Such Sweet Sorrow

[intheheart]

Title: Such Sweet Sorrow
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Warnings: a transphobic slur, poorly disguised homophobia, sexism, lots of cussing, alcoholism, adultery, Frank, Yvonne, something that might be interpreted as emotional abuse.
Notes: There are cat feet in my gut!


1. breakfast

Gail made her daughter breakfast that morning, since Summer had been good enough to let them stay in her brand new apartment overnight. Not that they couldn't have gone back to New York the precious night, but... this was her youngest, her last child to move out. Scrambled eggs and bacon and toast, because Summer enjoyed all three, placed carefully on the plate so they didn't touch, because she didn't enjoy mixing tastes.

"Thank you, Mama," Summer said, when she emerged, her hair pulled over her shoulder so she could brush it, "this looks wonderful."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Gail kissed the top of her head. "Your father's gone to get the car. Are you sure you've got everything you need? Enough hangers?"

"Mama," Summer said, in tones of half-laughing exasperation, "I have everything that I need, I promise. You don't need to worry about me."

Oh, Summer.

Of course I'm going to worry about you. I love you, you're my precious daughter, I worry every time you leave the house, and you're going to be so far away... Her throat closed over, and she knew she couldn't say the words. Summer would read them as concern for her because she was different, not because she was Gail's daughter, and she couldn't bear to hurt her daughter even a little bit, when it would be so long before she would see her again.

"I won't worry," Gail lied, and patted her shoulder.



2. lunch

Mom came home to make Kayleigh lunch. How stupid was that? She was fourteen years old, for God's sake, she could make a stupid peanut butter sandwich. She didn't need her mother hovering over her, trying to do everything before her so she'd never learn and never get the chance to get out.

Kayleigh knew it wasn't like that, not really. Her mother just wanted to do things for her, spend time with her, because Kayleigh was all Lorraine Halechko had. She'd dreamed once of a husband, of a flock of children, a house in the suburbs and a long, happy life. Instead she'd ended up in thrall to a married man, pregnant with his illegitimate child, shunned by her family and friends, and the bastard daughter she'd given birth to couldn't even stand to be around her, some days.

So Kayleigh did her best, gritted her teeth and did the dutiful daughter routine. She smiled tightly and ate the food her mother made and thanked her insincerely, and gave her a little wave as she drove off under the gathering grey clouds.

It was supposed to snow later today.

Maybe Kayleigh would go sledding, later.



3. dinner

Lars didn't understand.

At dinner the night before, everything had been fine. Madison was her usual self, blonde hair curled and a leopard-print scarf wound around her neck. She hadn't opted to go back to his apartment with him, though she had kissed him hot and hard outside the restaurant, and even groped him a little through his pants, smiling with her tongue peeking out of her mouth—but that wasn't entirely abnormal, especially not if she had a job interview the next morning.

He wasn't good at reading his lovers, but even he should have noticed something, shouldn't he? If something this bad was going to happen, if his whole life was going to blow up, he should have seen some sort of sign, but he hadn't. Everything had seemed normal. Fine. Just another dinner out with his girl.

Then Madison had called him this morning and told him brightly that it wasn't working out and that they should see other people.

Just like that. As if it meant nothing to her.

He'd asked why, of course he had, and she'd just muttered something about growing apart, added that Summer was too weird for her, and hung up. It didn't help; he still didn't understand. He'd never noticed anything wrong.

He just couldn't quite figure out what had gone wrong.



4. brunch

Alex poked at her pancakes dourly, the tines of her fork sinking into them. "I think these are undercooked."

The pancakes looked perfectly fine to Gina, but she knew Alex wasn't actually talking about the pancakes. She held her fork loosely and stared at her own sugar-dusted French toast with an equal lack of appetite. "Mine looks... nice."

Alex glanced over at it, and shrugged.

Gina sighed, and set her fork down. She couldn't take this any longer. "You're going to break up with me."

