Hi Kittens. Happy new year and here is me cheating on a resolution after what 5 hours? I've resolved that I will post a story here on the kitten every month to 6 weeks in 2011. I reckon I can achieve that without getting in the way of my other writing and to be honest it's about the most fun I have with writing.
So the cheating? Well, I finished this on December 31st and now I get to cheat and post it for part of the 2011 quota
This one isn't so 'LOL' though it has a few moments I think are nice. But it seemed like a story I needed to tell in such a chain with the loose theme of 'processing' and 'getting to know you.' I looked for the funny, but at the end of the day it never felt right to make it that way so here we are.
Also, it grew. Most of this thread has been a few thousand words, this is like 12K or so. Therefore to make sure it posts okay it's split in half for length (and no, my cheating doesn't extend to claiming that as two months worth...)
PS - This marks the last of my 'obvious' ideas. So I need less obvious landmark ideas from you kittens
Season 4 or possibly the vacation between then and S5 would be ideal. Is there something you've always wondered about and wanted to see written? See, honestly, the toughest part of writing T&W for me is just getting that hook. After that, the girls write themselves.
Enjoy.
Katharyn
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POST 1 of 2 for length
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Title:
Processing – A Family Outing
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames just demonstrate you have a tiny mind.
Distribution This story was written for Pens. Pens is its home. No archiving off Different Coloured Pens please and certainly not without asking.
Summary: Tara and Willow face up to one of those moments that you just have to go through.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories. You know the drill.
Rating: It’s a clean one…
Couples: Tara and Willow forever.
Notes: I struggled in this one to find and then keep up the humour. It’s there, but it’s not the main point as it was in some of the others. That said, I like the story and it’s one I think is ‘important’ for a series like this. Just don’t expect so many laugh out loud moments as some of you found in the others.
I was just reviewing the last few chapters of Sidestep and noticed in there a coming out scene that reflects this one in many ways. Since it was written 2 years ago or more and I’d not remembered it, the similar references there must’ve been in my subconscious. Trying to do too much at once. ‘Sparking.’ Weird perhaps, but I like to think of it as my subconscious setting up a link between that alternate world and this one which is very much the T&W we all know and love. Thanks, subconscious!
Thanks To: My folks. Who never made me go through this. But then I was rather… obvious.
Processing – A Family Outing
By
Katharyn Rosser
“Was there something you wanted to say to me?”
“Mom.”
“Y-yes, Willow?”
“I’m gay.”
“Really, sweetie?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much me. Gay, gay, gay. G-A-Y. Gay. Homo-lesbian-dyke type lover… Sorry.”
“I don’t think you want to get into the repetition so much,” Tara said. “And you definitely said that you didn’t want to apologise.” Her breaking character effectively called a halt to the rehearsal.
Somehow the object of all of Willow’s affections managed not to shake her head in disappointment, but even if she had it would’ve looked adorable.
The hair… The eyes… The Tara.
Adorable in a can.
Willow sighed all the same. There was both the image to inspire that and then there was also being able to sense the disappointment Tara had managed not to show. It was a tangible thing. Or maybe those were her own feelings, as Tara never quite managed to do disappointment right. Not in her. So, yeah, she was disappointed with herself, much more than Tara would ever be.
Because the woman to her right was… well, right. It really wasn’t what she’d had in mind at all. Apologising? No. Well, yeah. But no.
“I know it’s not wrong, I mean – hello – it can’t be so wrong if it’s feeling
this right. I wasn’t actually apologising for being gay. I’m definitely past that and what you’re saying is
so true. No, I was apologising for like, well – for putting them in a position where they have to think about it. For being… inconvenient, I guess.”
Tara stayed quiet for another block. “But isn’t that the same thing?”
“No,” Willow said replied as she signalled and made the turn. She’d considered it and come to the conclusion she was on solid ground here. “I think I apologised because – even when it’s you pretending to be my Mom – it’s so unexpected. A surprise.”
“Some p-people like surprises.” It was something Tara had told her more than once, which made her wonder if it was a hint for her birthday or the holidays? Maybe not. Tara wasn’t much of a one for nefarious subplots.
But for right now and
this surprise… “No, love. Some people like surprise parties and gifts and stuff like that. Not many people ‘like’ the unexpected to come along and change everything they were ex – Well, lets leave it at there being a reason they call it ‘unexpected’.”
“I remember you said I was unexpected once,” Tara told her.
