Eddie Carmichael (edasich) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-12-21 20:20:00 |
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"Mam?" Eddie called as he cracked open the door to her flat. He'd lost track of her shifts this week, and wasn't sure she would even be home. He slipped off his shoes just inside the door and called out again. "Mam? You around? I've just come to borrow—" "Hold on! I'm in the kitchen." He headed over, but she met him there in the doorway. "Have you got any—hold on," Eddie caught a full view of his mother, apron-clad with bits of flour across her forehead. "What are you doing? Are you baking?" "No, love, I'm curing dragon pox." Emilia's sarcasm, at least, was unchanged. "Of course I'm baking! It's Christmas, isn't it?" "You're baking. For Christmas." An insistent ding began in the kitchen behind her. "Oh, that's the gingerbread. C'mon, don't stand around when you could be helping." She disappeared, leaving her bemused son to trail behind her. Every part of her little kitchen's counter space was covered with flour, sugar, eggs, all the things she'd never shown interest in before. Eddie sat down on his familiar stool to study the spread around him. "I can't believe you decided to start baking your first Christmas as an empty-nester. Are you really that bored without me?" "Ugh, don't call me that. Empty-nesters are fifty-somethings out joining bridge clubs." She pulled a tray of slightly deformed gingerpeople from the oven. "There. They look lovely, don't they?" "Sure. Stunning." "Don't be cheeky, Eddie. They're going to be eaten, aren't they? They haven't got to look perfect." "Good thing, that." Emilia shot her son a look. "You know, I've meant to ask, how did your spa day go? Did you and Lisa have a good time?" "Alicia," he corrected, suddenly annoyed. He and Alicia dated for months at Hogwarts and been friends since; she wasn't someone new in his life, but his mother didn't seem to care about that. "Yeah, it was grand. Very posh and relaxing." "Alicia, right, sorry. I did know that." Emilia gathered up a few dishes to dump into the sink and set a rinsing charm on them. "You two are being careful, aren't you? Taking proper precautions and all that." "Jesus, Mam." "Listen, son, you can't be too careful." She waved a spatula at him before dropping it in the sink with the rest. "I can't have you off making the same mistakes I did, can I? What kind of mother would that make me?" "The kind of mother who calls her kid a mistake right to his face?" "Och, Eddie." Emilia wrapped her arm around his shoulder in something like a reassuring hug, as if he were kidding. "You know I don't think that. But your girl's got a bright career ahead of her, and you're my brilliant boy and I know you'd do the right thing, so neither one of youse should be anywhere near worrying about a kid, aye?" Emilia's Scottish roots sparkled through when she got passionate or angry about something; even decades in Knockturn couldn't buff that out. "I'm not talking about this with you," Eddie said, pulling away. "But if I were, I'd tell you she's not my girl and she's not going to be, so you've nothing to worry about there, grandma." "After you took her to a spa? What kind of stuck-up bitch doesn't put out after you take her to a spa?" "For fuck's sake, Mam." The edge in Eddie's voice sharpened. "And don't call her that. I'm the one who—It doesn't matter. We're not a thing." Emilia gave him a sympathetic frown. "I thought you really liked this girl." "Yeah, well," Eddie slid off the stool to go examine the gingerpeople more closely. "My dad murders people like her dad for fun. That's not really something you get past." "Oof, is her dad a…" Emilia's exaggerated grimace filled in where she wouldn't with the word 'Muggleborn.' At Eddie's curt nod, her expression mellowed. "Well. That's not the point, anyway. The point is, you can't go letting that man ruin good things in your life." "I don't think I get much of a say in that, actually," he sighed. He picked a biscuit man off the tray. It was still hot, but he bit off its head anyway, regretting and enjoying his decision all at once. "Eddie! Those are for Christmas." "It's practically Christmas," he said through crumbles of cookie. "Well, that's the only one. The rest, we're saving. That reminds me, what time are you coming over on Sunday?" "Oh, uh," Eddie flushed for a moment. He took another hurried bite (and the gingerbread man's foot was no more) to buy him the time he needed to force a casual tone. "I thought we were doing on Monday, actually." "Sure, first thing. Don't you want to wake up in your old bed for Christmas morning?" "Mam, I'm not seven. Besides, ah," he faltered for a moment. "I've got plans Sunday night. I'll be over first thing Monday morning though, sure." Emilia's "Oh," came out, to Eddie's surprise, sounding disappointed, even hurt. She turned back to the sink, switching the cleaning charms so everything was scrubbing now, with vigor. "I see." "Hold on, no guilt trips," Eddie protested. "Since when do you even care about Christmas so much? Have you been reading one of those self-help things again? About the Importance Of Holidays or some shit?" "Christmas is important." "Mam, half the time at Christmas we're stuck at the Wyvern, eating pub fries with you working while some sad man weeps into his beer about how his kids don't want to see him anymore." "His kids don't want to see him on Christmas," Emilia snipped. "That's terrible. He must feel awful." Eddie didn't bother to hide the roll of his eyes. "I said I'm coming first thing Monday. Which is, you know, Christmas. I'll be here before you even wake up, I bet. Are you working again? We can get everything done up before noon and our usual Christmas pub fries for dinner. I'll pick up some Christmas Crackers for the Wyvern. See, there. Problem solved, still sticking to our old family traditions. Yeah?" Again, his mother surprised him, looking sadder than he ever thought she would. "I baked all this gingerbread." "Yeah, you sure did," Eddie said, confused. "I just thought, you know, Eddie's been having a tough year this year. I ought to make Christmas something special. He used to ask for gingerbread men, maybe we can have some for Christmas Eve. Have a nice day right at the end of the year." Eddie felt the guilt she was trying to lay, but still skeptical. His mother was good at twisting a moment to get what she wanted out of it, after all; most Knockturnians were. "There's literally no reason we can't just do that on Christmas proper." "I just think Christmas Eve should be spent with your family." A beat. "I am spending Christmas Eve with my family." And he could feel the shift in the room before she even hissed his name. "Eddie." Well. There was no backtracking now. "They invited me. For Christmas Eve dinner." "You can't go." "I can, actually," he countered. "They invited me. I said yes. I'm going." "Eddie, that man is dangerous, even on Christmas. And—" "Why do you always call him 'that man?" Eddie said, not really a question. "He's not You Know Who. He's not gonna pop up into the flat if you say his name out loud. Rabastan Lestrange!" he said, then glanced around the room like he was waiting, sarcastically, for something to happen. Emilia's jaw tightened. "See? Nothing. I know you made a point of going through my entire childhood never saying his name but I think we can be past that now, can't we?" Emilia was fuming red, but something like fear danced around her eyes. "Don't go," she said quietly. "Please, Eddie." And at that, he finally faltered, if just a little. "I'll... I'll be fine, Mam. He's not gonna let anything happen to me." Then, before either had the chance to make it worse, he headed for the door. "I've, um. I've got to get going. I'll see you on Christmas." |