"Um," Alex said. "Yeah. Sorry."

Gina shook her head, picked her fork up again and tightened her hold on it, feeling the pattern on the handle imprint into her skin. "No, I... I figured it was going to happen, just... do you mind telling me why?"

Alex looked at her with huge, wounded brown eyes. "It's not you," she said. "You are... you're amazing, you know you are, it's not about you. It's just that I'm tired of feeling like a secret, and I know you can't change that."

Gina couldn't blame her, but, still... "You're not a secret here," she said, weakly.

"Yeah, here." Alex poked at her pancakes a little more. "But I hear you on the phone with your family, Gina, and I hear you say 'no, no one special' when they ask about your love life, and it hurts, it really hurts. I know it's not what you mean, I know it's not about me or anything, but it hurts anyway and I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, I just can't."

"I can't tell them," Gina said, her knuckles whitening under the pressure on the fork. "I can't, they'll... I don't know, Alex, I'm really sorry, I just can't."

"I know you can't," Alex said. Her eyes were dull now, lowered to her plate. "And I'm sorry too."

Whatever appetite Gina had before was gone now. She set her fork down with elaborate care, and put her face into her hands.



5. supper

On Valerie's last night in the States, she and Ivy went out to dinner, dressed to the nines and determined to celebrate. Valerie knew she looked wonderful, and Ivy, though not really very pretty, was at the very least completely captivating. It was something about her eyes, Valerie thought, and the way she moved her hands when she talked, as if the whole world fascinated her. It was why she'd fallen in love with Ivy to begin with, why she so regretted leaving her now.

It was their last night together, no matter how many promises they'd made of staying in touch. Valerie knew it, and she knew—she hoped—that Ivy knew it as well. Long-distance dating never really worked out, and long-distance dating across six thousand miles of ocean would do nothing but hurt them, upset them, leave them trapped in a relationship with no kiss, no taste, not even the comfort of a hand upon the shoulder.

Not that they would be dating long distance. Valerie had made that quite clear, and Ivy had agreed it was better to break up than to try and maintain what they had through all that stress. But that didn't mean she wasn't secretly hoping, and it would be cruel, to leave her hoping.

Valerie reached out and caught Ivy's hand mid-gesture. "I will miss you so very much," she told Ivy. "We've had a lovely time."

Ivy stopped, then smiled, a little sickly. "Yes, we have, haven't we?"

"It's a shame that it's over," Valerie said pointedly, and lowered her eyes when Ivy sighed.

"Yeah," Ivy said, quietly. "A real shame."



6. try it, you'll like it

The Marquez family reunion was extremely awkward this year, and Hector knew why.

He'd come out to his family the week before, and apparently, word spread fast. They were trying, all of them, they were trying so goddamn hard, and yet they couldn't seem to get there. He could understand it, a little—it made bile rise in his throat, but he could understand. They were all Catholic, his family, bred and born and baptized, and Leviticus was extremely clear on the subject of homosexuality.

He should be grateful, Hector knew, that his family was trying to accept him regardless of their painfully obvious reservations. He should be grateful that they hadn't just kicked him out, disowned him without a blink. He should be pleased that they were swallowing down their fears, keeping accusations behind their teeth, refraining from telling him that he was going to hell.

Except they were all thinking it, and he could see it on their faces, could hear it in the sudden silences everywhere he went, and the whispered slurs that his immediate family shushed, because 'you can't say that in front of him!' In front of him, as if it was okay to say that shit anywhere else.

Hector didn't see why he had to be grateful for an acceptance that came only at the price of his silence, of hiding a part of who he was just to make them more comfortable.

Fuck this. This was the last goddamn family reunion he was ever going to.



7. no dessert 'til you eat your veggies

"What did you say?" Russell blinked bleary eyes up at his girlfriend, watched the anger on her face morph into sickening disgust. "I didn't... I didn't catch that..."

