AN: Part II of Supermarket Flowers.
Beca and Chloe pulled into the driveway, arriving at Janice's house within twenty minutes, and the small brunette's jaw clenched when she saw the "For Sale" sign planted firmly in the lawn.
Nevertheless, she knew that this was the best option. There was no way that she could stand being there anymore, let alone owning it and using it while in town. Her family didn't want it either because none of them had any need nor the budget for a second house and there were too many reminders, so the only alternative left was to put it on the market.
Taking a deep breath and blinking rapidly, Beca exited the car with her fiancée and the pair walked up the short stone pathway to the front door and knocked on it.
It only took a few seconds before the door opened and William was standing in front of them in the doorway.
It was just then that the small brunette noticed the white of her father's eyes was still tinged with a bit of red. Chloe's matched and she could only assume that hers did as well.
"Hey girls. Come on in," the man greeted his daughter and her significant other, before moving aside to let them in, "Again, thank you so much for coming to help. I know it's hard, but I really do appreciate it."
The younger pair noticed Sheila gently storing a couple of things from what used to be the living room into a couple boxes, her eyes also misty and slightly bloodshot.
She had looked up at the noise, but had decided to keep a careful distance from her currently fragile step-daughter, instead offering a small wave and a sad smile, which the two Bellas had returned, before continuing her task.
"Of course, Will. Anything for Beca and her family," Chloe replied politely.
Beca, on the other hand, simply nodded once again, not yet trusting her voice as she could already feel her eyes starting to prickle with tears at the strange and somber sensation of being in the building without her mother for the first time since…
William must have noticed because he immediately brought his petite daughter into a hug, which she didn't hesitate to return, and whispered into her ear, "I know, honey, I know. I miss her too.
"Jan would be so proud of you for being strong enough to do this—she was already so proud of you just for being you. You were and will always be the most important person to her. She loved you more than anyone in this world—you were her world."
Beca hadn't even realized that some of her tears had escaped against her will until a sob involuntarily slipped through her lips and she allowed herself to fall further into the hug. She seemed to be needing those a lot lately.
Beca and Chloe rushed into the hospital, exhausted from the flight but anxious to see the former's mother.
The small brunette immediately hurried to the front desk and asked in a rushed tone, "Hi. Hello. Um, I'm looking for my mother, Janice Cooke. I'm—"
"Beca Mitchell, right?" the receptionist interrupted, "I watched your Freedom! '90 performance in France on Youtube. It was absolutely amazing and it even made me emotional, seeing how much all you girls love and support each other. I especially loved you and your girlfriend's beautiful moment together.
"I bought the song the second it came out. I've also listened to your other single and I can't wait for your first album to come out too."
"Heh. Um, thank you so much, but back to the reason why I'm here. Where is—" Beca tried to redirect the conversation, but her fiancée tugged on her jacket lightly and inadvertently cut her off.
"Beca, look! It's your dad," Chloe informed the younger woman, pointing towards said man, who was walking down a hallway with three styrofoam cups in his hands, two of them with hot drink lids on them.
Beca followed the other Bella's viewpoint and immediately sprinted towards her father. "Dad!"
William whirled around, somehow without spilling nor dropping any of the drinks, and felt ten times better at seeing that his daughter had finally arrived.
"Beca, thank god you're here," he said, then gestured towards the receptionist as if to say "They're with me" and began to lead the pair to his ex-wife's room, "It's a brain tumour.
"We'd been talking on the phone about Thanksgiving and then all of a sudden there was a loud thud and she wasn't replying, so I called 911. She had collapsed onto the floor of her kitchen when the paramedics got there and was barely responsive. They found the tumour when she was brought in. Your grandparents are already here and Mike's on his way as we speak."
"Oh my god," Chloe muttered in response to the terrible news, taking two of the drinks from Mr. Mitchell to free up his hands, "Is she gonna be okay?"
William thanked the redhead and answered, "Yes. Yes, of course. She's gonna be okay, girls. They just need to do a surgery to remove the tumour and she'll be healing up in no time."
