Sometimes I hate quiet days, y'know? It's not that it's bad, just that my mind tends to run away on me, and start overthinking far too many things. Like Joan, Tina, and Bex. The whole situation between them is confusing for me, as a parent. It's hard to imagine what it's like for them, with no real frame of reference about polyamory, and complex relationships. I really do want to help them, I'm just not sure how. I get the feeling you wouldn't have been much help either—though you likely would've known who to ask, or where to look to get better information.

As I was saying, quiet day. Like, really quiet. No cutting or linishing. No welding. I'm just helping tidy the workshop, really. It's necessary, after all the work we did for Al, and since Christmas, when we started stocking up on consumables again. Finding space for all those things. Racking various bar, tube, and square stock sections of steel. Sizes we're always using. It's just me and Maurice here, and he's in the little site office, working on contract negotiation for something he and Kristoff picked up last week. Audrey's out with Kristoff, and looking for a new welding mask visor after her current one stopped working properly—it's not that old, so maybe an equipment fault?

And there we go, my mind running away again, this time just all the little things around keeping the workshop going, keeping us in business. I want something to actually focus on, and I'm not getting it. Probably not for a few days yet, given the lull. Then I do get a distraction, for a few minutes at least, as an old rock song comes on the radio and I sing along. I laugh as Maurice gives me a thumbs up from the door of the office. The rest of the day is boring, it's almost make-work at this point, but I get it done.

Even the drive home was uneventful. But when we get home I can lose myself in the ritual of cooking. Some nice steaks tonight, because Joan claims she needs extra energy for her first time back at swordfighting this year. She's helping though, preparing the vegetables. She's also talking very animatedly about her, Tina, and Bex wanting to have a sit-down talk where they can figure out where they stand with each other.

"Am I grown up enough to handle that?" The steak falls out of the tongs when she asks me that and I have to scramble for some paper towels to clean up the fat that just got splattered around. "Mom?"

"Just give me a moment to clean this up," I do, then I turn to her, putting the tongs down this time. "I think that's up to you—but if you could be a little more specific?"

"What if… what if I get… left out?" She takes a breath, and I place a hand on her shoulder. "Then what if it's Bex—I think I'd still feel bad about that, even if that meant I 'won'. No; I shouldn't use that word there, should I?"

"No, you shouldn't," I keep my voice neutral, turning away for a moment to flip the steak again. "But I think it's good that you're considering the consequences here, not just for you, but for other people's emotions as well. That's smarter than I was at that age."

"You're not really helping here, mom."

I take a deep breath myself before replying. "Okay then, do you want support, or solutions, or just someone to talk to?"

"Support, I think…" she places the vegetables on her plate. "We want to figure this out ourselves… if… if that's okay with you?"

"Baby, why wouldn't it be?"

"Because I hit Tina when all this started. Because I'm worried maybe I have some anger issues—or maybe I'm a jealous bitch about some things. Or maybe because Tina's mom doesn't seem to trust me—trust us—anymore? Take your pick."

I place a steak on her plate, and give her a hard look. "This isn't ideal dinner conversation, you realize?"

"I know, mom," she sighs, and it sounds almost defeated. It hurts to hear that. "I know."

"Okay then," I grab my pasta side and place it on a plate next to my own steak. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

"Kinda…"

"Do you need to talk about it now?"

She looks down at her plate, then up at me. She glances over to Kristoff. She finally shakes her head. "No, I don't need to right now."

"Do you want to talk about it later then—maybe after swordfighting?"

She nods, tearing into the steak. "If I'm not too tired, okay?"

"Of course."

The rest of the dinner conversation is more subdued, and not really about anything. Kristoff drives her over, and when he gets back I have to ask some questions.

"Is she doing okay, really?"

"She's unsure about lot, with Tina and Bex." He's hugging me from behind. "It's new territory for all of them. I don't think they teach much—or anything—about poly relationships in high school health classes. At least not from what she's told me."

I slip out of the hug, then reach up to kiss him on the cheek. "Aside from that?"

"Nothing really." He shrugs expansively. "She's growing up, trying to find her way. I know sometimes you're having a hard time accepting that, but it's true."

"I just don't want to see her get hurt."

"Everyone gets hurt eventually," he's unusually blunt about it, and he hugs me again. "But she's got loving parents and supportive friends. Not everyone's that lucky."

I really can't argue with that.


Later that night, I'm sitting next to Joan after she's had a shower. We're in the lounge room, on the couch. I feel like Joan is uncomfortably quiet, and that she knows I know it. But I don't want to pressure her, so I just gesture softly for her to start when she's ready. She just shakes her head, looking away. Is it that hard for her to say it? She looks back at me, and I can see a quiet plea on her face. I lean closer to give her a little hug.

