WHO: Hugh Christian, Marceline Cox, Mary Christian-Blumenkrantz. WHEN: Thursday, May 24th, evening. WHERE: Mary's apartment in Preston. SUMMARY: Hugh asked Marceline over to meet his mother. A lot of nerves abound. WARNINGS: I can't think of any.
"Mom, do you have a garlic press here?" Hugh asked after about the third drawer he'd rummaged through.
Cooking for the evening had seemed like the best idea. Not as casual as Mitzi's, which, he didn't think his mother would mind, but didn't strike him as maybe the preferred place for her to meet his current girlfriend, and perhaps not as formal as Ardente - which Marceline had pushed back against for even a date, and while Hugh wasn't certain he completely understood, it made it obviously not a great place for Marce to relax.
"I can use the chef's knife if not, I just -" he trailed off as he peeled garlic, and reached for the knife anyway. He enjoyed cooking, but it was easier when it was a kitchen he knew, which the apartment his mother had decided to rent didn't qualify for that descriptor.
Scuttling into the kitchen, Mary’s rats nest of hair appeared next to Hugh’s arm before her face could peak around, glancing at her son’s growing project with an undeniable smile. She forgot about his question as he moved with precision with his task at hand.
“No, honey, I didn’t think it would be a necessity.” Her quiet voice answered as her eyes remained trained on his movements.
It took everything in her to not dance manically around her living room in anticipation of the moment she had waited twenty-odd years for. Her baby boy finally found a suitor. One to take home and meet Ma. Her grin grew at the thought.
“When will she arrive?”
“Mm, it isn’t when you when you have a decent knife like this.” Garlic peeled, Hugh took the flat edge of the knife to press out the garlic anyway. As he finished up, he scraped it off the small cutting board into a bowl and turned to look down at his mother fondly.
“I told her after six-thirty, or whenever she finished up at the Feed and Seed,” he reached for onion, deftly quartering that and setting it aside as well. The action was nice, kept him from being nervous that this would go well. He expected nothing from the rest of his family, but he genuinely hoped his mother would like Marceline. “I suspect she’ll text me if it’s going to be much after - Shit! I forgot to pick up wine, do you have some here? White preferably?”
“Watch your mouth sweetheart.” Mary’s comment came half teasing with a gentle touch to his arm. His request for wine solicited a soft snort as she turned on her heel, heading for the pantry across the kitchen. Did she have wine? Did he know his mother?
A quiet clinking came as she dug around, voice calling over her shoulder. “Chardonnay or Pinot Gris?” Both bottles emerged with her as she kicked the door shut behind her, meeting the dining room table before she set off again to grab three glasses and distribute them accordingly.
“I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can. Who could turn dilly-dally around when Chef Hugh has whipped up such a wonderful, delicious, gourmet meal?” Beaming back at him came easy as the water turned on at the sink. A quick wash of her hands later and she was back to Hugh’s side, again evaluating the situation at hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Hugh took the chiding with the total lack of seriousness that he'd taken it since he was about twelve, and turned his head in the direction of his mother, who, as usual, had exactly what he needed. After a moment's consideration, he suggested: "let's do the Chardonnay, I think. Thanks Mom, you're a savior."
He couldn't keep the grin from his face as he turned back, reaching for the Fennel. "Could you check and see if the salmon is completely thawed. I'd have preferred to use fresh, but if I wanted wild, this seemed the only option," he sighed. "It'll be alright," deep breath. "I doubt Marceline will know the difference, and you'll only be able to tell a bit. I'm just really hoping I don't have to defrost."
Onion and fennel was moved to the baking tray, and he reached for the small grape tomatoes. "There's the salad too, if you really want something to do, but I think I've got it." He reached for a small handful of the tomatoes, and looked up. "I think you're going to love her." He really truly hoped. .