"Dad, don't you fucking lie to us or diminish the situation!" Beca inadvertently snapped at her father, "It's a fucking brain tumour! This sounds like a really serious operation! It's not gonna be as fucking simple as just cutting her head open, taking the tumour out, and then sewing her fucking skull back together!"
William was silent and unresponsive towards his daughter's sharp tone and harsh words until they stopped in front of a room that the couple assumed was Janice's.
The older man had expected this kind of attitude from the occasionally sassy woman, so he remained calm and patient, knowing that it was just the stress and other negative feelings about the situation that had made Beca give him such attitude. He knew not to take her outburst personally.
When he turned towards his daughter, William was met with misty, navy blue eyes, despite the hard gaze she was trying to hold, and a deep frown, her lips trembling ever so slightly.
Without thinking, William gently pulled Beca into a hug and was a little surprised, regardless of the initial tension in the latter's tiny body that'd quickly disappeared, when she returned it.
"She's gonna be okay, Beca. Your mom's a tough one. She's gonna make it through this and we're gonna be there for her every step of the way," William assured his daughter, silently praying that he wouldn't end up lying, "She's gonna be okay."
Once Beca regained her composure, she stepped away from her father's embrace and looked around the house that she'd been raised in.
Two of William's oldest friends, Matthew and John, had already loaded up the former's pickup truck with the things he'd like to keep, and were on their way to his house already.
Janice's brother, Michael, and a friend of his had done the same for his parents and himself. His things weren't terribly big nor numerous as he could only take so much back to London, England with him onto the plane. It was mostly pictures and other little reminders of his childhood with his younger sister.
It was strange. The place was empty and it felt so barren for the first time in forever and yet at the same time, it still felt so full.
How was that even possible?
It was completely devoid of Beca's mother's physical presence, but traces of her existence lingered in the pastel-coloured walls and the modern-contemporary touches that she'd adored. It no longer screamed Janice Cooke with all of her belongings gone, but there was still a whisper in what remained.
"You can still back out at any time, honey, if it gets to be too…overwhelming," William reminded Beca, who simply nodded distantly.
He exchanged concerned looks with his future daughter-in-law and his own significant other, before they all joined Sheila in packing up the rest of his ex-wife's valued assets.
The older couple stayed on the first floor in the open area where the great room and kitchen used to be, while the younger duo travelled up the staircase towards the second floor.
Beca, as if her body were on autopilot, made her way into her mother's bedroom. She paused for a beat in the doorway, but then continued on, trying desperately to push back the onslaught of tears.
"Becs," Chloe spoke softly, as if talking too loudly would disturb the room itself, "I can do this room if…"
Her offer trailed off at the single shake of her fiancée's head along with a grateful kiss to her cheek.
The redhead only nodded and the two advanced further into the room and began going through the last few remaining possessions of Janice Cooke.
They started with stripping the bed completely.
Janice sighed as she got home from her accounting job, tossing her keys into the little bowl on the end table near the front door and hanging up her purse and jacket.
She then immediately ascended the stairs and made her way towards her bedroom. She reached her destination and pushed the door open. Inside was her eight-year-old daughter, lying in her bed and watching TV.
"Hey there, kiddo," Janice greeted the little girl, placing a couple bags onto the floor next to her bedside table, "How're you feeling?"
Beca looked away from the screen to watch her mother move around her room to find some more comfortable clothes than her business pantsuit.
"Better," she answered in a slightly croaky voice.
Janice stopped and eyed her daughter suspiciously. "You sure about that?"
She then moved over to the small brunette's side of the bed and felt her forehead and cheeks.
"Liar."
"Okay, fine," Beca shyly admitted, looking down at her lap in shame for lying to her mother, "I maybe threw up my lunch today."
"Sweetie, why didn't you call me?" the brown-haired woman exclaimed, going into her walk-in closet to change into some sweatpants and a t-shirt, "I would've come home right away if you needed me, you know that!"
"Because you had to work," the eight-year-old replied with a shrug, "Don't worry. I took care of it."
"Honey, I'm your mom. It's my job to worry about you," Janice sighed as she came back out and climbed into bed with her sick kid, "Did you at least get to the bathroom? Did you eat anything afterwards?"
