So @whateverrrrwhatever and I have decided to work our way through a list of prompts over the next however long, which means I'll be writing little unedited ficlets periodically and sometimes sharing them here. This one is for the prompt “Following their family traditions that they enjoy.”
Joyce sits in between Isaac and one of the kids, Freddie, waiting for everyone else to get settled as anticipation buzzes within her.
Mother’s Day dinner with the Underwood family, of which she is a new member, is a production. Everyone comes over to Laura Underwood’s home baring food or presents, and they spend some time visiting before heading to the table.
Laura sits at the head of the table, while Dorrie sits to one side and Kitty and Teddy to the other. Isaac sits at the other head of the table despite being the youngest, Joyce and the kids filling in the rest of the seats.
Joyce isn’t used to things like this. Sure, her parents had guests over on holidays, and obviously her dad sat at the head of the table. But it’s been years now since that happened, and the orphanage she was left in after her parents died didn’t exactly celebrate Mother’s Day. Even before that, her family was always too poor to do anything lavish.
Despite Isaac telling her about the traditions his family has on this day, she’s nervous, fiddling with the napkin in her lap.
“It’ll be alright, Aunt Joyce,” Freddie says, patting her arm and smiling up at her with his little gap-toothed smile. “You’ll get used to it.”
Teasingly, she pinches his cheek. “Aww, thanks, sweetheart. I’m just a little worried I might say somethin’ wrong, that’s all.”
Across the table, Bonnie kicks her little feet in the air and declares, “Ain’t no wrong way to do it, Auntie.”
Before Joyce can respond, Laura finally takes her seat, and everyone around the table hushes up, letting her lead them. For a moment, she looks around the table, eyes almost twinkling—and what a sight that would be, Joyce thinks, knowing what the poor woman has been through the past few years—as she sees her smiling grandchildren. Then she says, “If you kids want a speech outta me, you’ll have to pay up,” and sticks a hand out to Kitty and Teddy, both chuckling at her antics.
“Mama,” Isaac groans through a laugh, shaking his head.
“Anyhow.” She gives a knowing look to the giggling kids, before turning to Joyce. “Come on now, dear, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of. Now, I’ll start.”
The Underwood’s tradition for both Mother’s and Father’s Day are to go around the table and tell a story about whoever the day is celebrating. Laura tells them all about how her Mama could be coarse and cold, but always washed her babies’ faces before meals with the gentlest hands Laura has ever felt. Kitty talks about bedtimes, Teddy about his own mom can paint like Michaelangelo, Dorrie about her favorite parts of raising her two boys, and the kids describe various things that have Dorrie and Kitty beaming.
When it’s his turn, Isaac tells them about a time when he was a toddler, Laura caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, and instead of getting him in trouble, she just sat and ate with him.
Everyone turns to Joyce, then, including Isaac, who reaches out to take her hand. “Just one little story, Joy. You can do it.”
Clutching his hand, it takes her a moment to find the right tale to tell. “One night,” she begins, “when I was… Lord, I must’ve been five or so. Mama had a nightmare, and my Daddy was sitting up with her, and they were just talking. We all lived in the same room, so Mama shushed Daddy and said, ‘Don’t wake up Mary now,’ and he quieted down. But then—then she looked over to me and met my eyes and winked. She said, ‘I think we should try and sleep again,’ and they lied down, so I tried too. It always felt like our little secret.”
There’s a round of “She sounds lovely”s and “I wish we could’ve met her”s, but all that Joyce really notices is Isaac’s thumb sweeping back and forth, comforting her as she thinks of her lost mother.
After a moment, Laura nods determinedly and says, “Alright, then. Let’s eat!”
