Carol opened the door to the room, and Boris and Burt stepped inside, or as inside as they could, given that most of the rooms square footage was now filled with flowers as far as the eye could see. Boris's eyebrows raised in concern, while Burt immediately started sneezing from allergies.
"These are all for Larry?" Boris asked, "Is Larry in here?" "We'll need a machete to find him," Carol said. "I have accepted my floral fate," Larry said from somewhere in the room. "What's going on here?" Burt asked, "What's with all the flowers?" Carol pushed further into the room, Boris right behind her while Burt stayed at the door to help control his sneezing fits. "A few days ago, one bouquet came, and then they wouldn't stop coming," Carol said as Boris pushed some flowers out of his face as they moved further through the room. "Why?" Boris asked, "He's not a teen heartthrob." "That's what YOU think," Larry said, still not visible. Carol, meanwhile, pushed a small card into Boris's hands. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, looking at the card. "Dear Larry Burkstein, we are so sorry to hear of your passing. Our condolences to your friends and remaining family in this trying time. May your afterlife welcome you with open arms," Boris read, before adding, "friends? He doesn't have friends." "He's also not dead!" Carol shouted. "Not yet, but leave him in this room for a few days and see what happens," Burt said from the door, making Boris smirk. Boris handed the card back to Carol, who slid it back into her pocket as they continued into the room, finally reaching the bed and finding Larry seated on the bed, with nothing surrounding him but flowers. "Why do people think you're dead?" Boris asked. "Like I would know," Larry said, shrugging, "maybe the computer sent out an incorrect e-mail about my demise. I don't know." "I'm surprised you even knew this many people," Carol said, glancing around at the flowers before turning her focus to the folder under her arm, tugging it out and opening it in her hands, adding, "seriously, this is a health hazard." "Only for Burt," Larry said, as Burt sneezed in the background. "Here," Carol said, writing something down and then handing the slip of paper to Larry, who took it and furrowed his brow. "You're giving me a ticket??" he asked, "Can you even DO that?" "I run this place, I can do whatever I want," Carol said, "you have 24 hours to remove these flowers from this room, or your shuffleboard privileges will be revoked." Carol turned, slapped Boris on the arm and he turned with her, and together - with Burt - they exited the room back out into the hall, as Larry shouted, "this is fascism!" behind them. Once the door was closed, Burt, nose still clogged and eyes still watery, excused himself to go in search of some allergy medicine, leaving Carol and Boris to stroll down the hall casually. "You'd think he enjoys being dead," Boris said, "given how he's reacted to the news." "He's taking the news of his death fairly well," Carol said, "better than I would, that's for sure." Boris chuckled and scratched the back of his head, adjusting his hat before asking, "...are you a religious person, Carol?" "Do I seem religious? I'm not saying I'm not spiritual in some sort of way that's as abstract and vague as religion itself, but I'm not whole hog, no. Why?" "A friend of mine is starting a church, and I thought that, you know, maybe you'd be interested in doing their bookkeeping considering you've running the home for a while now, so clearly you know how to manage a business of some kind. He's looking for someone to help with managing the finances of the organization, and frankly, I don't think anyone would question a sweet little old lady." "Sweet? Ew," Carol said, scoffing, before adding, "honestly, it could be good for me to spread my wings a little, and get some more experience under my belt. Then I can pass on whatever knowledge I accrue to whoever takes over the place once I'm gone, whenever the hell that might be." Boris and Carol stopped in the hall and looked at one another. Carol pulled her files and papers to her chest, clutching them like she was hugging a child, as Boris smiled at her. They each backed away, against the wall, as some other seniors walked past them. After they had passed, they reconvened in the center of the hall, still facing eachother. "Anyway," Carol said, "sure, have him call me or come see me. I'm definitely interested." "Well actually, we're having dinner with them tonight, if you want to come," Boris said. "For sure, that sounds like a plan. I don't think I've ever seen your place," Carol said, "I'll bring flowers. Larry's flowers." "Like hell you will," Larry muttered, passing by them, making them laugh. *** Sister Jenn, in her civilian clothes, was standing by the kitchen table, watching Father Krickett help Whittle prepare the table. That being said, what Jenny was really watching was Whittle herself. How gracefully she moved, how long her eyelashes were, how lifting her laugh was. Everytime she laughed, Jenny felt a surge of joy shoot through her heart, and this scared her. Whittle stopped and looked at the table, then looked at Jenny, who smiled at