Marta sighed, and planted her hands on her hips. "I said that I'm leaving you," she said, and where the fuck did she get off, talking so disdainfully? She wasn't his fucking mother, to judge what he did with his life, she was just his girlfriend—

Or not, anymore.

Whatever. Russell snorted. "Fine, then," he said. "Guess I'll see you around."

"No," Marta said. "You won't. You never see anything, Russell, and you certainly won't open your eyes in time to see me."

"Whatever, bitch," he muttered, sinking down into his chair and clutching his glass of vodka closer.

She shook her head, and the disgust eased a little, turned into something like pity. Russell didn't know which he hated more. "Listen, I'm saying this as... as someone concerned for you, now. You really need to stop drinking. It isn't going to change anything, it's only going to—"

"Oh, shut up," he said, bitterly. "All you did this whole time was bitch, bitch, bitch about my drinking." He air-quoted the last two words, and sneered. "Well, I've got news for you; no one else gives a fuck when I have a cocktail or something." He eyed her, deliberately disdainful. "Pissed I wasn't spending that money on you?"

All the pity was gone from her eyes in a flash, and something in him eased, while something else tightened. "Fuck you," Marta said, slow and deliberate. "I don't know what I ever saw in you." She turned crisply on her heel and marched away.

"Fuck you too!" he shouted after her, and cradled the vodka closer.

At least he still had that.



8. I must get this recipe

"I'm sorry," Simon said, and the terrible thing was that he was sincere; he was sorry, he really didn't want to leave, except for the part that all of his dreams were on the other side of the country now, and all of Aaron's dreams were here.

Aaron swallowed down a bitter retort, because Simon didn't deserve that, and gave him a sad smile instead. "I know," he said. "I am too."

"It's for the best," Simon said, and winced before Aaron could even form a reply to that. "No, I guess it isn't, but I have to believe it will be someday. You understand that, right?"

Pleading eyes and Aaron could never resist those eyes, could never be firm against them even when he wanted to be. "I do understand," he said, helplessly. "I... this is a once in a lifetime chance for you. You have to take it, you can't just let that pass you by." Even if it meant leaving him and everything they'd built together behind.

"No, I can't," and that was relief in his voice, terrible and wonderful and choking Aaron. "I... maybe when I get promoted I can move back here."

"No, you can't," Aaron said quietly, and Simon closed his eyes.

They both knew this was the end. The best they could hope for was something—someone—similar.



9. dessert

Jake went with Olivia to the airport.

He hadn't intended to. He'd been so torn up by their breakup, so impossibly hurt, that for an entire evening he had really believed that he never wanted to see her again. How could he want to? She'd torn out his heart and stomped on it, ripped away his hope of happiness, and for what?

It took a few hours of crying and brooding before he realized that it was actually for pretty good reasons. As much as he hated it, as much as he resisted the conclusion, Olivia was right—she needed to reconnect with her father, needed to be the girl she'd had stolen from here and try to build herself up again from there.

He just didn't understand why they couldn't be together while she did.

"Because I can't tell how long it'll be, I can't guarantee I'll be the same," she'd said, "because you might not even want me when I'm done."

Jake could not imagine a world in which he wouldn't want Olivia.

He went with her to the airport anyway, and he kissed her, one last time, one last touch to carry him through however long it would be until he saw her again. One last...

He couldn't think the word last again, or he didn't know what he was going to do.



10. entrée

Zack had never hit another human being in his life, not even his elder sister no matter how much she provoked him. He was quite proud of that record, and he was trying very, very hard not to break it right now.

"Oh, please, I don't understand why you're so mad," Pansy said, and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. Brown-blonde hair, right on the borderline between the two shades, and Zack had loved it, once, loved tugging his fingers through it and braiding it idly while they cuddled or watched movies together. "It's not like I'm cheating on you."

"Pansy!" He raised his hands, crooked into claws, but diverted them into his hair before he did whatever they'd been planning. "You are cheating on me! What the hell else would you call it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. It's not like those guys mean anything to me, it's just a quick fuck." She leaned over the table, ran her fingers over the curve of his cheek, and he jerked back. She sighed, sharply. "Oh, Zackie, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me."

