else more prominently, much more prominently: hurt. Disappointment. A shattering of hope. Because somewhere under her she-wolf exterior, she still is my mother, and guess part of that hoped that I'd return here "fixed"- with a boyfriend. "Spencer." She nods her head coldly, but I can't meet her gaze. I can't meet anything but the floor right now.
So the amazing Ashley takes over. "Yeah, and I'm Ashley Davies. The girlfriend. I'm sure Spencer's told you all about me."
Using my peripheral vision, I notice that my mom's face holds a mixture of shock, hatred, annoyance, and complete befuddlement.
Ashley replies in the most innocent of voices, "No? Spencer!" She's in her joking mode now, trying to lift my head up- and I mean that literally. "I thought we were closer than that!" She pokes me playfully in the stomach and I can't help it. I let the tiniest grin slip onto my face. And I lift my head up to stare my mom straight in the eye. And first thing I think is that she's aged a lot in five years.
The second thing I notice is that she doesn't seem to have any clue as to what's going on. I suppose our lesbian banter is too complicated for her closed mind to comprehend. "Well, um, come in." We enter the house, and she's about to say something, but timer beeps and she scampers off towards it.
Ashley turns to me and first thing out of her mouth is, "Okay, how come she's being so nice? Well, not exactly nice, but not exactly the Bible-thumping, homo-hater I was expecting."
I smile shyly, grimly. "Give her time. She can only keep up her candy-coated exterior for so long."
She gives me this bring-it-on sort of look. "I can't wait to see the fireworks."
We walk into the kitchen where everyone's sitting at the table. Well, Mom's setting down a thing of potatoes before taking her place on Dad's right. Dad. The only credit that I can give him is that he's a quiet guy. He used to be fun and talkative, but then Elle came out for me and he just stopped talking to me. Silent treatment, which, on most days, is preferable to my mother's incessant nagging, but on some days... Like now. He's just sitting at the table, pretending like nothing has changed, like I haven't entered the room.
"Um, excuse me?" Ashley pipes up.
"Yes?" My mother, playing the part of the perfect hostess.
"There seems to be a missing chair. Or, at least, there's only one left." Everyone focuses their attention on the two of them, who are obviously just keeping up appearances. Mom gives Ashley a face that clearly challenges Ashley to do something about it. With her lack of response, Ashley comes up with her own. "That's fine, I mean really. Spencer can just sit in my lap- it's not like she doesn't do that all the time- but I think it might make eating a little tricky."
The reactions vary with the people. Clay and Chelsea conceal grins and giggles; I'm not sure what to make of the situation, but my lips quirk up anyways; Mom's shocked expression returns to her face, her hostess persona evaporated; the sickly smile Glen had on before when he spotted the lack of chairs wipes off; Elle's mouth opens wide and she goes slack-jawed; Dad stands up, his face determined.
"I'll get it," he grunts, not looking at me or Ashley. Awkward silence ensues.
Flustered, Mom recovers quickly. "Well, one of you have a seat then."
Like the perfect girlfriend she is, Ashley pulls out the remaining chair for me, pushes it back in, and kisses me on top of the head. I immediately blush and stare into the tablecloth, attempting not to hyperventilate.
Luckily, Dad dispels the tension by coming back with the extra chair. He sets it down at the end of the table, gives Ashley the briefest of glances, and sits back down. This leaves her to drag it over next to me, forcing Clay to scoot over a little. Oddly enough, I realize there's been a place setting for her all along.
"Ashley, would you like to say grace?" It's a challenge. Mom wants her to stumble over her words, to mess up, to make a fool out of herself. But somehow I think Ashley's little more clever than that.
"Certainly, Mrs. Carlin." We all hold out our hands and close our eyes. Ashley takes my hand tighter than is appropriate and rubs her thumb on the back of it comfortingly. I haven't done anything even remotely religious in five years. When I was living with Clay, he still went to church every Sunday, but somehow I'd lost my faith. I'd been losing it for a while at that point, though, so I would've ended up on this path anyway. It's a little strange, closing my eyes and holding hands and listening to Ashley to pray to a god she doesn't even believe in.
"Dear Lord, thank you for this food and for our families. Thank you for Mrs. Carlin and what smells like awesome food, and Mr. Carlin for helping out with that chair. And thank you for both of them for raising three great children." Uh-oh. I can sense where this is going. And while part of me is horrified that she would go there, another part is horribly curious to see how it all plays out. "Thank you for Glen, who has a mean right hook, and for Clay, 'cause he married Chelsea and they've put us up while we're here. Plus, they made little Chris, who is the coolest baby ever. And last but not least for Spencer, who's the most wonderful, adorable, loving, and best girlfriend I've ever had. Oh, and thanks for letting us all live in relative safety and not have to worry about starvation, bombings, or incurable diseases. Amen."
