So, it's Saturday afternoon, and once again we're finishing a project at Naveen's plant. Pretty normal really, he just replaced an old cluster packer, and now we're putting in some work platforms and modding the conveyors on the outfeed. I'm also running over the machine in my mind, working out how everything comes together. Okay, maybe I'm a little distracted, but right now I'm just waiting the last few minutes before afternoon tea as we shuffle the platform into place and make sure all the access panels can still be opened easily. It's all good, and we break for afternoon tea.
I'm slightly distracted through this break, because I've said Tina is allowed to sleep over again tonight. I mean, I'm still not happy about it, and sure, maybe Joan could go to Tina's—but she still says they're looking for a better place, and I'm not sure how much longer that will hold up—but they'll get together again eventually, and at least this way I have the illusion of some kind of control. I'm at least smart enough to know that I can't really stop either of them, though I'm fairly sure my daughter will always be the bolder one.
Kristoff has noticed that I've been more distracted than normal today. Now that Audrey's left the cafeteria he finally calls me on it.
"Spill."
"It's the sleepover."
"Really?" And he really does seem quite surprised. "What are you so worried about?"
"I…" I hold up a finger, stalling, trying to think about what's bothering me about all of this. I stall some more… "Honestly?"
"Yes, feistypants, honestly."
"I…" I'm still stalling. Why? What's my real problem with all of this? "I don't know."
He gives me a curious look. "Okay. But maybe try and work it out after we pack up, even Audrey noticed."
"That obvious, huh?"
"Oh, what, she's only been around you for eighteen years or so. Pretty sure she's picked a few things up."
"Maybe I should call Cara, ask her what she thinks."
"Cara—oh, right." He gives me a slight frown. "If you think you have to."
I shake my head. I still don't know what it is that's bothering me. I hate how vague it feels, almost like I'm waiting for some kind of disaster. Like… what? I frown, walking slowly back to the cluster packer. It starts hitting me as I round the corner after the pasteuriser. My subconscious has been turning this one around and around all day, because it's something I didn't want to see. My—our—daughter is in love. And lust. And I remember giving a speech about hearts being fragile, and I've been talking about you so much… I am an idiot.
My hand grips the hand rail so tight I might be denting the steel. I let out a deep breath. Another. It's all falling into place. Because it's a high-school romance; because they're young; because I've never seen them fight; because I was there, once; because I suffered so much. I am afraid for her. For my own daughter. Afraid that if she gets hurt as badly as I did, I might not measure up in trying to make things better. I knew full well what I was getting into, but I went there anyway. I don't know what else they might face, but I hope it's never as bad as what we went through.
I still hope they can get all the good though—that made it worth it, despite the pain.
And now, with all this on my mind, I have to get back to work. Yay me.
Turns out, it wasn't that terrible. We even finished on time. But now me and Kristoff are in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Roasting a chicken, in fact. Dinner will be late, but it will be very filling. It's also good for feeding extra mouths. Joan is suspiciously absent, and the lounge room is suspiciously quiet, so I suspiciously peek through the door. I can hear the Simpsons in the background. I open the door a little further—just enough to see the couch. A hand on my shoulder makes me start in surprise, letting the door swing closed.
"You should just trust them."
"I should, I know." I turn around to face my husband. "I wish I knew why I feel like I shouldn't."
"Because at that age you were sneaking out and doing things without telling your parents?"
"Maybe… I don't know."
"Then turn it around, why should I trust them?"
"Because… umm… well, we raised Joan right. She's honest with us, even about embarrassing stuff sometimes. She works hard. She knows how to defend herself."
"Not doing a great job there, feistypants. You could have just said she has integrity, like her mother. She's blunt, like her father. And she thinks things through more completely than her other mother. She's more than smart enough to know what she's doing; and I think you need to respect that she has more emotional maturity than you did at that age."
I take a deep breath, looking away. He's presented me with a very strong, rational argument. Mine is founded in emotion, and unsettled at that. I don't know what to say.