"Not anymore I'm not," he said, and shoved away from the table. "Consider us over."

He would not be his father.

And he especially would not be his mother.



11. appetizer

"So what was I?" Rebecca demanded shrilly, following Frank as he headed towards the door with his bags. He rolled his eyes when he was certain she couldn't see him, and picked up the pace a little. "Practice? Were we your goddamn starter family?"

Well, yes, exactly, but he probably shouldn't say that, or she might follow him even after he got in the taxi. "No," he said, patiently. "This simply isn't working out."

She balled her fists and stared at him, her face furious but her eyes helpless. "You can't do that," she said. "You can't leave me. You can't leave us, we are your family! They are your children, I am your wife!"

"I never wanted them," Frank said, and that was true; he'd needed them, that was all. "And we only need to sign the papers and you will not be my wife anymore."

She put a hand to her mouth and gave a little cry, like a wounded, mewling bird.

Whatever it meant, she had stopped in her tracks, and Frank made it out the door without having to talk with her again.



12. don't fill up before we eat

Farid stood outside Arelie's door for at least ten minutes before he really understood that she wasn't going to open it again.

Gone. She was gone, just like that. She was the love of his life, the only woman he could see himself with for ever, and she had just turned him away for the sake of his children.

He wanted to pound on the door, wanted to make her open it again and ask about their children, the children they had planned together. He adored his children, he really did, but if it was a choice between them and Arelie....

He wouldn't have to make that choice. If she would only open the door again, if she would only sit down and listen, he could make her understand that his children could be hers, too, theirs, their children, that there would be no choice at all.

You can't leave your children, she'd said, the last thing she ever said to him. Not for me. I won't let you.

He would have left everything for her, even his children, though it would have broken him to do it. He would rather have her than anything else in the world.

Didn't she understand that?



13. home cooking

"I don't understand why you must go all that way for college," Fatimah said crossly, turning away from the stove and propping her free hand on her hip.

"It's the best school for me, Mema," Joanna said, wearily. They'd had this discussion before and she was so tired of it, so tired of arguing.

Her mother snorted, and turned back to the stew she was making, stirring fast and splattering droplets onto the stove. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Joanna stared. "I am leaving in the morning, Mema," she said, carefully, trying not to sound alarmed.

Fatimah made an irritated motion. "You can apply for next semester if you want. There are colleges all around here, so close to home. You could stay in your old room just like your sister did when she got her degree. It would be so much easier, don't you think?"

Easier, and trapped. Joanna wanted to wince at the very thought. To live Deborah's life, anxiously trying to please her family, married immediately out of college to a man introduced by her mother and approved of by her father—

No. "I want to go to Smith, Mema," she said, forcing herself to stay calm. It was only because her mother loved her; it was only because her family wanted her around. "Baba thinks it's a good idea."

"Your father doesn't know what he's talking about," her mother muttered, quietly enough that Joanna was probably not supposed to hear. Still, it hurt just a little. "You had much better stay here where I can take care of you."

Joanna bowed her head, looked at her hands. "I would rather learn to take care of myself."

Her mother was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. "No woman should have to learn that," she said, quietly. "But I understand why I feel you must."

Joanna doubted that.




14. eating out

He went into the interrogation room where Yvonne still sat, staring idly at the wall and smoking. She let out a startled cough when she saw him, and then a slow, malicious laugh. "Oh, it's you. I should have known you'd come digging around. Looking for your precious brat? Oh, wait, I forgot, she's not yours." She laughed again, sharply.

"I'm looking for Olivia, yes," Hugh said, very evenly. "The officer told you that."

Yvonne shrugged, and brought her cigarette to her lips again. "And I told him that I don't know where she is. Little bitch ran out on me." She waved an airy hand. "Not that I miss her. She was always such a baby about things."

