fic. Fumble.
Fic. Fumble. ilsaluvsrick. Matt/Mohinder. Rated R
Title: Fumble
Author: ilsaluvsrick
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Matt/Mohinder, Original Character (Evie Parkman)
Summary: Ma Parkman comes for a visit.
AN: For tiptoe39, who is essential. Took the visiting parent cliche in an odd direction. Feedback is muy appreciated.
Fumble
When Mohinder first asks Matt about his mother, he takes a long time to answer.
“I don’t know she’s -she’s Ma. She worked two jobs after dad left and even now still manages to fit 48 hours worth of stuff into a 24 hour day. She’s a force of nature, one to be reckoned with. Will run your life if you let her and try like hell even if you don’t. She never…she never fumbles.”
A decisive nod and that’s the last said on the matter because how does one follow up on that? With all of this dancing in the back of his mind, Mohinder isn’t sure what to expect upon meeting the great and powerful Evie Parkman. Perhaps these were questions he should have asked before consenting to letting the woman into their home for two weeks.
She’s tiny, that’s the first thing Mohinder notices. Barely five feet tall and he refuses to believe that this slip of a woman is also the no-nonsense voice on their answering machine. But then she yanks Matt into a hug Mohinder suspects could surely crack ribs, her brown eyes dancing and laughs at Matt wheezing about needing to breathe, and yes, at that moment he sees the family resemblance.
She’s never still. Mohinder learns this fact very quickly. Always up and awake long before the rest of the household stumbles out of bed bleary eyed and in the case of Matt, slightly cranky. She makes huge breakfasts for them all, insists on fattening Molly up, glaring at Mohinder as if her being skinny is a personal failing on his part.
She immediately insists on teaching Molly to cook. Mohinder wants to be touched at how easily the two of them have bonded, at the way she beams whenever Molly calls her Grandma, if it weren’t for the fact that he is clearly not welcome at these cooking lessons. If Molly’s bragging that he’s an amazing chef and is even teaching her to make naan hadn’t been greeted with only a bland “Is he, now” and a skeptical eyebrow raise.
Back in California, she’s a nurse at a Planned Parenthood clinic and throws herself whole heartedly into any number of causes. Meals on Wheels, manning phones at a rape crisis center, fundraising for her temple. She doesn’t even stop when she gets home. Her lap is always full of some bit of lace work or skeins of yarn. Her current project is an elaborate baby blanket of soft butter yellow. She explains that it’s for her downstairs neighbor, a young mother about to give birth to her fourth child while she can barely care for the other three. She clucks her tongue and mutters that it’s not her place to judge but she’s going to make damn sure this baby has something beautiful it can call its own.
Mohinder calls her Evie out loud and Mrs. Parkman in his head and your mother anytime he refers to her in front of Matt. She’s so very much like Matt, knowing of the worst in the world and always hoping for the best and Mohinder’s almost sure he’d probably quite like her if she didn’t completely terrify him.
Matt jokes that she’s never satisfied. That it’s a well-documented fact. While others may aim for better, Evie Parkman scoffs at their lack of ambition. She’s always aiming for perfect. Her life stretches out in front of her in a clear uncompromising line and Mohinder has the distinct impression he plays no role in that view.
He tries to bring it up one night. In a perfectly reasonable and rational manner he makes the comment to Matt that he really doesn’t think his mother is very fond of him. Matt dares to roll his eyes.
“If she didn’t like you, she’d say it, trust me.”
Mohinder bristles at his condescending tone.
“What? She’d tell you point blank that she isn’t comfortable with the fact I turned you gay? No one’s that honest, Matthew.”
“She is. She’s never had an unexpressed thought in her life.”
“Maybe she’s learned some self control in the intervening years. Have you bothered to check?”
“You mean bothered to invade my mother’s personal thoughts? Peek around in her head and see if she secretly damns us to hell or something?”