His drink selection was answered by a nod of her head as a few rogue strands of hair tousled onto her shoulders and the losing bottle was relieved to the counter. She was his savior, now - then - and forever. A title she proudly bared. The aforementioned salmon was retrieved and nudged closer to him after a bit of prodding and poking.
He reached for the bottle of olive oil, and then for the salmon his mom had gotten so that he could put both together with the fennel, tomatoes, and onion on the baking tray.
“She’s going to love it. And I already love her, because you love her.” Moving to her tip-toes Mary pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek - a reassurance to her words - before her attention shifted to bouncing around and gathering salad ingredients.
A few minutes later and voila! A perfectly presentable salad graced the table. Uncorking the bottle now to save time later, glasses were modestly filled (of course she had to have a few sips to settle her own nerves), plates and silverware aligned, napkins folded just so. It was as perfect as she could hope to have it. “I’m going to go change into something presentable while we still have time. Do call for me if she shows up!”
Hugh nodded and turned his head towards his mom. "I will, Mom, and thank you," he nodded at the table with a smile. It looked fantastic, and he was grateful not just for this, but for his mom having decided to take up an apartment here for the duration. It had seemed a trifle ridiculous when she'd first told him, but now he was only glad that Marceline could meet her outside of the view of the entire town. This was better than Ardente by a long-shot. Possibly, he couldn't help but think as he slid the baking tray into the oven, the food would be better too.
Hugh had a few sips of wine, while waiting for his mother to change, and trying not to watch the clock. The salmon should come out about fifteen minutes after she was scheduled to arrive, so for now, he was humming 'the best is yet to come', and not looking at the watch for the fourth time in all of two minutes.
Finally, at last, there was a knock at the door, strong and in couplets.
Hugh called for his mother, and opened the door to find Marceline, standing up straight (for once) and in a pair of nice jeans and a blouse that was either not her own or new. Her curls, still a little damp from what must have been a recent shower, hung loose around her face (was that mascara?).
Her skeletal fingers gripped a bottle of wine-- red, and maybe a little plain, but Marceline was scarcely what anyone would call a wine connoisseur, anyway.
“Hey,” she greeted him quickly, peeking over his shoulder both ways. She didn’t go in for a kiss. She didn’t even go in for a hug; the weight of anxiety kept her solidly in place.
Hugh's gaze swept the entirety of the woman in front of him and the response was a broad smile. She looked beautiful - granted he thought that pretty much all of the time - but he could tell she'd changed from work. He reached forward to catch her empty hand, and he did lean in to press a kiss on her cheek. "You look gorgeous," he told her softly in her ear, not lingering because he could hear his mother approaching, and he stepped back to let Marceline into the entrance of the apartment.
Thump - thump - thump came a muted thunder from the stairwell as Mary flew down the stairs as quickly as her body would take her. A pause around the corner from the front door gave her a moment to finish tucking her blouse into her pants, followed by a deep breath to calm her own jitters. She stepped into the living room with a grin bright enough to rival the sun - a kid on Christmas wasn’t this excited.
Hugh pushed the front door closed and pulled his gaze away from his girlfriend to encompass his mother as well. "Mom," he pulled in a breath, having never really pictured himself doing this, but here they all were. "This is Marceline Cox, my girlfriend. Marce, this is my mother, Mary Christian-Blumenkrantz."
Bated breath notwithstanding, Mary found herself infront of Marceline; a girl she may or may not have seen while lurking around the Feed or Seed a time or three. The moment she had been waiting all Hugh’s life for.
She couldn’t help herself from wrapping the girl into a tight hug. The kind mothers were infamous for, though usually from their own children. Marceline could not gather her wits about her quickly enough to return the hug; it didn’t come naturally to her, and was normally reserved for Hugh or her own mother, or Clea on the rare occasion.
Pulling away quickly with Marce’s hands still in her own Mary beamed as she spoke, “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. Call me Mary, call me Mom, call me what you want, just not late for dinner! Speaking of, is that wine for us?! So considerate!” Looking to Hugh, she shared a wink hidden from Marceline as the bottle slipped from her possession into Mary’s, setting off back to the dining room to leave the love birds alone for a second. That was probably enough embarrassment for the first five minutes. Breaking her in easy would be best.
