[Draft] real romance

real romance

Like so many things in their relationship, Tom saw little romance in Stella getting her freedom from her mother.

Tom was a little angry at himself for wishing for more drama. He had to admit part of him deeply wanted it-- maybe a cathartic moment where Stella could yell all the hurt and frustration out, or that last second swerve where his Stella's mother asked who he was and showed some interest in the life she'd carried inside her a little under 17 years ago. Something to show Collette wasn't an utter failure as Stella's sole parent.

All that happened was Stella setting the form on the table beside the recliner, Collette looking just long enough to find the signing line with a put upon air, and then the woman that had utterly missed what a remarkable woman she'd given birth to turned back to the TV.

They gathered the few things Stella wanted that she hadn't already slipped over to their place, and left. No heartfelt reconciliation, no shouting match that ended it all-- though on reflection, Tom had to ask himself: ended what?

It lacked romance, in any sense of the word.

She didn't cry after they settled in the car, but his Stella was slouched over and blank faced.

"Well. I guess between yours being dead and mine not caring, our kids won't have any grandparents," she said blandly.

Tom sighed, keying the ignition and getting the heat going-- the whole winter had been a set of swings between mild and actual Canadian weather, and right now it was cold and snowy.

"It was like my school trip forms. Don't think she even knew she was giving me permission to marry," Stella said, staring back at where she and her supposed mother had lived so many years. Tom followed her eye. It wasn't the worst apartment building. It wasn't the best. It was like Stella's mother-- it seemed content with doing the bare minimum for its tenants.

"Why does it hurt so much to have her live up to my expectations?" she muttered. "I mean, she didn't even notice I... fuck. She never let me call her mom. Never called me her daughter."

Tom let her talk. He'd heard it before, but she had to say it every once in awhile.

"She once told me about the day I was born," she said, as they exited Scarborough and headed deeper into Old Toronto, the downtown core.

This was new. "Oh?" Tom prompted, glancing at her for a brief second. Her eyes were closed, and a bitter smile was on her face.

"Apparently I either came out stillborn or was clinically dead right after I was born."

As he stopped at a set of lights, he took a longer look at her. Stella was crying now, slowly and quietly. She had all the dignity her mother lacked. She really was a miracle.

"Collette told me she wouldn't let go of the body, despite what the nurses and doctors said. And then my eyes opened and... she tells me the second she met my eyes she knew I wasn't really her daughter."

Tom forced his grip to slack off on the driver's wheel after that one. He let go with his right hand, reached out and took her left in his.

"What if I'm like that--" Stella began, her free hand going to her swollen belly.

Tom squeezed her hand, and gave her a look that must have made the doubt slack off a bit. He didn't say anything.

Inside, he was still reeling over what to say.

It wasn't until they got back to what three months had slowly transformed into their apartment that he relaxed enough to remember he never knew what to say. He just listened, and talked, and muddled through.

Tom shook his head as he let the Tassimo make hot chocolate. He was no great romantic lead, the right thing to say always just on his tongue.

Not that he'd had the best models: his mother more concerned with how many men besides his father she could sleep with, his father more concerned about his career. Then they died in a car crash and there was the string of relatives, only one of who gave a fuck. And he was dead now.

He set her mug on the coffee table before her as he sat beside her and took a deep breath.

"The day we met, I had half convinced myself I needed to be a monster."

He knew she was giving him that look-- where are you coming from, Tom, and where are you going-- but he pressed on.

"I was convinced that somehow, everyone else on the planet was taught to love properly or was able to fake it well enough to land someone."

Stella was quiet, sipping at her hot chocolate.

"I had this... obsessive fantasy, Stellar," Tom admitted with a frown. "I was almost completely convinced that I was broken. I wasn't raised right, you see. And he only girl would stay with a broken freak like me was one I had broken."

"Oh," Stella said, and he was surprised to find a smile on her face when he looked.

Tom looked down at his mug of untouched hot chocolate. "Then I noticed the girl who turned up on the subway between College and Union once a week. And you became the star of the fantasies."

He met her eyes and saw only patient interest.

"I made up all sorts of backgrounds for you-- rich princess experiencing 'real life' at Daddy's direction. Teen prostitute on the one day she wasn't cynically dealing with clients and toying with men... none of them close to the truth."

She actually laughed-- a bitter little chuckle.

"After two months, I made my move. And contrary to all the ways I thought it would go in my head... you slumped in resignation when I began to squeeze you butt.."

"Don't let it get cold," she chided, so he took a swig of his hot chocolate. "Tom. When you leaned in--"

"And said I wanted to fuck my babies into you?" He shook his head. "It was supposed to be a threat, yes. You dealt with it rather effectively by turning around, hugging me, and asking me if I meant it."

"... certainly felt like you were trying to fuck one into me when you got me here," she said, voice suddenly husky.