It wasn’t exactly needy, but since they were at a stop sign and she could, Willow reached over and took Tara’s hand. Squeezed it gently. “You were definitely unexpected. You were so unexpected I didn’t even know what I wasn’t expecting. I mean, you came from that out of the blue place. I just looked up and there you were.”
“You looked
over. I was the one who looked up,” Tara told her, repeating that move now. Something about this was making her what? Shy? It was a look she’d seen with decreasing frequency in the time she and Tara been together. As they got used to each other’s ways and learned to read each other’s moods, words and actions. As misunderstandings decreased and they knew what to expect from each other.
“But I still had to look as well,” Willow said. “You can’t do eyes meeting across a room – or a circle of would-be-wiccans – unless you’re both looking. But what’s really wrong? Don’t you want me to do this? I mean, I thought you’d be all ‘yay for gay’”
“I…”
“That’s a no,” Willow said. “And we can definitely turn around if you want. It’s not like I was looking forwards to it.” Alongside ‘I’m a witch’ or ‘I’m pregnant’ she couldn’t think of much that was bigger in terms of talking to the family. Sneaking out to watch ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ really didn’t even rate on that scale but was about the most trouble she’d ever gotten into growing up.
“No,” Tara said, absolutely clear and refusing to allow any of that nervous, shy little stutter get in the way. “No way are we turning around. This is the right thing to do.”
That was the thing about Tara, the thing she’d come to expect now and never let her down. This girl of hers had strength that no one could see.
No one else in the world probably knew about it because no one had ever got as close as she was now. Tara Maclay was… It was like peeling an onion. A sweet, non-stinky onion. But just when you thought you’d seen what was there, you discovered the hidden depths to the woman which only increased the admiration, the attraction and the ‘Oh my God I’m the luckiest woman in the world’ feeling.
Whatever happened in life, she knew that she wanted a Tara Maclay alongside her. And, luckily, she was the one who had such a thing. “Then tell me what it is.”
“I just think, maybe, you’re making too much of this. Trying to do too much at once.”
“It’s just efficient,” Willow managed to say, still failing to find any better way of putting it. She’d said those very words more than once already and Tara hadn’t really argued with her, even though she’d been able to tell it wasn’t a position her girl agreed with.
“Th-that’s one way of putting it,” Tara said. “But I’m not sure that
efficiency is really what you need right now. I mean, you’re afraid of surprising your parents with it because it’ll – what – make them have to think about something they hadn’t thought about before?”
“Kind of,” Willow agreed. She signalled and made the turn, not too far away from home now.
No. This was what had
used to be home.
Home was a nebulous, indefinable concept right now. Home had been the Rosenberg house. Then it’d been where her friends were. Then it had been a succession of college dorm rooms, the latest of which was with her best friend except… didn’t it seem that way anymore.
Home, increasingly seemed to be where Tara was. That was what made her feel at home. Home, right now – the place she was comfortable – was here in this car. She could live in her car if Tara was here with her. Except… no room for a bed and a future of snuggles in the backseat?
No. Maybe not the car.
But the point was that home was pretty much in Tara’s arms. Where had she spent most of her free time recently? Tara’s room. Simply as a place, was that really any better than her room? Yeah, fine there was the privacy but really only because of the Tara-like quality to it. Aligning home with another person was something she’d never felt before. She’d never connected it just to being with someone, to that concept.
“What was I saying?” she asked as they pulled up to another stop sign. Now they were back into the neighbourhood, these things were every fifty yards or so. Convenient as a child, but ‘damnably annoying’ – as a certain English librarian might’ve said – when you were driving through here.
“Efficient,” Tara prompted.
“Yeah, I just kind of meant getting your meeting them out of the way as well as the gay thing.”
Yeah, she realised how that sounded even as she said it. Too late… Words out of the mouth and released into the world. Run wild little words, run wild and free.
“I know you didn’t mean that like you said it,” Tara told her.
Some people said that to you and you knew that they were really ‘telling you off.’ That wasn’t Tara. Tara did know. Tara trusted. And Tara never really – or at least very rarely – told her off, not even when she deserved it. And there had been a few times she knew she
had deserved much more than she’d gotten.
“You know me. I never do. But… You’re right, these are big things. Being gay, telling them that. I couldn’t sleep last night, or the night before, thinking about it.”
“I noticed.”
After all, Tara had been there. Been there for the tossing and turning. Been there to distract her and prove one or four more times – if there’d been even a tiny bit of doubt – that gay was what she truly was.