her politely, causing Whittle to smile back. "Does it look okay?" Whittle asked, "We rarely have company." "It looks wonderful," Jenny said, "what are you serving?" "Attitude," Krickett said, making the girls laugh as he blushed and stepped away from the table himself; John was wearing a beige turtleneck and green slacks, and he checked his watch as he sighed and said, "alright, well, I'm going to go pick up some kind of dessert, and then we can get dinner into the oven. We have a few hours." "That sounds like a plan," Whittle said, stepping across the kitchen to the sink and washing her hands down as Krickett headed out the door, leaving Jenny alone with Whittle. Jenny sat at the table and watched Whittle wash her hands. "Do you have OCD?" Jenny asked, and Whittle chuckled. "Yes, I do," Whittle replied, "nothing serious, but enough to be an annoyance at times. But, you know, you learn to live with these things. What gave it away, was it all the handwashing?" "I didn't wanna make assumptions, but, yes," Jenny said, "why are you guys having a fancy dinner?" "You're invited, you can stay, it's not just for us," Whittle said, wiping her hands on a dish towel and adding, "I mean, John is staying, so. Anyway, we just want to give Chrissy a taste of normalcy. She's scared because of an upcoming parent meeting with her school that we have to attend, and we want to make her feel safe and comfortable before then. Make her feel at home, cause this is her home." Jenny smiled, touched at how thoughtful Whittle was. She looked at her perfectly manicured nails and nodded. "I think it's wonderful that you give her a place to feel safe, and loved," Jenny said, "not many children get that, sadly. You're doing a beautiful and compassionate thing." "I guess when you either had shitty parents or, in Boris's case were a shitty parent, it kind of gives you a new perspective on things," Whittle said, laughing and turning back around to the counter, starting to chop potatoes and getting multiple dishes ready for dinner. Jenny stood up and approached the counter slowly, hands behind her back. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked. "You can please keep me company, and maybe help me cut these potatoes," Whittle said, sliding Jenny a knife, which she happily picked up and, pulling a handful of small red potatoes towards her, began to get to work on. Chopping through them, hearing the sound of the knives hit the cutting boards with a gentle thud, Jenny was happy to be here, dwelling in simple domesticity with a beautiful woman. Really, aside from praising the lord, that was all she'd ever wanted anyway. *** "She can ticket us??," Burt said, sitting in the lounge area with Larry; he looked concerned, then added, "jeez, I hope she never finds out about the things I do then, or I'm gonna get a lot of tickets." "Yeah, like what?" Larry asked. "Like putting my false teeth in the dishwasher in the kitchen," Burt replied, making Larry gag, just as Carol entered the lounge with Boris beside her. "Are we talking about punishable offenses?" Carol asked. "Maybe, maybe not," Burt said, shrugging, "guess you'll never know. Sucks to be you." "No, it sucks to be you, actually," Carol replied, handing Burt a ticket and then clenching her fingertips tightly into his shoulder, whispering, "I have cameras set up, Burt, I see eveeeerything. There's nothing in this facility you can get away with. I have eyes everywhere." And with that she let go of him and, with Boris, walked away. Larry and Burt exchanged a look, as Burt rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. "She's scary," Burt said, with Larry nodding in response. Boris and Carol headed down the hall, towards Carol's bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and set her things down on her desk before pulling her closet open. Boris leaned against her desk and just watched as she pulled out a few different dresses and then, heading to her vanity mirror and using bobby pins, began putting up her hair. "So who's going to be at this dinner?" Carol asked. "Whittle, Father Krickett and his nun friend, myself, Chrissy," Boris said, shrugging, "the usual gang, you know? It's mostly to make Chrissy feel comfortable before we deal with a potentially frightening experience regarding a parent/teacher conference, but I figured since John spends so much time with us, then it would be good to invite you too so you two could hash out a deal of some kind." "You call your priest by his first name?" Carol asked, clipping on a pearl necklace an then admiring herself in the vanity, "...what's the deal with you two?" Boris thought about it, chewing his lip. He'd never exactly pursued a relationship with a man, but the thought had, on occasion, crossed his mind. Had he been born in a different time period, had things been different in any kind of way, perhaps he would've, but what he and John Krickett had definitely wasn't what one considered 'normal'. Boris certainly thought of him in a much deeper sense than just a 'friend', but he wasn't sure where he fell specifically in regards to terminology. "He's my priest, simple as that," Boris said. "Boris, people don't have their priests over for