![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_cannonball posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsSam and his mother have a tense conversation when the siblings (and plus-ones) come home for Christmas.
TW: CSA mention
He’d been anxious the entire trip to Kentucky, nerves easily getting the better of him. Some of it has been soothed by remembering that he wasn’t going to be in Kentucky alone, his siblings would be joining him, and some of it had been soothed by Clint’s steady presence next to him.
He’d nearly forgotten that Lucinda was home when the door opened, focusing instead on the delighted yells of “Sammy’s home! Sam’s here!” Excited voices adding on Paige and Jay and Mel’s names as more of the siblings became visible behind him.
It would have been easier if Lucinda wasn’t home, but he’d never been so lucky. And with his usual luck, and more than one comment about his cooking at Thanksgiving, he’d been shoved into the kitchen where his mother was standing.
He offered her a strained not-quite smile. “Lucinda. Merry Christmas.”
"Samuel." Lucinda's tone held the exact same level of politeness she gave a Cabot or their closest confidants, with a small, close-lipped smile that didn't reach up to flat eyes. "Did you bring your siblings for the holiday, or did you lot come up to kidnap my children again?" She was furious with her eldest over his Thanksgiving antics. Not that it had allowed the children to enjoy a nicer holiday, but the manner in which he'd done things. Sneaky. Underhanded. Entirely too much like the Cabots, and wasn't livin in town with them enough of a punishment without her eldest leavin to the city and becomin just like them? She wiped her hands on the worn apron around her torso, stopping her work on a pie crust to watch her child.
Wouldn't do to have the crust go wrong because her hands had gotten too hot. It could sit.
"They're adults. They brought themselves." Sam said firmly. "Paige wanted you to meet 'er boyfriend, Jay wanted to spend the holiday with Julia, and Mel and I wanted to spend the holiday with the kids. My Clint came along, he's excited to spend another holiday with the kids, see where I grew up n' all."
"Don't pretend they'd come without yer say-so, Samuel. I ain't stupid, and yer Daddy 'n me ain't raise you to be a lyin fool neither." Her hands stay flat against her apron, though what Lucinda wants is to box his ears for his cheek. Her polite smile doesn't drop until he mentions his boyfriend, the "old guy" she'd heard about from the youngest once they'd finally been returned to her. "Yer older man Clint, the one ain't got no business datin a boy young enough to be his son?"
She'd done some research, and when that hadn't given her much she'd gone to the library, plugged the man's name in, and gotten returns that raised a whole host of concerns, less for her eldest - God knew he'd do whatever he cared to do and blame her for the fallout - and more for Mel n Jay, young and vulnerable to that sort of predator. Paige hadn't even factored into her thoughts. Jay wouldn't have, but he was in a delicate place after Julia, and men her age goin after folk young enough to be their own children? They were excellent at finding the delicate ones and ruinin 'em. She laughs, and it's dry. Bitter. "You got so pissed about that Preacher an Jo, jus' like I was, and now yer bringin yer own child-datin pervert into my home an expectin me to play nice hostess? Ain't happenin. I cain't do nothin about you datin a man like that, but I ain't gotta let no pervert sleep under my roof. I don't care how he charmed ya or whatever sweet promises he made. He. Ain't. Welcome. Here."
"Don't pretend you know yer children well enough to know what they would or wouldn't do without me. They're certainly capable of doin' damn near anythin' they want without my permission and I don't want 'em to ask, they're adults, it ain't my business to be givin' 'em permission like some sort of judgemental parent worried about his own reputation over their happiness." Sam snapped. His eyes darkened when her words turned to Clint. "I'm twenty-seven Lucinda, I ain't no fuckin' child and I ain't been one in some time. I asked him out, he didn't promise me nothin', took things slow, built on our friendship. We got the same interests, mutual friends. And his family's real nice, hosted us for Easter and Thanksgivin' now. He makes me laugh, reminds me that I ain't gotta do everythin' for everybody or be whatever they want me to be all the time. He's good to me- but I ain't expectin' you to understand that or to have us stay here. I went ahead and booked the two of us a hotel room bout halfway twixt here and Aunt Sis' place."
"Lord, I didn't want to know my son was a fool, but clearly the city done addled yer brain." Lucinda clucked her tongue in reprimand. It ain't matter none if Samuel didn't make them get permission, well as they followed him about. He'd make that face and they weren't come, simple as that. She wasn't blind, she knew exactly how her children worked. "An' I bet you just waltzed inta his work?" She eyed him carefully and knew exactly when her words hit. "Mhm. That's what I thought. Tipped real well, didn't he. Send his friends in, tell 'em to tip well, talk him up. Let ya think yer the one choosin, bring ya somethin pretty just 'cause, worm in deeper an all the time ya think it's yer choices, yer decisions til yer in tight enough fer him to show the ugly. Ya think that Preacher just suckered Jo in with a smile? No. They're playin from the same handbook boy, only you ain't got the excuse of not even bein 16 yet to swallow it down like that. Least yer damn sisters ain't messin around with men old enough to be their Daddy. I'm sure he's gon be real good to you right til you give him what he wants."