"Look, Anna, I know you have misgivings about tonight, but we both agreed to let them have this. Better here, under the safety of our roof, than the possible alternatives."
"I know," I know I sound plaintive and whiny. I can't help it at this point. "I just…"
He pulls me into a tight embrace, resting his chin against the crown of my head. "Being a parent really doesn't come with an instruction manual—but perhaps you could talk with Maurice a little more often. I hear his daughter is in some kind of relationship these days…"
And just then my stomach gives a long growl. Perhaps I should be focusing on something other than my misgivings about my daughter's nascent relationship. Something like the roast chicken we've left in the pan. A roast chicken that needs some vegetables with it. I give the door a suspicious look, then turn around and head back to the pantry, fishing out some potatoes to start the rest of dinner.
"Do you want me to take your mind off it, later?" Kristoff gestures upstairs. It's an open invitation.
"I'd like that. If we still have some oil for it." If it goes right, I'll be such a hot, wet mess I won't be able to worry about anything.
We stay in the kitchen as dinner cooks, just talking. I know he's keeping me here deliberately, away from Joan and Tina. Unable to pry. It's infuriating and comforting in equal measure. She's my daughter, and I should know what she's up to. She's responsible, and growing up; she needs some independence. If I can't show her I trust her now, how will she know she can trust me later? Kristoff gets up, casually taking my hand so I have to follow. Sort of. I'm veering towards the door. He lets my hand fall.
"Fine. Tell them dinner's ready."
I stand in the doorway. "Joan, Tina; dinner."
They are not in the lounge room. Or the foyer. I can hear something upstairs as I move into the lounge room. People not even trying to be remotely quiet. I make my way up the stairs, but the noise continues. My hand reaches out to open the door, but something holds me back. This is her room, after all, and do I really want to see her doing that? If she even is doing that. I shake my head and knock firmly, twice.
"Dinner?" That's Joan. She sounds a little out of breath. I also hear a muffled squeak, and a crash. "Oh, come on, you can not be as clumsy as mom."
"Still here. You girls okay?"
"Tink could use some dignity if you have any spare."
"Hey!" The door cracks open, Tina peering up at me. Short as it is, her hair is a right mess. "Umm, hi miss Bergman."
I look her up and down. I am tempted—so tempted—to make an inappropriate comment. I know I'm better than that. "I won't even ask."
She blushes, then looks at me weirdly. "Wait… did you think we… oh, wow. Joan was right."
"I told you."
"Hey, I'm right here."
"Go on mom, open the door—" and then Joan puts on her best voice-of-doom "—if you dare!"
And there she is, wearing her armour, brandishing a short sword and buckler, and I'm not sure she's wearing anything under that armour. I give her a pointed look. She laughs at me.
"She asked," Joan points at Tina with her free hand. "So I was just showing off everything I have—and some moves, of course."
"And because it would sound…"
"Well, that too. The shower incident was too embarrassing. And I mean, okay, afterwards I liked that I could talk to you without you getting angry. And you can't tell me you didn't show off for Elsa sometimes."
"Actually, she did a lot of the showing off." I look around the room. Nothing really seems seriously out of place. "Anyway, you can help set the table; and you, miss Belafont, can help my daughter change back into something presentable."
Joan gives me a look.
"Well, at least change back into regular clothes. I don't think you want to splash gravy on that."
"Wait, what are we having again?"
"Roast chicken. You, set the table; you, help her out of that and into something normal. I'll be in the kitchen serving the food."
I leave. I'll let them have this one. But now I have to plot my revenge. Maybe tonight me and Kristoff can provide some 'entertainment'. Through the walls. Am I being unfair? I'm not really sure, this is new territory for me, after all. I crack an evil grin heading down the stairs. I feel like, at some point, they'll be taking showers. I could leave them—or at least Joan—a helpful—and very adult—'gift'. Okay, yeah, that's totally inappropriate. Maybe just a note saying they can ask for anything they might need.
…wait, why am I trying to encourage them?