“Don’t sound so offended! You certainly don’t mind it when it’s my head you’re rooting around in.”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen how angry you get, even when it’s accidental. So, I think you’d understand why I’m not willing to do it on purpose. I don’t need to look, Mohinder. She’s my mother. I know her. Ma’s all about fighting the good fight. She doesn’t have a bigoted bone in her body.”
In a slightly less reasonable and rational manner, Mohinder snaps that it’s much easier to be open minded when it doesn’t personally affect you.
“She’s said maybe a dozen words to me without prompting. She looks away anytime I touch you.”
Matt assures him that it’ll take some time for her, that going from a voice on the phone, someone she’s vaguely aware of existing thousands of miles away, and actually meeting him is very different.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to argue that being in favor of gay rights is all well and good when it’s hypothetical, another check mark on her long list of causes, but not nearly as appealing when it’s her only son in love with a man
His thoughts are a scattered whirl of Tamil. Matt presses up against him, erection digging into the small of his back, eases a hand into the front of his pajama pants and kisses behind his ear. Whispers that it’s his life, that he’s happy and that there is no doubt about his fondness for sexy brilliant geneticists. Mohinder thinks he should strongly object to this turn of events. He’s not supposed to melt so easily after his concerns have been thoughtlessly brushed off. Besides, they still haven’t resolved anything and Matt’s mother is sleeping on their couch right now, for heaven’s sake. He does melt, though.
They’re used to this. Making love quietly so they don’t wake Molly up sleeping in the room down the hall. Matt pressing into him with shallow thrusts, Matt whispering his name like a prayer into the hollow of his throat, while Mohinder muffles his moans against the pillow.
Tonight, it’s Mohinder’s turn. Tonight, he has a wild urge to yell at the top of his lungs, moan and groan and scream Matt’s name and every other filthy thing he can think of, to make the headboard slam into the wall. In no certain terms throw down the gauntlet-I am here and I love your son and I am not going anywhere.
Instead he slides in, feels the trembling in Matt’s whole body, wraps his hand around Matt’s mouth as he rocks backs and forth. Matt’s breath is hot, eyes bright and burning, wide with arousal, and when he shouts his release it is a hush against Mohinder’s palm. Mohinder tumbles down over the cliff with him, kissing the vee of his throat, sucking at his collarbone hard enough to bruise. Marking his territory.
--She’ll run your life if you let her.-
Well, Mohinder has no intention of doing so.
The next day he has the distinct impression he’s over played his hand when he comes home to find Matt and Molly suspiciously absent and Evie waiting for him on the couch.
“They went out for ice cream. And when I say went, I mean he insisted on leaving us alone so that we could clear the air.”
Mohinder has to curse inwardly at his lover’s unrepentant yenta tendencies.
-No wonder he was so eager last night. He must have known he’d never get laid again after this stunt.-
“I’m sorry, Evie. I brought home some work with me that I need to look over.”
“But, I brewed a pot of tea.” She protests.
He hesitates for a split second, a fatal tactical error.
“And I have a whole photo album here of Matty’s baby pictures. If you’re going to be angry at him, wouldn’t you prefer to be angry with excellent ammunition?”
She holds out the overstuffed album and his resolve instantly crumbles.
--This whole family is overrun with master manipulators. ---
Of course any lingering sense of anger vanishes the moment he glances inside. A tiny little pinched red face stares up at him with a footprint stapled below it labeled Matthew Ezra Parkman.
--Ezra? You poor thing, no wonder you look so unhappy.-
He flips through the pages and observes little Matthew’s first birthday, covered in chocolate frosting and doing his best to pull the party hat off of his head, little Matthew surrounded by a gaggle of eager cheek pinching old women and looking very displeased about it, little Matthew banging at pots and pans with a wooden spoon, little Matthew dancing in the spray of a busted fire hydrant his face split with a joyful grin.
Matt behind a drum set mugging for the camera, Matt leaning against a brick wall with a group of about a dozen other teenage boys, Matt with his arms around his prom date’s waist, Matt looking so impossibly young in his dress blues at his graduation from the academy, Matt at his wedding gazing at Janice like she hung the moon. Janice’s face is slightly blurred as if seconds before the flash went off she’d suddenly moved her head to look somewhere else. Looking for something better. It has Mohinder quickly slamming the album shut.
