A/N: Refers to Homecoming, which could be read before or after this chapter
Chapter One: The Pink Bathroom
Tuesday, October 16, 1990
Samantha stood in Angela's bathroom staring at the two blue lines in disbelief.
"Could this be true?" she thought. "What does this mean for the future? Will this family ever be the same again?"
It had already been changing. Things had been uncomfortable at home for nearly half a year now. The tension drove her to look for an out-of-state summer job. New Mexico was amazing, she liked her work, and she had fallen in love. She wanted to stay with Matt and ignore her family drama.
Then the family interrupted her escape from reality. She wasn't at all surprised to see Angela backing up her dad, despite the recent shakeup in their friendship. Whatever was going on between them, those two were her parental units. Unfortunately, she hadn't properly explained this dynamic to Matt, who assumed that the blonde woman accompanying her dad must be his girlfriend, Kathleen. Of course, Mona had invited herself along, and Jonathan couldn't stay in Connecticut alone.
Sam later explained to Matt that Kathleen had barely ever acknowledged her existence. There was no way she was going to fly across the country to take her home. She was probably happy to have her out of the way. But Angela called and wrote frequently and ended up having a full meltdown at the idea of Sam staying in New Mexico. It was obvious that she still cared enough to go overboard, as she had always done for her loved ones.
Upon returning to Connecticut on Labor Day, having missed the deadline to be assigned a dorm room, Sam found her home just as tense as before. She immediately put herself on the residence hall wait list and tried to manage until another Freshman inevitably dropped out for the term.
For a few years, things at home felt really stable. Her dad enjoyed a steady partnership with Angela, especially once he started college. It no longer seemed like he was working for her; it was like they were married. They certainly flirted with each other. Neither of them dated anyone else for long stretches. And after Jamaica, Sam and Jonathan were sure they would soon be siblings, officially. But they continued to live in limbo as the unrelated offspring of two "best friends" who shared a home.
Then the bomb dropped.
Sam was fully aware that her dad had unexpectedly slept with his classmate, even though everyone in the house-maybe everyone in Fairfield, and in Brooklyn, too-knew he was in love with his boss. For some reason, he doubled down on his error in judgment and kept seeing Kathleen. While her dad was out on a date, Mona sat in the kitchen with her and tried to explain cognitive dissonance. Then Angela wandered in muttering something about sunk costs. None of them seemed to be speaking the same language, and even if she had understood, it wouldn't have helped the situation.
Angela had several prospective suitors in succession. Peter didn't seem to spark her interest, and Christopher turned out to be a con artist. Then came Andy, a nice doctor who didn't grasp the reality of his girlfriend's unconventional home life. Surprisingly, she didn't drop him when she learned her "best friend" was back on the market.
Sam took a deep breath and sat down on the closed toilet lid. She stared at the pink flowers on the wallpaper and thought about the first time she was in the room, at the age of twelve. Since then, the space had been a sanctuary of sorts. Of course, she had indulged in baths with Angela's permission, mostly on special occasions or after extreme physical exertion. Other times, she snuck in to "borrow" products or just get some privacy. It was somewhere she could cry without Jonathan hearing, and though her dad did come in to clean, he had never caught her.
She often contemplated the exaggerated femininity of the décor, in contrast to Angela's leadership in business and her role as provider of their household. Of course, the same dichotomy was present in her father, who spent his days learning to be an educator and caring for their family and his off hours throwing back beers in a dingy sports bar or beating the hell out of a speedbag.
Sam touched each of the bottles on the crystal vanity tray, admiring how every lid was affixed and every label was facing out. That was her dad's doing. Angela was kind of a slob, oddly enough, and she found the flaw endearing. Her mother hadn't been perfect either. Sam thought some shrink could have a field day analyzing why she so often thought of Marie while she was in Angela's private quarters. It must go back to that night, the first time she really wished Angela were her mom.