1881 Hameau des Artistes -- Michaud Household

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Henry Greene

Henry, since his arrival, had gotten nothing but animosity from Lucian, which he had expected considering he had given nothing but resentment towards Lucian. It was a vicious cycle that Henry almost enjoyed. But looking down at this little baby his daughter had created, not out of her own recklessness, but out of love, seeing that little toothless grin that was purely Ashton’s, he didn’t know how he could ever even fathom putting him up for adoption. How could he of thought that it would have best? Seeing Ashton take care of Gregory, loving him more than he thought detached and careless Ashton could. Seeing Lucian rise to take responsibility like a man, loving his son as if he wanted and planned for him. It caused Henry to smile at his grandson, and if he weren’t so worried about waking him up, about some Henry alert going off, he would have scooped him up into his arms. Ashton had, admittedly, chosen a good man to father her child.

A man who had every right to throw him and Petri out of the room, out of the house, but spoke so softly, so genuinely that Henry could have sworn someone else was speaking.

“Petri, hmm? I’m sure Greggy would love him. He hasn’t a stuffed elephant yet.”

Henry smiled and placed the elephant into the crib gently. Gregory, as if he could smell Ashton beneath the neglect and newly washed scent, cuddled up to it, yawning the left ear into his gummed mouth.

“I don’t know what made me bring him, but I’m glad I did—I’m sure Gregory will take care of him much like Ashton did. Be prepared to sew the ruddy thing back together several times. I’m sure the manufacturer did a shoddy job making it, and throw in Jane’s—bless her heart—lack of sewing skills… But Ashton loved it all the same and he’s quite durable… lived through so many plush horror stories…” Henry realized he was speaking in a monologue. And stopped.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but he’s really precious, Gregory. I may not have shown it, but being a grandfather again… it’s indescribable.” He remembered when Calvin was born. Henry cried. He sat in his bedroom and spoke to Jane’s picture, reiterating every detail so she could witness it, so they could be grandparents together. He saw a small funhouse version of his own children, seeing versions of their own experiences. Jane would have been a fantastic grandmother, much as she was as mother, fitting the role as if she was a glove conforming to a hand. He thought of Ashton’s grandmother—crude, outspoken, and cantankerous. Ashton loved her, her “Naini.” He wondered what Gregory would call him. Calvin called him “Grandaddy,” sometimes “Gran-pop”. He had a fear Gregory would call him “Henry” the way Ashton did now. It hurt going from “daddy”, a name reserved solely from two people in the world—Delilah and Ashton—to being “Henry”, as he was to everyone in the world. It was a disassociation. It was the highest form of disrespect. She might as well just stab him in leg and it would have a similar effect.
He might as well bring this up now in the silence.

“What’s he going to call me, anyway? Ashton called her grandfathers “Taini” and “Pappy”. What’ll Gregory call me? I understand if he calls me “Henry”… I, admittedly, deserve it.” Henry said.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

When Henry smiled, he actually looked like a human being. Lucian couldn’t vilify a grandfather who smiled at his grandson while giving him a stuffed animal. Unless, of course, this was all motivated by a political sense. In which case, Henry was deliberately currying Lucian’s favor to use at his leisure later. He didn’t frown, but Lucian sorely wanted to. He wanted to riddle this one out properly. Lucian looked instead into the crib to see his son yawn and snuggle against the elephant. And unlike the frown he’d suppressed, Lucian couldn’t hide his smile.

“I don’t know what made me bring him, but I’m glad I did,” Henry confessed. “I’m sure Gregory will take care of him much like Ashton did. Be prepared to sew the ruddy thing back together several times. I’m sure the manufacturer did a shoddy job making it, and throw in Jane’s—bless her heart—lack of sewing skills… But Ashton loved it all the same and he’s quite durable… lived through so many plush horror stories…”

Lucian, against his better judgement was seduced into listening. The mere mention of Ashton and her childhood calmed him, intrigued him. She didn’t like speaking about being a child; likely because of her mother’s death or Henry’s ill treatment of her. Glimpses past college were rare and often confined to stories of childish antics or misadventures with Delilah. Never this sort of retrospect, the sort Lucian regarded Damien with, the sort he would come to regard Gregory with in time. Maybe Lucian was still desperate to be liked at least a little by Ashton’s father. It meant there would be more to fill in the patches.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but he’s really precious, Gregory. I may not have shown it, but being a grandfather again… it’s indescribable.”

