A sunny start, OTA

[stepfordbot]

Routines are important. Establishing them, maintaining them- a lifetime spent with a house full of children that required minding and strict standards to follow as to their care filled Grace's days and gave her purpose. As the family waxed and waned, as the children grew and lives became infinitely more complicated the routine changed. But one thing remains the same no matter how old or young, no matter how full or empty the house has become. The most important meal of the day.



Nutrition dictates a certain variation now and then, but a single dish tends to surface over and over. Be it the dietary value or the aesthetic- or that it was one of the few ways she could, when they were young, offer the children a moment that was close to normal. Normal children aren't raised with an unloving and distant father, Normal families don't run drills with knives and violence instead of nursery rhymes and storybooks. Normal families and normal children had eggs sunny side up with smiling faces made with bacon.

Which is on the menu today alongside a stack of pancakes and a few prepared, wrapped and warmed sandwiches of egg, sausage, cheese, and english muffins for those that need to eat and run. Sliced fruit and glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice.

She's singing under her breath, something simple and lilting as the smell of bacon fat and frying eggs fills the air. No matter what happens, she's been able to feed and provide. As soon as the first set of eggs are finished she calls out- "Children! Eggs are ready."

Comments

[stepfordbot]

"When you were younger- I had to do this." It's easier with a few of them, with Diego especially, to set aside the sunny smiles and let her new, growing emotions and convictions settle into place. Calm and contemplative and still humming she flips the next skinny pancake, a dagger, and makes space on the griddle for a domino mask. "No one else could cook- Pogo wasn't tall enough and your father-"

One day, one day she'll be able to call the man by his name and not use a title he never truly earned. How flat her voice is when it wraps around 'father' ought to be proof enough of how she feels over being made to still refer to him as such. "Never had the time. Now?"

Grace wipes her hands on her apron, extending one hand to Diego without having to look. A hyperawareness of where they are in the room (once the meddling with her circuits had been corrected) made her a perfect caretaker, but it's yet another sign of how she's slight...other. "Now? I want to. These are breakfasts where we can talk across the table or eat as you need and go and- it's normal."

She so desperately needs for them to have something close to normal.

[excessed]

That makes him smile when she speaks of how things were and how they are now. For years he never truly thought about what it is she needed, how life was for her after she replaced the nannies that had gone missing as far as his four year old self had known. He barely remembered them, and certainly not as his mother as he sees Grace.

"He never made the time, and there is a difference," he says, believing that. He could have made time for them, for Grace, but he hadn't.

He's there for her in an instant though, coming to stand at her side, glad to hear her speaking like this, of wanting them to have normalcy just when things are so beyond normal it's not even funny.

"Well, any day I'm in house, I'll be right here for breakfast then," he says, vowing it and knowing that he'll make sure he is. For mom's sake. For the sake of still seeing her standing there at the window as the world came crashing down around them. He moved in suddenly then, hugging her.

"Thank you, Mom. For trying to make this normal for us." Life has never been normal, but she is trying. For their sake.

[stepfordbot]

"His work was important-" It's out before she can stop herself, reflexive and frustrating for it- but she can, she does push through enough to add - "To him." She can be honest with herself, with him now. It isn't easy but it's worth doing. Worth reminding herself that while Reginald's work might have had value- it wasn't kind. It wasn't considerate. It wasn't for the best for the children or, from what she's seen? For the world. Perhaps they managed and that's remarkable, that's admirable- but at what cost? A childhood knowing they were loved? A lifetime giving them good reason to care about themselves, the world. "You can help me with cutting the fruit, then-" If he really wants to help. Or she could teach him how to shape the pancakes. Grace is about to offer when he holds her suddenly- moved by some measure of distress. She's noticed it in him since she woke and was herself again but- the details haven't been spoken. Not really. No one's explained but it's more than enough for her to understand, to holds Diego back just as tight. All her children are dear to her but Deigo? Diego's always gone out of his way to be kind. To be affectionate. "Being your mother is the greatest joy I've ever known, Diego. I'm happy to do this for you." Because she was made for this and learned to care. Learned to love in ways Reinald never anticipated.

[excessed]

"And the only things that mattered was his work," he says, rolling his eyes, unable to hold back his bitterness. Not that he ever has.

He's spoken out about it for as long as he could, as long as he was willing to face Reginald's anger. Even with him gone now, out of their lives physically, the haunting specter of him still hangs over their lives and likely always will.

His emotions have always run hot and wild, barely contained and hardly controlled even when he's tried. He's found channels for them throughout the years, but in facing this, facing all of the losses he's seen and are fighting not to have coming for them again, he knows he can't withhold the emotions he feels for Grace.

His smile is small but real as he steps back. "You're the one good thing about our childhoods," he says, speaking so carefully then, feeling the emotions welling up enough he knows he's going to have trouble forming the words, speaking them clearly. Fighting to keep the stutter at a minimum. It's easier these days, but not when his emotions grow so strong.

"I'll get right on the fruit," he says, glad for a focus that he has easy skills with and can handle and putting behind those images that replay in his head when he gives himself too much time to think.