dinner on a regular basis," Carol said. "I bet the Pope does." "Well you're not the pope," Carol said, chuckling as she held up a dress against her and turned towards him, asking, "what do you think of this?" "It suits you. It sets off your eyes," Boris said, and Carol smiled. "You know you seem to know far too much about fashion for a heterosexual man of your age," Carol said, turning back to the mirror to admire her choice, and Boris nodded, smirking. If you only knew, he thought. *** "I went to a religious camp one summer," Whittle said, sitting on the counter, smoking a cigarette as Jenny continued to cut potatoes; she exhaled smoke out the window and added, "which is weird, because my folks weren't even remotely religious, but it was right after my grandma died and I think it set my mom off or something. Anyway it was weird, regardless. Not one of my most enjoyable summers." "It's not for everyone, and that's perfectly fine," Jenny said, "sometimes I think about the fact that I'm going to dedicate my life to the lord, and I wonder if it's truly what I should be doing. Would the lord be happier with me fulfilling my own desires instead, while still believing in them, or would they prefer me to solely focus my entirety on them? The second feels selfish. What kind of narcissistic God is that?" Whittle laughed, which made Jenny's heart skip, and she blushed as she continued, still chopping. "Overall, though, it's...it's something that brings me comfort. I won't go shoving it down anyone's throats, because I recognize it's not for everyone. But for me, personally, it brings me a small sense of comfort to believe that every day there is something watching out for me, wanting the best for me. In a world often fraught with people seeking to do harm unto you, it's nice to believe that there's something that only wants the opposite. I know that sounds stupid, maybe, or even childish, but-" "It doesn't, you're fine," Whittle said, "honestly, it makes a lot of sense, and it's not the first time I've heard such a thing. You can't imagine how often I dealt with patients on their deathbeds, and suddenly believing in the concept of an afterlife, simply because the concept of nonexistence was terrifying enough to warrant a conversion of belief. I personally don't find myself drawn to it, but I understand it. Especially in times of need." Jenny stopped cutting and looked down at the cutting board, exhaling. Whittle glanced over, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray on the other side of the sink, away from the food. "You okay?" she asked, scratching her nose. "...yes, I'm fine," Jenny said. Just then the doors opened, and Boris and Carol entered, along with John who they had run into in the hall. Whittle smiled at her little makeshift family, and hopped off the counter to help finish preparing dinner. Whether she was a nurse or not, she just liked taking care of people, she found. *** Later that evening, after dinner was over and a deal between Carol and the church had been struck, she was given a ride home by Boris. When she got to the home, everyone was in bed, and she herself, feeling particularly tired from having to endure social activities, also decided she could use some sleep. She headed to her room, pulling her earrings off as she entered and plopping them on her desk before turning her desk lamp and, in the vanity mirror, screaming at seeing Larry sitting in a recliner, legs crossed. "What are you, a super villain?!" she shouted, "what are you doing in here?!" "...I'm not paying this ticket," Larry said. "Seriously? That's what this is about right now? Larry, come see me tomorrow and-" "No, you don't get it, it's not because it's a ticket, I found that admittedly sort of funny," Larry said, "but I'm not the Larry they were meant for. This is a mistake. I just happen to share the same last name with another Larry who lived in this home. As a result, they were all sent to me by accident. I'm...I'm not gonna get flowers or anything when I'm gone. This is all I have. So I'm going to appreciate it, even as a mistake, and I won't let even a joke ticket take that away from me. Flowers were my wifes favorite things, and I guess getting them delivered to me kind of felt like she was still here, even if only momentarily, and even if only by accident." Carol stood there and listened, nodding. She realized that she'd put so much time and effort into the upkeep of the home, but never those who lived inside it, and she really needed to do better, especially for those she considered close friends, like Larry. Larry shrugged and headed for the door. "I just wanted you to know why I was protective of it," Larry said, "I'll get them out of my room though, and add them to her garden outside." "Larry," Carol said, snapping her fingers and holding out her hand. Larry smiled and plopped the ticket into her palm, which she promptly ripped up and smiled at him before saying, "good night." "Good night, Carol," Larry said. After Larry left, Carol undressed and got into her pajamas, then sat on the bed, where she noticed a tulip sitting on her pillow, and smiled. Maybe Larry was right, she thought. Maybe it was nice to get flowers.