Lucian could only imagine. He’d never been a grandfather once; now, he wondered if he ever would be. He hoped he could postpone that phase of his life for a while; was certain of it. Damien had been seeing his boyfriend for only a few months, after all, and Gregory was far too young to think of as a parent, much less as an adult. Perhaps Henry felt about grandparenthood the way Lucian felt about fatherhood. Or at least similarly. Henry, even if Ashton and Lucian hadn’t had Gregory, would have still had ample opportunity to be a grandfather again. Lucian had never dreamed—not for at least ten years, perhaps even longer than that—that he would ever have occasion to be a father again. He had the sudden urge to pluck the sleeping Gregory up and hold him. Sentimental and foolish of course; he didn’t actually want to wake Gregory, since that would mean for a night of holding and singing and soothing desperately in vain hopes the boy would go back to sleep. Lucian instead reached in to re-tuck Gregory in, momentarily stroking his tiny hand with his own forefinger.

“What’s he going to call me, anyway? Ashton called her grandfathers “Taini” and “Pappy”. What’ll Gregory call me? I understand if he calls me “Henry”… I, admittedly, deserve it.”

Lucian squeezed his eyes shut. There it was, the verbal stab. The real motive behind this conversation. He should have known not to let his guard down around his too-shrewd father-in-law. Now, he supposed he ought to feel guilty for silently agreeing. It was all in the rhetoric. Lucian sighed.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’ve always been of the mind children control their relationship with their grandparents.”

It was true. He thought of Damien’s odd love for Ken. Lucian could stand his former father-in-law in small doses, but Damien tended to see something in the stern, bossy older man Lucian just couldn’t. A softness or capacity for traditionally expressed love, which was at odds with the man who ruled his household like it were a regiment. The man who thought love was about eliminating threats (such as Lucian) had been Damien’s “Grampy” when the young man was two, his “Gramps” when he was twelve, and his “Grandad” when he was twenty-three. Lucian knew there was nothing he could do to convince Damien Ken was unlikable; he couldn’t even bring himself to insist Damien call the man “Grandfather”, as he had been made to do with his grandparents. It was a different time, a different generation now.

Though, he supposed Gregory was of a different generation than Damien.

No matter, the words were out there.

“Ashton and I still have some things to discuss, of course,” Lucian said, a little more resolutely. “Naturally. You remember what it’s like to be a new parent.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Henry Greene

When the girls had been growing up, any mention of Taini and Naini or Pappy and Granny would light up their little eyes, Delilah’s a blazing cobalt, Ashton’s an energetic green, and they’d run around and pack bags enough for a week. Henry would stand back and watched, amused, as Jane helped them impatiently scramble into their coats. Pappy would sit in his air chair and tell them stories from when he was their age, wriggling his grey moustache and tip his hat at them, a hat he always wore because, as a barber, he was ashamed of his bald head. Pappy would always braid the girls’ hair while Granny made the heartiest meal anyone could ever dream up. Pappy would play checkers with them and, later, chess and Granny would give them life advice only grandmothers. Henry enjoyed the times he could send the kids off to his parents’ house. It gave him quiet time to dedicate to his work. That was, until Jane convinced him otherwise. He wondered (and secretly hoped otherwise) if Ashton did the same for Lucian.

He remembered, less fondly, the days he would take the girls to Taini’s and Naini’s house. Jane’s mother had never liked him, and her father was far too quiet for him to be sure of his opinion of him. But Ashton and Delilah (Ashton most especially) loved them. Her Taini would play an invisible violin on her arm or teach her to play the piano while her Naini taught her naughty French (one of her first sentences being ‘Tais-toi, le cul stupides’, which translated to “Shut up, you stupid *ss”) and made them think about things too deep for most children, like the best way to show love and live life, or how our actions affect the world.

The four of them had been (and three of them still were) the quintessence of grandparenthood, something Henry feared Gregory wouldn’t have.

“I don’t know,” Lucian said quietly. “I’ve always been of the mind children control their relationship with their grandparents.”

Henry relaxed visibly. That was a relief. Gregory wouldn’t be brought up to hate his grandfather the way Lucian surely did.

“Ashton and I still have some things to discuss, of course. Naturally. You remember what it’s like to be a new parent.”