"It's hard opening up to me sometimes, isn't it?"

She nods. "I don't know why it feels easier with dad."

"I can't answer that one either." I shrug. "Would you like me to try asking the questions instead?"

"Maybe…?" It's not something we've done often. Not for a long time, in fact. It's the same trick I asked Doctor Spiros to use on me sometimes, and that sometimes I used on Elsa.

"Okay, so, what's worrying you the most right now?"

"I guess… I think… that I got so jealous when Tink told me she kissed Bex that I hit her. Because it makes me worry I might somehow be like him, and that's something I never want to do to anyone. But how do I change that? How can I be better?"

"Well, you're worried about it, and talking to people about, that already makes you like a million times better than he was."

"That's not really helping, mom."

"Sorry baby," I kiss the top of her head. It feels like I don't need to lean very far at all. "I think what we need to do is figure out why you got so jealous and angry. Were you scared of something?"

"Scared?" she looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "But you just said jealous and angry."

"You remember when you and Tina ran away—let me finish—and I was so mad with you. Except it wasn't really being angry. I was scared. Of everything it might mean; of anything that could've happened to you and Tina; of just not knowing. It terrified me, but somehow it made me feel angry instead of afraid. Does that make sense?"

"I… I think so," Joan's frowning, trying to re-think things. I can tell from the way her eyes are slightly unfocused, looking past me. She's putting things back together. "I guess I might have been scared of losing Tink to Bex."

"And do you think that would happen, now?"

"Maybe… I don't know?" I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"And it would hurt, in a way you haven't felt before, and that maybe you don't how to deal with."

She sags back into the couch. "Taking a few lessons from dad in being blunt?"

"We talked a little bit about what was bothering you. He told me I need to let you grow up, and accept it."

"And…?"

"And what?" I give her a questioning look.

"That's really it?"

"It really is. You tell us something in confidence, we're not going to just say it, even if we are married. Unless the consequences of not telling each other is going to really hurt you, or something like that, I mean."

"You still trust me like that?" She's giving me a questioning look now. "After I ran away. Even after I hit Tink. But Tink's mom…"

"Isn't me, and isn't your dad." I sigh, sitting back, and talking with my hands. "You have to remember that Tina is likely the most important thing in the world to her, and you hurt Tina. Now, I know Tina has forgiven you—or is working on it—but it might be harder for her mom. Maybe it's because of Westley, and how he broke her trust—Tina's Mom, I mean—and that means maybe she's having a hard time forgiving you."

"Well… shit." Joan tires to hide her face as she turns bright pink. I just laugh. After everything, it's still her.

"You're growing up, you can use swears sometimes." I wink at her. She grabs a pillow and screams into it. I laugh again. We're all so alike sometimes.

"What about… getting better—I mean being a better person?"

"Well, first of all, you apologised, didn't you?" She nods as I begin to count things off on my fingers. "You're trying to make amends, and repair that broken trust between you and Tina. You're trying to figure out why you did that. You're asking for help with things you don't know how to deal with. I'd say you're doing pretty good so far."

"Thanks mom." She reaches up to hug me tight. I hug her back.

"Did you want to talk about relationships too, like how you're afraid you might be trying to control Tina?"

"I…" the way she leaves it hanging, it's a question, but more like how did I know, rather than why did I ask.

"It's okay to not know things," I give her a smile. "I'm over forty, and there are things I'm still learning. Even about myself."

"I just don't know where to start with this one."

"Then maybe I'll just ask some questions; they might be hard to answer, but that's okay, you can take your time." I hold up a hand. "Why do you think Hans tried to control me so much?"

"Because… because he wanted to make sure you had no one else to support you. No one to believe you."

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

"NO!"

"Okay," I gesture for her to lower the volume. "I knew it wasn't, and I think I knew you knew too. So, is it really about controlling who Tina can see, or interact with?"

"No," she shakes her head. "Plus, I can't really stop her. And if I did, she might just dump me."

"That's some wisdom, at least." I give her a quick hug. "So if it's not about controlling who she sees, why did you do that?"

"Because…" I can see the wheels turning. She's thinking hard about it. "Because I might not be good enough. What if Bex really is better than me? Plus, they go to the same school now, so they get to spend more time together, and I know I was first, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna be the only one. And… and I don't want to be left out."

I sigh, shaking my head softly. "I really don't think Tina is that shallow or petty."

"She's not," Joan agrees quickly. "But why don't I believe it?"

Somehow, in some way, I get the feeling that this might be my fault. Not petty, but being a bit shallow sometimes. Especially with Cass, because that really was just about the sex. Storytelling, and talking about my relationships, and the way Elsa talked about hers. All the problems we had before we found each other. And maybe I've been putting that up on a pedestal as some kind of ideal and now our daughter is afraid she just can't measure up to what we had. Not only that, but trying to navigate a polycule—or what could be one—with no real frame of reference for the honesty and vulnerability involved.