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The last time the Wachowskis had had a family dinner was...god he couldn't even remember. Maybe when Ellen had graduated from college? Who knew. He couldn't pinpoint it. But either way it had been too long, and it seemed like it was a good way to start being a family again, after Ellen's therapy had been going so well. Boris had told Lorraine he'd pick her up, and pick her up he did. He was wearing a nice plaid button down shirt and black slacks, and Lorraine was wearing a lovely flowing dark blue dress, and had even gone to the effort of doing her hair. As she pulled open the passenger door to Polly's Gremlin, Boris couldn't help but smile at her.
"You look just as beautiful as you did when I first courted you," he said. "God, you're such a romantic schmuck," Lorraine replied, chuckling, "but I appreciate it," she added as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Boris then pulled the car away from the curb and headed towards the hospice center Ellen had been staying in for a while during her recovery. When they arrived, Ellen, leaning on her cane in front of the hospice, waved at them as they pulled up. She was also wearing a dress, something unusual for her, Boris thought, but happy to see either way. He always thought his daughter looked particularly pretty in dresses. Lorraine got out of the car and opened the backdoor, helping Ellen into the back of the car. Once inside and buckled up, Boris once again pulled away and headed to the restaurant that was holding their reservation. "You look lovely, sweetheart," Lorraine said, smiling back at Ellen. "Thanks mom, so do you," Ellen said before looking at her father and asking, "Where are we going anyway?" "Someplace very very special," Boris said, "someplace you're guaranteed to love." Ellen smiled and leaned into the backseat relaxing. Lorraine slid one of her hands onto Boris's leg and made him blush. For the first time in twenty years, it felt like the Wachowski's were a family again, and they couldn't be any happier. *** Whittle was standing at the stove in the apartment, making something, when she heard the front door open. She waited, then turned to glance over her shoulder, spotting Father Krickett and Sister Jenn entering the apartment. Krickett stopped and looked around, then noticed Whittle. Whittle waved at him as she lugged the oven door open and slid a tray inside with meat wrapped in foil on top of it. "Heyo father," she said, "what's going on?" "Is Boris here?" he asked. "No, he's out tonight with his family, what's going on?" Whittle asked. "I just needed somewhere to store some things until this presentation at the bank tomorrow," Krickett said, "do you think he'd mind if we stored it in his room until tomorrow?" "I don't think he'd care, no, go ahead," Whittle said. Father Krickett took some of what Sister Jenn was holding and headed down the hallway, leaving Sister Jenn there with Whittle, anxious and awkward. Whittle whistled a little tune, then pulled a chair out from the table and Sister Jenn happily took a seat, pulling her habit from her head and letting her long shiny blonde hair free, tossing it a bit. "Would you like something to drink?" Whittle asked. "I'm not a landscaper," Sister Jenn replied, "but sure, if you're insisting." Whittle laughed and headed to the cabinet, grabbing a glass from inside and then filling it with some juice from a pitcher on the counter. She held the glass out to Sister Jenn, who took it from her, their fingers briefly touching, and Sister Jenn blushing as a result. She took the glass and sipped from it as Whittle went back to making dinner for herself and Chrissy. Sister Jenn watched from the table, occasionally casually sipping her juice. "So, um, you're a nurse?" Sister Jenn asked. "Mhm," Whittle said, "though, I have been kind of taking some time off from work to figure out what I wanna do with my life, myself. Broke up with my boyfriend, been on a few dates since then, nothing's really led to much though. Just kind of taking stock of things, you know?" "That's good," Sister Jenn replied, "it's good to look around and note what is and what isn't important to your life. To figure out what you want from it, instead of going through blindly, just...just taking everything at face value, accepting what it seems like others want from you." "Well," Whittle said, turning from cutting some potatoes and leaning on the counter, looking at Sister Jenn, "I think the real issue was that while I know I was doing something good, I wasn't...I wasn't enjoying it. It was