274: What question do you most dread, Ben?
"Spaceballs, Fellowship, or Episode IV?"
"In this house, boychik, we refer to it as A New Hope, which you well know, padawan. There are no 'Episodes One through Three'. Just as there is no Serenity movie."
Ben grinned, from near the library of DVDs. "Oh. Right. My bad. A New Hope, then, or one of the others? You know I'll always go for Return of the Jedi, given the option. But, you know, it's your day, so..."
Zipporah stuck her tongue out at her son, her eldest, pride of her heart. And then devoted thought to the question. "Spaceballs, I think. I could use something a little light. You pop it in, I dish up the food?"
"Deal," said Ben, and came over to lean down-- Finn's long bones in him-- and kiss her on the cheek. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you."
"Yes, yes, you are a good boy, sit already, ess. The chow mein isn't getting any warmer."
***
"So, nu, talk to your mother, indulge my curiosity," she said, after the movie, sprawled on the couch with Mungojerrie on her lap. "How'd midterms go?"
Fat Louie was on Ben's chest, sniffing at the unruly curls of his hair. Ben idly scratched the cat behind one orange ear. "Pretty good. Psych went well. Informational Systems was a hands-on exam, pretty sure the prof took no issue with how I databased and spreadsheeted. Spreadshet? Spreadshat? Okay, that sounds wrong. Spreadsheeted."
"Such a yidishe kop of a son I have," Zippy said, and Ben smiled, absently. Mungjoerrie butted his skull into Zippy's palm. "Oh, so sorry, greedy beggar, I haven't been petting you, how very remiss I am-- shmuck," she muttered, and stroked her fingers through his grey fur.
"And aside from that? Your friends? Girlfriend?"
"Aside from that I'm fine. Couple of the guys are going sailing this weekend, thought I'd go with them. I am still single," Ben recited dutifully, with the air of resigned patience he always answered this with.
Because nobody wants to date the world's biggest looooser, chimes Rachel, at such times, on other days, on days she's here. Today she is not. Today is Mother's Day, but Rachel is not here, and both Ben and Zipporah pause a half-second for Rachel's comment, for the inevitable bickering that will follow-- don't call your brother that-- why not, it's true-- newsflash, the fact that your brother actually studies makes him a winner as life reckons it, kid-- back and forth, this is a pattern set many times now...
Absent, today. No shouting match, no mother and daughter squabble for Benjamin to play peacemaker to. Zippy closed her eyes; wondered if at this moment Kim was helping Rachel streak her hair some new god-awful shade, in the name of daughter and step-mother bonding...
"So Zayde's all settled in at uncle Aaron's, yeah?" said Ben, knowing her well enough to guess where her thoughts were, trying to steer them away from Rachel, from that balagan. It was a noble gesture, but if one rocky reef was avoided, the boat ran aground on a coral only slightly less abrasive.
She scowled, and Mungojerrie hissed as her fingers dig in. She soothed him with a pet, wiped the grimace from her face.
"Yeah. He's all set. I'm sure he'll be very happy there, kaynahorah."
...Benjamin Nelsen had learned the navigation of his mother's moods early, the dangers of her sunken reefs and unexpected riptides. Early, and painfully: there is a faint scar half-buried in his hairline, beneath his curls: souvenir of a long-ago crash.
Now, he eyed his mother and stood, dislodging Fat Louis who protested with a yowl. "I'm getting seconds. You want another eggroll, Mom?"
Too late. She was in one of the riptides now, the edges of her mouth tight and taut and her eyes hard behind her half-moon glasses. "Aaron says Tateh has plenty of room. Shyeah. I've seen Sam's room and there's matchboxes bigger, let me tell you-- and that's with the matches in. You've seen Sam's room, you know what I mean."
"Uh-huh," agreed Ben, and slipped for the kitchen, for another plate.
"But what do I know, right?" His mother's voice followed him, cutting-edged as any of the knives in her kitchen. He scooped Sunday Chinese onto a plate, while her voice sliced the air with a conflict he wanted nothing to do with... "Apparently nothing, since nobody asked my opinion."
He returned with the last of the eggrolls and handed it over, peace offering... Zippy set it down on her plate with barely a glance, free hand still poking accusations at the air.
"Where's he get off, anyhow? Talking to his sister like that, gevalt, he ought to be ashamed. You know what he called me-- to my face, Ben?"
Ben busied himself with ejecting Spaceballs from his computer. Put it in its case, shook his head silently at the question.
