idk sometimes the writing possesses me. decided to write a little more set in that ambiguous modern au soup where i keep throwing all my ocs -- this time about thea finally kinda figuring out how to feel about jasmine, so definitely warnings for mentions of grooming, a high school teacher/student relationship, etc.
It was such a fucking anticlimactic end to everything, after everything. Jasmine came round just like she always did, always had, laughed at how surprised Thea looked, said something sugar-sweet on the front porch, and then the girls got home from school. Rosie had just gotten her drivers’ license the other day, which meant Thea didn’t have to drive round and pick them up anymore—they were all so excited about that, about Rosie being old enough to drive, trustworthy enough to drive Thea’s car. Apparently she’d been bragging about it to anyone who would listen at school, and she’d already started attaching bumper stickers that said things like HONK IF YOU LOVE ONE DIRECTION.
Thea still wasn’t sure what was so special about one direction. Usually you needed to make a few turns here and there to get anywhere. She’d said as much to Rosie and the girl had just about keeled over giggling, and then she’d told the whole thing to Jane, and Jane had fallen over sideways into a postcard stand because she was laughing too hard, which probably meant it was one of those new-generation things that eluded Thea. Course Jane was only about a half decade younger than here, but there was still a bit of a gap. Not as much as there was between Thea and Jasmine, though.
Jasmine turned when she saw the car pulling up the driveway. The last time she’d been round was during the girls’ winter break, back when they were in elementary school. Thea had sent the girls to go stay with Jane and Caleb, because by that point she knew Jasmine was really just visiting to prove that she could, even after—god, nearly forty years. She wasn’t expecting Jasmine to stay, but she let Jasmine think that she was, if it made Jasmine feel a bit better—imagining that Thea was still in that nervous high school stasis, waiting for that beautiful substitute drama teacher to finally leave her husband so that they could run away together. It was like a marriage, almost, except not really. Thea didn’t know why she still let Jasmine come round.
The girls were getting out of the car. Roslin was still in her cheerleading outfit, her bright pink hair tied up in those big pink puffs, and Lenora was wearing an oversized sweatshirt of Thea’s that was clearly meant to disguise the too-short skirt and fishnets that Thea had told her she wasn’t to fucking wear to school, she’d get dress coded, and they’d already been called into the middle school enough times over Marigold misusing lab equipment that they were under scrutiny from the high school as to Thea’s fitness as a parent. So Thea was really just thinking about that, because everything always stopped when the girls showed up, when Jasmine said, a laugh in her voice, “Oh, and which one of them’s your girlfriend, then?”
Thea turned very slowly. The girls were still too far down the drive to have heard. She didn’t say anything at all, because what the fuck could you say to shit like that? Something was turning over in her head that hadn’t before.
Jasmine was still smiling, prettily, like she didn’t see what she’d said wrong. Like it was funny, now. Like what she’d done was something that they could joke about, years later, and maybe it had been for a very long time. But.
“Get the fuck off my porch,” said Thea.
Jasmine’s smile froze. Forty years, and Thea had never once said anything like that in that tone of voice. She didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
“I fucking mean it,” said Thea. “Get the fuck off my porch. Get out of my house. Get out of my life.”
The girls were far enough up the drive to have heard that. They were all standing there, sweetest little biscuits in Thea’s life, the most important things in the entire world, with their fresh faces and their bright eyes and—and Rosie was only a year younger than Thea had been when Jasmine had kissed her after class. If a teacher in that school ever kissed Rosie after class, they would have to put Thea in fucking prison for fucking murdering that teacher.
Something had shifted sharply into focus.
Jasmine said, forty years too late, “Thea—” and she didn’t sound apologetic, she sounded afraid. She looked like a bug did when you raised a rock and shone a light on it. “Thea,” she tried again. “Althea. I—”
And then Rosie, bless her, edged past Jasmine on the porch, violently enough that Jasmine’s designer high heel got stuck between the wooden slats and snapped sideways as she tried to steady herself. She had to grab onto the porch railing to keep from tipping down the stairs. Rosie ignored Jasmine entirely, of course, just grabbed Thea’s arm like she did every day she got home, clinging like a little limpet. Kissed her on the cheek. “Hi, Mommy!” she sang. “We totally didn’t crash your car today!”
Thea saw the word mommy register with Jasmine, who had gone very, very pale, and who was now trying with particular urgency to remove her high heel from the porch. She kept her eyes on Jasmine, because that was what you did when there was a fucking monster that near your daughters. You did not take your eyes off the thing for even a second. “Rosie, go inside,” she said.