I still have misgivings, and I still don't really approve. I just know I'm kinda helpless in the face of teenage lust and creativity. Mostly because I remember my own terribly clever plans from that age. More terrible than clever most of the time, but they still worked, and that was the important part. Or maybe my parents just let me think they worked. That's something I wish I could ask them. A whole lot of things, in fact. Damn it. Kristoff was right, I need to talk to other parents—like Maurice; or Cara.
Back in the kitchen, and I'm helping Kristoff plate up, Joan and Tina turn up five minutes later, just as I'm finishing the gravy. Joan is eyeing up the plates, and points Tina to the cutlery drawer. The plates have even portions, but different mixes of vegetables. Joan knows whose is whose. Then it's time for us to sit and eat. It's a lot quieter than the last time all these people were around the table, but more often than not I catch significant looks passing between my daughter and her girlfriend—I actually pause mid-chew when my mind acknowledges that. I look to my husband.
Kristoff is wearing a subtle, knowing smile. He winks at me. Joan doesn't see it, but I can see Tina looking between me and him, trying to figure it out. The confusion on her face is endearing. I really can see why Joan likes her so much. I just wish they'd been a little older before they started this—or maybe that I could be a little more mature about it. My thoughts circle once again to the idea that I should talk to people with similar experiences. I give my husband a dark look. I get the feeling he knew something like this would happen. Then again, he has studied human factors, and he's also read a few books on psychology. He kinda had to, to help deal with me—or help me deal with my problems after Elsa died.
Joan's nervous laughter brings me back to earth, and I can see both her and Tina are blushing. Obviously I missed what was said, but I can always make it worse for them. Better too.
"Look, everyone sitting here knows at least one reason Tina is staying over tonight." Yes, we can all see that blush, girls.
"Mom." Joan is staring daggers at me.
"We know," Kristoff keeps his voice low. "I can't see any problems here, though your mother might disagree. We just want you to know that you're safe in this house, whatever it is you decide to do, and if you need to, you can talk to us."
"Uhh, thanks?" Joan's staring at her father. "And if I didn't think this place was safe, would I still do it here?"
"Maybe," I reply for him. "You'd probably be more inclined to hide it, or lie about it—and make all sorts of interesting excuses"
And for some reason Tina is trying very hard not to laugh.
"You should be backing me up here, Tink."
She giggles some more. "And miss this show?"
"You'll pay for that."
"What, are you going to punish me?" And I have never heard Tina this bold. Or this talkative. I have to hide my own laughter at Joan's exasperated cry. I really shouldn't; but I like this side of Tina, proof she can hold her own if she has to. She knows just how to needle Joan, and I have to wonder if maybe someone's been giving her lessons. Given what I overheard before, maybe this is one of Joan's plans that has spectacularly backfired.
"So, anyone up for dessert?" That's Kristoff, defusing the tension. And just as everyone says yes, Tina leans over to whisper something in Joan's ear, making her blush even harder.
"You really are an evil little pixie."
Tina giggles again. "Plus, it'll be easier if your mom likes me," she winks at Joan then turns to me. "You do like me though, right, miss Bergman?"
"Umm…" okay, now I'm the one who's been put on the spot. My hesitation is speaking volumes I'd rather go unheard. I can see Joan's smile turn into concern, and Tina's bright expression beginning to crumple. I hold up my hands, stalling for time. Always more time. I want to say it right so I don't put them off. Or look like a complete idiot.
"Mom?" The concern in Joan's voice is very real. I rest my hands on the table.
"Tina, I do like you…"
"Mom, why do I sense a 'but' in there?"
"Because I can't get the words right, okay?!" I shouldn't snap. I really shouldn't have. I want to tell them I approve of how much they care for each other, and how supportive they are, and how I don't want to see either of them getting hurt, and so many other things, but I just can't think of any simple way to say it. I look helplessly at Kristoff. He gives me a gentle smile and takes over.