Henry smiled. He surely did. Delilah was born two years after he and Jane had gotten married, right in the middle of their financial nadir that Jane seemed to be oblivious to. Jane often brought home new things for the baby that they simply could not afford. “Jane,” Henry had said, trying his best to keep his temper. “I worked fifty hours this week so our family could eat, and you bought Delilah toys. Darling, we can’t eat toys.”

Jane would always respond the same way. “Oh shush. We’ll manage.”

“Jane, we simply can’t—“

“Afford it. I know. But Delilah doesn’t need to know that. No child should have to grow up with the burden of knowing their parents can’t afford nice things. We’ll get out of this mess eventually.”

And they did. Within nine years, he had built not only his empire of banks, but he had built a lavish house for his family.

Fortunately, they didn’t seem to be a problem for Ashton and Lucian.

He and Jane had talked about other things, too, when Delilah was born. Like what neighborhood to live in, how they would educate her. Henry even argued for being a one-child family, which Jane would hear none of, insisting that being an only child had been sad for her and she never wanted Delilah to be sad. Obviously, Jane won on that one. They even talked about what it would be like to one day be grandparents. Jane was excited by the prospect, much as she had been when they first talked about having a family.

And Henry was suddenly sad. Neither Calvin nor Gregory would know her, appreciate her love of life and beauty; and Jane had never lived to see the day she became a grandmother. Of course, though, the night Calvin was born, he told her everything. “Ten fingers, ten toes. Delilah’s nose, Theo’s eyes, Delilah’s smile, Theo’s hair, but your cheeks and Theo’s dad’s chin.”

He had yet to do that with Gregory, whether it be from any traces of bitterness he felt (which was a way he hated Jane to see him in), or from the lack of opportunity to be with Gregory, but whatever it was, he wanted still to tell her everything.

Henry realized he never answered Lucian, and decided to just drop the subject, verbalizing his thought process instead. “I’m sorry Gregory’s not going to meet her, Jane.” He said quietly. “He has her ear lobes. She would have liked to see that.”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

It was still in the nursery for a long moment. Lucian didn’t want to break it; the ease of the silence was thin and unlikely to last if Lucian so much as breathed wrong. He didn’t trust any truce he made with Henry—even for Ashton or Gregory’s sake—to last without being treated with suspect tenderness. He instead watched Gregory sleep and tried to convince himself he was having a tender moment with his baby boy.

He wasn’t. Gregory was unaware of Lucian’s presence and all Lucian could hear was Henry breathing. It was unnerving. Looking at Gregory just kept Lucian from going mad with worry.

“I’m sorry Gregory’s not going to meet her, Jane,” Henry said softly.

Lucian looked at him. The older man was staring at Gregory and there was a look of bitter-sweetness etched on his rough-hewn features.

“He has her ear lobes. She would have liked to see that.”

Lucian’s stomach felt empty. The man beside him had lost his wife. Not divorced her, not fallen out of love with her or into love with someone else. He hadn’t been left with half of everything and a blank slate. He’d had his wife—his much-loved and lovely-sounding wife—ripped from him while his children (or, rather, child. As far as Lucian could tell, Delilah had been grown at the time.) still lived at home and needed a daddy to make everything all right. Ashton hadn’t had much of a daddy since she lost her mummy. But Henry hadn’t had his other half. Lucian wondered…

No. Lucian knew: If Ashton died before him, he’d become just as much of a husk as Henry was now. Maybe more. Well, he would have, if Damien for one second let him. His oldest son wasn’t the sort to silently go without anything, much less a parent. He would drag Lucian back to acting normal, kicking him if he had to, and forcing him to be a proper dad to him and Gregory. But the feeling…

Would it feel the same? Lucian couldn’t presume to know how Henry felt. He couldn’t imagine himself in such a dark place, either, but without Ashton…

That was an awful thought to even have for half a moment. Ashton had reanimated Lucian—perhaps brought him to life for the first time—and a world without her driving force was unimaginably awful. Henry was a stronger man than Lucian gave him credit for, and a stronger man than Lucian ever wanted to be.

“Does he?” Lucian murmured, peering at Gregory’s earlobes.

He wondered if Jane would have been his ally or enemy, were she alive, or if she would think Lucian an inappropriate choice for her baby girl and, like Henry, only soften at the sight of Gregory?