Rosie wavered with that oldest-sister inclination that was lovely on days when Thea wanted extra help with the dishes and a bit much to handle on days when Rosie thought Thea needed extra help with taxes. Some things were a bit too grown-up for sixteen-year-olds, even sixteen-year-olds with a drivers’ license. Norie, though, older sister without being the oldest, curled her fingers into the crook of Rosie’s elbow and towed her into the house.
Mari was the last up the porch steps. She stopped in the doorway, and her eyes met Jasmine’s.
For a heart-stopping and deeply fucking irrational moment, Thea thought, hysterically, it’s going to happen all over again and I can’t stop it. But Marigold—well, Marigold refurbished the school’s microscopes, Marigold didn’t see the point of rules when they inconvenienced her, Marigold colored within the lines but used all the wrong colors to do it. So Marigold, improbably, tilted her head, staring at Jasmine with hard-honey eyes, and said, “Hey, um, respectfully, you’re totally ruining the aesthetic of our porch? Like, Rosie worked really hard to pick out all these decorations, and Jane even taught us how to make a Pinterest board and everything. See, we’ve got the lawn flamingoes, we’ve got the little tiki torches, but what we didn’t put on our Pinterest board is tacky old lady in a fur coat. Have you ever even tried to learn to walk in high heels on a wooden porch? Because it’s not as hard as you’re making it look.”
And somehow all that fear and anguish rushed out of Thea like air from a balloon. She turned towards Marigold, hugging her round the shoulders. Mari’s red curls were all jammed up in her face. “Go inside and do your homework,” she said.
Marigold gave Thea a smacking kiss on the cheek and stepped into the house. She made one last face at Jasmine before shutting the door behind her.
Jasmine said, in a wobbly voice, “Those are—your daughters?”
Thea knelt down on the porch, pulling her small utility knife out, and sawed the rest of the way through Jasmine’s stuck heel, freeing her from the slat. She stood up, thought about saying more things, and found that all the things she wanted to say were jammed up inside her. Fuck you for wasting my life, she thought. Fuck you for making me think that you were all I deserved. If a pretty teacher turned Mari’s head, she’d run in that direction without even thinking about it, because that’s what kids do. I don’t know why it took me till now to figure that out.
But she wouldn’t say it right—it never came out graceful enough—and Jasmine would laugh, again, and she didn’t feel like wasting her time sitting in the stinging humiliation of that. So she just went inside and shut the door behind her.
The girls were all clustered in the living room with big, worried eyes. Thea said, “Don’t fret,” and leaned down to kiss the top of Norie’s head—sensitive little spider was the most likely to be worried longer than her sisters. “Going to go and talk to Janie, and then I’ll come home, explain what just happened. Right now, though, you girls hold down the fort, and if that bitch tries to come in again, call the police, understand?”
“Is she going to?” said Marigold, now sounding a bit uncertain.
“No,” said Thea. “She’s not. But if she does, call the police. Hit her a few times too. We’ve got a good lawyer.”
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
Thea’s good lawyer was closing down the music shop by the time Thea made it over, but that didn’t mean shit when you had a key of your own. She unlocked the door, shut it behind her, walked through the empty sunset aisles of records and CDs and whatever the fuck else the kids were putting music on these days. There was discordant twanging coming from the back room.
Jane was tuning her guitar. She looked up with a smile when Thea came in, but there must have been something in Thea’s eyes, because her smile stilled and softened into a much more worried expression. “Allie,” she said, setting the guitar down.
Thea said, “Broke things off with Jasmine.”
Jane said, “What the fuck?”
“So anyway,” said Thea. She sat down next to Jane, picking up the guitar. “How was your day?”
Jane said, again, “What the fuck?” and then took the guitar away from Thea, holding it tightly against her like a security blanket. “Are you serious?”
Thea nodded. Her jaw was very tight. “So you can tell me how right you are, now,” she said, “about how fucking stupid that whole thing was, and I can say, yeah, it was stupid, she was fucking a teenager, I was Rosie’s age when she started making eyes at me, and she fucked up my entire fucking life, and I’ve spent my entire fucking life in—in whatever this is, with her, whenever she needs to feel young and—and fucking important, and I don’t—have—anyone, now, because I can’t—I don’t—”
Jane’s mouth pinched together like she wanted to smile but thought she probably shouldn’t. “Allie, I’m not going to luxuriate in my rightness,” she said. “This isn’t a win for me. I mean, it is, but not in the way you think.”
“Then in what fucking way?”
“She’s absolute detritus,” said Jane. “No—organic matter is still going to make the world better in the long run. She’s all that nonbiodegradable plastic we’re making nonstop and throwing into our landfills. Contributing to all those wildfires in California and the expanding polar vortex.”
“Simplify, Janie,” said Thea tiredly, “I am having the worst fucking day, and I can’t get goddamn academic about it.”