He hands it back.
“Thank you.” He tells her sincerely.
Evie takes it and clutches the album to her chest.
“It’s a terrible thing to feel you’ve let your child down, isn’t it?”
Mohinder remembers Molly stumbling out of her room screaming his name, eyes pouring out black tears, and shudders.
“Yes, probably the worst feeling in the world.”
“We fight for our children. Fight like hell to keep them safe and happy. The moment the doctor put him in my arms I loved him more than I thought possible. I vowed I’d do all I could to protect him. And I’ve failed him so utterly.”
A tear rolls down her face and splashes on the album.
“I stayed married to his father even though I could sense how rotten to the core Maury was because I believed a boy needed a father, even a bad one. And I couldn’t raise Matty alone, not in those days. Maury wasn’t dependable, but he always managed to pull himself together, to bring in a paycheck just when the bills became too much. Then he skipped out, just like those kinds of men always do and I rolled up my sleeves and kept going because I had no choice. I had to be mother and father. People tried to be nice about it, I was cool and capable, I had character, all those nice euphemisms for raging bitch. And I kept trying and always getting it wrong. I could work all the time to make up for what Maury wasn’t bringing in, but then I was never home. I could meet with teachers and the principal and insist no you will not place my son in remedial classes; you will not write him off as just another hopeless case and then have Matt be so angry and frustrated with me for interfering. And then one day be brought Janice home and she was so pretty and bright and ambitious. I hoped and prayed that she would be the one. That they’d move away to some nice quiet neighborhood and marry and have children and he’d finally be happy. I didn’t believe it, not really, but I needed it to be true so I convinced myself. Ignored the warning signs, ignored my instincts that said she didn’t understand him, didn’t respect him, didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved. The way you love him.”
At Mohinder’s shocked expression, she gave a dry laugh.
“I’m not an idiot. I can see what’s right in front of me. You’re what I hoped and prayed he’d find. I suppose I should have been more specific all those years. I need to make myself very clear. I’m not going to spit and rage about eternal fires or some such nonsense. But you are not what I wanted for my son.”
“Because I’m not Jewish?” His voice is as dry as the desert.
Evie glares at him.
“Even though you’re being a smartass, yes I will concede that’s a big part of it .I might have had an easier time accepting all this if you were a nice young man he met at shul.”
Mohinder can’t suppress the wave of anger at this comment. He had been right all along. This isn’t about needing time to adjust. The woman honestly does hate him. The realization makes him want to throw up.
“Yes, that would make this less than optimal character trait much easier to deal with, I’m sure.”
“What do you want me to say? Lie to you? Throw up my arms and insist we have a parade? I worked my whole life to take care of my son. A year ago he was living safe and sound and straight in California. I think I’m allowed to be upset when it turns out he’s not the boy I thought I raised.”
“Mrs. Parkman, your son being gay isn’t a personal failing on his part or a reflection of your inadequacy as a parent. I’m disappointed if you think that’s how these things work. And he’s still the son you raised. One aspect of him surprising you doesn’t make him a fundamentally different person. If you can’t love and support him because of this, then I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss.”
He starts to get up from the couch, but she suddenly grabs his hand squeezing hard enough to make his knuckles crack.
“Is that what you think this is about? That I’m just an ignorant homophobe whose opinion doesn’t matter?” She spit out. “Are you really this naïve or just stupid? He’s my little boy. My sweet little boy and there are people out there who would say terrible things about him, hate him, hurt him, kill him if they had the chance without ever knowing him because he loves you. Some of them are probably people he works with. Men with guns who believe what they are doing is right. And no one would say a thing to stop it. It makes me ill. It’s sick and wrong and unfair but it’s the truth.”
“Evie, with all due respect, this is the 21st century in one of the most gay friendly cities in the country.”