“They’re lovely earlobes,” Lucian said. In any other context, the words would sound odd. But to Lucian, they made the most sense of anything he could say.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Having a baby was hard work, but being a parent was the most difficult job Ashton had ever had. She worked in a music store at university for a while and had to move pianos. As a teenager, she taught twenty kindergarteners how to dance and cleaned up after them, but only from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. After that, they went home. Being a mother paid nothing in money (but was priceless in a billion other ways), and was a 24-hour job for every day of the week.

But Sundays seemed to be the hardest.

Actually, that was just a theory. This was only the first Sunday Lucian had spent away since Gregory was born, and it had hardly even begun. But when Ashton said goodbye to Lucian this morning, and looked around at the mess of the house and heard the early morning crying of a newly woken one-month old, Ashton ran a hand down her sleepless face. Thank God she didn’t have to do this alone every day.

She scooped up Gregory and silenced him with a diaper change, hoping it hadn’t waken up Henry and called Damien. Maybe he’d be willing to help her—if not with the baby, then with the cleaning-- and provide her with a better company than her father would have.

After all, her talk with Natalie brought to light a new insight to Damien; something that hadn’t been there when she saw him last. And maybe, just maybe, a little visit would be just what they needed to patch up any and all remaining holes in the fabric of their relationship.

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien was on an emotional high. There was something about loving and being loved in the City of Love that was just lovely. Honestly, most everyone he loved was here. His parents, his best friends, his boyfriend.

Most of all, his brother.

Gregory James Michaud was born almost exactly a month ago and as far as Damien was concerned, Greggy was a good luck omen. At a little over a month old, there wasn’t much Greggy could do. He could smile (sort of), recognize his name (supposedly), and a whole host of things Damien and other adults took for granted. But since Gregory’s birth, nothing but good things had happened to Damien.

1. His boyfriend said “I love you”.
2. His cat had kittens.
3. And his best friend checked into rehab.

Okay. The last thing wasn’t exactly great on the surface, but that Bill was getting help was a huge relief for Damien. And it would be best for Bill in the long run. 2012 was supposed to be the year the world would end, but as far as Damien was concerned, this finally had the potential to be the best year of his life. He owed it to the little guy to stop by every so often—and maybe to rub his belly Lucky Buddha style. When Ashton called, it just gave Damien an excuse to do exactly that. He drove to Montmarte and parked behind his dad’s old BMW (clearly, the Jaguar was in Burgundy for the weekend, as well). He marched up the steps and rang the doorbell.

And the he remembered Gregory might be down for a nap.

Oh well. You win some, you lose some, right?

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton, baby snuggled securely to her in a sling, scrubbed away at week old derelict dishes that had sat in the sink, replaced on the to-do list with things like “pick up Henry’s medication”, “go grocery shopping”, and “prepare bottles”. As Gregory had been thrust into a world of light and color and sound, Ashton and Lucian had been thrust into a world of responsibility and parenting. They hardly had time for themselves, much less each other these days.

Especially now that Lucian was in Burgundy for the Vineyards until Monday afternoon. Hopefully, he could come home to a clean, calm house that wouldn’t remind of the long list of things he had to do, but that he had a fiancée who loved him very much.

And a grown son who was willing to help out… hopefully.

The doorbell rang and Ashton went to get it, lightly bouncing a cooing Gregory as she made her way.

“I wonder who it is, Gregory!” she mused, smiling down at him. “Is it your big brother?” She asked, lifting him slowly out of the sling so he could see, and opening the door. “It is!” she said excitedly to Gregory. “It is Damien!” Gregory smiled and made a soft gurgling sound at the fuzzy sight he got of him as Ashton welcomed him in. “Hey, thanks for coming over,” she said, giving him a firm, but gentle hug as she carefully sandwiched Gregory between them, who reached out for Damien’s nose.

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

The door flung open. Damien was greeted by the sight of Ashton and Gregory both; the latter, gurgling happily.

Or, at least, Damien assumed it was a happy gurgle. And not an upset stomach gurgle. After all, what little kid wasn’t happy to see his awesome older brother? Well, Penny was never overly excited to see Bill or Ben, but she didn’t count. Every other younger sibling in the world loved the older siblings. That was the rules.

Or, at least, Damien supposed it was the rules, since he was happy to see Gregory.

“It is!” Ashton cooed. “It is Damien!”

