Ivy rolled her eyes as she watched Jo jump on the back of Jason's motorcycle outside her school. "Ungrateful...little...f—heathen." She mumbled, leaning back as far as she could in her chair, starring at the light directly above her.
Ivy hated that boy—that man. With a fiery passion, she hated him. While it was true she'd never officially met him, she spent enough time watching him—enough time watching them—that she felt like she had a pretty good handle on the kind of person he was.
He had a chip on his shoulder, that was for sure. One many times the size of Jo's. So much so that nothing Jo said would ever equate, no tragedy she'd suffered, no injustice she'd been party to…he was the victim, and he used that to his advantage. Jo felt sorry for him, and when he told her things, revealed things about himself, said no one else knew…Jo would smile, pity in her expression…and Pam would have to tune the rest out, as that was usually how their more intimate moments began.
Ivy was still staring up at the light when someone sat down next to her in a huff, sighing loudly as she did.
"How is it only Tuesday?" Bumblebee asked.
Ivy glanced at her, watching the younger woman as she stared out the window at the Earth below them. "Because yesterday was Monday," Ivy exhaled.
"Everything moves slower during the Holidays," Bumblebee grumbled.
"Mm," Ivy grunted in agreement. "Pretty, isn't it?" she asked, nodding downwards at the marvelous blue orb.
"Gorgeous," the woman corrected, "but she's sort of a 10 footer."
Ivy furrowed her brow, sitting up. "I'm sorry?"
"Looks good from up here, but when you get too close…sorta loses the appeal." Bumblebee explained.
Ivy didn't answer, just smirked and continued to gaze downward, so it was Bumblebee who again broke the silence. "Do you ever just…hate yourself?"
Ivy narrowed her eyes, thinking on that for a moment, trying to decide if she really wanted to get into a deeper conversation with a junior-leaguer. Junior Justice? Justice Juniors? What was it? Something stupid, she knew that for certain. "No," she answered, finally. "But I do occasionally regret things."
"And what do you do about it?" the woman asked.
Ivy sighed. She regretted so much not telling Jo earlier, truly believing that if she had, Jo would have just taken it in stride or at least been able to adjust without needing to fill this void so suddenly. "Regret is a pointless emotion." Ivy began. "It's reflective in nature, and that's all it will ever be. It comes with guilt, and a mind crippled by guilt will only ever allow for horizontal growth, which, really isn't growth at all, now is it?"
"No, no it's not." Bumblebee agreed.
"Fix what you can and leave the rest behind. There's no point in dwelling on it." Ivy told her. "In case you wanted advice from someone who continually fails to take it herself, there it is." She sat back in her chair. "That's where I would like this conversation to end."
"Oh—I—al—,"
"You're still talking."
/
Harleen squealed when the black town car pulled up along the curb outside. "They're here!"
"I'll be right there!" she heard Pam call from the kitchen.
…but Harley was impatient, so she hurried over to the front door, opening it to see Anthony dragging his suitcase up the front walk.
"Well if it isn't my favorite son," she grinned.
"Hey, Ma." He smiled, stepping up onto the porch so that she could pull him into a fierce hug (which she did immediately). "I like your sweater."
Harley separated so that she could give him another look at the embroidered "Pour some gravy on me". "I thought I'd treat myself," she shrugged happily. "So where's your—,"
"—Tony!" Harley was cut off by the sound of Jo's voice echoing through the house behind her. They both waited, listening as Jo bounded down the stairs and sped through the living room, skidding to a stop in her socks in the doorway. "Welcome home!" she grinned. "Your room is exactly how you left it, except for it's now where we store Mom's vast dildo collection." Jo paused for a moment, rolling her head in the direction of the kitchen, an expectant look on her face.
And, here we go…Harley sighed.
"I'm choosing not to engage!" Pam's voice called back.
Jo snorted, returning her attention to the task at hand. "Anyway…" she got on her tippy-toes to look over Anthony's shoulder. "Is your girlfriend wearing an invisibility cloak?"
"No, I—," Anthony cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "It turns out I don't have a girlfriend as much as a woman I sleep with rather frequently who has no interest in committing to me in any measurable capacity. Which—includes spending Thanksgiving with my family."