“Global warming doesn’t really qualify—” Jane started, and then winced a little and said, “Not my point. Look, I don’t care about being right, Allie, I care that she’s not anywhere near you. She doesn’t deserve you.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Thea miserably.
“Well, all right,” said Jane. “Luxuriate in your incorrect opinions, if that’s what makes you feel better today. I need to finish tuning this thing.” She strummed her guitar experimentally, adjusting the strings. “I think it’s just about there.”
“You’re such a fucking perfectionist,” said Thea. “It sounds fine.”
Jane glanced back up at Thea. “Are you all right?”
“What? No. Fuck no. Did you know she—”
“Yes.”
“And I was—”
“Yes. The first time you told me, I tried to get you to file a police report.”
“Statute of limitations probably expired,” Thea muttered.
“Now who’s getting goddamn academic?” At Thea’s look, Jane sighed, setting the guitar down again. “Allie, I—I did what I could. I kept your kids away from her, which we both know you wanted, and we both know why you wanted it. I figured you’d get there in your own time, and I knew you wouldn’t put your daughters in danger, ever, and—” She exhaled. “I did tell you,” she said. “I tried to tell you. For years. But I think it was too much for you, at the time, and I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”
“You should have tried harder.”
“I’m sure I should have.”
Thea felt the lack of an argument keenly. Jane wasn’t a lawyer anymore, at least not officially, but she still loved to argue, enough that her deciding not to argue a point meant that she really believed it. “I’m sorry, Janie,” she said. “I—I’m being unfair. I’m—”
“Not all right,” said Jane. She handed Thea the guitar. “Well, if it’s tuned well enough, you try and play something.”
Thea wasn’t half as good on guitar as Jane, but she couldn’t spend half her time with a music teacher without picking things up—or, more accurately, with Jane Medina, who wouldn’t let her live her life without knowing at least a few songs on the guitar. So she strummed the one that felt the best for right now, and Jane began to sing.
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
The screen door slams, Mary's dress sways
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays
Roy Orbison's singing for the lonely
Hey, that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside, darling
You know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking
That maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright
Oh, and that's alright with me
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
Thea stopped strumming.
“Always Springsteen with you,” said Jane. She moved a little closer and pressed her cheek briefly and awkwardly to Thea’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t think it is,” said Thea unsteadily.
“Well, I didn’t think it was when Caleb died,” said Jane, “and it’s still not, sometimes, but, I don’t know, sometimes it is.” She nudged Thea’s shoulder. “And I am here, Allie.”
She was. And Thea loved her so enormously that sometimes it hurt to even look at her. Today wasn’t really a day she could think about that, though, so she just let herself tip sideways into Jane. “I have to figure out what to tell the girls,” she said. “They saw me—well. I told Jasmine to fuck off, basically. Surprising how well that worked.”
“To be fair, you’ve never done that,” said Jane. “Ever. In forty years. Because you are a saint incarnate, and she knows that, and she takes advantage of it and has since you were—” She exhaled sharply through her teeth. “No. Nope. Sorry. Not my point. Jesus fucking Christ. Not my point. Every fucking day I wake up mad she’s not dead yet. Not my point.”
Thea smiled against Jane’s shoulder. “What do I tell the girls?”
“God, don’t even worry about that. I’ll handle it. You told Jasmine to fuck off; you get a break from telling the girls anything.”
“Sort of feel like you’ll tell them something that makes her sound bad.”
“Oh, sorry, should I find a nice way to talk about the statutory rapist?”
Thea stiffened.
Jane exhaled, sounding more frustrated with herself than with Thea, and said stiffly, “This is…why I don’t talk to you about it, Al. I’m not…you know I’m not good with the…I don’t know, Caleb and I were talking about it a little before he died, and he wanted to sit down with you at some point, try to walk you through it, but then that never happened, and, well.”
“No, I know,” said Thea. Her fingers closed gently around the hem of Jane’s sleeve.
“I just don’t know how to talk about her constructively,” Jane continued. “Speaking as a lawyer, I truly believe that she should be set on fire.”
“I know.”
“And you’re too good for her.”
“I—” Thea stopped. “Well, can’t say I know that.”
“Which is her fault.”
“Don’t work yourself into a lather before you figure out what to tell the girls.”
“I’m not telling them anything important,” Jane asserted. “Just that she’s a dangerous person who’s hurt teenagers before, and you were intensely unnerved by her being at your home when you’ve got three daughters to think about. I think that’s a good enough explanation.”
“Yeah,” said Thea quietly.
Jane wasn’t really one for a lot of smiling, but her expression took on a subtly softer quality as she turned to look at Thea all the way. “You are so strong,” she said, “and you fucking killed it today. I’m so goddamn proud of you.”
Thea leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Jane’s. The warm sunset threaded reds and oranges and yellows through Jane’s soft black hair.