"Um…" Beca guiltily trailed off.
"Beca," the woman scolded.
"I'm sorry," the little girl told her mother, "I got it all over Red and on your bed, so I had to give him a bath and clean up your sheets and I didn't wanna end up doing it all again 'cause it was a lot of work, so I didn't eat so that I didn't refill my tummy."
It was just then that Janice noticed the stuffed red panda wrapped up in a towel and cuddled up against her daughter's tiny side.
"Well, this is why you aren't feeling any better, love. You didn't stay in bed all day and you've had an empty stomach since lunch," the brown-haired woman stated, "Lucky for you though, I may have stopped at your favourite restaurant on my way home and I may have gotten your favourite."
Beca gasped in excitement and asked, "Taco Bell?"
Janice reached down and revealed the bag with the Taco Bell logo on it and the eight-year-old practically started bouncing on the bed.
"Okay, okay. Calm down there, kiddo. I don't want you getting worse or throwing up again. Red can probably only take so much," the accountant advised her daughter, who obediently settled down but maintained the beaming and excited grin.
"Thank you, Momma!" Beca said, "I love you."
Janice smiled softly at her girl and replied, "I love you too, Beca."
Beca couldn't help but stare at the now bare bed, any and all traces of her mother stripped of it. And they will never return.
"Becs, what do you wanna do with these?" Chloe asked her fiancée, lightly placing a hand on the now folded bed set.
The shorter woman regarded the sheets for a moment in contemplation, then finally decided, "Give them away."
"Yeah?" the redhead asked.
"Yeah," Beca confirmed.
"Okay," Chloe replied, "Will you be okay alone for a couple seconds while I run these downstairs?"
The music producer nodded.
"Okay," the slightly taller Bella repeated.
She picked up the pile and began walking towards the door, only to pause and return to her love's side.
"I love you," Chloe told her fiancée along with a soft kiss to her cheek.
"I love you too," Beca returned, copying the gesture.
The flame-haired singer lovingly ran a gentle hand down the other woman's back, before resuming her leave.
Now left alone, Beca looked around the room.
It was so empty.
There was absolutely nothing anymore that made it look like anyone had ever lived there, let alone someone like her mother who had such a love for a home with a personality.
It was like a punch right to the stomach.
She slowly moved towards the bedside table on her mother's preferred side and ran her hand over the old but solid wood. There was still a small chink on the edge of the tabletop, just over the drawer handle, from when she was six and even tinier than she already was.
Her mom had just bought the piece of furniture and Little Beca had tried to be helpful and bring the table in by herself. The only problem was that she hadn't been able to see where she'd been going and had accidentally walked into the door frame with it.
Luckily, her mother hadn't gotten mad at her.
Although in hindsight, she had been a bit more concerned with her daughter's bleeding lip rather than the little dent in her new bedside table.
Beca allowed a light smile to cross her face at the memory, despite the tears threatening to return once again to her eyes.
She then ran her fingertips delicately over the handle of the drawer. Her fingers wrapped around the metal and she pulled on it, opening the compartment.
The small brunette was surprised when a book fell into view. It must've been leaning against the back of the drawer, so her Uncle Mike must've missed it when he'd cleared the room.
She took the book out and turned it over, placing it onto the table.
It was one of his many family albums.
Her uncle was a photographer, so every year, he'd make her mom an album for family day and she always loved every single one of them.
This one was from when Beca was ten.
She flipped through the pages, letting out a soft laugh at the silly family portraits and smiling fondly at each picture of her mother, until she came across a certain image.
It was a candid picture, but nevertheless a perfect example of her uncle's amazing eye for photography.
The backyard of the Cooke house was buzzing as Janice hosted her annual Fathers' Day BBQ.
Ever since she'd divorced her ex-husband, Beca's father, she'd decided to spend breakfast with her parents and her brother, then throw a dinner barbecue. She'd invite all of her friends, but usually and understandably the ones who came were her brother, her childless friends, and her other single girl-friends, some of whom were also single moms.
All of the adults were conversing with each other and the children were playing on the play structure, some game called "Grounders" or something.