If the pink that tinged her face wasn’t enough to give away that Marceline was embarrassed, the accompanying silence was telling in and of itself: there was nary a smartass remark or witty comment as her eyes followed after Mary, skeptical and worried.
Hugh's gaze followed his mother for a moment, before it shifted back to his Farmgirl. He reached forward, once again taking her hand in his, but this time also giving it a quick squeeze of support and encouragement. Maybe he should have given Marceline a bit more warning about just how enthusiastic his mother could be. He was so used to it, that he hadn't really stopped to think about that. He should go check the salmon, but his mother was in the kitchen and she could check on it if the timer ended. For just a moment, he focused his attention in on Marce. "I fixed salmon," he told her. "And a salad, and there might be a sponge cake with strawberries for dessert."
“Sounds rad.” It occurred to her then that she had yet to kiss him, and so she took a moment shake off the mild surprise that had come with the whirlwind of introduction so that she might propel herself forward and up, sneaking a quick kiss on his cheek.
If they were from Fall City, there wouldn’t be a question as to what to expect. His mom would know her, and would know what kind of woman she was. She’d know what Hugh had gotten himself into. They wouldn’t be meeting for the first time, but rather under new pretenses.
But that was neither here nor there, and it was what it was.
Hugh smiled encouragingly at the kiss and threaded his fingers through hers. "Come on," he told her with that smile. "Let's get food, and wine." The wine seemed like a really good idea and it probably was no fair that he'd already had a few sips while cooking. He'd get wine for Marce, and she'd see there was no reason to be nervous - hopefully.
"Mom, Marceline brought me a succulent last week for the room at the Inn. She's got plants all over, and hers don't die every three months and require replacement."
“Aren’t you just the sweetest?? How thoughtful!! Best to take extra care with it not to let that pesky kitty of yours knock it off a countertop, now. Your place must smell wonderful and fresh with all those plants around, Marceline.”
"Espresso is very well behaved -"
“I like it.” [...] “I like the way it smells, yeah. Do you, uh… I could get you some, too. If you want.”
“You are an angel - that is so nice of you to offer. I would love some! Do you sell them at your store? I can come in next week and you could help me pick some up if you have time? I am not as good at raising plants as I am wonderful men--”
Hugh’s fork clinked.
“--so I’ll need something hardy. We can chat about that next week. Do you work on tuesday? Would 10am be good?”
“Oh. You don’t got to buy anything. I was just gonna give you one of my succulents or something. We do have some plants. Not a big selection or anything… Uhm. Yeah. But whatever’s good.”
“Hugh, you never lose this girl, you hear me?”
Pause for an overzealous Mom Thinks She’s Funny smile, during which Hugh avoids saying anything by taking a sip of wine.
“Well, whenever is good for you sweetie. You let Hugh know and he’ll let me know and I’m very much looking forward to it.”
"If you want to figure out which ones you'd like to bring Mom, you can bring them over to the Inn and we can walk them over here some time. We'll help get your living room looking more like one of your garden shows. My room at the Inn certainly feels more like home with them in it. Well, as much as it can when the whole place feels like a Victorian mansion."
“I could just bring them over in my truck. Transport’s no big deal and I’ll just bring a bunch so you can have some to choose from. Hugh doesn’t have to be our, uh, middle man.”
“I like that plan Marceline. Hugh, you’re usually busy during the days anyhow, I’m sure we can handle it. It’ll be nice to have plants established to bring home as well. Though your father may not enjoy them as we do, that’s alright. So, what do you kids have planned this weekend?”
"It's true, you'll get them more quickly if you don't wait on me, and Dad won't appreciate them, but I doubt he'll notice if you fill the kitchen window with them," there's no disdain there, just facts. "There's the party at the Inn. But I don't know if we have plans beyond that? It's open to the community, are you going to come Mom? I'll introduce you to Rhett Wyatt."