Damien grinned and stepped inside. He waved to Gregory and Ashton shifted the baby sling to hug him.

“Hey, thanks for coming over,” she said.

“I’d never pass up a chance to see this little guy,” Damien said, snatching Gregory up in his own arms and holding him in a position Damien liked to think of as “Reverse Lion King Style”. Up high in the air, but facing Damien. Gregory seemed happy. Or, well, Damien hoped he was happy. Because Damien was happy.

“Anything exciting on the agenda today? Disney movies? Mozart and finger painting? What d'you think, Greggy-boy?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“I’d never pass up a chance to see this little guy,” Damien said, scooping Gregory up his hands, holding high in the air. Even though Gregory’s eyes went wide for a moment before scrunching up into the prelude look of his banshee scream before relaxing once more, Ashton didn’t jump as much as she used to. She was learning to trust other people with holding him. When she first had him, everyone suddenly had some communicable disease, or would drop him, or play with him gruffly, or would cause some sort of irreversible damage. But, after a reassuring talk with Lucian that babies, even newborns, weren’t quite as fragile as Ashton thought, and that trusting people that were him and herself to hold him was important, she was more open to the idea of inventive ways of holding him. Even Damien’s interpretation of Rafiki holding baby Simba was less threatening than it would have been last week.

“Anything exciting on the agenda today? Disney movies? Mozart and finger painting? What d'you think, Greggy-boy?”

Ashton laughed. “If by “exciting” you mean watching this little guy while I do a little housework, today is going a blast.” Ashton began leading the two of them up the stairs, watching Damien carefully from the corner of her eye, making sure each step was gentle on her son’s head and there was no chance of them slipping. At the top of the stairs, “I apologize for the mess. Lucian and I have been so busy with Gregory and taking care of Henry that this place has become more of a dump than a house. Plus, Lucian, Gregory, and I would much rather have you holding him than, you know, my alternative,” Ashton nodded towards the closed bedroom door where Henry slept, snoring. Ashton resumed the dirty dishes she had put down. “Thanks so much again, Damien.”

[The Exodus]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Ashton was laughing, Gregory was happy. Clearly, today would be awesome. Maybe they’d start with the fingerpaints and then wrestle and then move to snack time. Then, after that, curl up with a Disney movie until everybody fell asleep. It wasn’t exactly rock-climbing or back-packing through Europe, but still, exciting as it got for a one month old, Damien figured.

“If by “exciting” you mean watching this little guy while I do a little housework, today is going a blast.”

“Oh. Okay, sure.”

Actually, it wasn’t just “okay”. It was kind of a let-down. When would they get to do fun things with the baby, anyways? Damien followed Ashton upstairs.

“I apologize for the mess. Lucian and I have been so busy with Gregory and taking care of Henry that this place has become more of a dump than a house. Plus, Lucian, Gregory, and I would much rather have you holding him than, you know, my alternative,” Ashton nodded towards the closed bedroom door where Henry slept, snoring.

Damien nodded. He’d met Henry a handful of times. He wouldn’t leave his children alone with the man. Hell, Damien wouldn’t leave himself alone with the man. He had a sneaking suspicion that Henry Greene was part Minotaur or something. Not literally, though. That would make Ashton part Minotaur. And Greggy. And any other kids Ashton ever had. Would Ashton have other kids? Damien wondered if Greggy was destined to be his only little brother or if there would be a whole brood of them a la MaCarthy Family. Damien wondered if he minded or not. If Gregory would mind sharing his mummy. Damien didn’t have to share his own mummy and for that he, was thankful.


“Thanks so much again, Damien.”

“What? Yeah, sure thing,” he said. He snuggled Gregory closer to him. “And don’t worry about the mess. I live with Bill.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Oo: Lushton! BiC:


Ashton Greene

“Replaced!” Ashton exclaimed, ripping off her jacket. “Can you believe it? They replaced me!” She blindly hurled her jacket towards the hamper, missing it by several feet.

Ashton hadn’t cried all day. She drove home from that jazz club, her eyes burning, itching as she fought tears. The day had been overcast, threatening rainfall, and Ashton turned on the BMW’s windshield wipers just in case.

How she wished there were mini windshield wipers for overcast eyes, too.

