intheheart (
intheheart) wrote2012-02-03 02:53 pm
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Entry tags:
Family Ties
Title: Family Ties
Rating: PG.
Summary: Andy and Nathan have a talk.
Notes: Andy is Ivy and Gina's son, Leah their daughter. Nathan refers to Daddy's Little Girl.
Warnings: Mentioned child abandonment.
Nathan was dozing by the window, a book open on his lap, when Andy bounced into the room and said, "Hey, grandpa, what's this?"
"Huh?" He blinked himself fully awake and looked over at his nine-year-old grandson-- he had grandchildren, four of them, that still blew his mind-- and the sheaf of papers he held. "I don't know. Bring it here and I'll look."
Andy came over to the chair and handed him the papers. "I found them in the back of the closet," he said. "Also, sorting out the closet isn't as fun as Grammy said it would be."
Nathan took the papers, crinkled and slightly yellow, and squinted at the tiny type, trying to make it out. "That's because Grammy was trying to con you into doing a chore for her," he replied, absently. "Don't tell her I told you."
"Okay," Andy said, taking it surprisingly well. He leaned on the arm of the chair and peered over Nathan's shoulder for a moment, before asking, "Do you need your glasses?"
"No," Nathan said; he'd just gotten the gist of the top page. He flipped to the back of the stack to check, and yes, there was the birth certificate. "These are your mother's adoption papers. I'd forgotten I still had these."
Andy blinked, and rocked back on his heels. "Huh," he said. After a moment, he added, "They don't look like mine."
Nathan shrugged. "Different decades," he said. "See, here's her new birth certificate, with me listed as her father. You have one of those, right?"
"Yeah," Andy said. "Mama put it in my baby book. I don't know why she made one for me. I wasn't a baby."
Nathan smiled at the scorn in his grandson's voice. "Of course not. But you are your mothers' first child. They wanted to keep records of everything. Most first-time parents do." Not Gail, and not him; neither one of them had had much time to record every little exhausting fact about their children.
At least, not on paper. He would bet that Gail knew to the second when Ivy had first smiled, just like he remembered every single landmark Aaron had passed in his presence.
"They still shouldn't call it a baby book," Andy said. "What's this?"
Nathan flipped to the page he indicated. "A name-change petition," he said. "Grammy and Ivy decided they wanted her to have my name too. See, here's the line, Ivy Hirschfeld to Ivy Hirschfeld-Kendall."
"Huh," Andy said, again. He stared at the paper for a minute, contemplatively, then said, "Mom told me she was adopted, but I didn't really believe her."
Nathan felt his eyebrows go up. "Oh? Any particular reason?"
He shrugged. "It was right before Leah was born," he said. "I was being weird. So she told me she was adopted. I thought she was just trying to make me feel better 'cause she looks just like Aunt Summer."
"Aunt Summer and your mother both look like your grandmother," Nathan said, and shrugged. "Hirschfeld genes run towards redheaded daughters. I think you're the first boy in the family in five generations."
Andy snickered. "And I'm adopted so I don't count genetically. Awesome."
"You count," Nathan said. "Your grandmother said you do, anyway, and I dare you to argue it out with her."
"Uh-uh," Andy said immediately, and shook his head.
"Wise man." Nathan ran his fingers over the papers again. He'd saved everything back then-- the clipping of the ad telling Bradley Spitzer to show up in court or lose his parental rights, the actual termination document, the adoption document were all there with the petition and the birth certificates. And no wonder. That had been one of the better moments in his life.
"So Mom was telling the truth?" Andy asked.
Nathan smiled, still looking at the papers. "Yes, she was."
Andy chewed on his lower lip. "And you still love her the same."
That got Nathan's attention, and he looked at his grandson again, eyebrows raised. "Of course I do. Well, not the same way exactly, but you never love any two children the same way. The same amount, certainly."
Andy accepted that with a little nod. "Did her dad leave her? Like my mommy left?"
Oh, boy. "I don't... know exactly," Nathan hedged, trying to come up with a way of saying this that wouldn't either crush the kid's spirit or teach him more swear words than he should really know at the age of nine nine. "Her biological father... was a very selfish person. He didn't want the responsibility of a child, so he just... left, one day. Your mommy... from what I know, she just couldn't come back for you."
Or that was the story Ivy and Gina had told Andy, anyway. He was hardly going to contradict them.