hard, like, getting attached to people who were going to die soon. That's why I don't mind rooming with Boris, because one old person is more than enough to alleviate my guilt from abandoning so many others." Sister Jenn cackled and then apologized, but Whittle just laughed and said it was fine. Whittle turned back to the counter and continued her chopping, as Sister Jenn watched. Sister Jenn's eyes wandered, admiring Whittle's outfit. She was dressed in khaki high waisted shorts and a cropped tank top, her hair pulled up to keep it out of her face as she cooked. Sister Jenn could feel her pulse quicken, and she grimaced, hating herself for being ashamed of the way she felt. A moment later, Father Krickett rejoined them, shaking glitter from his hair. "What happened?!" Sister Jenn asked, as he took a seat at the table, causing Whittle to look at him and laugh. "I guess Boris created a glitter trap to deter entrants into his bedroom when he wasn't home," Father Krickett said. "Just be glad it wasn't a bucket of water over the door," Whittle said. "Who is he, Dennis the Menace?!" Father Krickett shouted, "this stuff is never gonna come out!" "Oh, you're fine, you're gay so it works for you," Whittle said, making Sister Jenn and Father Krickett both laugh. After a little bit of chat, Father Krickett and Sister Jenn decided to take their leave. As Krickett headed out, insisting he'd be back in the morning for their things, Sister Jenn handed Whittle the glass back and thanked her for the drink. Whittle went and put the glass in the sink, and then headed down the hallway towards Chrissy's bedroom. As she shut the apartment door, though, Sister Jenn couldn't keep her eyes off the former nurse. Lord help her. *** The restaurant in question was a nice family restaurant called Glass Door (a less appetizing name he couldn't imagine, Boris always joked). It was a little ways away from the city, and usually was the place one went when they were to celebrate something. There was always some kind of party or get together happening, and the place was regularly rented out for events even. Entering tonight, even, Boris immediately saw two twin sisters celebrating a birthday, and as his eyes scanned the interior of the eatery, it was nothing but happy families as far as the eye could see. Their hostess led them to their table and seated them, handed them their menus and then told them a waiter would be with them momentarily. "So...do you remember this place?" Boris asked, sitting next to Lorraine, but across from Ellen, who gently shook her head, chewing on her lip; Boris nodded, adding, "well, that's fine. Maybe you will eventually. In any case, it's somewhere we came often with you when you were younger." "It's very pretty and the atmosphere is very relaxed," Ellen said, glancing away from her menu, around at the decorations and furnishings. "We came here when we got engaged," Lorraine said, "god, this place is old." "You came here when you got engaged?" "Yeah. We didn't get engaged here, but we came here to celebrate the engagement when we did," Boris said, "course, it was a bit different back then. They didn't start doing this 'family' thing until a few years after that, and hell, it seems to have worked for 'em if they're still here. We also brought you here for your 10th birthday. Do you remember that?" Ellen waited a moment, thinking, then - in a surprise to both herself and her folks - nodded. "Really?" Lorraine asked. "Yeah, I...I actually do," Ellen said, shifting in her seat, "I remember it because you guys forgot it was my birthday." Boris and Lorraine exchanged a nervous glance, as their waiter arrived at the table. "What can I get you folks tonight?" he asked, chipper. *** When Whittle opened Chrissy's bedroom door, she was sitting at her vanity, trying to apply eye makeup. Whittle leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling as she watched for a moment before Chrissy noticed her door had opened and turned to see Whittle. Whittle entered the room and sat on the bed, still watching. "It's hard," Whittle said, "it takes extreme hand eye coordination." "I don't really care about other makeup, like some girls I know I know wear full faces, but I DO like eye makeup, it's so pretty and makes your eyes look so nice," Chrissy said, sounding exasperated, "but...it's so hard. My hands won't stop shaking, and it all comes out looking so bad." Whittle knelt down by Chrissy in front of the desk and snapped her fingers. Chrissy turned to face Whittle and handed her the eyeliner. Whittle got to work, doing Chrissy's eye