"We both like you, miss Belafont. I think you're a good match for Joan. So does Anna—and while she doesn't completely approve of what you plan on doing, she knows she can't stop you forever either. But we're both Joan's parents, and sometimes we get worried about her. What she's doing, or what she isn't. You probably won't understand what it feels like for a long time, but you should know we always have Joan's best interests at heart."
I can see Tina's consternation. "Wait, what about my best interests?"
"To me, at least, Joan is always going to come before you, miss Belafont. I'm her father, she's my daughter, and you're just her girlfriend."
"Dad, she's a lot more than 'just' my girlfriend." The fire in Joan's voice is powerful.
I look between them all. "We know—I know that—but Joan, Tina, try turning it around. If it was Tina's mom, would you really expect her to put you before Tina?"
They look at each other, shaking their heads. Joan speaks up first. "Okay, we get it now. I believe dessert was mentioned?"
Tina nods enthusiastically.
"Go on then," I point them towards the kitchen. "Joan, show her where the dishes are, and grab the ice cream. Me and Kristoff are gonna clear the table."
Dessert was much quieter, and now I'm sort of dozing on the couch, not really watching anything. The shower's going upstairs, and someone flops on to one of the chairs beside the couch. I don't even look up. It's probably Joan, waiting. I sit up much straighter when I hear Tina's voice.
"Miss Bergman?"
"Tina?"
"Joan was saying the other day that you were going to talk with her about having babies in a relationship—with two girls."
"I was… why?" I have a sneaking suspicion about why you're bringing this up, young lady.
"Well… I just… her scores in health… I don't think…" Tina's voice is just a bit too quiet here. I know what she wants to ask.
"You want to talk with me about having a baby?"
"Yes. I mean, we don't… not right away. Not for a long time… but how will we… 'know'?"
"Know what?"
"When we're ready?"
"You don't know until you're there. Even when I was three months pregnant I didn't know. I felt like it was right, but I didn't know. And why do you want to know now?"
"Because at some point I know me and Joan are going to have a big, long talk about all this baby stuff, and I want to be as prepared as possible. I've already asked my mom about some stuff, but she doesn't know a lot about the whole girl with another girl world of things. You do, though."
"And does she know you ask your girlfriend's mother what might be considered inappropriate questions?"
"I—what?" That look on her face… glorious.
"Sorry," I shake my head, laughing softly. "You're only fifteen. You really don't need to know this stuff for a while yet. There's literally no chance of it happening by accident, after all. For now you and Joan should just enjoy each other's company. And yes, if she gets hurt you'll have to deal with angry parents—but we won't be like your dad."
I hear a little sigh. "I'm not sure if that's reassuring or terrifying. I mean, with dad, I knew exactly what to expect."
"I didn't mean to scare you with that."
"I don't think you did either, it's just—it's weird. And you… you still don't like that me and Joan are 'intimate'?"
"I don't. But I can't really stop you," I look up at the ceiling—which could do with a clean actually—hearing the water still running in the shower. "At least if you're both here I can pretend I'm in control of things."
Tina stays quiet for a while, not really watching the TV—just like me. After some time Joan comes down dressed in just her towel and tells her to get clean. As they're heading back up the stairs Joan gives me a dark and significant look. I know how she feels about my disapproval of this situation, and maybe it's because I've not told her that secretly—deep down—I really am happy for them. I want to see a happy ending, but sometimes the past just likes to rear up and bite me in the ass when I least expect it.
Like right now, suddenly remembering a time Elsa stole me from the couch right after her shower. I can't even remember what we did—except that it wasn't each other. It hurts that I can't remember, but I also know it's a sign of healing, letting go of some of these things. Keeping some of them is good too; for solace in my darkest moments. And much as it might hurt them, I need to talk with both Tina and my daughter about this balancing act. Just in case.
Kristoff will say I'm worrying too much. I probably am. But she's my only daughter—your only daughter—and I want to protect her. But it's so much harder when I want her to see the world too, and everything in it. Damn. I really do need to check in with another parent. Soon.
This one isn't your fault, just for the record. I'm blaming the Reindeer King this time.