“And you think that matters? That people here see any different? That people in New York can’t hate what they don’t understand? Every Jewish family can tell you about how dangerous it is to think that highly of human nature. And I don’t care what century we’re in. People don’t change. I was horrified when Matty told me he wanted to be a police officer. I fought him tooth and nail, but finally had to accept it and only hope that he’d keep his head down and get his twenty years and retire. Now he’s not just a cop, or even a Jewish cop, he’s a gay Jewish cop. And if you attempt to patronize me and tell me that isn’t more dangerous, I will gut you with a teaspoon. My son’s relationship with you makes him an easy target for anyone looking for a victim. It could be a gunbutt to the head. Or maybe his backup will suddenly decide to go for coffee while he’s getting shot in some alley by whatever lunatic is tearing though the city. Or someone on the subway who objects to you two holding hands or raising a child together or even existing will catch him off guard. You are a good man, Mohinder Suresh. And I’m quite sure I could like you if you didn’t fucking terrify me. If that makes me a bad person, well than so be it.”
Mohinder smiles sadly.
“Or maybe he’ll die tomorrow and it won’t have a thing to do with who he sleeps with. Maybe he’ll be killed in a routine assignment like any other cop. Maybe he’ll slip in the shower or have a heart attack or be flattened by a bus. Maybe he’ll live to be a hundred and I’ll go first. Maybe the world will end next week and this is all moot.”
Mohinder hesitates and then decides to go for it. Let Matt rage at him for this later.
“I met Matthew when he was chasing down a serial killer. He was shot four times in the chest before he’d even contemplated the possibility of a sexual identity crisis. He lived through that and we found each other and even you concede that I make him happy. From the moment we’re born we start to die. So forgive me if I refuse to let you stand in the way of that happiness for the sake of what ifs. Matthew’s an adult. You can’t hold his hand when he crosses the street, anymore.”
There is a silent battle of wills between these two very different people who love the same man so fiercely. Evie breaks contact first. Mouth compressed into a thin line, she moves away and begins to serve the forgotten pot of tea. Her hands tremble so much that she knocks over one of the cups, chipping the corner. Without saying a word, Mohinder takes the pot and pours for both of them.
**
It is of course, not perfect after this little heart to heart. Evie doesn’t immediately clutch him to her bosom and call him son and Mohinder has no expectation or desire for her to do so.
A week after she leaves, there is a copy of Judaism for Dummies in the mail with the inscription ‘In case you ever consider converting.’
Mohinder reads it from cover to cover and e-mails her daily with all of his questions. And then mails her a copy of the Kama Sutra. Which backfires spectacularly as Evie in turn reads this from cover to cover and not only sends question by e-mail but also asks things on the phone which Mohinder swears Matt will never, ever know about.
Refusing to concede defeat, she shoves Molly in the direction of every nice Jewish boy she can find.
Molly dates a couple of them, but there is also a Unitarian, a Methodist, an atheist and a guy named Jordan. Whose religious affiliation is unknown but he has a bad attitude, a couple of juvenile convictions, several tattoos and piercings and thankfully doesn’t last long to the relief of all parties.
They let Molly spend the summer in Israel with her grandmother for her sixteenth birthday but have a knockdown drag out fight when Evie starts campaigning for a bat mitzvah. Eventually, she learns that when Matt glares and snaps “Ma, don’t push it” that he means it.
Things are occasionally awkward. For a long time there is still a half second hesitation, the barest flinch at overt displays of affection. Mohinder doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having nightmares about Evie stumbling upon him and Matt on the couch with their hands down each others pants. But the moment gay marriage is legalized in New York, she’s on the phone nagging him about making an honest man out of her son.
It’s two steps forward and one step back and the woman is still never ever still, very imposing at best and tear your hair out exasperating at worst. She’ll introduce him as her son-in-law, the doctor, one day and later argue with him and call him a putz and a schmuck and any number of other Yiddish words that have Matt looking shocked and vaguely horrified.
But she’s Evie Parkman. Force of nature, one to be reckoned with, and more than that she’s his mother-in-law and insists this gives her the exclusive and sacred right to make his existence a living hell.