Andy thought about that for a moment. "Oh. So Mom's biological dad was a jerk."
"Yes," Nathan said, relieved. "He was a jerk. But he's gone now, and you certainly don't ever have to worry about him."
"Do you..." Andy started. He stopped and chewed his lip for another minute, while Nathan waited patiently, then said, "Do you think my mommy's dead? Do you think that’s why she didn't come back?"
Nathan sighed. "I'm sorry, Andy, but yes, I do think she's dead. I don't think she ever would have left you, otherwise."
Andy swallowed. "How do you know?"
That lost little voice, oh, it was so like Ivy's, so long ago. His heart constricted. "Sit down, Andy," he said, and patted the ottoman in front of him. Andy sat, obediently, and met his eyes. "When you were found, you were very healthy. You were wrapped up carefully and you had a snack in your pocket. Your clothes were old, but they were patched carefully. Everything about you told the police that someone was taking care of you." He set the papers down on his lap, reached out and took his grandson's hands. "Your mommy was taking care of you."
"But maybe she couldn't take care of me anymore," Andy said. "And that's why she left me."
A fair point. "Maybe," Nathan acknowledged. "But I don't think so. If she couldn't take care of you anymore, I think she would have brought you to a police station or a hospital, where someone would have found you sooner. I have three children, Andy, and I took care of them just like that. I have no doubt that anyone who took care of their child like you were taken care of would have come back if she could." He squeezed Andy's hands. "She didn't come back because she couldn't. It wasn't because she didn't love you."
Andy sniffled, and pulled a hand loose to rub across his nose. "You think?"
Nathan nodded firmly, and let go of his hands. "I do think."
"And it's not bad..." Andy hesitated again, but eventually finished, "It's not bad of me to hope she doesn't ever come back? It's not that I don't wish she wasn't dead, it's just that I don't really remember her, and I love Mom and Mama and Leah. I don't want to go away from them."
The actual morality of that question was probably a little tricky, but Nathan had no doubt what Andy needed to hear. "No. They're your family. It's not wrong or bad to want to stay with your family."
Andy didn't answer that; instead, he took the papers off Nathan's lap and flipped through them again, stopping at the birth certificate. "Mom told me once that she'd never lie to me," he said, still looking at it. "I guess she never did."
"No," Nathan said. "She never did."
Rating: PG.
Summary: Andy and Nathan have a talk.
Notes: Andy is Ivy and Gina's son, Leah their daughter. Nathan refers to Daddy's Little Girl.
Warnings: Mentioned child abandonment.
Nathan was dozing by the window, a book open on his lap, when Andy bounced into the room and said, "Hey, grandpa, what's this?"
"Huh?" He blinked himself fully awake and looked over at his nine-year-old grandson-- he had grandchildren, four of them, that still blew his mind-- and the sheaf of papers he held. "I don't know. Bring it here and I'll look."
Andy came over to the chair and handed him the papers. "I found them in the back of the closet," he said. "Also, sorting out the closet isn't as fun as Grammy said it would be."
Nathan took the papers, crinkled and slightly yellow, and squinted at the tiny type, trying to make it out. "That's because Grammy was trying to con you into doing a chore for her," he replied, absently. "Don't tell her I told you."
"Okay," Andy said, taking it surprisingly well. He leaned on the arm of the chair and peered over Nathan's shoulder for a moment, before asking, "Do you need your glasses?"
"No," Nathan said; he'd just gotten the gist of the top page. He flipped to the back of the stack to check, and yes, there was the birth certificate. "These are your mother's adoption papers. I'd forgotten I still had these."
Andy blinked, and rocked back on his heels. "Huh," he said. After a moment, he added, "They don't look like mine."
Nathan shrugged. "Different decades," he said. "See, here's her new birth certificate, with me listed as her father. You have one of those, right?"
"Yeah," Andy said. "Mama put it in my baby book. I don't know why she made one for me. I wasn't a baby."
Nathan smiled at the scorn in his grandson's voice. "Of course not. But you are your mothers' first child. They wanted to keep records of everything. Most first-time parents do." Not Gail, and not him; neither one of them had had much time to record every little exhausting fact about their children.
At least, not on paper. He would bet that Gail knew to the second when Ivy had first smiled, just like he remembered every single landmark Aaron had passed in his presence.
"They still shouldn't call it a baby book," Andy said. "What's this?"