makeup, carefully, cautiously, so as not to mess up. Whittle smiled as she applied, and Chrissy looked confused. "What?" Chrissy asked. "This is just the kind of stuff I never got to do with my mom," Whittle said, "she never taught me how to do makeup or anything, I had to kinda teach myself, so it's fun to do it with you. Girls shouldn't have to learn this stuff alone. Just makes me remember being young." "You're not old," Chrissy said. "Oh, my love," Whittle said, "I appreciate that SO much." Chrissy and Whittle started laughing and Chrissy continued to sit still while Whittle worked her magic. "You know," Whittle said, clearing her throat, "when I was your age, I was asked to a school dance by this boy, and I did my makeup before going, and when I was done, I looked like someone had punched me. Just a big, black circle around my eye. Course, this was elementary school, but still. I looked like an idiot. But practice makes perfect when it comes to this kind of thing, and you only get those days once, so I appreciate even the worst examples I have." Chrissy smiled, nodding to Whittle's story. "...i wish you were my mom," Chrissy suddenly said, causing Whittle to stop and pull back, looking at her seriously. "What?" "I wish you were my mom," Chrissy said, repeating herself quietly, "You're so nice and you like to do things with me, and my mom is always too busy. She and my dad are always fighting, and they...she never has the time to do stuff with me. She made all these promises and then didn't keep them. You're just...much better at being a mom than she ever was." Whittle wanted to cry. She felt so bad for this poor young girl, but also so touched at the same time that someone could think that highly of her. Whittle held back her tears and stroked the side of Chrissy's face. "Well," Whittle said, "for the time being, just think of me that way if you want. If it makes you happy, or feel safe. I don't mind. I'd be more than willing to play pretend mom to such a good kid." Without warning, Chrissy lunged forward and hugged Whittle tightly around the neck, and Whittle, surprised as she was, hugged her back. Sometimes, and this is what most people don't seem to realize, all a child wants is to be heard. To be told that how they feel matters or means something. Raising a kid is not that hard. It's just that, like many other things in life, people often don't wanna put in the effort. *** Boris, Lorraine and Ellen had sat in silence for the majority of dinner after Ellen's statement, each simply eating their meal, their eyes never leaving their plate. Occasionally Boris would say something to Lorraine, or Lorraine would make a general statement to the table, but overall interaction between the three was minimal. After Ellen finished her steak, she sighed and looked up at her parents. "This isn't fun," she said, "I don't wanna keep doing these memory jogs if you guys aren't going to accept bad memories. They're still MY memories. I still need to remember them, regardless of how positive or negative they might be. Yeah, so you guys forgot my birthday, so what. You made up for it." Boris and Lorraine exchanged a look, then looked back at their daughter. "We did?" they asked in unison. "...you...you don't remember?" Ellen asked, "the next day you guys took me out of school, took me to a bookstore and told me to get as much as I wanted. No restrictions at all. And not just books, anything they had. Then you guys took me to a little bakery somewhere downtown, and you guys got me the fanciest cake I could find, and we ate the whole thing right there in the bakery together." "...I...I had forgotten about that," Boris said softly, "fuck, am I really that old?" "I had forgotten about it too, and I'm in MUCH better shape mentally than you, so don't feel bad," Lorraine said, touching his shoulder, making Ellen laugh. "You guys screwed up, like...a lot, to be honest, but the one thing you guys always did that other bad parents didn't do, the thing that separates you, is you always acknowledged it, and made up for it in spades, and not because of guilt, but because you genuinely cared," Ellen said, "...you guys are better parents when I'm an adult than you were when I was a kid, but the effort matters nonetheless. But, if we're gonna keep doing this, you guys need to start being okay with the fact that a lot of these memories are gonna be bad, and that that's okay, cause now we can make new better ones." Boris wanted to hug his daughter so badly. How had she gotten so smart? When had she become so wise? How'd he miss this? He could remember when she