AN: Time to meet mama Grissom! Again, dialogue in italics is ASL. Thanks to everyone who's still reading, and to those of you who leave reviews – I always love hearing from you!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Chapter 24
Sara lets out a frustrated breath and sits down on the bed, staring at the offensive clothes in the closet.
"Something wrong?"
She looks up to find Catherine in the doorway.
"I have nothing to wear."
Catherine comes into the room to inspect the open closet. "All evidence points to the contrary."
"Fine, I have nothing appropriate to wear," Sara amends. Why did she leave this to the last minute? If she'd thought about it even yesterday, she could have found something nicer. But she's not good at this kind of thing, so she didn't realize she'd want something nice to wear until she was getting changed.
"What's wrong with this?" Catherine asks, holding out two hangers with a pair of dark gray slacks and an off-white blouse.
"That's one of my court outfits," Sara says. "I don't want to look like I'm giving a deposition."
"So dress it down." Catherine hangs the two garments on the door to the closet and goes over to the dresser, where she produces a gray tank top. "A couple of buttons undone, roll up the sleeves a little and… do you actually own any jewelry?"
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm wearing earrings right now." Sara gets up and leans out into the hallway. "Shelby? You need to come get dressed, baby, we have to leave soon."
"I'll take that as a no. I've got just the thing."
Catherine disappears in the direction of her own bedroom as Shelby comes trudging down the hall from the living room. "I want my dress with purple flowers," she announces.
"Sure, that's fine." She finds the dress in the closet and helps Shelby put it on before changing her own clothes. It doesn't look too bad, she has to admit.
"Here," Catherine says, reappearing in the room holding out a long, gold necklace with a heart shaped pendant.
"Are you sure?"
"It's not actual gold, just some costume jewelry," Catherine assures her. "But it'll look nice against the tank top. Trust me."
She accepts the necklace and pulls it over her head, lifting her hair out of the way to let it rest against her skin.
"You're good at this," she tells Catherine with a grateful smile. "Thanks."
"Happy to help. And you need to relax."
"Yeah, that's going to happen," Sara mutters, dotting a little bit of perfume on her wrists before putting her watch on.
"Will you braid my hair, Mommy?" Shelby asks pleadingly.
"Why don't I braid your hair and Mommy can take care of her own?" Catherine suggests, making Sara frown and raise a hand to her head.
"What's wrong with my hair?"
"Nothing's wrong with it, but you know what the Vegas heat can do."
"Only too well. Be right back."
She goes across the hall to the bathroom and gives herself a scrutinizing look in the mirror. Catherine was right – the necklace isn't anything she'd pick herself, but it does look very nice with her outfit, and her earrings are gold, so they kind of match. Her hair's gotten a little frizzy, but she manages to get it to more or less behave with a few strokes of the brush. Opening her toilet bag, she considers the pros and cons of makeup. She rarely uses much, but this is one of those situations that require putting in a little bit of extra effort, right? Part of her figures odds are Betty Grissom has already formed a less than favorable opinion of her before they even meet, so why bother. On the other hand, if she hasn't, it can't hurt to at least try.
She settles for a bit of mascara and some lip gloss, nothing over the top, and when she returns to the bedroom, Catherine is just finishing Shelby's braid off with a bright purple scrunchie. She even did one of those French braid things Sara's never been able to master, and she makes a mental note to ask for a tutorial – Shelby would love it.
"Ready, baby?"
"Yeah!"
At least someone's excited.
As usual, the drive doesn't take long, and soon they're in Grissom's driveway.
"OK, baby, remember," she says, turning around in the seat to look at Shelby. "You need to use your hands to sign."
"Because she can't hear me." Shelby nods. "I know."
"Good. Then let's go."
It feels a little like déjà vu, standing outside Grissom's door, trying to drown out her nerves long enough to actually knock. She can't believe it's only been two weeks since that day – so much has changed in such a short amount of time.
She gets herself together quicker this time, though, reaching out to knock after only a moment – not even long enough for Shelby to start fidgeting at her side. It doesn't take long for the door to open, revealing the man in question, a dish towel slung over one shoulder.
"Hey," he greets them, smiling at Sara before leaning down and lifting Shelby into a hug. "That's a pretty dress, sweetheart."
"And Auntie Cat brai-ded my hair, look," she says, twisting around to show him.