"Bet you think yer real smart making guesses on shit you don't know about." Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure you 'know the playbook'- but I fuckin' lived it. Jo ain't the only one it happened to Lucinda. You don't know a thing about him, what our relationship is like, or frankly me, so keep yer mouth shut. You think Paige n' Jay didn't give me hell for bein' into an older guy? That I ain't had to examine this relationship to make sure it's good fer me and somethin' that I want? We ain't livin' together, we ain't glued at the hip, and he ain't done a goddamn thing to try an' make me dependent on him. He's good to me. He makes me laugh. He's a goddamn mess who don't mind my own. You wanna be a judgemental bitch, fine. But he ain't done nothin' wrong to a single member of this family."
He shoved his hands in his pockets just for somethin' to do with them that couldn't look threatening, and glared. "He's a good man, and maybe if you'd get off yer judgemental high horse you'd be able to see that and be happy that I'm happy for once. Or maybe yer just pissed that he helped me realize that it ain't fair to me to only be yer child and not yer coparent when it's convenient for you to get me to do what you want."
God love him, but her eldest was exhaustin' now that he was all puffed up from bein' some rich man's arm candy in the city. Lucinda turned back to the pie. Her hands went into a bowl of still-icy water long enough that they were bright red when she patted them dry, cool enough to finish rolling out the dough and spreading it across the bottom of a pie pan. Samuel weren't gonna listen to anythin' she had to say nohow, an' she was damn tired of gettin' spat on for tryin'. "Do what yer gonna do, son. I ain't gonna keep jawin at deaf ears, justa waste o' my time an' energy." A fork pricked carefully across the bottom of the crust as she finished what she was sayin. "Y'all ain't stayin' in the same room on this land, so you wanna go over yonder an' let folks talk ain't my business. Ain't like the littles gotta live here, endurin' all the mess y'all cause jus t'up an' leave agin." Ain't like she gotta live here neither, snide comments and side-eyes wearin her down like the stream wore down the rocks. Lord, she was tired. A bone-deep weariness that threatened to pull her under with every step, and every argument with her children just added weight to the pull. It was like drownin, only she was on the land. Always on the land. Always another foot in front of the other because they needed. Her daddy needed. Her husband. Her babies, one after the other after the next. She tried. She was still tryin. It was never, ever enough.
She finished pricking the bottom of the pie, added the bits of extra to the top to account for shrinkage, then covered it lightly with a clean, faded tea towel. "Get outta my kitchen, Samuel. I got shit ta get done, now I've had extra mouths sprung on me."
TW: CSA mention
He’d been anxious the entire trip to Kentucky, nerves easily getting the better of him. Some of it has been soothed by remembering that he wasn’t going to be in Kentucky alone, his siblings would be joining him, and some of it had been soothed by Clint’s steady presence next to him.
He’d nearly forgotten that Lucinda was home when the door opened, focusing instead on the delighted yells of “Sammy’s home! Sam’s here!” Excited voices adding on Paige and Jay and Mel’s names as more of the siblings became visible behind him.
It would have been easier if Lucinda wasn’t home, but he’d never been so lucky. And with his usual luck, and more than one comment about his cooking at Thanksgiving, he’d been shoved into the kitchen where his mother was standing.
He offered her a strained not-quite smile. “Lucinda. Merry Christmas.”
"Samuel." Lucinda's tone held the exact same level of politeness she gave a Cabot or their closest confidants, with a small, close-lipped smile that didn't reach up to flat eyes. "Did you bring your siblings for the holiday, or did you lot come up to kidnap my children again?" She was furious with her eldest over his Thanksgiving antics. Not that it had allowed the children to enjoy a nicer holiday, but the manner in which he'd done things. Sneaky. Underhanded. Entirely too much like the Cabots, and wasn't livin in town with them enough of a punishment without her eldest leavin to the city and becomin just like them? She wiped her hands on the worn apron around her torso, stopping her work on a pie crust to watch her child.
Wouldn't do to have the crust go wrong because her hands had gotten too hot. It could sit.
"They're adults. They brought themselves." Sam said firmly. "Paige wanted you to meet 'er boyfriend, Jay wanted to spend the holiday with Julia, and Mel and I wanted to spend the holiday with the kids. My Clint came along, he's excited to spend another holiday with the kids, see where I grew up n' all."
"Don't pretend they'd come without yer say-so, Samuel. I ain't stupid, and yer Daddy 'n me ain't raise you to be a lyin fool neither." Her hands stay flat against her apron, though what Lucinda wants is to box his ears for his cheek. Her polite smile doesn't drop until he mentions his boyfriend, the "old guy" she'd heard about from the youngest once they'd finally been returned to her. "Yer older man Clint, the one ain't got no business datin a boy young enough to be his son?"