“So did Miss Kitty,” Tara added. “She noticed too.”
Different type of fun, but yeah… Cats napped so she didn’t have to feel guilty about keeping the kitty awake. Miss Kitty didn’t have classes to get to.
“All right, I’m sorry about that – not the sexy times – but the keeping you awake. But, I don’t want to keep going through that. Again, the worry – you can keep up the sexy times as long as we’re both interested. It’d feel wrong too - ”
“I kn-know,” Tara said, before she could get to it. “Not the sexy times.”
“It’d just feel wrong, telling them one thing but holding back another that was just as important and just as big?”
Tara nodded, she could obviously see that.
Willow wasn’t done with her reasoning though. “They have to meet you, because I don’t want to – look, meeting my friends was all screwed up and I’ve told you why, but my family… I want them to know you and I want them to know what you mean to me. If it helps, the last time that Mom and Dad saw any of my friends was when they were set on roasted Willow on an open pyre. So…”
“It’s not just me?”
“It’s not just you. Things are - ”
“C-complicated, I know. But… dropping the G bomb on them and ‘by the way, this is my girlfriend’?” She thought for a moment. “I’d just hate them to think it was
theoretical gayness.”
“Umm.”
“I mean, I’m not telling them that I
think I’m gay. I’m telling them I
am gay. Kind of a biggie when it comes to differences. And you’re the proof. My Dad’s big on scientific methodology, where do you think I get it from? He has lots of books. He respects proof and… well, you were right there when I proved I was gay. You were my proof, can’t that work for them? A little bit of Tara magic?”
Okay, it felt more ridiculous than it probably sounded. Did she really think it was going to be that easy?
It was – she supposed – why she’d been lying awake these last two nights since she’d decided that this was very definitely the time. Because she just didn’t know whether it would be that easy.
Or not.
Okay, Dad was on the conservative side, but not in the political sense. And when it came right down to it, her whole life, he’d just wanted her to get on with what made her happy – so long as that reflected hard work, a sense of personal accomplishment and good moral values. Moral like ‘live a good life’ rather than ‘hate that person for being X’. He’d been the quiet encouragement side of the family unit.
Much like Tara, she supposed. And while the girl she’d fallen for wasn’t exactly ‘hard work’ but there was a definite accomplishment there. And when it came to morals, Tara was like the moral eel. No, that wasn’t a joke she was going to tell. But who could fault Tara over her morals? He should be happy, right?
Mom… Her mom she had no idea about. All her life she’d been hearing about equality, freedom to choose all sorts of things. But also about the grandchildren their only child would one day present them with.
Okay, so the kids thing wasn’t impossible despite the ‘OHMYGODSOMETHINGTHATBIGSISCOMINGOUTOFWHERE’ side of things, which was actually nothing to do with her sexuality and everything to do with OUCH. There was at least one technical solution and gay, straight or something in between maybe she just wouldn’t have wanted kids anyway.
It wasn’t something she’d talked to Tara about either – nor had any intention of raising any year soon - but… Those were the sort of parental expectations she’d be rocking to their foundations because that was the way that parents thought, wasn’t it?
It was all very well having a right-on Mom, albeit one who’d once tried to burn her at the stake, but she couldn’t get past the fact that it might be different for Sheila Rosenberg’s own child. I mean, why break the habit of a lifetime?
“You don’t mind do you?” Willow asked, suddenly uncertain of whether all this hesitancy was Tara’s low key of saying ‘no way in hell, get me out of here!’
“Will, I… I really don’t want to be the girl who turned their daughter gay,” Tara admitted with a sigh. “I don’t want them to hate me for that. Is this the place?”
Willow turned off the engine. “This is the place. Casa Rosenberg. . How could anyone hate you? And, by the way, don’t flatter yourself, honey. You didn’t turn me gay anymore than being dumped by a werewolf did.”
“I didn’t?” Tara was teasing with her feigned disappointment.
“Nah, you were just the girl who got to me first. The proof, perhaps. But the theory had been going around a while. Not for nothing did I occasionally hang out around cheer leading practice. Even when practitioners of the black art weren’t having their wicked way.” Wait. That had sounded bad.
“Uhuh,” Tara was about to lean over and kiss her, but then hesitated and glanced out of the window at the house.
Emboldened by the promise the gesture held, Willow ignored her own hesitancy and did kiss her. “Yeah. You were the proof. The certainty that I was right about myself. Maybe I’d never have gotten there, never accepted it if it wasn’t for you but… I looked in your eyes and… well, it was like someone turned on the light.”