Then why did you take her? He wanted to scream it at her, wanted to cross the room and shake her until she told him why she'd stolen his daughter, the person he loved most in the entire world, when she didn't even love or value Olivia the way she should. He wanted to hit her, to hurt her... but he didn't, he wouldn't, even if they weren't in a police station he wouldn't have. He wasn't that kind of person. He didn't want to be that kind of person.

He hated that Yvonne made him that kind of person.

"I'll find her," he told Yvonne and himself, a kind of personal pledge. "I will never stop looking until I find her."

"I don't know why," Yvonne said, smoke curling out of her mouth. "She isn't your daughter anyway. It isn't as if I was faithful to you." Her mouth curved up at one corner. "You really ought to learn how to satisfy a woman, or you'll never keep one."

He ignored that. It didn't matter anymore.

"When the divorce papers arrive," he said, instead, "I expect you to sign them."

"As far as I'm concerned," Yvonne said, "we've been divorced since I left you."

Fine, then. Hugh got up, and left the room, and put Yvonne out of his mind entirely. She didn't matter anymore; had not mattered, if he was honest with himself, since he came home and found his family gone.

Only Olivia mattered, and he was going to find her.



15. baked goods

"I brought you some donuts," Gail said, offering her sister the pasteboard box. "For your trip. Might help to keep you from driving drowsy."

Cecily took it, and burst into tears.

"Oh, hey, now..." She put her arm around her, hugged her close. "Don't be like that. California's awesome, you're going to see."

"I know," Cecily sobbed. "I know. It's going to be amazing, the best thing that ever happened to me, but I don't want to leave you guys! I want to stay here and be in California."

Gail bit her lip, pushing back a laugh or tears or both. "Um, Cess..."

"Shut up," Cecily said, damply but distinctly, and sniffled. "I know. I just... I want to bring you all with me, or bring it here. I don't want to be apart from you."

"It sucks," Gail said, because that at least she could sympathize with. "I'm going to miss you like hell, but it's worth it, Cess. And it's not like we're just going to abandon you out there. We'll call and write and stuff. And visit! We'll totally visit, or you can come back here. You know that."

"Yeah." Cecily rubbed at her cheeks, and shook her head. "I just. I don't. I want to do this, but I don't. Is that okay?"

"Oh, Cess." Gail hugged her once again, tight. "It's completely and totally okay."



16. feast

On Maya's last night in the Maserati household, Don and Joy made a ridiculously enormous meal.

"Oh, my," she said, faintly, when she saw the food spread out across the Maseratis' giant dining table. "I... you know Jay's going to feed me, right?"

Joy giggled, and nodded. "Yeah, but this is a proper Maserati send-off. Stuff you so full of food you can't move and have to stay longer."

Don reached out and skimmed his hand over the back of his daughter's head, so lightly it barely mussed her hair, though Joy winced and protested anyway. "Shush," he told her, affectionately. "You know very well we do this because we are Italian and we know good food."

"Dad." Joy wrinkled her nose. "We're like, one-sixteenth Italian. I don't think that even counts."

"The name stuck," Don said, cheerfully, "so we count. Sit down and eat, joyful. You too, sweetheart."

She was so happy, Maya thought, as she sat dutifully down and began to eat, that Jay had found her, and that she was going to go and live with him until Sonali could get a job and an apartment. She was so happy that her brothers and sisters had not forgotten her the way her parents apparently had. She was so happy to have a family again.

But she was really going to miss the Maseratis.



17. family meal

They parted ways at the bus station, at four in the morning just before Michael's bus left. They'd picked up some wrapped chicken sandwiches at the station's crappy little deli and ate them together in silence, shoulders pressed close together, until an announcement crackled over the PA system for Michael's bus.

"Hey," Danny said, before he could get up. "It's gonna... it might be a while before we see each other again."