She'd done some research, and when that hadn't given her much she'd gone to the library, plugged the man's name in, and gotten returns that raised a whole host of concerns, less for her eldest - God knew he'd do whatever he cared to do and blame her for the fallout - and more for Mel n Jay, young and vulnerable to that sort of predator. Paige hadn't even factored into her thoughts. Jay wouldn't have, but he was in a delicate place after Julia, and men her age goin after folk young enough to be their own children? They were excellent at finding the delicate ones and ruinin 'em. She laughs, and it's dry. Bitter. "You got so pissed about that Preacher an Jo, jus' like I was, and now yer bringin yer own child-datin pervert into my home an expectin me to play nice hostess? Ain't happenin. I cain't do nothin about you datin a man like that, but I ain't gotta let no pervert sleep under my roof. I don't care how he charmed ya or whatever sweet promises he made. He. Ain't. Welcome. Here."
"Don't pretend you know yer children well enough to know what they would or wouldn't do without me. They're certainly capable of doin' damn near anythin' they want without my permission and I don't want 'em to ask, they're adults, it ain't my business to be givin' 'em permission like some sort of judgemental parent worried about his own reputation over their happiness." Sam snapped. His eyes darkened when her words turned to Clint. "I'm twenty-seven Lucinda, I ain't no fuckin' child and I ain't been one in some time. I asked him out, he didn't promise me nothin', took things slow, built on our friendship. We got the same interests, mutual friends. And his family's real nice, hosted us for Easter and Thanksgivin' now. He makes me laugh, reminds me that I ain't gotta do everythin' for everybody or be whatever they want me to be all the time. He's good to me- but I ain't expectin' you to understand that or to have us stay here. I went ahead and booked the two of us a hotel room bout halfway twixt here and Aunt Sis' place."
"Lord, I didn't want to know my son was a fool, but clearly the city done addled yer brain." Lucinda clucked her tongue in reprimand. It ain't matter none if Samuel didn't make them get permission, well as they followed him about. He'd make that face and they weren't come, simple as that. She wasn't blind, she knew exactly how her children worked. "An' I bet you just waltzed inta his work?" She eyed him carefully and knew exactly when her words hit. "Mhm. That's what I thought. Tipped real well, didn't he. Send his friends in, tell 'em to tip well, talk him up. Let ya think yer the one choosin, bring ya somethin pretty just 'cause, worm in deeper an all the time ya think it's yer choices, yer decisions til yer in tight enough fer him to show the ugly. Ya think that Preacher just suckered Jo in with a smile? No. They're playin from the same handbook boy, only you ain't got the excuse of not even bein 16 yet to swallow it down like that. Least yer damn sisters ain't messin around with men old enough to be their Daddy. I'm sure he's gon be real good to you right til you give him what he wants."
"Bet you think yer real smart making guesses on shit you don't know about." Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure you 'know the playbook'- but I fuckin' lived it. Jo ain't the only one it happened to Lucinda. You don't know a thing about him, what our relationship is like, or frankly me, so keep yer mouth shut. You think Paige n' Jay didn't give me hell for bein' into an older guy? That I ain't had to examine this relationship to make sure it's good fer me and somethin' that I want? We ain't livin' together, we ain't glued at the hip, and he ain't done a goddamn thing to try an' make me dependent on him. He's good to me. He makes me laugh. He's a goddamn mess who don't mind my own. You wanna be a judgemental bitch, fine. But he ain't done nothin' wrong to a single member of this family."
He shoved his hands in his pockets just for somethin' to do with them that couldn't look threatening, and glared. "He's a good man, and maybe if you'd get off yer judgemental high horse you'd be able to see that and be happy that I'm happy for once. Or maybe yer just pissed that he helped me realize that it ain't fair to me to only be yer child and not yer coparent when it's convenient for you to get me to do what you want."
God love him, but her eldest was exhaustin' now that he was all puffed up from bein' some rich man's arm candy in the city. Lucinda turned back to the pie. Her hands went into a bowl of still-icy water long enough that they were bright red when she patted them dry, cool enough to finish rolling out the dough and spreading it across the bottom of a pie pan. Samuel weren't gonna listen to anythin' she had to say nohow, an' she was damn tired of gettin' spat on for tryin'. "Do what yer gonna do, son. I ain't gonna keep jawin at deaf ears, justa waste o' my time an' energy." A fork pricked carefully across the bottom of the crust as she finished what she was sayin. "Y'all ain't stayin' in the same room on this land, so you wanna go over yonder an' let folks talk ain't my business. Ain't like the littles gotta live here, endurin' all the mess y'all cause jus t'up an' leave agin." Ain't like she gotta live here neither, snide comments and side-eyes wearin her down like the stream wore down the rocks. Lord, she was tired. A bone-deep weariness that threatened to pull her under with every step, and every argument with her children just added weight to the pull. It was like drownin, only she was on the land. Always on the land. Always another foot in front of the other because they needed. Her daddy needed. Her husband. Her babies, one after the other after the next. She tried. She was still tryin. It was never, ever enough.
She finished pricking the bottom of the pie, added the bits of extra to the top to account for shrinkage, then covered it lightly with a clean, faded tea towel. "Get outta my kitchen, Samuel. I got shit ta get done, now I've had extra mouths sprung on me."