“Oh my, I don’t think I brought a party dress worth meeting Rhett Wyatt in. Are you sure it will be ok if I tag along? Should I bring a dish to share?”
“I ain’t taking anything.”
Marce gets a quick kiss for her defiance. Marceline blushed, and sent a quick side-eye to his mother while Hugh speaks. “It’s not that type of party. It’s fully catered. You can just come, dance, enjoy an open bar. I’m sure you’ve got something. Maybe that light blue one you wore over Easter?”
Mary’s grin was electrified at seeing the kiss, hands grasped together under the table and out of view. Young love, there was nothing like it. “If you won’t mind your mother doting along, it sounds like a good time. I would love to meet your friends. I’ll make the trip home tomorrow to pick up something a little better than that. I mean, honey, it’s Rhett Wyatt.” She ended with a suggestively peaked eyebrow and a wink.
Marceline’s eyes dropped to the salmon, taking in a mouthful as an excuse not to talk.
"Mom," Hugh shook his head, but he's smiling. "It's not the Met Gala. Semiformal is fine."
“If it helps I was just gonna--” She pauses, not wanting to give too much away. “I’m not doing anything fancy.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll find something.” Gaze drifting to Marceline while she took a sip from her glass of wine. “I’m positive you’ll be stunning in anything. Maybe you and I should coordinate colors. That way Hugh Christian’s girls can be unmistakable!”
Wow, what a refreshing drink! is surely what Marceline was thinking as she sipped at her wine. Slowly.
"I think we should save multi-person stage musical level color coordination for a time when we've all got a bit more notice," Hugh smiled at his mother diplomatically. "And seriously, Mom, Rhett Wyatt is just an actor, like me. Only, you know, a lot better paid, and more experienced. Wear something you're comfortable in, and save me a dance."
Mary shot him an apologetic look with a bit of a pout but let it go as she made a mental note to have matching shirts printed ASAP. “Of course, darling. We’ll cut a rug together. Let me know if I should bring a gift or something, though, I do hate being a burden. Maybe a bottle of wine or a thank you card for the coordinator?”
"Which I suspect is one of Cecelia's assistant's," Hugh informed her, reaching for his own glass of wine. "There's no need. It's not a house party. Just come have a good evening."
Belatedly, “I was just gonna wear something black and-- shades of black, probably. No wine, or whatever, and if that’s rude we can just be rude together.”
“Shades of black?--"
Hugh choked slightly on a sip of wine.
"-- Isn’t that some risquè movie you kids are into? Sounds smashing love, I will also deck myself out in shades of black. A truly glamorous color.”
“I donno. Is it? Hugh knows more about movies than me.”
"It's a yes, only gray, which I suppose when you think about it that's the epitome of shades of black. But no one ever went wrong with a little black dress. How do we feel about dessert?"
“Of course, it looks delicious.” A quiet rustling of silverware and plates came next as Mary was all too eager to lend a hand clearing the table of anything she could, along with freshening glasses of wine.
Hugh is glad of the change from the topic, and he puts down a Victorian Sponge Cake with strawberries in front of Marce, looking at her with fondness and delight. "I know they aren't in season yet, and I should probably wait until they are, but I couldn't resist."
Marceline looked onto the cake with delight. She had half a mind to kiss him, but was not yet feeling so bold as to make any moves, chaste though they may be, in front of Mary.
So instead, “Gee, guess I’ll force it down somehow. Strawberries not in season… C’mon, Hugh,” she teased with a chipper grin.
“I have these pesky ingredient standards, but I like to see you smile even more,” he teased back.
Dessert plates and forks were followed by small glasses of milk - an absolute staple with cake of any kind. She took her seat again and smiled proudly at both of them for a moment. Hugh did great. “I bet it tastes better than it looks - Marceline, be a doll and cut it up please?”