“How stupid can I be, Lucian, to just walk in there all ‘cheerio, how are you?’ and expect my job back?” She yanked open the dresser drawer with a loud clang, the armoire shaking precariously, threatening to send their menagerie of knick-knacks precipitating down on her. She threw her pajamas onto the bed, feeling the soothing release of tension in her arm as she did so, and began ferociously undressing herself. Her fingers fumbled as they shook with rage.

“And this woman they got. My God! I mean, like, who is she? And who does she think she is just coming in and plucking up my job like that? It’s a jazz club, not a goddamned lost and found thrift store… thing.” Her fingers slipped as she battled with the round plastic and it’s fabric slit counterpart. “And why can’t I unbutton this shirt?”

She looked up at Lucian for some answer, some sympathetic look, some invitation to fall into his arms and openly weep. But none came. His face was obscured by a book. A book. He was reading while she vented and fought back hiccups of sobbing.

“Lucian!” She said, her voice almost whining. “Really? Reading? I come home from a difficult day at what should have been my work and you’re….” Ashton bowed her head to cry. She sniffled. “…Reading?”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

“Bringing Up Bebe” shed floodlights on Lucian’s own childhood. He hadn’t expected it to when plucking it up in Brentano’s this morning, Gregory in tow. He’d chosen it with the desperate hope that by reading about French parenting mores, Lucian would somehow stop getting stared at in stores and at playgrounds every time Gregory started to cry and he—Lucian—rushed to his aid.

Instead, he was learning words for things his own father would do when he was a child. Alphonse Michaud didn’t yell, after all. Instead, he’d shoot Lucian a look—widened eyes, raise eyebrows—that filled him with a sinking sense of shame. Lucian had always assumed it was just Alphonse’s nature. Diplomatic and stern.

Apparently, it had a name, this look of disapproval, and Lucian had been parenting with it for nearly twenty five years, unknowingly.

It was called—

“Replaced!”

Lucian looked up from the book’s glossary for a moment to see his fiancée, Ashton, storm into the bedroom, ripping off her jacket like a madwoman. He closed the book over his thumb to hold his place and watch her.

“Can you believe it? They replaced me!”

Before Lucian could ask what this was about—or offer a word or two of comfort—Ashton’s jacket shot across the room. It whipped through the air with a slicing sound before thumping unceremoniously to the ground.

“How stupid can I be, Lucian, to just walk in there all ‘cheerio, how are you?’ and expect my job back?”

Lucian looked over the top of his book at her. They’d talked a few weeks ago about Ashton’s job. Last he could recall, she’d resigned from the Moulin Rouge. He couldn’t imagine just why she was so upset. He looked down at the book in his hands. It offered a safe haven. He took the offer, barely noticing as his fiancée ripped off her day clothes to change into pyjamas. He wasn’t taking the bait from Ashton; Lucian knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.

“And this woman they got. My God! I mean, like, who is she? And who does she think she is just coming in and plucking up my job like that? It’s a jazz club, not a goddamned lost and found thrift store… thing. And why can’t I unbutton this shirt?”

Rhetorical again. Lucian scanned for his lost place in the book. He understood this much about women: you didn’t interrupt when one was mid-rant. That was how you ended up on the couch or in need of stitches.


“Lucian!”

At his name, he looked up. Ashton whined it at him, behavior he’d expect from Damien, but not her. He blinked. Sometimes, it was easy to forget his fiancée and eldest son were the same age. Not so, now. Ashton looked small and pitiful and so utterly livid that Lucian suddenly felt indecently ancient and phlegmatic.

“Really? Reading? I come home from a difficult day at what should have been my work and you’re….” Ashton bowed her head to cry. She sniffled. “…Reading?”

“Well, my love,” Lucian set the book down. “What would you have me say? You said yourself that you were looking for a fresh career now that we have Gregory.”

Instantly, Lucian knew that was the wrong thing to say, He couldn’t rule out sleeping on the couch or needing stitches now.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton’s eyes burned as she wiped her face, sticky from her makeup which melted beneath her angry sweat and tears. She felt the gnawing in her stomach, the threat of a chasm opening from the inside to swallow her whole where she stood.

Reading. Lucian was reading. Ashton was trying to carve herself a satisfying work life, and failing lamentably, losing her mind to stress over her job, and here Lucian was, reading, comfortable on the bed, relaxed an absorbed in a book.