“Th-that sounds like - ”
“No. I was always who I am. But when the light went on, I could see. I could see you. I could see me, reflected in those pretty blue eyes of yours.”
“They were
beautiful eyes last night.”
“Well, now they’re pretty. And that’s just as good. There’s no better or worse in that. It’d be like saying that they reminded me of a glacial lake one day and the blue eyes of an Egyptian sarcophagus the next.”
Tara took a beat to think about that. Sometimes, Willow knew, other people who didn’t have Willow-brain did need that moment.
“Y-you don’t see a hierarchy in those two things?” Tara asked.
“I was struggling to think of something and there was that show on Discovery last night…” Willow shrugged.
“I definitely prefer the glacial lake.”
“So do I,” she admitted. “But actually, they’re not really that colour. So will ‘pretty’ do?”
Tara grinned and nodded, checked the house one more time and stole another kiss from her. Willow found she was a willing accomplice in that too. Sometimes, apparently, crime did pay.
And it even helped her feel a little better.
“Do I really want to do this?” she asked, already with her fingers wrapped around the door handle.
“N-no,” Tara said.
“No?” Umm, what had happened to encouragement girl?
“No, you got the question wrong. You should have asked do
we really want to do this.”
“That
is a critical difference,” Willow said.
She already felt that when she and Tara were together they could do anything. That wasn’t a ‘magic’ thing, though that was part of it. Just that… She couldn’t explain it, even to herself. All she knew was that the hard stuff was easy – or at least easier – when Tara was around. Things were clearer. Everyone else in her life, past and present, had actually made things seem more complex even when it was a good thing.
Tara… Even though she had her own opinions, just like everyone else, Tara made things simpler.
Even this.
“I don’t know why I’m worried,” she said, mostly to herself, as they walked up the drive. Both her parents cars were here, which meant they both were too. The Rosenberg’s weren’t the biggest walkers in the world so it was a good sign.
“Because you’re perfectionist,” Tara said. “Y-you want it all to be just how you think it should be.”
“You, Missy, know me too well.”
“You’re an open book.”
“And I thought it was just my legs that did the open thing around you. And my mouth, I guess.”
The way Tara reacted then; you’d have thought she’d just accused the Pope of stealing from the Vatican coffee fund. Out loud. Stood in St Peter’s itself. She looked horrified. Which had to be something to do with where they were, since she’d made them both blush with worse than that since she’d – well, since she had first opened her legs. “Willow!”
“They’re inside. My Dad only comes out to go to his car and to ride the mower.”
“Even so…”
“Sorry.” Wait. She was about to introduce Tara as her girlfriend. Not a friend who was – very obviously – a girl, but her girlfriend. The one person in the world she was sharing everything with. Body, soul, heart and mind. “No, look…” She paused at the door. Uncertain what to do or say next.
Tara looked at her like she’d made a boo-boo and now was worried about it.
Willow realised that stopping like this had made her disagreement seem overdramatic. So she apologised again. Sometimes she just couldn’t stop doing that. “Sorry, I only – I stopped to think whether I should just use my key or we should knock. The bell is also a viable possibility.”
“Wh-what would you usually do?”
“Let myself in. But…” She’d brought a guest who had redefined ‘home’ and that kind of felt like she’d forsaken the right to waltz on in.
“But I’m here,” Tara said. “Sorry.”
“No, you don’t apologise. This is me. All me. But – that other thing, they’re not stupid. Once I say you’re my girlfriend, they’re going to know we’re having of the sexy times, even if they’re a little fuzzy on the mechanics.”
“M-mechanics?”
“Bad choice of words. The details. There’s never been a mechanic, and never will be. Unless, you know, you wanted to go into that line of work. Or even to just dress up. I could see you in overalls and a wife-beater. Boots. Doesn’t have to be engine oil, you know...”
Tara didn’t mistake what this was. Rather than admonishing her for her filthy mind – or congratulating her for it – this beautiful woman recognised that this was deflection. Hesitancy. Something other than meeting the folks. “We’re here now,” Tara said, putting her back on track.
“We are. We totally are. Here we are.”
She raised her hand, ready to knock. Then thought better of it and went for the bell. Then hesitated again. She
did have the key. And there was something else that probably needed to be said. “I mean, do parents ever like to think about their children having of the sexy times?” Willow forced herself not to apologise again, she’d pretty much overcome the reflex to do that every time she talked – even by implication - about the Mom that Tara didn’t have any more.