"Amen," we all echo. I try not to smile as Ashley beams around at everyone. Mom... if looks could kill.
"Was that too long?" Ashley asks her.
Mom regains the housewife look again. "No, it was perfect. Meat, anyone?"
And dinner proceeds awkwardly. No one says much at all. That's better than I expected, and makes me think that maybe, just maybe, my only enduring memories of tonight will be of Ashley's witty words. But it all goes to hell, just as we're about to clear the table for dessert.
I take a drink from my milk, and I find Ashley smirking mischievously at me. "What?" I keep my voice low; breaking the silence gives me an odd sensation in my stomach.
"You have the cutest milk mustache," she explains happily. Then, she reaches down, pulls my napkin off my lap, wipes it away, and readjusts the napkin back on my lap. "There. All better."
"Keep your hands off my daughter." Mom's seething; she's reached her limit. And things are about to get memorable in the worst way.
"Excuse me?" Ashley's temper shoots right to the top, ready to defend.
"You heard me."
"Exactly. I'm confused as to why you're telling me to keep my hands off my girlfriend, when it's common practice for couples to be touchy-feely." Maybe not the best word choice there. I sink lower into my chair; I don't want to be part of this discussion.
"How do you know that's what she wants?" Mom fires back weakly.
Ashley shrugs. "I dunno; let's ask her. Spence, do like having me hold your hand, hug you, etc.?"
"Yes," I manage meekly. I'm rewarded for my "bravery" when Ashley puts her arm around my shoulders and draws me closely.
"She doesn't know what she wants!" my mom yells.
"Doesn't know?" Ashley repeats incredulously. "I think it's perfectly clear what she wants. I think it's also perfectly clear that you are the one who has a problem with it!"
"Because it is a problem!"
"No," Ashley breathes out, her anger somewhere beyond rage now. "The problem is the way your disgust made her act. She dated boys, for God's sake! That's not who she is; you have to see that!"
"Who she is can be changed!" Mom shouts.
"Mom," Clay puts in.
"No, Clay. This isn't for you to decide." Mom's real mad now, I can tell. The neighbors can probably tell, too.
"Yeah, and it's not for you to decide either!" Ashley shoots at her.
"Oh?" Mom's voice is full to the brimming with sarcasm. "And I suppose it's your decision?"
"No," Ashley replies simply with no anger or animosity. "It's Spencer's decision. If she chose to walk out on me, to tell me she hated me, then I would let her. You know why? Because I love her enough to let her choose!" Love? That's a new one for us, one I might not be ready for.
But I don't have time to dwell on it, because Mom stands up, banging the table with her fist. "You cannot love her! People like you are incapable of love!"
Ashley gives her the most disbelieving, pissed-of, sarcastic smile. "People like me? You mean gay people? Lesbians? Gee, I'm sorry for trying to offer her support, comfort, love, hope, help, anything positive. Because God forbid the person she finds to hold is another woman. If I got a sex change, would that make things better?"
"Out." One simple word that conveys so many things, especially in its numb tone.
"What?"
"You heard me. Out of my house. Now!" Ashley doesn't hesitate; she pushes out her chair and grabs my hand. We go to the front, out on the porch step.
"I suppose you think you won," Ashley tells her as she prepares to slam the door in our faces. "Well, you didn't. Because I can go home tonight, hug Spencer tightly, and know that I did the right thing. I can know that I won because I still have her." She stomps off, but I'm too stunned to move. And that second is all Mom needs to pounce.
"Spencer-"
"Save it." I'm empowered, I'm finally feeling what Ashley's been feeling this whole time. "You can tell me you hate me or that I'm going to Hell or that you can fix me, that Ashley's not a good person, that you don't love me anymore. You can tell me all that, just like you did five years ago. But you wanna know the difference? Now I can you tell you I don't care." Aside from the feeling of confidence I acquire by leaving my speechless mother in my wake, I feel like I just want to cry forever.
And there's Ashley, waiting to wrap me into a warm hug. A safe hug. The most innocent of hugs, all waiting for me.
Some of part of me acknowledges that the two of us did something great today: we walked into that dinner expecting to be shred to pieces and we came out with our innocence.