Lyra watched Avery fiddling with things like his own room was an interactive museum display even to himself, like maybe this room had been his once but it wasn’t quite his anymore. She hadn’t had the same experience; her room now was her childhood bedroom, but it’d grown with her, decorations changed as her tastes changed and while there were still sketches and photos on her walls that she’d done or taken in high school, it wasn’t a frozen snapshot of back then. The year (and three months) that she’d been away from home hadn’t been enough to disconnect her from the feeling that it was still home. How weird – how uncomfortable – must it be to feel alien in a space that was supposed to be yours.
Maybe this was a 2am, lying in bed together topic, not a broad daylight kinda one. Lyra set it aside as he asked about her. “Yeah, forreal, it was awesome,” she said, pulling one foot up onto the bed with her and resting her chin on her knee. “Having two parents in the same place on Christmas? Super weird. He got on really well with Jemma though so that won him points, we had a real wholesome family singalong after naps, I got all emotional on mulled box wine, y’know, good times,” she flashed a smile up at him, but it wasn’t a smile that lasted.
“There was a… a bit of a moment, though,” she admitted. “Mom, she… she got a little intense, wanted Patrick to bless her.” Lyra pulled a face. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
Like, deeply, deeply uncomfortable, yeah, but she didn’t wanna dump it on Avery, mostly because she didn’t want to admit how uncomfortable it made her feel. But she did wanna tell him, and get some kinda… she didn’t know… boyfriendish commiseration?
She huffed a little laugh out her nose before he could say anything, though. “Moms, right?” Like they could pretend it was some kind of universal experience.