So I was happy with the amount of intimacy of our innocent hugs, snuggles, and hand-holding. It seemed something entirely new for the blue eyed mischief maker, and I wasn't entirely sure ze was even aware of it.
It felt... I don't know, maybe it is wishful thinking, but it felt like some of the things Reid did with me were almost romantic, like an unorthodox inadvertent courtship, which didn't help assuage my crush in the least. I was going to go meet the mother for feck's sake.
I muttered through a smile, “Being criminally cute isn't going to work for you one day..." Then I added, “Lady.”
Reid beamed at that, knowing I teased since I had gotten pretty darn good with the gender neutral pronouns. I've only slipped once or twice since our talk in the Parkland. And if the strictly binary pronouns others used around hir bothered hir in the least, it didn't show. If anything ze seemed to bask in them if people used the one which most fit hir gender fluid mood that day. It was only if they used the wrong one, or seemed to be judging, did she take offense.
Never once did ze correct anyone and I got the impression by the warning looks Reid would shoot me when I opened my mouth to correct them, that ze didn't want me to defend hir.
I glanced down at our hands when my companion shook them. “Hey, lady, you're in think-y mode again.”
I squeezed hir hand and then smiled and let her drag me to a row of two story terrace houses a couple blocks away.
We stopped in front of a brown brick home which had the only garage on the block. The garage door took up most of the front of their section of connected houses, the only window on their first floor facing the street was the one in the violet front door beside it. I glanced up to see four windows on the second floor to let in more light up there.
I always love the individuality of terrace houses. Usually each owner would paint the bricks a different color, so there was a clear delineation where one home ended and another began. And the Mastersons were apparently more individual than most.
I had to smile at the pastel lilac color that complimented the door, and the faux window boxes painted under each window with colorful painted flowers growing from them. A false ledge was painted above the windows with some stylized painted cats lounging on them. A huuuuge lion's head door knocker was painted on the violet door. I was half expecting some animated birds to fly down to rummage through the flower boxes.
As ze tried to tug me along Reid said, “We're just here."
But my shoes seemed to be glued to the walk. I couldn't budge as uncertainty welled up inside. With a furrowed brow ze asked, “What is it? What's wrong?" Uncertainty started to cloud hir face too.
I mumbled as I looked down at myself again, the way I was dressed, “Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I should change first. I don't want to make a bad impression." This was important.
All it took was a single word to break free the immovable anchors my feet had become, and for all my insecurities to take a back seat when Reid breathed out, “Impossible.”
I was floating on air as ze virtually skipped up to the door and swung it open. In a higher sing-song than hir normal voice Reid called out as I was pulled in front of hir like a sacrificial shield, “Mum, I'm home!”
I looked back at the grinning loon as ze held both of my arms, ready to push me into the fire. A middle aged woman who looked so very much like Reid, except for the heavy scarring on her face that looked like burn scars; though the pattern was odd like it slashed across her face from upper left to lower right; appeared at the end of the hall.
In another life, I would have found it shocking, but many, far too many, of the people that the Flotilla Project helps out, have some sort of physical or mental disability, or signs of abuse or accidents which have scarred them terribly. It didn't take long for me to learn the strength of these people and that any disability or affliction didn't define anyone any more than the color of their hair did.
June's mom, Mandy Fay Harris is famous for her belief that your scars make you beautiful. I didn't fully understand that when I was younger, I understood it was inspirational of course. But once I met people with the same sort of psychological scars like me, or more visible physical scars, and saw how they survived, how they persevered... then I realized the true message behind those words that someone so young couldn't fully understand.
When you can take the worst the universe has to throw at you and survive, you show an indomitable strength which makes you shine more brilliantly than the brightest star. And that... is beautiful.
So now I look past any perceived weakness or flaws and see people for who they are. And you know what I discovered? I'm a happier person because of it.