"That's also very pretty."
"Mommy's pretty too," Shelby tells him seriously, and Sara bites back a laugh.
He glances at her, the smile on his face softening. "She is. Come on in, food's almost ready."
Sara pulls the door closed behind them and follows him deeper into the house as Shelby dives into a very detailed story about a dog they met at the park earlier.
There's a woman she assumes is Grissom's mother sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in a neat skirt suit and with carefully curled, gray hair. When they enter the room, she rises to her feet, and despite the smile on her face as she watches her son and granddaughter, Sara can see that there are also a few tears in her eyes.
Grissom puts Shelby down in front of her and tugs gently on her braid. "Can you say hi, sweetheart?"
She obediently signs 'hello', looking up at Betty, whose smile widens as she signs back.
"Hello, sweetheart, it's nice to meet you. What's your name?"
Sara's glad they did a little practicing yesterday as Shelby painstakingly spells out her name and finishes off by asking the same question. When the older woman finishes her own name, Sara says the name out loud and Shelby repeats it. "Betty."
She nods and Sara remembers Grissom saying his mother can read lips. Then she makes another sign that Sara doesn't recognize, holding her left hand up in front of her and making a flowing motion in front of it with her right hand.
"What does that mean?" Sara asks, turning to Grissom at the same time as Shelby looks up at him.
"It's her name sign," he explains, signing to his mother at the same time. "Most people have a sign that they use instead of, or in addition to, spelling out their name, something that's unique or special to them in some way. Mom's sign is for 'art', and the sign she picked for me is for 'insect'." He lifts his hand to touch his nose with his thumb and then brings his index and middle finger down twice, like when you make air quotes.
"And how old were you when she picked that sign for you?" Sara asks amusedly.
"Five or six," he replies.
"Always the bug man," she teases, and he rolls his eyes.
When she turns back to Shelby and Betty, the latter is watching them with a small smile on her face. She signs a few words.
"And you must be Sara," Grissom translates, and she glances at him.
"I almost got that," she says before focusing on Betty. "I am. It's very nice to meet you."
Betty nods and takes a step forward, and before Sara has a chance to react, she finds herself with her arms full of Grissom's mother as the woman gives her a tight hug.
It catches her completely off guard, but she manages to snap out of it quickly enough to return the hug before Betty steps back.
"I should have warned you – she's a hugger," Grissom says, though he sounds less apologetic and more… relieved. He was probably more worried about this meeting than he was letting on.
He moves to the stove to check on the food, and Betty gestures for Sara to join her at the table. She does, helping Shelby onto the chair on her other side.
She's glad that she also looked up a little basic conversational signs yesterday, on top of practicing what she's already gone through with Shelby. She smiles at Betty and carefully asks if she had a nice trip. She can tell that the other woman is trying to be mindful, keep her communication as basic as possible and her movements slow, and she does understand most of what she says.
"Gil says you came down from San Francisco?" she then asks and Sara nods. "Is that where you're from?"
"Close," she replies. "North. Tomales Bay."
"Oh, it's beautiful there." Betty smiles. "And are your parents still there?"
Sara can almost feel the smile slide off her face and doesn't manage an answer before Grissom sets down a pot in the middle of the table and puts a hand on his mother's shoulder, turning her to face him. They sign back and forth quickly – Sara catches a word here and there but doesn't really need that to be able to figure out what they're talking about.
A moment later, Betty turns back to her with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," she signs, and Sara manages a smile.
"It's OK."
Grissom moves so he's behind her chair, squeezing her shoulders gently, his thumbs brushing the skin on the back of her neck. "I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly, leaning down a little. "I didn't think it was my place to tell her about your… past, but I should have told her to not bring it up."
She reaches back to put her hand over one of his. "It's OK, don't worry about it." And she means it. The question caught her off guard – which, maybe it shouldn't have, but she's never claimed to be good with parents – but it was more the surprise than any pain at the memories. She's worked through that, mostly.
Grissom squeezes her shoulders once more before returning to the stove and getting the other pot.
"It smells nice," Sara says as he returns, facing Betty to let her read her lips.
"He is very good in the kitchen," Betty tells her with a smile that looks almost… mischievous. She looks up at Grissom to get some sort of direction, but he's putting food on Shelby's plate. There does seem to be a faint blush on his neck, though, and she files that away for future analysis.