Harley's heart sunk as he stared down at his shoes. "Anthony…"
"No, it's fine, really." He assured them. "It's my fault. I—I misinterpreted some things. Doesn't really matter. Can I come inside?"
"Oh," Harley and Jo glanced at each other, realizing they were blocking the doorway, and quickly stepped aside so he could drag his suitcase through.
"Smells good in here," he smiled once he'd set his bag by the stairs.
"Yes, well…your sister finally decided to take a shower," Pam appeared in front of him, wiping her hands on a towel before slinging it over her shoulder and moving in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How was your flight?"
"Oh, it was fine," he told her, a noticeable degree of depression in his tone. "A little turbulence, but I got a free first class upgrade and the flight attendant's phone number," he pulled a napkin out of his pocket. "So…it is what it is."
Jo snatched it away from him. "This says 'Keith'." She pointed out.
Anthony shrugged. "I'm a physically fit, well-dressed man traveling home alone for Thanksgiving. I'd say his assumption was fair."
"Yeah, alright, well…" Jo folded up the napkin and handed it back to him. "If you decide to experiment, you're a top. Don't let anybody tell you different."
He took one look at his sister before turning to his parents. "I am so sorry I left you guys alone with her."
Jo looked offended. "How dare you. I have cancer."
"Well that doesn't seem to be stopping you from running around in that Batgirl suit, now does it?" he posed the question with an arch in his brow. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't demand to be called 'Batbitch'. Batgirl is so…basic."
Jo's jaw dropped open, and she turned swiftly to Harley. "Ma…"
"No." Harley and Pam said simultaneously. "Absolutely not."
/
Karen stood in the middle of the grocery aisle by the floral display, mumbling "this is so fucking stupid" to herself as she waited for an attendant.
"Excuse me?" she flagged down a woman in a red vest. "Hi."
"Yes, Miss." The woman smiled a little too broadly given the fact that she was working on Thanksgiving. "How can I help you?"
"I'm, um, I'm looking for a pot. Well, a potted plant, I should say." She amended. "It's—I'm sorry, this is so stupid. See, my b—my—ugh," she groaned. You can do it! "My boyfriend likes flowers, but it depresses him when he has to throw them away, so…I need a potted one. One that won't, uh, die." Honestly, Karen, you're a doctor.
"Right…" the woman was regarding her a bit strangely, "Well…all of our potted plants are over here," she led her approximately 3 feet to the right and pointed.
I'm an idiot. "Thank you," Karen said quickly, picking over the display.
"You're welcome," the woman smiled. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Karen patted her hair uncomfortably, trying conceive of the best way to phrase this. "What would you bring to a Thanksgiving you were invited to, but then you sort of ripped up the invitation and set it on fire, and then decided to come anyway because you're trying to re-learn how to love yourself separate of some joint identity? And you'll also be meeting your sort-of-boyfriend's, sort-of-student's family for the first time and they're—for some reason—bizarrely aristocratic lesbians and their daughter is one of the most famous gymnasts in the world who was recently diagnosed with leukemia." she took a deep (necessary breath). "What do you bring to that?"
"Uhh—cheese?"
Armed with—sigh—cheese (a wheel of brie, to be specific), Karen had her cab drop her off in front of what she hoped was the correct address.
The house was large, but not gratuitously so. It had a sort of Stepford aesthetic with its bright white paint and well-manicured lawn, but it was still charming. Its gardens and slightly overgrown ivy plant climbing up to the second story gave it personality.
It felt…safe, and Karen took a more relaxed breath when she stepped up onto the porch.
You're 32 years old with a PhD, there's absolutely no reason to be intimidated.
She set the flowers down at her feet and knocked a confident three times before picking them up again, placing them on her hip and gripping the cheese tighter.
…there was no answer.
Deflating, Karen began to panic slightly. What if this wasn't his house? What if she had the wrong address? What if they'd already left because they were having dinner somewhere else? Or—oh, maybe I should have rung the doorbell.
She tried that, and sure enough, a few moments later footsteps could be heard moving closer to the door. And then, when the door opened, all the doubt Karen had about whether this was Anthony's house washed away as there was a pretty redhead now standing in the doorway.