"Arrogant! Overbearing! Domineering! Selfish! Because, mein Gott, I dared be concerned over Papi and tried to figure out where he'd stay." Zippy attacked the eggroll with a scowl, ripping it in two and sopping up soy sauce on her plate. "Give me a break, Jesus-the-Goy. Alright, so I could have stood to talk it over a bit more, nu, this justifies my kid brother dressing me down like some fuckin' shiksa? Arrogant, hell. Accusing me of trying to run everything-- what the fuck was I trying to run, just because I want Tateh taken care of, and Aaron in his wisdom decides to suddenly take issue with this?"
She gestured with the dismembered eggroll, an accusing stab of veggies and fried dough and pancit noodles at her son. "It's bullshit, yeah?"
Ben grunted a noise which she'd take as agreement.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is. Shmontses," Zippy grumbled, and bit into the eggroll, glowering at an Aaron who was no more present than Rachel. "Domineering and selfish! Trying to run things! Gah, why not call me a fascist and have done with it?!"
The other half of the eggroll was snatched up and again pointed Ben's direction. He eyed it, and the prospects of being hit by a stray noodle, warily.
"I mean-- Ben, I'm not any of those things, right?"
A pea dropped from the eggroll on to the couch. He watched it roll between the cushions to be forgotten, and sighed.
"....Mom...."
"Vos, vos."
"....can you, uh, hear yourself?"
She stared at him, blankly, the eggroll suspended in mid-air like an unfinished argument. "What?"
"Mom. Mom, you just demanded I tell you you're not domineering and overbearing."
Silence in the apartment, for ten seconds.
"Oh," Zippy said in a small voice, and set the eggroll down on her plate. "Oh. Yes. I just did, didn't I."
"Yeah."
Mungojerrie investigated the eggroll, which Zippy no longer appeared interested in. She stared at the coffee table where Ben's computer sat, then raised a hand to rub at her face.
"I'm sorry, Ben."
"Hey... it's no big deal, Mom. It's fine. Just, you know, funny. Right? Here, let me take the plates. I'll do the dishes. Mother's Day treat."
Her hand on his arm stopped him, and Ben met her eyes, the same brown as his own, searching his face. He looked away first.
"Ben-- Benjamin-- I haven't always been.... the best of mothers, I know that-- but... I haven't been too terrible of one either, have I?"
The scar on his forehead didn't twinge; too long dead for that. But he thought of it all the same, as he gathered the plates and bent down to kiss his mother's cheek.
"You always tried your best, Mom," he said, and retreated into the kitchen.
Safer harbor.
muse: zippy levine
fandom: oc
word count: 1284
"In this house, boychik, we refer to it as A New Hope, which you well know, padawan. There are no 'Episodes One through Three'. Just as there is no Serenity movie."
Ben grinned, from near the library of DVDs. "Oh. Right. My bad. A New Hope, then, or one of the others? You know I'll always go for Return of the Jedi, given the option. But, you know, it's your day, so..."
Zipporah stuck her tongue out at her son, her eldest, pride of her heart. And then devoted thought to the question. "Spaceballs, I think. I could use something a little light. You pop it in, I dish up the food?"
"Deal," said Ben, and came over to lean down-- Finn's long bones in him-- and kiss her on the cheek. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you."
"Yes, yes, you are a good boy, sit already, ess. The chow mein isn't getting any warmer."
***
"So, nu, talk to your mother, indulge my curiosity," she said, after the movie, sprawled on the couch with Mungojerrie on her lap. "How'd midterms go?"
Fat Louie was on Ben's chest, sniffing at the unruly curls of his hair. Ben idly scratched the cat behind one orange ear. "Pretty good. Psych went well. Informational Systems was a hands-on exam, pretty sure the prof took no issue with how I databased and spreadsheeted. Spreadshet? Spreadshat? Okay, that sounds wrong. Spreadsheeted."
"Such a yidishe kop of a son I have," Zippy said, and Ben smiled, absently. Mungjoerrie butted his skull into Zippy's palm. "Oh, so sorry, greedy beggar, I haven't been petting you, how very remiss I am-- shmuck," she muttered, and stroked her fingers through his grey fur.
"And aside from that? Your friends? Girlfriend?"
"Aside from that I'm fine. Couple of the guys are going sailing this weekend, thought I'd go with them. I am still single," Ben recited dutifully, with the air of resigned patience he always answered this with.
Because nobody wants to date the world's biggest looooser, chimes Rachel, at such times, on other days, on days she's here. Today she is not. Today is Mother's Day, but Rachel is not here, and both Ben and Zipporah pause a half-second for Rachel's comment, for the inevitable bickering that will follow-- don't call your brother that-- why not, it's true-- newsflash, the fact that your brother actually studies makes him a winner as life reckons it, kid-- back and forth, this is a pattern set many times now...