"But that just confused me more, Stellar. I was, in my mind, really giving it to you. Something you shouldn't want from some undesirable. I was... acting out Reznor and the Bloodhound Gang."

"I know Nine Inch Nails--" Stella began.

"'Doing it like on the Discovery Channel'?" Tom recited, half sure it wasn't quite right.

"Oh, them."

"Right. I was giving in to every animalist urge, and you... after I was done taking you on the floor here, you flipped over, laid your hands on the coffee table, held your rear end up, and begged for more. 'Make sure,' you said. It actually took thinking I should slap you so that you knew you were dealing with a monster before something sensible occurred to me."

"You thought about slapping me?" she asked.

"When you climbed on top in the bedroom and leaned down and kissed me." Tom looked at her and gave her a rueful smile, which she smirked at.

"What stopped you?" she wondered.

"Almost as soon as the voice in my head telling me that I was a freak and monster suggested it, another voice screamed, 'why the hell should I do that! This woman's giving me exactly what I want, and all I have to do is let her give it to me?' So... I kissed you back. And... you know, I expected at one point we'd get gentle--"

Romantic, Tom added in his head.

"I didn't want gentle," she said, setting her empty mug on the table and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I wanted to be claimed. To claim you, and take what you were offering. The chance to... be wanted and to want."

"I still remember when you put my hands on your breasts-- when we were sitting up, and your back was to me?"

"'These are gonna make milk for the baby,'" she recalled, and damn if she didn't match her impish tone from that night.

"Babies," he corrected.

"I didn't know that then," she shot back.

"I can honestly say I knew I wanted you then... but I didn't start falling in love with you until after. You know."

"When I wet the bed?" she asked, a little sheepishly.

"Plenty of women do after intense sex," he assured her. "You just-- hit your threshold. I looked at you and thought, a monster would leave you there in your own piss. I should at least ask if she's okay. And you wanted a shower or a bath. I helped you up, and we had one."

"I was kind of surprised you didn't press me for more fucking," she admitted. "I was willing to give you more--"

He stared down into his mug a moment-- nope, no hints there-- then drained it and sec it on the table. He pulled her in his lap, and still marveled how she relaxed and let herself be pulled.

He took a few breaths. "You gave me.... more than my little monster fantasy would have that night. My fantasy-- how's a girl I've broken supposed to be a mother, a partner, a wife? And all you asked for in return was to be that mother and wife. But you gave me more than I wanted, so... I gave back."

"To repay--" she began.

"No. This wasn't about payment," he said flatly. "You just... gave to me. A girl that I had never met gave me exactly what I wanted and more."

"I was selfish, I wanted something--" she began.

"A selfish woman," he said firmly, "would have done only what she needed to get what she wanted and as little extra as possible. I know. I knew my mother. But you just gave, and gave."

"You... followed my example?" she wondered, stroking his chest.

"I guess. I thought maybe if I did that, you'd feel the same way I did now and wouldn't realize I'm a freak. I kept giving to you, the longer you were around... and I noticed the more I gave, the more it felt natural to give. And then I got to know you, and wanted to give to you for that. But... I didn't instantly love you."

There he went, being unromantic again.

Stella gave a surprised little grunt.

"I know," he chuckled. "I came to love you. Over time. The attraction became care became love." Tom licked his lips. "I think that's where Collette fucked up."

"Fucked up?" Stella said.

"The difference between Collette and me, I think, is the next thought we had after the first meeting," Tom pressed on, stroking her read hair and resting his chin on her head. "Collette seems to have thought, 'where's the love, where's the spark? Oh, fuck, this can't be my kid!'"

"... and you...?" Stella asked, a little strained.

"Well... I didn't instantly love Uncle Andy," he managed. It was always so hard, talking about his one relative worth anything. "I got to know him, and trusted him... only really told him how much I loved him back in that... last lucid time before the tumour took him. Could only tell his gravestone how much he meant to me. But if I didn't instantly love him... maybe I should just give this lovely girl some time. Get to know her. See if I could trust her."

"... so you just decided to be the best boyfriend you could be and waited," Stella noted, and he could feel her laugh vibrate his chest as much as hear it. She pulled away a bit and he looked down to see her looking up at him.

"I just... tried to be... not-a-monster," he said, shrugging. Tom smiled and placed his hand on her tummy. "Six more months, and we get to meet these two little people we've decided to care for."

She leaned back into his embrace, her hand settling on his. "I can't wait to get to know them."

"I imagine the wait's harder on you," he said drily. "You're doing more of the work to get them here."

She giggled. "Yeah, but you have to put up with me, Tom-tom."

"I'll manage," he assured her.

There a moment where she sighed and he kissed her head.

And then Stella said:

"What did I do to earn such a big romantic?"

She was always baffling him like that.