It’s bittersweet and frustrating and not perfect at all, but it’s life and they just keep fumbling and stumbling forward.
Title: Fumble
Author: ilsaluvsrick
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Matt/Mohinder, Original Character (Evie Parkman)
Summary: Ma Parkman comes for a visit.
AN: For tiptoe39, who is essential. Took the visiting parent cliche in an odd direction. Feedback is muy appreciated.
Fumble
When Mohinder first asks Matt about his mother, he takes a long time to answer.
“I don’t know she’s -she’s Ma. She worked two jobs after dad left and even now still manages to fit 48 hours worth of stuff into a 24 hour day. She’s a force of nature, one to be reckoned with. Will run your life if you let her and try like hell even if you don’t. She never…she never fumbles.”
A decisive nod and that’s the last said on the matter because how does one follow up on that? With all of this dancing in the back of his mind, Mohinder isn’t sure what to expect upon meeting the great and powerful Evie Parkman. Perhaps these were questions he should have asked before consenting to letting the woman into their home for two weeks.
She’s tiny, that’s the first thing Mohinder notices. Barely five feet tall and he refuses to believe that this slip of a woman is also the no-nonsense voice on their answering machine. But then she yanks Matt into a hug Mohinder suspects could surely crack ribs, her brown eyes dancing and laughs at Matt wheezing about needing to breathe, and yes, at that moment he sees the family resemblance.
She’s never still. Mohinder learns this fact very quickly. Always up and awake long before the rest of the household stumbles out of bed bleary eyed and in the case of Matt, slightly cranky. She makes huge breakfasts for them all, insists on fattening Molly up, glaring at Mohinder as if her being skinny is a personal failing on his part.
She immediately insists on teaching Molly to cook. Mohinder wants to be touched at how easily the two of them have bonded, at the way she beams whenever Molly calls her Grandma, if it weren’t for the fact that he is clearly not welcome at these cooking lessons. If Molly’s bragging that he’s an amazing chef and is even teaching her to make naan hadn’t been greeted with only a bland “Is he, now” and a skeptical eyebrow raise.
Back in California, she’s a nurse at a Planned Parenthood clinic and throws herself whole heartedly into any number of causes. Meals on Wheels, manning phones at a rape crisis center, fundraising for her temple. She doesn’t even stop when she gets home. Her lap is always full of some bit of lace work or skeins of yarn. Her current project is an elaborate baby blanket of soft butter yellow. She explains that it’s for her downstairs neighbor, a young mother about to give birth to her fourth child while she can barely care for the other three. She clucks her tongue and mutters that it’s not her place to judge but she’s going to make damn sure this baby has something beautiful it can call its own.
Mohinder calls her Evie out loud and Mrs. Parkman in his head and your mother anytime he refers to her in front of Matt. She’s so very much like Matt, knowing of the worst in the world and always hoping for the best and Mohinder’s almost sure he’d probably quite like her if she didn’t completely terrify him.
Matt jokes that she’s never satisfied. That it’s a well-documented fact. While others may aim for better, Evie Parkman scoffs at their lack of ambition. She’s always aiming for perfect. Her life stretches out in front of her in a clear uncompromising line and Mohinder has the distinct impression he plays no role in that view.
He tries to bring it up one night. In a perfectly reasonable and rational manner he makes the comment to Matt that he really doesn’t think his mother is very fond of him. Matt dares to roll his eyes.
“If she didn’t like you, she’d say it, trust me.”
Mohinder bristles at his condescending tone.
“What? She’d tell you point blank that she isn’t comfortable with the fact I turned you gay? No one’s that honest, Matthew.”
“She is. She’s never had an unexpressed thought in her life.”
“Maybe she’s learned some self control in the intervening years. Have you bothered to check?”
“You mean bothered to invade my mother’s personal thoughts? Peek around in her head and see if she secretly damns us to hell or something?”
“Don’t sound so offended! You certainly don’t mind it when it’s my head you’re rooting around in.”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen how angry you get, even when it’s accidental. So, I think you’d understand why I’m not willing to do it on purpose. I don’t need to look, Mohinder. She’s my mother. I know her. Ma’s all about fighting the good fight. She doesn’t have a bigoted bone in her body.”