The woman had a smock on which was covered in various color splashes and drops of paint. She was wiping her paint covered hands, one of which was heavily scarred like her face, on a rag at the canvas apron at her hip. Various paint brushes and tools were strung along in various canvas loops along the apron. You couldn't mistake the woman for anything but an artist.
The most striking thing about her was the wide smile on her face as she motored toward us, arms wide. It was a mirror of Reid's, with that same innocent joy I enjoyed so much. Even her bubbled and scarred skin didn't take away from the gravity of it, which pulled your own smile out to greet it.
In a voice that could be used as a template for all mums in our fair world, she gushed, “You must be Christine! I'm so thrilled to meet you.”
I gleeped as she pulled me from her child's hands and into an embrace. I blushed and looked at the small woman as I stood there, not knowing how to react. I finally just smiled and returned her hug.
She released me and held me at arm's length as she looked me up and down and said in the same tone, “My baby has told me absolutely nothing about you." Then her smile broke as she shot the trademark accusatory look at her child that seemed to be a standard issue amongst mums across the globe.
I was guilty of that as well, as I hadn't told my family about Reid. I felt like I wanted to keep hir all to myself. Was that how Reid felt too?
I blushed and said, “Ze's had nothing but good things to say about you, Mrs. Masterson.”
She released me and batted at the air dismissively, “Mimi please."
I nodded then stiffened when she said, “I was thrilled when Reid shared that a friend was coming home for dinner. Not many friends that one.”
Squeak!
I glanced back over my shoulder to a guilty looking red headed Judas. With a grin and a shrug, all I got from hir was, “We'll, pop in to say hi, and... you know... dinner?”
I narrowed an eye at hir and then lifted my chin imperiously and made a show of ignoring hir as I inclined my head at hir mother and said, “I'd be pleased to have dinner with you, Mimi.”
With a devilish cackle, she looped an arm in mine and pulled me down the narrow hall, calling back to her evil spawn, “Stepped in it this time, love.”
I glanced back to see a smug looking Reid following us.
We passed a door into the little garage and then stepped into a small sitting area that had french doors looking out onto the tiny patio with one of those shared gardens just beyond it, which stretched down the block between the rows of terrace houses.
There was an archway to a small kitchen, and a stairway up between the arch and an open door I assumed was the loo. The walls in the entire space were covered in paintings of ivy and branches, and brick fences, with various cuddly looking cats peeking out from every nook and cranny in the paintings.
There was an easel in the middle of the room that had a painting of an adorable calico who was in the process of knocking a glass bird off a table. The way she used white borders, and having the cat's ears go beyond gave it a realistic, three dimensional feel, even though the cat was too cute, too fluffy, too cartoonish to be real.
The painting appeared to be about half done, and paints and other miscellaneous art supplies were strewn about the coffee table next to the easel. The unmistakable smell of o
il paints and thinner hovered in the space.
I retrieved my arm from her and stepped closer to it as I asked over my shoulder, “You're an artist then, Mimi?”
She beamed a smile at me, but before she could answer, Reid supplied, “More a crazy cat lady who supplies the habit of like-minded feline aficionados. You'd be surprised how much those with her particular addiction will pay for a picture of a fluff-ball batting at a butterfly."
I caught the awe for hir mother underneath the gentle teasing.
Mimi shot me some patient duck lips worthy of Paya as she gave her child a dubious look. “I like cats. This one would be wise to keep in mind I could model a wet cat in a tub after them if they keep prattling on." She arched an eyebrow toward the now super smiley redhead. Hmm, I wonder if Reid's real hair color is chestnut like hir mums...
Then I was captured by Mimi again as she led me to a little couch facing a telly. “Pay Syd no mind. I'll just clean up here and get supper going.”
My mouth, still stuck in automatic, blurted, “Syd?”
Reid slid onto the couch beside me and found my hand with hirs. With a sheepish look, ze supplied, “My middle name is Sydney, mum pulls it out whenever she wants to embarrass me.”
That was brill. Mimi was a wickedly playful woman.