"What are we having?" she asks when he straightens up.
"Fettuccine Alfredo," he tells her, reaching for her plate. "I'm afraid my vegetarian cooking experience is more or less nonexistent, so I figured it was best to go with something I knew how to make."
"It smells wonderful," she assures him, accepting the plate of food.
And it tastes wonderful too.
After the slight hiccup of his mother asking about Sara's parents and her little… he doesn't even know what to call her comment about his cooking skills, matchmaking attempt? – the dinner goes smoothly. There's not too much conversation while they eat, except Shelby who picks up her earlier story about the dog in the park when she's finished her food.
When the plates are empty, he gets coffee started and they move to the living room instead. Shelby immediately finds one of her coloring books and her crayons, and his mother claims the armchair next to where she sits on the floor. Sara takes a seat on the couch, and when the coffee is ready, he joins her, keeping a respectable distance. He still catches his mother's raised eyebrow before she again focuses on Shelby, who's coloring a cat in greens and blues.
His mother reaches out to tap her on the shoulder lightly, and when the little girl looks up, she asks if she likes animals. Shelby's face scrunches up and she looks at Sara. "Mommy, I don't understand."
"She asked if you like animals," he translates.
"Oh." She thinks for a moment. "How do you say 'dog'?"
"You don't have to sign it," he tells her. "If you look at her when you talk, and speak very clearly, she can read your lips."
The confusion on Shelby's face only grows. "You can't read lips, there's no letters."
He can tell that Sara's biting back a smile next to him.
"Not reading like you read a book. If you talk clearly, she can tell what words you're saying by looking at how your lips move," he explains. "Like when I say the letter 'o'. See how my mouth forms the letter?"
"Oh." Shelby turns to look at his mother. "I like dogs and cats," she says, enunciating each word carefully, like when she asks about something she doesn't understand. "And buddyflies, but they're in-sects, not animals."
"Insects are animals, sweetheart," he feels compelled to tell her, and she looks at him with a frown.
"They are?"
"They are. They're not mammals – like dogs or cats or horses – but they're animals. Just like fish, and birds."
"Mam-mals," she repeats carefully.
"Exactly."
She looks up at his mother again. "Do you like animals?"
For the next hour or so, he and Sara mostly watch as Shelby interacts with her grandmother. He steps in to translate here and there, but they're mostly OK on their own, Shelby carefully enunciating each word and his mother keeping her signing basic, resorting to simple motions and pointing when needed.
He knows this is one of those moments he'll remember, one of the good ones, all the people he loves in one place, enjoying each other's company.
It's only when Shelby yawns hugely that he realizes it's getting late.
"We should probably get going before she falls asleep," Sara says reluctantly. "Shelby, baby, why don't you put that away and say goodnight?"
Shelby sighs melodramatically, making him give Sara an amused look, but she does get up and puts her coloring book and crayons back in the drawer. When she comes back, she stops in front of his mother and carefully signs 'goodnight'.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," she signs back, reaching out to touch Shelby's cheek lightly before turning to him. "Can I see her again?"
Sara apparently picks up on what she's asking because she smiles and nods. "Of course. Any time."
His mother reaches out to squeeze Sara's hand at the same time as she signs 'thank you'. Sara squeezes back and smiles at her for a moment before getting up, and he walks her and Shelby to the door.
"You're picking her up tomorrow?" she asks as Shelby puts on her shoes and he nods.
"Want me to drop her off or will you come get her?"
"Either's fine," she says with a shrug.
"I actually need to go into the lab a little early," he remembers. "Paperwork. So why don't I drop her off on the way, probably around seven."
"That works." She hesitates for a moment but then leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. "See you tomorrow."
He stays in the doorway until the car's gone, touching the spot on his cheek. A siren in the distance snaps him out of it, and he closes the door to return to his mother in the living room.
She's sitting where he left her and looks up when he reclaims his seat on the couch, a soft smile on her face.
"Everything go OK?" she asks, and he nods. She watches him intently for a long moment before continuing. "You love her."
"She's my daughter, of course I love her," he replies. "I loved her before I even met her."
She shakes her head. "Not Shelby. Well, not just Shelby."
He gives her a stern look. "Mom. Please don't interfere. I promise I am working on this."
The smile on her face does nothing to assuage his worry.