In a slightly less reasonable and rational manner, Mohinder snaps that it’s much easier to be open minded when it doesn’t personally affect you.
“She’s said maybe a dozen words to me without prompting. She looks away anytime I touch you.”
Matt assures him that it’ll take some time for her, that going from a voice on the phone, someone she’s vaguely aware of existing thousands of miles away, and actually meeting him is very different.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to argue that being in favor of gay rights is all well and good when it’s hypothetical, another check mark on her long list of causes, but not nearly as appealing when it’s her only son in love with a man
His thoughts are a scattered whirl of Tamil. Matt presses up against him, erection digging into the small of his back, eases a hand into the front of his pajama pants and kisses behind his ear. Whispers that it’s his life, that he’s happy and that there is no doubt about his fondness for sexy brilliant geneticists. Mohinder thinks he should strongly object to this turn of events. He’s not supposed to melt so easily after his concerns have been thoughtlessly brushed off. Besides, they still haven’t resolved anything and Matt’s mother is sleeping on their couch right now, for heaven’s sake. He does melt, though.
They’re used to this. Making love quietly so they don’t wake Molly up sleeping in the room down the hall. Matt pressing into him with shallow thrusts, Matt whispering his name like a prayer into the hollow of his throat, while Mohinder muffles his moans against the pillow.
Tonight, it’s Mohinder’s turn. Tonight, he has a wild urge to yell at the top of his lungs, moan and groan and scream Matt’s name and every other filthy thing he can think of, to make the headboard slam into the wall. In no certain terms throw down the gauntlet-I am here and I love your son and I am not going anywhere.
Instead he slides in, feels the trembling in Matt’s whole body, wraps his hand around Matt’s mouth as he rocks backs and forth. Matt’s breath is hot, eyes bright and burning, wide with arousal, and when he shouts his release it is a hush against Mohinder’s palm. Mohinder tumbles down over the cliff with him, kissing the vee of his throat, sucking at his collarbone hard enough to bruise. Marking his territory.
--She’ll run your life if you let her.-
Well, Mohinder has no intention of doing so.
The next day he has the distinct impression he’s over played his hand when he comes home to find Matt and Molly suspiciously absent and Evie waiting for him on the couch.
“They went out for ice cream. And when I say went, I mean he insisted on leaving us alone so that we could clear the air.”
Mohinder has to curse inwardly at his lover’s unrepentant yenta tendencies.
-No wonder he was so eager last night. He must have known he’d never get laid again after this stunt.-
“I’m sorry, Evie. I brought home some work with me that I need to look over.”
“But, I brewed a pot of tea.” She protests.
He hesitates for a split second, a fatal tactical error.
“And I have a whole photo album here of Matty’s baby pictures. If you’re going to be angry at him, wouldn’t you prefer to be angry with excellent ammunition?”
She holds out the overstuffed album and his resolve instantly crumbles.
--This whole family is overrun with master manipulators. ---
Of course any lingering sense of anger vanishes the moment he glances inside. A tiny little pinched red face stares up at him with a footprint stapled below it labeled Matthew Ezra Parkman.
--Ezra? You poor thing, no wonder you look so unhappy.-
He flips through the pages and observes little Matthew’s first birthday, covered in chocolate frosting and doing his best to pull the party hat off of his head, little Matthew surrounded by a gaggle of eager cheek pinching old women and looking very displeased about it, little Matthew banging at pots and pans with a wooden spoon, little Matthew dancing in the spray of a busted fire hydrant his face split with a joyful grin.
Matt behind a drum set mugging for the camera, Matt leaning against a brick wall with a group of about a dozen other teenage boys, Matt with his arms around his prom date’s waist, Matt looking so impossibly young in his dress blues at his graduation from the academy, Matt at his wedding gazing at Janice like she hung the moon. Janice’s face is slightly blurred as if seconds before the flash went off she’d suddenly moved her head to look somewhere else. Looking for something better. It has Mohinder quickly slamming the album shut.