Though I only had eyes for... Syd... I asked absently, “Do you have cats, Mimi?”
She quickly responded as she deftly cleaned up the painting supplies with the skill of someone who had done it most of their life, “Oh heavens no. Deathly allergic. They taunt me with their fluffy cuteness.”
I understood obsessing over something you could never have. I glanced down at my hand in Reid's. When I looked up, I saw Mimi was eyeing our hands too as she folded up the easel. Should I not be doing that? Should I let go? I didn't want to let go. But the wistful smile on her face told me not to worry.
She asked, “So, Christine, tell me about yourself. Since my own traitorous child hasn't seen fit to share. How did you meet my Reid, and how long have you two been friends?”
My companion blushed at the offhanded admonishment. I smiled at the woman and said, “Reid gave up hir seat on the tube to me a few weeks back, when ze was going to play a rugby match. I'm pretty sure that in some cultures that made hir responsible for me. We've been best mates since.”
The elder Masterson cocked an eyebrow at her child, “Rugby? Really? I should have guessed when you said Dominick was in town. What have I told you about that violent sport.”
Reid whined as ze looked down in embarrassment, “Muuum, I'm an adult now. I can make my own decisions. We've a guest...”
I squeaked out quickly as I held up a halting hand, “Don't go pulling me into this, I just need some popcorn to watch this play out.”
Mimi cackled in glee again and pointed at me as she said, “This one I like, Syd."
I got a little hand squeeze from the sufficiently embarrassed individual who seemed to be sitting a little closer than before. I could feel the heat from hir thigh. I gave a little squeeze back, forcing my eyes not to look down at our proximity.
Then the interrogation began, it felt almost like a parent quizzing someone their child was dating. I felt beat up and hung out by the time Reid rescued me, “Want me to help with supper, mum?”
This got the woman in motion, and I sighed in relief, shooting a grateful glance at the sly pixie beside me.
Mimi called to us, “You two can peel the potatoes while I brown some beef."
We stood and dutifully followed.
I am of the belief that since I met Reid, my mouth and I have become two distinct individuals since I apparently have no bloody control over the things it blurts out. “I'm just curious... I noticed you haven’t used a single pronoun around Reid...”
Reid sighed long and loud as hir mum smirked at me as she stood over a skillet at the stove. “I always get tripped up, even after all these years. Ze, hir, ve, ver, fi fie fo fum... I can't keep track sometimes. If the stinker is being a manky bint, I call her on it. If he's being a wanker, I'm quick to point it out.”
I opened my mouth, but she continued, “You'll learn that Syd has the propensity to lean one way or another depending on mood. And I adjust my address accordingly.”
I had already noted what she described. Like today, Reid was radiating femininity.
Then she said something interesting... well more interesting than it had already been, “Reid has the tendency to lean toward the gender of her friends. Ooo, look, a pronoun..." She gave me a grin that was all teeth then continued, “My baby has only had three really good friends. Otherwise, Syd prefers to just stand on the outside looking in.”
She gave such a warm look as she shared, “Malana in primary school, the two were so frilly back then. Then it was Dominick and all the rough housing. I've taken note that Reid has been acting more feminine lately, and then she brings home a delightfully wicked young woman."
I... was influencing Reid's fluid gender?
I giggled as said fluid individual whined, “Muuuum.”
I reached a potato around the sufficiently embarrassed redhead and hugged hir close for a second. Ze laid hir head on my shoulder a moment and stuck hir tongue out at hir mother.
Mimi looked entertained then narrowed her eyes a bit as she really studied me again. I felt as if she could see right through me and knew that I wasn't good enough for her child to be hanging around with.
Reid exhaled in exasperation and pulled me back to our task of peeling potatoes, “Ignore her. She can be overprotective. Too much so sometimes." Ze shot an accusing look at hir mum, who absently touched her face.