“Don’t they?” Tara asked, not even noticing since there was only one of them here who was oversensitive about it. “If they want grandchildren?”
What was this now? Was Tara making the case for this becoming an apology rather than a simple statement and ‘be part of our lives together’?
“No!” Willow replied. She was pretty certain about this one. “Grandchildren is an outcome, I’m pretty much sure that my Dad never wants to know I had sex. Which is kind of reassuring because I don’t want to know that he knows. Mutual ignorance is definitely the new bliss.”
“And your Mom?” Once again Tara put her back on track.
“I don’t want to think about it.” Except she
was thinking about it now and… Oh no, it was bad… She had the horrible feeling that Mom’s advice would be horribly practical. Or would’ve been, if her Mom had a clue about what was happening. As it was… Sheila Rosenberg was an unknown quantity when it came to having a gay daughter.
And this really wasn’t helping with the getting through the door thing.
Which was probably why it was Tara who reached past her and rang the bell. See? Making the complex things simple again and the simple ones easy.
-----------------
First impressions counted. Tara had been told that over and over by most of the people she’d looked up to. ‘They’ said that you had seven or eight seconds to make an impression and then that was what people thought and remembered about you. It was so difficult to change that impression later.
And it was tough to argue with what ‘they’ said because that was precisely how she reacted to people too. Even when she tried to more be open-minded than some other people.
But, for her, it didn’t really help to make that good impression when - quite often - it took you two or three tries to get the really easy word out of your mouth. Like ‘hello.’ Or even her own name.
Eight seconds to make a good impression and she could spend fully a quarter of that time trying to introduce herself. Maybe even half of it.
She recognised that she was shy by nature. She knew that about herself. She was even conscious of some of the reasons for it. Didn’t mean that she found it easy to do anything about though.
How those first few seconds of real awareness had gone with Willow was the exception rather than the rule. She tended to be small, to stay quiet and not to voice an opinion that people might take issue with, Willow hadn’t even noticed her until well into the meeting when their eyes had met. Partly that hesitance came from her stammer. But partly the stammer came from her lack of confidence rather than being a physical thing.
It was a vicious circle and Willow had broken her way into it with a wrecking ball made of green eyes, genuine kindness and hotness on a scale she hadn’t even thought possible.
They were drawn to each other on so many levels. Attraction had been instant, if it hadn’t been they wouldn’t have been here now. First impressions though>? Well she’d… Apart from the whole monster thing, she’d already been on her way to go see Willow that night after the Wicca Group. She’d looked her up in the student directory and was on her way over to Stevenson. Maybe she’d been ready to talk about spells, but – at least in her head – she’d been ready to turn it to… ‘other things.’
Even then. And that was something that Tara Maclay just didn’t do. Anyone who’d noticed her would tell you that. So you had to figure that was a heck of a first impression.
Okay, so those ‘other things’ hadn’t in her wildest dreams included what had actually happened, but just stepping out the door to go find the girl had been a huge step for her.
Danger and stress may have given them a push on past on that laundry room floor but between the desire, the spiritual attraction, the magic and the simple fact that Willow was easily the best friend she’d ever had taken them the rest of the way. It couldn’t be that easy with anyone else.
But now she also recognised that Willow had changed her, a little. She should’ve been terrified of this. Unwilling to speak up, happy for Willow to do all the talking and be the little – unthreatening – girl. ‘Quiet but nice’ would’ve been the impression she wanted to make. If not both then either would’ve done.
Not now though. No, because Willow needed her to be strong. The woman she loved needed her to be an active part of this because Willow wasn’t sure she could do it on her own, let alone for both of them. And… miracle of miracles, she was willing and ready to do that. It’d always been easier for her to pick up the torch for someone else than to do it for herself.
So she reached over and rang the bell when Willow couldn’t.
And she wanted to make the
right first impression.
Dressing the part had seemed important. It was the one thing Willow hadn’t fussed about, but – keeping it to herself – she’d been very careful in her selections. It wasn’t like she’d gone out and bought something to mislead the Rosenberg’s, all this ensemble was from her wardrobe, but the selection wasn’t quite as casual and thrown together as it might appear.
Gone were the boots. She liked them – a lot – but there was a certain stereotype to those Doc Martens and that was something she wanted to avoid. Also, she hadn’t worn jeans or pants. For one thing they were too casual and… No, skirts were the way to go. With a nice, conservative top. One that didn’t make her seem sexual, but not masculine either.