He hands it back.
“Thank you.” He tells her sincerely.
Evie takes it and clutches the album to her chest.
“It’s a terrible thing to feel you’ve let your child down, isn’t it?”
Mohinder remembers Molly stumbling out of her room screaming his name, eyes pouring out black tears, and shudders.
“Yes, probably the worst feeling in the world.”
“We fight for our children. Fight like hell to keep them safe and happy. The moment the doctor put him in my arms I loved him more than I thought possible. I vowed I’d do all I could to protect him. And I’ve failed him so utterly.”
A tear rolls down her face and splashes on the album.
“I stayed married to his father even though I could sense how rotten to the core Maury was because I believed a boy needed a father, even a bad one. And I couldn’t raise Matty alone, not in those days. Maury wasn’t dependable, but he always managed to pull himself together, to bring in a paycheck just when the bills became too much. Then he skipped out, just like those kinds of men always do and I rolled up my sleeves and kept going because I had no choice. I had to be mother and father. People tried to be nice about it, I was cool and capable, I had character, all those nice euphemisms for raging bitch. And I kept trying and always getting it wrong. I could work all the time to make up for what Maury wasn’t bringing in, but then I was never home. I could meet with teachers and the principal and insist no you will not place my son in remedial classes; you will not write him off as just another hopeless case and then have Matt be so angry and frustrated with me for interfering. And then one day be brought Janice home and she was so pretty and bright and ambitious. I hoped and prayed that she would be the one. That they’d move away to some nice quiet neighborhood and marry and have children and he’d finally be happy. I didn’t believe it, not really, but I needed it to be true so I convinced myself. Ignored the warning signs, ignored my instincts that said she didn’t understand him, didn’t respect him, didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved. The way you love him.”
At Mohinder’s shocked expression, she gave a dry laugh.
“I’m not an idiot. I can see what’s right in front of me. You’re what I hoped and prayed he’d find. I suppose I should have been more specific all those years. I need to make myself very clear. I’m not going to spit and rage about eternal fires or some such nonsense. But you are not what I wanted for my son.”
“Because I’m not Jewish?” His voice is as dry as the desert.
Evie glares at him.
“Even though you’re being a smartass, yes I will concede that’s a big part of it .I might have had an easier time accepting all this if you were a nice young man he met at shul.”
Mohinder can’t suppress the wave of anger at this comment. He had been right all along. This isn’t about needing time to adjust. The woman honestly does hate him. The realization makes him want to throw up.
“Yes, that would make this less than optimal character trait much easier to deal with, I’m sure.”
“What do you want me to say? Lie to you? Throw up my arms and insist we have a parade? I worked my whole life to take care of my son. A year ago he was living safe and sound and straight in California. I think I’m allowed to be upset when it turns out he’s not the boy I thought I raised.”
“Mrs. Parkman, your son being gay isn’t a personal failing on his part or a reflection of your inadequacy as a parent. I’m disappointed if you think that’s how these things work. And he’s still the son you raised. One aspect of him surprising you doesn’t make him a fundamentally different person. If you can’t love and support him because of this, then I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss.”
He starts to get up from the couch, but she suddenly grabs his hand squeezing hard enough to make his knuckles crack.
“Is that what you think this is about? That I’m just an ignorant homophobe whose opinion doesn’t matter?” She spit out. “Are you really this naïve or just stupid? He’s my little boy. My sweet little boy and there are people out there who would say terrible things about him, hate him, hurt him, kill him if they had the chance without ever knowing him because he loves you. Some of them are probably people he works with. Men with guns who believe what they are doing is right. And no one would say a thing to stop it. It makes me ill. It’s sick and wrong and unfair but it’s the truth.”
“Evie, with all due respect, this is the 21st century in one of the most gay friendly cities in the country.”