OK, not pretty, this woman was straight-up gorgeous, and she looked a whole hell of a lot like Anthony. An older sister, maybe? He hadn't told her about any other siblings beside Jolene, but younger siblings tended to be easier to discuss. This woman looked about Karen's age, a little younger maybe, and she wore thick-rimmed glasses that magnified her striking green eyes. So…at least she and Anthony differed in that regard. The eye color, not the glasses. He definitely had a pair of those.
"No," the woman said immediately. "No, you'll have to find someone else."
Karen's stomach turned. He must have told them… "I'm sorry, I'm—,"
The redhead laughed. "Is that Diana's feeble attempt at bribery?"
"Who?" Karen asked, confused.
She nodded towards the plant, an eyebrow raised.
"No, these are for—,"
"Look, I'm sorry that you had to come all the way down here," the woman did sound genuinely apologetic. "But I'm sure you can find someone without a family to cover for today. I made it abundantly clear that I wasn't available."
"I don't—I'm not sure—," what the hell is she talking about? Oh God, maybe this isn't the right house after all!
But then Karen heard more footsteps approaching and a second female voice say: "Babe, stop bullying the Mormons." before a blonde woman slid into view, looping her arm around the redhead's waist.
This woman was older. 50, maybe. 55, with a broad, happy smile and sparkling blue eyes that quickly lit up with realization. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "You came!"
OK, so this was the right house, and both of these women looked awfully familiar, and not just because of their obvious resemblance to Anthony. The blonde was—umm—she was Poison Ivy's psychiatrist! And the redhead was—oh, fuck.
"This is Karen," Dr. Quinzel was explaining to…was explaining to Poison Ivy. "Anthony's friend."
"No," Ivy disagreed. "This is Bumblebee, and Diana sent her to try to convince me to cover a shift today."
"N—No," Karen found her voice, although it was shaky. "I'm b—I'm both." Her eyes fell to the arm Dr. Quinzel still had wrapped around Ivy's waist, and their relaxed body language and their matching wedding bands and—Yeah, I didn't sign up for this.
Karen started to slowly back away, and Ivy's reaction was to roll her eyes before a vine shot out of her wrist and yanked Karen inside, Dr. Quinzel quickly shutting the door behind them.
"Again, my sincerest apologies, Darling," Ivy said as green pigment began to seep into her complexion. "But I'm afraid we can't let you leave now."
Karen's heart began to beat faster as she took off her glasses, and—yeah, that was Poison Ivy, alright. And of course she was Anthony's Mom. Karen should have known better than to think a guy that perfect could be human.
And…think of the devil. "Karen?" Anthony asked from the foot of the stairs. Although this was a slightly different Anthony than the one she'd grown accustomed to. For one, it was 2pm and he was still wearing pajama pants, his hair was disheveled and his cotton t-shirt said "Feed me, Seymour". The Anthony she knew was fully dressed, with his breakfast in one hand and his coffee in the other by the time the sun was up, his hair styled and…for the life of her, she couldn't recall him ever having worn (or owned, even) a t-shirt with print on it. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm—," Karen was having an exceedingly difficult time getting her words out in full, fluid sentences. "I had a speech I was going to—I brought these flowers, and—you're a plant, aren't you?"
"What? No, I'm not a—," then he noticed Ivy down below him. "Oh, goddamn it, Mom! What are you trying to do?"
"We already know each other!" Ivy exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "She's my colleague!"
"Wait," a third female voice said from the top of the stairs, drawing everyone's attention. "You mean Anthony's screwing a superhero?" That was Jolene. Karen recognized her from—well, lots of places—but mainly from that Gatorade ad youtube wouldn't let her skip. "Which one?"
"Bumblebee," Ivy told her.
The girl's brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before a wide smile stretched her lips and she disappeared from sight, yelling: "this is too perfect!" over her shoulder.
"Wait, what do you mean you're—," but Anthony was cut off when something fell from the landing above them and he had to lunge to catch it.
It was an action figure. Karen's Bumblebee action figure.
Jolene jumped down after it, somehow landing on her feet despite the fairly significant drop. "Alright," she laughed. "So next time you guys wanna make fun of me because Jason jacks off to Mom, just remember that Anthony totally saved up all his allowance to collect his girlfriend."