…and she's staring at me, because… yep. I've done it again.

"Does that answer the question?" I ask with a chagrined smile.

"I honestly think I need to sleep on it," she yawns. "It's getting late, and I think I wanna call Tink before I go to sleep. We've got some things to talk about now."

"Then you should go," I point to the staircase over my shoulder with my thumb. "Before it's too late for her too."


Y'know, I really shouldn't have complained about it being slow a week on Tuesday. Because now it's Friday afternoon already, and I have no idea where all the time went. Well, I actually do. Because Maurice has been designing a new piece of plant equipment for Al, and we've been fabricating it. Well, not new new, but a revised design, much improved on what they've currently got. Because one of the old machines finally gave up and Al has decided to replace it with something newer and better. For my part, I suspect what may have been a less-than-accidental run-in with a forklift. But if it gives us decent work, I'm not complaining.

It's also kept my mind off Joan's plan to invite Tina and Bex over this afternoon in order to talk things through. Apparently both she and Tina want me present as a, I guess, a moderator, or support, or something, but not in the same room while they talk. At least not for most of it. I will respect that, but that doesn't mean I won't try to listen in. I think Joan already knows that though. But, it's a mature take, which is a surprise—or maybe not too much, because we've raised her right. So they're going to have a sit-down discussion of some kind, while I'm on hand to, I guess, defuse things if they get heated, or answer odd questions.

Or…

Oh.

Oh no.

My mind flashes back to the night we had Cass staying with us. More than just staying. Well, I've only got myself to blame, because I did say Joan could ask questions. And I feel like she will, because it is the only frame of reference she might have for something like this. I can almost hear you giggling away at this ridiculous situation I've got myself into. I content myself with the knowledge that you would never have been able to handle a talk like this with a straight face. Or without blushing like a tomato while getting incredibly flustered.

Oh, sure, you had confidence about everything in the bedroom, but outside of it?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly in a blur of cutting steel and linishing edges prior to welding. The bigger pieces will arrive on Monday or Tuesday, as we're getting another firm to do the plasma cutting on the heavy plate we need. This is going to be a beast of a build, and I think me and Audrey are going to enjoy welding all the bits together. She even gives me a thumbs-up as we leave. The drive home is uneventful, save for a brief dusting of snow.

At home and Joan's sitting on the couch, texting someone. She looks up when we come in.

"I'm surprised they're not here already." I gesture at her phone.

"I'm trying to plan things better," she smiles at me. "Besides, they're not far away, and you two are a bit early."

I look over at the clock on the far wall. "All of five minutes."

Kristoff's moving past me, towards the kitchen. "Chicken and chips for dinner okay with you snowflake?" Then he gestures for me to follow.

Joan just nods, going back to her phone. I follow Kristoff into the kitchen.

"So, light dinner after today?"

"Easy to prepare, and reheat if we need to. And also prepare more—we've got enough. You have any idea how long they'll stay?"

"Actually, no, I don't." I look towards the freezer, then back towards the door to the lounge. "I'll ask them when they get here, and give them some ground rules if Joan hasn't already."

"Or let Joan handle it. Let her take responsibility for this. She'll ask if she needs our help."

I let out a quiet sigh. "…fine." I lean out through the door, catching Joan's attention. "Tell them the rules, and ask if they want to stay for dinner—if your discussion runs too long, that is. If you want help, or support, we'll be right here in the kitchen."

"Eavesdropping, of course."

"A little. I don't want to judge, but I do want to know."

"I can tell you later," she sticks out her tongue. "But we might need some space where the adults aren't."

"That's why I'm in the kitchen with your dad." She just gives me an exasperated look, then hurries for the door when she hears a knock. I close the kitchen door loudly enough that she can hear it.

Kristoff sits at the table, and I sit down across from him. "I know you can struggle with not knowing these things."

"I'm trying, I am." I still look towards the door. "It's hard. I trust her. I'm giving her space. But I also want to know what's going on, what she's thinking, what she's feeling. It just feels really hard to balance."

"It is," Kristoff takes my hand in his. "We're not always going to get it right, but we'll always keep trying. And so will she."

That's when I realise what he's really telling me. I get it. I don't need to listen in. Joan can handle herself, and knows how to ask for help. Knows how to ask far better than I did at her age. So I just sit, waiting, until Kristoff distracts me with the beginning of dinner prep. I knock on the door just to give them a moment—because I know I'm interrupting. Joan waves when she sees me, points at Tina and Bex, and gives me a thumbs up and a nod.

I close the door, and after a moment hear them talking again. I guess everyone is staying for dinner. Maybe word's getting around about Kristoff's cooking.