“And you think that matters? That people here see any different? That people in New York can’t hate what they don’t understand? Every Jewish family can tell you about how dangerous it is to think that highly of human nature. And I don’t care what century we’re in. People don’t change. I was horrified when Matty told me he wanted to be a police officer. I fought him tooth and nail, but finally had to accept it and only hope that he’d keep his head down and get his twenty years and retire. Now he’s not just a cop, or even a Jewish cop, he’s a gay Jewish cop. And if you attempt to patronize me and tell me that isn’t more dangerous, I will gut you with a teaspoon. My son’s relationship with you makes him an easy target for anyone looking for a victim. It could be a gunbutt to the head. Or maybe his backup will suddenly decide to go for coffee while he’s getting shot in some alley by whatever lunatic is tearing though the city. Or someone on the subway who objects to you two holding hands or raising a child together or even existing will catch him off guard. You are a good man, Mohinder Suresh. And I’m quite sure I could like you if you didn’t fucking terrify me. If that makes me a bad person, well than so be it.”
Mohinder smiles sadly.
“Or maybe he’ll die tomorrow and it won’t have a thing to do with who he sleeps with. Maybe he’ll be killed in a routine assignment like any other cop. Maybe he’ll slip in the shower or have a heart attack or be flattened by a bus. Maybe he’ll live to be a hundred and I’ll go first. Maybe the world will end next week and this is all moot.”
Mohinder hesitates and then decides to go for it. Let Matt rage at him for this later.
“I met Matthew when he was chasing down a serial killer. He was shot four times in the chest before he’d even contemplated the possibility of a sexual identity crisis. He lived through that and we found each other and even you concede that I make him happy. From the moment we’re born we start to die. So forgive me if I refuse to let you stand in the way of that happiness for the sake of what ifs. Matthew’s an adult. You can’t hold his hand when he crosses the street, anymore.”
There is a silent battle of wills between these two very different people who love the same man so fiercely. Evie breaks contact first. Mouth compressed into a thin line, she moves away and begins to serve the forgotten pot of tea. Her hands tremble so much that she knocks over one of the cups, chipping the corner. Without saying a word, Mohinder takes the pot and pours for both of them.
**
It is of course, not perfect after this little heart to heart. Evie doesn’t immediately clutch him to her bosom and call him son and Mohinder has no expectation or desire for her to do so.
A week after she leaves, there is a copy of Judaism for Dummies in the mail with the inscription ‘In case you ever consider converting.’
Mohinder reads it from cover to cover and e-mails her daily with all of his questions. And then mails her a copy of the Kama Sutra. Which backfires spectacularly as Evie in turn reads this from cover to cover and not only sends question by e-mail but also asks things on the phone which Mohinder swears Matt will never, ever know about.
Refusing to concede defeat, she shoves Molly in the direction of every nice Jewish boy she can find.
Molly dates a couple of them, but there is also a Unitarian, a Methodist, an atheist and a guy named Jordan. Whose religious affiliation is unknown but he has a bad attitude, a couple of juvenile convictions, several tattoos and piercings and thankfully doesn’t last long to the relief of all parties.
They let Molly spend the summer in Israel with her grandmother for her sixteenth birthday but have a knockdown drag out fight when Evie starts campaigning for a bat mitzvah. Eventually, she learns that when Matt glares and snaps “Ma, don’t push it” that he means it.
Things are occasionally awkward. For a long time there is still a half second hesitation, the barest flinch at overt displays of affection. Mohinder doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having nightmares about Evie stumbling upon him and Matt on the couch with their hands down each others pants. But the moment gay marriage is legalized in New York, she’s on the phone nagging him about making an honest man out of her son.
It’s two steps forward and one step back and the woman is still never ever still, very imposing at best and tear your hair out exasperating at worst. She’ll introduce him as her son-in-law, the doctor, one day and later argue with him and call him a putz and a schmuck and any number of other Yiddish words that have Matt looking shocked and vaguely horrified.
But she’s Evie Parkman. Force of nature, one to be reckoned with, and more than that she’s his mother-in-law and insists this gives her the exclusive and sacred right to make his existence a living hell.
It’s bittersweet and frustrating and not perfect at all, but it’s life and they just keep fumbling and stumbling forward.