Least ways that was the theory.
Was that a betrayal of who she was? No, she didn’t think so. It wasn’t like she
only wore the boots. Or that she was often wearing pants. Actually, she preferred skirts. So being careful not to give the wrong impression probably made it all okay.
And when the woman who’d clearly given Willow her red hair opened the door, she barely looked at her.
“Mom,” Willow said.
“Willow, you brought a friend?”
“Umm, yeah. This – this is Tara.” They glanced at each other than and she could tell that Willow didn’t have it in her right at that moment to finish off the sentence with ‘she’s my girlfriend.’
And that was fine. They’d talked about this. It was all part of the efficiency and de-stressing thing. Willow wanted to tell both her parents. Together rather than do it twice. And if one of them freaked then at least the other would be there.
Even unfamiliar-paranoid Willow hadn’t asked – openly – what would happen if both her parents freaked.
“Well, come in, come in both of you. It’s nice to meet you, Tara.”
They shook hands gently, which was a little weird but that was likely to be how things were going to be this evening. A little weird. She couldn’t see past ‘a little weird’ as the best case scenario here this evening. Because no matter how they took the news, it wouldn’t be fair to them to expect complete adjustment in an instant.
‘A little weird’ would probably have happened no matter who Willow brought home. It wasn’t about sexuality; it was about parents and their kids. Like back home. She’d never been afraid of telling Daddy she was gay, but introducing him to someone? Anyone? Yikes.
“And you, Mrs Rosenberg.”
“Sheila, please.”
Walking into the house, there were little touches already that suggested where Willow had got some of her taste. As well as the lack of it. But who was she to judge, she could only recognise when something seemed out of place.
“You might have said something, Willow. Luckily we’re having a roast but otherwise we’d not have had anything for the poor girl to eat.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Willow murmured.
Poor girl? She felt like the richest girl in the world right now. She had everything she wanted. Except for a way out of this situation that didn’t just involve fleeing and leaving things unsaid that should be said.
“So, Tara is it?”
“Yes. Ma – Sheila. Tara Maclay.”
“Maclay?” Mrs Rosenberg paused. “Willow, does she know the Maclays out of Shreveport?”
Tara, passed over in favour of Willow answering the question, looked to her girlfriend. Who looked to her, probably wanting an answer. Hoping for one. “No?” she guessed.
Did she know any Maclays out of Shreveport? Not personally but that didn’t mean that there weren’t any. Or that they weren’t related. But it wasn’t an uncommon name and kinda obvious where it could be traced back to.
“No,” Willow repeated and this time Sheila took notice of the denial.
“Oh well, probably better that you don’t.”
And what, exactly did that mean? More to the point what if she’d said ‘yes’? Mrs Rosenberg would probably have found something nice to say about them, or at least not bad. Not leaving it hanging that way. But just what was wrong with the Shreveport Maclays?
Good thing she wasn’t like Willow. That might be the sort of thing you could obsess about if you were so minded.
“And where’ve
you been?” Mrs Rosenberg suddenly asked. Asked her?
“Umm.”
“She means me,” a male voice from behind her said, coming from the kitchen by the looks of things.
“This is my husband,” Mrs Rosenberg said. “Willow’s father.”
Like that part needed to be clarified?
Tara turned around and found herself face to face with a mountain of a man. Mountain enough of a man that you might well find yourself wondering how a mountain of a man like that could be the father of a cute little Willow?
It wasn’t that he was obese or anything, he was just… well built and well fed. The sort of man you could imagine in a checked shirt felling trees with a trusty old axe. And with the beard to match.
Except he was a tax accountant and – to the best of her limited knowledge – hadn’t been near a tree since he’d built Willow a house in one as a child. The place she’d first run away from ‘showing hers’. Tara happened to know the girl was less reluctant now. Neither of which points were suitable conversations for dinner this evening.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t bite. Ira Rosenberg.”
She realised that she had been staring. “Umm. T-Tara Maclay. I’m Willow’s - ”
“Friend,” he completed. “I heard.”
Actually, the word girlfriend had been about to slip from her lips. Not through any real intention, but rather because she was so used to calling her that internally and the size of Willow’s father had so caught her off guard that… yeah, it was good that he’d heard and interrupted her.
No matter what else she could do, she wasn’t the one who was supposed to out Willow. She was just here for the moral support. It would’ve been the first time she’d have said it to anyone else too, and that shouldn’t be an accident.