“Well, my love,” Lucian said, setting down her rivaled book, forcing it to show it’s little white flag of surrender. “What would you have me say? You said yourself that you were looking for a fresh career now that we have Gregory.”

Ashton felt the irritation bubble up in her. That “fresh career” was the job at the jazz club. How did he not understand that? Ashton ran a hand down her face slowly to silence the hot, boiling blood from popping out of her. “I’m not talking about the Moulin Rouge, Lucian. I haven’t worked there in over six months, in case you haven’t noticed. You know that jazz club I went to on Friday, Wednesday, and Saturday nights? That place I loved? That I worked so hard for? Are there any bells ringing for you?”

Her legs were angry jelly and she sank to floor. And from the big, fiery state she had been in all day, she suddenly felt small and defeated. “Oh, God, Lucian. What do I do?” She dug her nails into the area rug, feeling even the softest carpet slice up her fingers as she pulled at it. “You know, sometimes, I really hate people.” She laid her head down on the cold, hardwood floor, feeling the hollowness of the ground, as if she could just fall through and land on the couch in the living room beneath her. For a moment, she wanted the floor to vanish and send her falling down like Alice in the rabbit hole to the comfy couch below her so she could scream into the pillow and then fall asleep, exhausted from the disappointing day.

She hated her ex-boss; she hated this new Irina girl; she hated her former colleagues who talked to her about Gregory and the wedding, but not about the job she lost; she hated the book Lucian was reading.

“Does that make me a bad person, Lucian?”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Ten years ago—five, even—Lucian would already be rolling up a blanket and pillow to cart into the other room. But this was his first real fight with Ashton since they’d been engaged. He couldn’t just slink off, tail between his legs yet. In fact, if he wasn’t so scared, Lucian would be rather intrigued by the whole scenario.

How a couple fought said a lot about who they were.

Ashton’s face reddened and she slid a hand down its side. Lucian’s book now lay nestled in his lap and he looked at her with worried, furrowed brows.

“I’m not talking about the Moulin Rouge, Lucian. I haven’t worked there in over six months, in case you haven’t noticed. You know that jazz club I went to on Friday, Wednesday, and Saturday nights? That place I loved? That I worked so hard for? Are there any bells ringing for you?”

The sarcasm curled Lucian’s lip into a snarl. He considered for just a moment something equally irritating to say—something like: Oh, you mean that Jazz Club. See, I couldn’t have guessed that on my own, sweetheart—but Ashton crumpled on the floor and it stayed his tongue. Instead, he looked at her. And for the first time since they’d been together, a shiver of exasperation coursed through him.

What good was collapsing on the floor? There was no need for theatrics, for God’s sake.

“Oh,God, Lucian. What do I do?” she said, her voice small and no longer vitriolic. Ashton lay down on the floor and Lucian rose to stand over her. ”You know, sometimes, I really hate people. Does that make me a bad person, Lucian?”

“No worse than the rest of us, my love,” he said, crouching beside her. “Look, if you’d like, I’ll call my lawyer in the morning and we’ll talk options then.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

As far as Ashton could see from her place on the floor, she had every right to be upset, every right to want smash that little matryoshka face of the new girl, every right to feel the powerful rage of hatred and bile brewing like potion on her insides. And she had every right to get her job back. Her job she worked so hard for. Her job she gave one hundred seven percent at. Her job she refused to leave until she was over halfway through her pregnancy. Her job that made her feel like a real artist. And in a flash, a few short months, it was gone; ripped out from under her like a rug.

She felt Lucian crouch near her, and she almost didn’t want him to. She sat, prostrate and torn between wanting to be held and wanting to be left alone.

“No worse than the rest of us, my love. Look, if you’d like, I’ll call my lawyer in the morning and we’ll talk options then.”

“Is your attorney my attorney, too? Is he good? I mean, really, really good?” Ashton’s face glistened in the bedroom lighting with glossy tears. “Because I worked so hard for this job and…” Ashton sniffled hard. "…And… and they just took it away. I hope they rot. You know the club’s business rates went up after I started working there? They never thought about that when they made my substitute my replacement!” Ashton gave another almost ghostly moan, falling into his arms, remembering, if only for a moment, that her anger was not at him, but at the people responsible for her unemployment. Her voice was weak, muffled as she buried her red, tear-stained face into Lucian’s shirt. “Can we really get my job back?”