Nathan flipped to the page he indicated. "A name-change petition," he said. "Grammy and Ivy decided they wanted her to have my name too. See, here's the line, Ivy Hirschfeld to Ivy Hirschfeld-Kendall."
"Huh," Andy said, again. He stared at the paper for a minute, contemplatively, then said, "Mom told me she was adopted, but I didn't really believe her."
Nathan felt his eyebrows go up. "Oh? Any particular reason?"
He shrugged. "It was right before Leah was born," he said. "I was being weird. So she told me she was adopted. I thought she was just trying to make me feel better 'cause she looks just like Aunt Summer."
"Aunt Summer and your mother both look like your grandmother," Nathan said, and shrugged. "Hirschfeld genes run towards redheaded daughters. I think you're the first boy in the family in five generations."
Andy snickered. "And I'm adopted so I don't count genetically. Awesome."
"You count," Nathan said. "Your grandmother said you do, anyway, and I dare you to argue it out with her."
"Uh-uh," Andy said immediately, and shook his head.
"Wise man." Nathan ran his fingers over the papers again. He'd saved everything back then-- the clipping of the ad telling Bradley Spitzer to show up in court or lose his parental rights, the actual termination document, the adoption document were all there with the petition and the birth certificates. And no wonder. That had been one of the better moments in his life.
"So Mom was telling the truth?" Andy asked.
Nathan smiled, still looking at the papers. "Yes, she was."
Andy chewed on his lower lip. "And you still love her the same."
That got Nathan's attention, and he looked at his grandson again, eyebrows raised. "Of course I do. Well, not the same way exactly, but you never love any two children the same way. The same amount, certainly."
Andy accepted that with a little nod. "Did her dad leave her? Like my mommy left?"
Oh, boy. "I don't... know exactly," Nathan hedged, trying to come up with a way of saying this that wouldn't either crush the kid's spirit or teach him more swear words than he should really know at the age of nine nine. "Her biological father... was a very selfish person. He didn't want the responsibility of a child, so he just... left, one day. Your mommy... from what I know, she just couldn't come back for you."
Or that was the story Ivy and Gina had told Andy, anyway. He was hardly going to contradict them.
Andy thought about that for a moment. "Oh. So Mom's biological dad was a jerk."
"Yes," Nathan said, relieved. "He was a jerk. But he's gone now, and you certainly don't ever have to worry about him."
"Do you..." Andy started. He stopped and chewed his lip for another minute, while Nathan waited patiently, then said, "Do you think my mommy's dead? Do you think that’s why she didn't come back?"
Nathan sighed. "I'm sorry, Andy, but yes, I do think she's dead. I don't think she ever would have left you, otherwise."
Andy swallowed. "How do you know?"
That lost little voice, oh, it was so like Ivy's, so long ago. His heart constricted. "Sit down, Andy," he said, and patted the ottoman in front of him. Andy sat, obediently, and met his eyes. "When you were found, you were very healthy. You were wrapped up carefully and you had a snack in your pocket. Your clothes were old, but they were patched carefully. Everything about you told the police that someone was taking care of you." He set the papers down on his lap, reached out and took his grandson's hands. "Your mommy was taking care of you."
"But maybe she couldn't take care of me anymore," Andy said. "And that's why she left me."
A fair point. "Maybe," Nathan acknowledged. "But I don't think so. If she couldn't take care of you anymore, I think she would have brought you to a police station or a hospital, where someone would have found you sooner. I have three children, Andy, and I took care of them just like that. I have no doubt that anyone who took care of their child like you were taken care of would have come back if she could." He squeezed Andy's hands. "She didn't come back because she couldn't. It wasn't because she didn't love you."
Andy sniffled, and pulled a hand loose to rub across his nose. "You think?"
Nathan nodded firmly, and let go of his hands. "I do think."
"And it's not bad..." Andy hesitated again, but eventually finished, "It's not bad of me to hope she doesn't ever come back? It's not that I don't wish she wasn't dead, it's just that I don't really remember her, and I love Mom and Mama and Leah. I don't want to go away from them."
The actual morality of that question was probably a little tricky, but Nathan had no doubt what Andy needed to hear. "No. They're your family. It's not wrong or bad to want to stay with your family."
Andy didn't answer that; instead, he took the papers off Nathan's lap and flipped through them again, stopping at the birth certificate. "Mom told me once that she'd never lie to me," he said, still looking at it. "I guess she never did."
"No," Nathan said. "She never did."