“Sit down, sit down,” Mrs Rosenberg fussed. “Ira, fetch us some drinks would you?”
“Yes, dear.”
They shared a look, she and Ira at that moment. Somehow she knew that he was very well aware how his wife might come over to other people. She’d seen some of the signs already and Willow had told her enough to fill in many of the blanks.
But she could also see that he loved the woman for all her faults, perhaps because of them. And who could say that they didn’t have any faults? Even Willow’s superhero friend was capable of being a little b-i-t-c-h to her, after all that they’d been through. Yes, you could love someone’s flaws as well as their great attractions.
It was a place she very much hoped she’d find herself with his daughter, once she really started to notice those flaws, once they got past what someone who’d experienced this before would probably call the ‘honeymoon period’. But how did you explain all that to them, Willow’s parents?
Given that she couldn’t come up with a good way to do so, it was a good job she didn’t have. Willow knew them so much better than she ever would. She’d find a way. It might be convoluted and go by way of more babbling than a brook, but Willow would find a way. If things were going badly though, she had some jokes prepared. Humour would always break the ice. Wouldn’t it?
“What would you like, Tara?” he asked.
“W-water would be fine.”
“No need to be nervous, dear,” his wife added.
“N-no, I’m not nervous.” Great, one of the first things out of her mouth to Willow’s parents was basically a lie. “I – I don’t always manage to speak clearly.”
She could almost see that titbit being filed away by Mrs Rosenberg. Perhaps wondering whether Willow had brought her here as a pity case or something?
Internally she chastised herself. This was hard enough without projecting all her own fears into her girlfriend’s parent’s assumptions about her.
“Well, don’t you worry about it. I can talk enough for all of us.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Willow said under her breath. But not under her breath
enough.
“Willow.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“You’ll have to excuse my daughter, Tara,” Sheila instructed rather than asked. “I’m sure you must’ve noticed by now that Willow isn’t always the most tactful person when she thinks she’s not being overheard.”
The bang from the kitchen at that very moment might’ve suggested that someone else had an opinion on that general concept. It might even have suggested what that opinion was. Or it might even have been a coincidence. It seemed best to say nothing as the distraction caused Mrs Rosenberg to shout after her husband. “Ira, do be careful.”
“Yes, dear.”
“So, Willow, how do you and Tara know each other?”
Before either of them thought about replying they had to check with one another. It was something they were going to do a lot today, she could tell.
Checklist time. Willow had said that there was absolutely no way that they should mention – for any reason – the Wicca society. And not because of the stereotypes of what Wiccans might be when they got together – Tara still felt she was missing out on the naked dancing and hot witchy sex despite finding hot Willow sex. No, Willow was more worried about the prospect of her Mom flipping out on the witchy part itself.
Being burned at the stake wouldn’t be the way that she saw this afternoon going. Not at it’s best. And if there was a big pile of wood out in the yard then… well, she didn’t know what she’d do. Fleeing seemed entirely acceptable at that point – given the history – even if it did seem rude outside of that context. ‘I don’t think it’s likely,’ Willow had said. ‘But lets not take any chances.’
“Umm, we met at one of the societies on campus,” Willow explained.
“Oh, thank goodness. I thought perhaps – when you stayed here – that you’d just be hanging out with the same old people you did in High School. Willow could’ve gone to England, you know. Or Harvard. Yale wanted her, but we wouldn’t have stood for
that, would we Ira?”
“No, dear.” Mr Maclay returned with the drinks on a tray.
“My husband went to Harvard, did you know that, Tara?”
Tara shook her head, unsure of what to say. Which was fine, because it didn’t seem she was expected to
say much at all. Nodding in the appropriate place was probably good enough.
Except it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Did you have options, Tara?” Sheila asked.
“Op-options?” She nodded in thanks to Mr Rosenberg as he handed her the water.
“Before you settled on USC Sunnydale?”
Settled? “It has a good course, for me. I – I major in art history.”
Usually people asked her if she wanted to be an artist. Or work in a museum. Not Mrs Rosenberg. “What are you going to do with
that?” It provided a very clear message about what she thought the value of ‘that’ was.
“I’m n-not sure,” Tara said. But when Sheila shook her head dismissively, as if she’d expected nothing more, she felt she just had to go further. This was a woman she wanted to have a good impression of her. Or at least not a bad one. Maybe it was new love talking – in that honeymoon period long may it continue - but she was thinking of a long future here and that meant being involved with Willow’s parents. “But either teaching, or possibly art restoration.”