Absent, today. No shouting match, no mother and daughter squabble for Benjamin to play peacemaker to. Zippy closed her eyes; wondered if at this moment Kim was helping Rachel streak her hair some new god-awful shade, in the name of daughter and step-mother bonding...
"So Zayde's all settled in at uncle Aaron's, yeah?" said Ben, knowing her well enough to guess where her thoughts were, trying to steer them away from Rachel, from that balagan. It was a noble gesture, but if one rocky reef was avoided, the boat ran aground on a coral only slightly less abrasive.
She scowled, and Mungojerrie hissed as her fingers dig in. She soothed him with a pet, wiped the grimace from her face.
"Yeah. He's all set. I'm sure he'll be very happy there, kaynahorah."
...Benjamin Nelsen had learned the navigation of his mother's moods early, the dangers of her sunken reefs and unexpected riptides. Early, and painfully: there is a faint scar half-buried in his hairline, beneath his curls: souvenir of a long-ago crash.
Now, he eyed his mother and stood, dislodging Fat Louis who protested with a yowl. "I'm getting seconds. You want another eggroll, Mom?"
Too late. She was in one of the riptides now, the edges of her mouth tight and taut and her eyes hard behind her half-moon glasses. "Aaron says Tateh has plenty of room. Shyeah. I've seen Sam's room and there's matchboxes bigger, let me tell you-- and that's with the matches in. You've seen Sam's room, you know what I mean."
"Uh-huh," agreed Ben, and slipped for the kitchen, for another plate.
"But what do I know, right?" His mother's voice followed him, cutting-edged as any of the knives in her kitchen. He scooped Sunday Chinese onto a plate, while her voice sliced the air with a conflict he wanted nothing to do with... "Apparently nothing, since nobody asked my opinion."
He returned with the last of the eggrolls and handed it over, peace offering... Zippy set it down on her plate with barely a glance, free hand still poking accusations at the air.
"Where's he get off, anyhow? Talking to his sister like that, gevalt, he ought to be ashamed. You know what he called me-- to my face, Ben?"
Ben busied himself with ejecting Spaceballs from his computer. Put it in its case, shook his head silently at the question.
"Arrogant! Overbearing! Domineering! Selfish! Because, mein Gott, I dared be concerned over Papi and tried to figure out where he'd stay." Zippy attacked the eggroll with a scowl, ripping it in two and sopping up soy sauce on her plate. "Give me a break, Jesus-the-Goy. Alright, so I could have stood to talk it over a bit more, nu, this justifies my kid brother dressing me down like some fuckin' shiksa? Arrogant, hell. Accusing me of trying to run everything-- what the fuck was I trying to run, just because I want Tateh taken care of, and Aaron in his wisdom decides to suddenly take issue with this?"
She gestured with the dismembered eggroll, an accusing stab of veggies and fried dough and pancit noodles at her son. "It's bullshit, yeah?"
Ben grunted a noise which she'd take as agreement.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is. Shmontses," Zippy grumbled, and bit into the eggroll, glowering at an Aaron who was no more present than Rachel. "Domineering and selfish! Trying to run things! Gah, why not call me a fascist and have done with it?!"
The other half of the eggroll was snatched up and again pointed Ben's direction. He eyed it, and the prospects of being hit by a stray noodle, warily.
"I mean-- Ben, I'm not any of those things, right?"
A pea dropped from the eggroll on to the couch. He watched it roll between the cushions to be forgotten, and sighed.
"....Mom...."
"Vos, vos."
"....can you, uh, hear yourself?"
She stared at him, blankly, the eggroll suspended in mid-air like an unfinished argument. "What?"
"Mom. Mom, you just demanded I tell you you're not domineering and overbearing."
Silence in the apartment, for ten seconds.
"Oh," Zippy said in a small voice, and set the eggroll down on her plate. "Oh. Yes. I just did, didn't I."
"Yeah."
Mungojerrie investigated the eggroll, which Zippy no longer appeared interested in. She stared at the coffee table where Ben's computer sat, then raised a hand to rub at her face.
"I'm sorry, Ben."
"Hey... it's no big deal, Mom. It's fine. Just, you know, funny. Right? Here, let me take the plates. I'll do the dishes. Mother's Day treat."
Her hand on his arm stopped him, and Ben met her eyes, the same brown as his own, searching his face. He looked away first.
"Ben-- Benjamin-- I haven't always been.... the best of mothers, I know that-- but... I haven't been too terrible of one either, have I?"
The scar on his forehead didn't twinge; too long dead for that. But he thought of it all the same, as he gathered the plates and bent down to kiss his mother's cheek.
"You always tried your best, Mom," he said, and retreated into the kitchen.
Safer harbor.
muse: zippy levine
fandom: oc
word count: 1284