"Yeah," Michael said, quietly, and got out of his seat, leaned down to pick up his backpack. "I'm going to call you and everything, soon as you get me your number and whatever at Aunt Jennifer's. But I'm going to miss having you around."

Danny swallowed. "Me too," she said, then held out her hand. "Good luck, little brother. Let's kick this world's ass."

He smiled, and took her hand, shook it once and firmly. "Good luck, big sister," he said, solemnly. "Remember I always got your back."



18. home in time for dinner

Nathan had just finished loading the moving truck when Melanie drove up. Aaron bounced out of his seat in the truck's cab and ran to his mother, babbling excitedly about the new apartment in New York and how he was going to have his very own room with his very own window. Melanie answered him indulgently, ruffling his hair and kneeling to hug him, but she never took her eyes off Nathan.

Eventually, Aaron went running into the house to use the bathroom one last time, and Nathan crossed his arms, leaned against the cab of the truck. "Yes?"

"You're really doing this," she said, and touched the truck, a strange sort of hurt in her eyes. "You know, I really didn't want to believe that you would."

"I have to," he said, maybe a little more sharply than he meant. "If I'm going to support Aaron, I have to be able to pay for things."

"Of course you do," she said, and then, more lowly, "I never thought you would take him away from me."

Nathan bit back his immediate response—for God's sake, it wasn't all about her—and said, instead, "It isn't like you're never going to see him again. The city's only a few hours away."

"I know, I just..." She sighed sharply, and dropped her hand. "Look. You and I both know I'm a terrible mother, but I love my kid, okay? Take good care of him. You're pretty much the only parent he has who can."

"I will," he said, and on an impulse added, "He still needs you in his life, Mel. Don't... don't drop out altogether."

She smiled, a ghost of the real expression. "I won't."



19. snack

"You know," Alyssa said, out of the blue about a day after their fight about Vincent, "I don't think this relationship is working out."

Felipe, who had been trying to think of a way to say the same damn thing, let out a silent sigh and said, "Can I ask why?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think you know what commitment means," she said, at last, as if she was granting him a huge favor. "I mean, you told me you might have gone out with a girl, right behind my back, even."

Because he'd been under the impression that they had an open relationship, which apparently applied only to men and/or genderqueer people. Which, okay, Felipe didn't really mind that kind of restriction, whatever made his partner comfortable, but he would have appreciated being told that ahead of time. "Yeah," he said, cautiously, "mostly because I didn't know how much you'd be bothered by that."

Alyssa sniffed. "You don't need to play innocent. We're breaking up anyway."

"Well, yes," he said, and got an offended look for his trouble. "But seriously, you weren't bothered by me going out with men."

"Because it was just sex," Alyssa said, as if it was obvious.

"It might have been love," he said, a little offended.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Not if you're both guys, duh. You have to be like, gay to fall in love with guys."

"Jesus," Felipe said, a wholehearted and quite sincere prayer. "Alyssa. I'm pansexual. I fall in love with girls and guys and transexual people and genderqueer people and..."

"Ew!" Alyssa practically shrieked. "You've had sex with a tranny?"

Felipe abruptly lost any interest he'd ever had in keeping in touch with her.



20. hors d'oeuvres

Kevin had called six times. Clara had ignored every one, and deleted the voicemails unread. It hurt to even think about what he might say, what he might do to try and get back in her good graces.

Not that she was going to let him. She'd loved him once, yes, and maybe still did, but she was not going back to him, nor letting him come back to her. No one who thought a fundamental part of her was broken could ever really love her.

The phone rang again, Kevin's smiling face popping up on the caller ID. Clara pressed her fist to her chest, trying to rub the pain away.

She could go and see him again, she supposed. Get some closure, whatever that was supposed to mean. But... to be perfectly honest, she didn't want to hear any of it. She didn't want to know what he wanted to say. He was in her past now. He was... he was a start. Half of the lover she wanted, a good beginning, but not someone she was willing to settle for.

Her voicemail beeped at her—one new message.

She deleted it.