It caught Sheila unawares, being presented with those two things. “You see, Willow. It is possible to have
plans as well as
options. Life would be simpler if you’d just pick something you want, like Tara.”
Once again her eyes met Willow’s green ones. “Something,” Willow said, “like Tara. I hear what you’re saying.”
Tara had to fight not to smile and ruin it. It was just so… if her Mom had a clue what she was saying…
“Teaching’s noble,” Sheila said, as if weighing the options. “But art restoration… Is there a lot of money in that?”
“If you’re good enough,” Tara told her.
“A niche market,” Ira added, coming to her defence. “There can’t be that many people out there.”
“And hundreds of years of artwork that’s been badly cared for.” It was turning over in Sheila’s mind before, finally, she seemed to decide that she approved. Approval equalled a degree of interest, clearly. “So is it just the ravages of time?”
“Some of that,” Tara told her. “I m-mean some of these paintings are very old. Some would’ve been vandalised.”
“We were watching a show, on art, weren’t we, Ira?” Sheila didn’t wait for her husband to answer. Not even with a grunt or a nod. “About how a few hundred years ago, people were painting over lady bits with fig leaves and the like.”
They’d been doing more than that, but it didn’t seem the time to mention things like breaking penis’ off statues or anything else. It wasn’t the kind of impression she was trying to create.
“And now we go wild if someone goes and shows a nipple before nine,” Willow said.
“Willow,” Sheila said, clearly taking a dim view of it. “That’s hardly appropriate. Then, or now. Now, where were we?”
“Fig leaves,” Tara hardly dared say but surprised herself by managing.
“Would that be what you were doing? Removing those falsifications? Touching up - ”
Willow exploded into coughs right then and Tara had to fight not to go there herself. “Sorry, sorry,” Willow said. “Juice, it went the wrong way. Sneeze too. Sneeze and the wrong way with the juice.”
“Just be more careful,” her Mom said.
“Yes, Mom.” Willow was still struggling, trying to cover up the laughter.
“You’d think we never taught her to do the simple things. Now, where - ”
“Tara might be a teacher instead,” Willow said, obviously not wanting the conversation to go there again. Not trusting herself to cope with the inadvertent innuendo.
“Yes, I heard her the first time, dear.”
“Leave the poor girl alone, Sheila,” Ira said as he took a seat next to his wife.
She and Willow were also sat next to each other but studiously keeping themselves a few inches apart and absolutely not making any inadvertent – or deliberate – physical contact. It felt weird because any time they were this close to each other… Well, there was contact involved. It probably looked weird too, since friends did actually do that touching thing but… Yeah, let Willow manage this in her own time.
“Can you blame me for curiosity about your new friend?”
“Mom!”
“Willow, hush. This is the first friend you’ve brought home in forever.”
“I brought - ”
“Bushy doesn’t count dear.”
This time it was she who had to avoid spurting out her water. Bushy?
Were they talking about the same person? Willow’s room mate? The one they called the Slayer? The Vampire Slayer? Bushy the vampire slayer?
“It’s Buffy, Mom.”
“Well, I knew it was something like that. Something with a B and a Y. Ridiculous name anyway in this day and age.”
Tara supposed that Willow could’ve thrown the whole burning at the stake thing back in her face at that point. An event in which Bushy, make that Buffy, had been involved. But… no. There was some sort of forgetfulness side effect to the spell going on, which was why it’d never been mentioned.
“It’s nice that you’ve met someone… nice. Normal.”
“Yes,” Willow said. “That’s Tara. Very, very nice.”
“And n-normal,” she added. Not wanting that term to be left behind. ‘Nice’ was a horrible thing to say about a person, but here and now there probably wasn’t much that they could say instead. But she
was normal. She
was just like everyone else. Except – along with some other women – she liked girls. This girl in particular.
Willow Rosenberg.
And that was very normal. If still unique since she had the only Willow Rosenberg around.
“You could do with some nice and normal in your life,” Sheila decided.
It wasn’t Willow that Tara was looking at when Mrs Rosenberg said that. By chance she happened to be looking in Mr Rosenberg’s direction. And his expression said… what?
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Continued in post below
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I want to read more, I do... but actually doing it is a toughie! Especially catching up pages and pages and my feedback on the earlier parts being so out of synch with where the thread is then and *BREATHE*... LOL I am back with Willow there.