was a little girl, asking typical childish questions about things everyone should know but, when you're a kid, you don't, and now here she was, more intelligent and emotionally stable than either of her own folks. "I'm so proud of you," Boris said, "I hope you know that. I was proud of you then, and I'm proud of you now." "We love you, honey," Lorraine said, "and we'll try to do better next time." "That's all I ask," Ellen replied, smiling, "...so...do they have dessert here, or?" Boris chuckled. She was, deep down, still just a kid it seemed. *** Father Krickett pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck as he headed for the door. Sister Jenn was seated at a small desk, doing some paperwork for their bank presentation tomorrow. He stopped and glanced at her, and she smiled back at him as he pulled on his gloves. "You gonna be okay here for tonight by yourself?" Father Krickett asked. "Eh, it'll only be an hour or so, then I can go home," Sister Jenn said, "...father, can I ask you a question? When we first met, when I first approached you about creating this new church, um...you told me if I was having doubts about my commitment to the lord that I should run and never look back. That...that if I thought I could truly be happier with a woman than with God, that I should do that." "I recall, yes," Father Krickett said, "Why?" "I just..." Sister Jenn said, her mind thinking back to Whittle, and her beautiful legs, her soft fingers, that smile, god that smile; she continued, "I just...I'm worried I am not strong enough to resist these urges. That my love for women far outpaces my love for God. Not that I don't love God, but-" "Let me stop you right there," Father Krickett said, "only you can make this decision. It's a deeply personal thing, and you're the only one who can cement in, and anyone else who would give you advice would only be giving you their lived experience as advice, and that isn't something you should take to heart because everyones experiences with their queerness is different. We all took a different road to get to the same destination. You know that, no matter what choice you make, I'll support you. You're my friend. And we can still work on this together even if you leave the church. But you have to choose that, okay?" Sister Jenn nodded, then went back to her paperwork. Father Krickett turned and headed outside. He reached into his coat pocket and sighed. He wanted his fucking rosaries back, and he was beginning to get annoyed with not knowing where they were. How's a man supposed to pray when he doesn't have something to pray on? *** "Long night?" Whittle asked, looking up from the couch as Boris entered the apartment. He pulled his jacket off and hung it up, as Whittle muted the television and then turned on the couch to watch him. "Exhausting, regardless of the length," Boris remarked, "I'd stay up but I gotta go to sleep." "...Boris, about this meeting with Chrissy's school soon...what do we do if they try and give her back to her folks?" Whittle asked, picking at her nails anxiously, "...like...tonight she told me she wished I was her mom, and I just...I don't wanna see her go back to a home where she isn't properly cared for, emotionally." "This is important and we should talk about this, but seriously Regina, in the morning please," Boris said, and Whittle nodded, recognizing he was wiped. Boris headed down the hallway and opened his bedroom door, heading inside. Whittle unmuted the television and after a moment Boris came back out into the living room and looked at her sternly. "What?" she asked. "Why is there an enormous diorama of the Sistine Chapel on my bed?" Boris asked, "I don't have anywhere else to put it and I can't lay down!" "Well, John said he'd be back in the morning for it, so," Whittle said, shrugging. "He's always pushing the lord into my life!" Boris shouted, half annoyed but joking as he headed back to his room, making Whittle laugh to herself. Sure, things weren't normal in their lives, and sure they weren't a real family in the traditional sense of the word, but she wouldn't trade what they had for anything else. Like Chrissy, all Whittle ever wanted was a place where she belonged, with people she belonged with. It had taken a long time to get it, but now that she had it... ...she refused to give it up without a fight. |
About
Golden Years follows the exploits of a bunch of old people in a retirement home as they try to have fun, relax or come to terms with the soon to be end of their lives. Archives
April 2024
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