Janice momentarily stepped away from her guests and approached her older brother, who was at the grill, cooking up the burgers and hotdogs and chatting with some people.
"How're we doing, Mike?" she asked as she peered over the grill lid to inspect the meat.
"I believe…we're just about done!" Mike answered, turning over a couple of patties, "You can go ahead and tell everyone to get their plates ready, Jan."
"Perfect! You are much appreciated, Chef Michael," Janice playfully responded as she began to walk away and spread the news.
"Always happy to serve, Ms. Hostess," the photographer replied.
Janice went over to a group to let them know that they could gather their children and start picking out their food, when there was a sudden cry from the direction of the play structure.
It was a voice she could identify in her sleep.
She quickly told her guests to spread the word about dinner, then rushed over towards the group of children.
They were all crowded around one tiny, brown-haired girl with tear-filled, navy blue eyes, collapsed on the grass.
"Okay, kids, dinner's ready! Don't worry, I'm here now. Go find your parents. I'll take care of Beca," Janice told the young ones, who obeyed, letting the adult handle the situation.
The woman immediately crouched down beside her little girl, running a gentle hand over her head and another over her arm, and asked her, "Hey, baby. Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?"
The ten-year-old looked up at her mother, her lip quivering as she tried not to break down. She pulled herself up, sitting down on her heels, and showed her her tiny hands that were muddy and grass-stained, same as her knees.
"I missed the steps and I fell and I didn't catch myself, but I tried to and now my hands and knees hurt and they're dirty and I almost cried in front of the others, but I tried really hard not to, but it hurts so much, Momma!" Beca rambled, tears threatening to escape.
She'd never liked crying in front of other kids. She preferred to look strong instead.
"Okay, let's get you out of the mud first. Are you okay to stand up? Do you need help?" Janice asked, receiving a tiny nod in response, "Okay, up we go."
The woman lifted her daughter up and set her onto one of the play structure steps, then sat herself down beside her little girl.
"Mike! Can you get me a wet towel and some bandages please!" Janice called to her brother, who passed his job over to another adult and nodded, immediately setting off to do as requested.
"It's okay. You're okay, baby. We're gonna get you cleaned and patched up and then we're gonna get you a hotdog," the woman spoke to her daughter to distract her from the pain, "You love hotdogs, don't you, Bec?"
Beca only nodded, still sniffling.
"Especially when Uncle Mike makes them, right?"—another nod—"He makes them perfectly, doesn't he? Just the way you like them," Janice conversed with the young girl.
"And he always helps me reach everything I can't reach myself 'cause he's so tall," the tiny brunette added, "And he always knows how much ketchup to put on. And which chips I like to go with my hotdog."
"And which flavour juice box is your favourite," Mike chimed as he approached his sister and niece with the towel and bandaids, having heard the little girl's side of the conversation.
He then passed over the supplies to Janice and crouched down in front of Beca.
"Looks like you had quite a tumble there, huh, kid? But your mom's gonna fix you up real good there, isn't she?" the photographer said to his young niece, who nodded, "And guess what I'm gonna do while she's doing that?"—Beca shrugged—"I'm gonna go get you your hotdog just the way you like it with your favourite juice box and some extra chips for being such a tough girl.
"How does that sound?"
Beca finally cracked a little smile and nodded.
"What do we say to Uncle Mike?" Janice asked her daughter as she already began cleaning up her knees.
"Thank you, Uncle Mike!" the ten-year-old said.
"You're welcome, Bec," he replied.
"Thanks, Mike," the woman copied her daughter.
"No problem, Jan," her brother replied with a warm smile, "I'll be right back."
Mike left the mother-daughter pair and walked over to the buffet table. He picked up a plate and grabbed a hotdog bun. He set it onto the dish and looked back at his family.
A soft smile appeared on his face as he watched his younger sister clean, bandage, and kiss her daughter's palms as they sat together and talked, Beca already forgetting about her minor injuries.
Out of the corner of his eye, the photographer caught sight of his camera. He put the plate down for a second and grabbed the device. He aimed the lens at the two and pressed down on the capture button.
AN: Thanks for reading.