WHO: Lyra and Jocelyn WHEN: Saturday, the morning after the frat party, and after Avery's gone home WHERE: Lyra's place WHAT: Lyra was right, that look on her grandmother's face did mean 'we'll talk about this after he leaves' WARNINGS: None
In the hall outside her family apartment, Lyra paused, and pressed her ear up against the door. It didn’t sound like there was a lot of movement going on in there? Maybe everyone had gone out and she could fall back into bed for a couple of hours before she needed to start getting ready for work? A nap sounded amazing. And a shower. A shower and then a nap. On clean sheets. That would be such bliss.
She unlocked the door and pushed it quietly open. The locked door wasn’t a sign no-one was home one way or another, they’d kept it locked ever since Jemma was tall enough to open it, and they needed to, since she had almost made it out onto the street five times since Lyra had arrived back in the city.
The apartment seemed quiet, and Lyra grinned a grin of sleepy triumph and picked her way across the living room back to her bedroom. Screw the shower and sheets, she was just gonna collapse.
“No use trying not to wake me now,” Jocelyn said, wryly amused, emerging from her bedroom. “I’m already up.”
Dammit. Lyra’s grin became a little sheepish as she turned round. “Yeah that coffee table… I’m sorry, really was tryna be smooth bout getting in so late.”
“And with company,” Jocelyn said, raising one eyebrow in the way Lyra had never managed to do and was forever envious of. Except not right now. Right now she was feeling a lil chastised.
But why? She hadn't done anything wrong. “Well,” she said, making herself sound firm and adult and stuff. “Yeah. And I’m sorry we were loud getting in, but I’m allowed to have company over if I want to.”
Lyra wasn’t sure her firm and adult and stuff voice was actually working. Jocelyn’s eyebrow wasn’t going down. “You bought a strange man into this house, and I am not happy about it.”
“But—!” Lyra protested, giving up on the adult as her mouth dropped open, incredulous. “Come on, it’s my place too, I can have people over, have boys over!”
“Yes, it’s your place too,” Jocelyn said, making her way to the couch and pointing at it to encourage Lyra to sit down too. Lyra didn’t move just yet, since she was sure that when she did, she’d slump down on that couch petulant as fuck. She didn’t want to act petulant as fuck, but she felt like it. “Come on, sit your ass down,” Jocelyn wasn’t giving up on the whole pointing business, and Lyra sighed (a bit petulantly) and sat down (much less petulantly than she feared). “But you’re forgetting it’s also Jemma’s. She is three years old and this apartment is her home, and her safe space. And this morning there was a man she didn’t know suddenly there, no warning, nothing. It’s not good enough.”
Lyra had opened her mouth to speak, but Jocelyn distracted her by passing her a large handful of Jemma’s clothes, and continued to speak as she neatly folded them. “All the while when you were growing up, I kept your mother’s men away from you. When she wanted to take you away and live with one of them she’d only just met, I kept you here, with me. I never left you alone with any of them, my girl, and I won’t be leaving Jemma. And that means you, of course you are welcome to have company over, but I do not want to end up in a situation where men I don’t know swan into this apartment like they own the place. You trust them with yourself, you’re an adult, but she is three years old.”
Lyra thought about mentioning how Avery didn’t seem like the type of person to swan about anywhere like he owned it, only, she could see where Jocelyn was coming from, and getting pedantic about personality types and all that was a bit pointless. Sure, Jocelyn was thinking about a dozen steps further into the future than Lyra was, but that was one of the things she was best at; watching for ways things could go wrong and actively planning to stop them. So Lyra folded up a pair of Jemma’s leggings and put it down on the coffee table. “Yeah, yeah I get it. I reckon we’ll stick to his place, anyways.”
“So he does have his own place?” Jocelyn added another pair of leggings onto the folded pile, and Lyra could’ve smirked because she’d known that question was coming. Does he have a job? Does he have his own place? Does he do his own dishes?
“Yeah, Grams. Career plus apartment.”
“And he wears condoms? Are you remembering to take the pill properly.”
“Augh–,” Lyra closed both her eyes. “You do not need to ask that.”
“Reassure me.”
“We’re being safe. I’m being safe.”
"Don't let yourself get pregnant, Lyra."
Lyra abandoned the shirt she was folding and poked her grandmother in the arm. "Ain’t you the worst Catholic ever."
"Listen to you!" Jocelyn batted her hand away, refusing to let her squirm or joke out of this conversation. "I'm looking out for you."
"I know– aight. I am not going to get pregnant." Lyra felt awkward spelling it out, like by promising that she wasn’t somehow meant there was a risk she was. And no, no way. Lyra could be a little careless but not so careless she was gunna risk putting her body and her life through that particular shitshow.
"And if you do, we'll manage it. You don't hide that from me."
"I knooow.” It was like she’d been catapulted back till she was fifteen, cept, not nearly as much, cuz right now she wasn’t going red to the roots of her hair. Back then, she’d wanted to squirm outta her skin with how awkward and embarrassing and downright excruciating the first conversation about sex with her grandmother had been.
It’d been awkward for Jocelyn too, though. Her own parents had never spoken about sex (they’d never spoken about a lot of things) and Jocelyn had been a virgin when she got married, and she’d only ever slept with Tarone, and they hadn’t spoken about sex much, either, while they’d been married. But when her only daughter had got pregnant at twenty to a stranger and for one reason or another hadn't said or done anything about it till several months down the track, well, that had set Jem’s life one way and there wasn't any way Jocelyn was going to let the same thing happen to Lyra.
So as soon as Lyra started talking about hanging out with boys instead of just Rosario, Jocelyn forced herself to deal, and sitting on the end of Lyra's bed one day they'd talked about pills and condoms and abortion and STI's and even discharge which had almost been fifteen year old Lyra's limit for what she could cope with.
And then Jocelyn had said, sadly: "When men treat you wrong, love, know that it's never your fault." Not if, but when, and then she'd kissed her firmly on the forehead and asked what she'd like for dinner.
So no, Lyra wasn’t gunna come over all petulant and childish and misinterpret Jocelyn’s motivations as being prudish. Her grandmother wanted to know she wasn't putting herself in danger. Jocelyn, who'd taught Lyra how to use a power drill when she was seven.
"I like Avery," Lyra said, sitting back up so she could keep folding laundry. "He can be a little arrogant? Patronizing? But he don’t talk over me. He listens. He ain’t pushy. He's passionate about stuff,” she paused, then grinned. “He’s pro-hairbrained schemes."
“Oh Lord,” Jocelyn shook her head. “Just what we all need. More schemes.” She placed Jemma's final shirt on the top of the pile, and Lyra laughed and leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"We always need more schemes," she said, as Jocelyn smiled at the kiss. "But honest, not as much as I need a nap. She hauled herself to her feet and picking up the pile of laundry to take through to Jem and Jemma's room. "We good?"