My eyes widened at the subconscious gesture. Had she gotten her scars while protecting Reid from something? Reading my mind, the room sobered as she shared as she turned the beef in the pan with a spatula and answered the question I would never have asked in a million years. “Small price to pay for my baby.”
I looked between them, feeling boundlessly awkward. Reid said softly, “I was relentlessly teased and bullied when I was younger. One boy, Aaron, had beat me soundly at recess, calling me a freak who should just go die in a hole. He was expelled.”
I didn't even move as Reid continued, “His father took exception. They hunted us down when we were walking to pick up groceries." Hir voice tightened. “They drove past, and the man shouted out 'Fuckin' freak!' and tossed a cup of liquid at me." Hir voice broke a bit as ze finished. “Mum moved between us to protect me...”
Mimi finished in a matter of fact tone. “It was acid. But that is neither here nor there, I'd do the same again. Reid is my shining star I'd do anything for.”
She smiled at us and shrugged so very much like Reid did as she explained, “People aren't born to hate. It is something they learn. Aaron learned it from his father.”
Reid said with more venom than hir mother's calm tone, “And now he has learned that every action has consequences. His father was doing fourteen years porridge in Brixton Prison still for his part, they judged it a hate crime. He was released on parole just last year. Aaron was thrown in Brinsford for a year, and had to attend two years of anger management for youths.”
We found a spatula pointing at us. “Now slice those up in the pot and get them boiling. I'll get the gravy simmering while we wait.”
She was done talking about the unpleasantness, and we dutifully did as we were told. I kept glancing at Mimi. She seemed even prettier and larger than life to me now. She steered the conversation to more pleasant topics, then I realized I was being interrogated about my family.
I didn't mind, as I had such a spectacularly unorthodox family now, which I loved with a passion. I got more than one raised eyebrow when I mentioned parts of my family like Tabby as if it was normal to tease a music superstar. But for me... it was. Tabitha was like a big kid. Well, a big sexy as hell kid, with a wicked sense of humor. I saw her as one of my many adopted big sisters.
After a nice dinner, I found myself playing a board game for the first
time in a very long time. Fran has a large collection of board games that she and Vanessa are almost obsessive over for some reason, but I haven't yet had the occasion to play one with them.
When it was starting to get dark out, we wound things down. Reid mentioned, “I'd prefer you not ride the tube at night. I'll walk you back to the station.”
I pointed at her accusingly. “Now see? This is where our own vehicle would be endlessly beneficial." I felt righteous smug-damnation.
Hir girlishness swung toward the masculine with the equally smug grin I got in return as Reid said, “I sort of do have a vehicle.”
Mimi made an exasperated sound and muttered, “Death machine is a more apt description.”
Again the whine that I was so amused by, “Muuum!”
Then I was glurking as I was pulled down the hall, away from the chuckling woman and through the little garage door. I heard a click in the darkness and the space was lit up. There had to be hundreds of canvases with varying degrees of feline-ness painted upon them, stacked everywhere.
Off to one side near the little high window in the garage door, was a bicycle that looked to be part Frankenstein's monster. There was a little fuel tank under the center bar and a small gas motor sitting over the back wheel. The entire thing was covered with a thick layer of dust.
She stepped up to the cobbled together mechanized whoziewhatsit and made a proper introduction, “Christine, Melody. Melody, Christine.”
I giggled. “Pleased to meet you." And curtsied to it to the amusement of the blue eyed imp.
Reid was all bloke now as he gushed about how many cc motor it was and how fast and far the bike could travel. The he said with a touch of regret. “She stopped running coming on a year ago. I've no mechanical ability and haven't the foggiest what ales her." She was all girl on that last admission. Not that girls don't know about mechanical things, rather I could see the dial swing visibly from masculine to feminine when she said it.
Now just a couple short years ago, I would have been shrugging right alongside Reid. But I lived with McGrath and hung around with Bea. Bobby and I helped McGrath maintain the two small gas powered generators on the Deidre all the time.
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