#giving marvin a belly keeps me sane

[avengedbiologist]

Dykesettos speed run 😇

[justjessame]

First A Moses, Then A Cooper Chapter 1

Making dinner as my son and daughter fought over one of their many shared tech gadgets, I had to ask myself if Will and I were sane for wanting a third.  With him working constantly, and me doing the brunt of rearing our little demons, I had to think that a third child might be outside the realm of my abilities.  

“J, Mira, stop fighting!”  I snarled it, causing both kids to look up at me from their spot just inside the living room and I knew I had hit my limit and also stopped being the mother they knew and expected.  “Dad called and we’re having guests for dinner.”  I hoped that helped them understand, but they continued to stare.  “WORK guests.”  That got them moving, suddenly they were working to straighten the living room and they were miraculously using their inside voices.  “Thank you!”  I went back to working on dinner, trying to decide if the last minute additions were foodies, or if they’d make due with comfort foods.

“Honey?”  I heard Will’s voice, and sighed as I put the finishing touches on the table.  “Michelle,” and then his warmth was surrounding me and a ton of my extra tension started to relax.  How he could manage to do that would be a mystery forever.  “Something smells delicious.”  He was saying it into the side of my neck so I had no doubts that he didn’t mean our dinner.

“Yeah, is that pot roast?”  Another voice, bringing me back to the reality that we were having guests for dinner and that our kids would be in attendance.  Damn it.  “Sorry,” the man didn’t look sorry, he looked like he was holding back laughter at Will and I wrapped up in one another.

“Michelle, sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Frank Moses.”  My eyes widened, I couldn’t help it, I KNEW who this was even if his face wasn’t familiar.  Will moved on, introducing the two other guests who made up the ragtag band who would add to our table.  I barely listened, even though their names were known to me too.  None hit me like Frank’s.  “Honey?”  I looked up at my husband, seeing him staring at me with confusion.  

I shook off my look of amazement, and smiled reassuringly.  “Welcome to our home,” I offered to the trio as our kids joined us, clearly hearing the additional voices.  “This is our son, James and our daughter Mira.”  I saw Frank look at both my children and then back at me.  Clearly trying to place me, but he wasn’t having much luck.  And he wouldn’t, because my mother made certain that no one would ever know just who I really was.  I gave a silent prayer of thanks and told everyone to get comfortable at the table while I brought dinner in.  Will was on my heels, offering to help, but I knew my very observant husband had questions.  

“Chell?”  I smiled up at him as I handed him the lined bread basket that I filled with warm rolls.  “Honey, why did you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”  Licking my lips, I carefully arranged the roast onto a serving tray, then moved to grab the dish I had ready for the potatoes and carrots.  “Michelle -”  

“We have guests, Will,” I reminded him, swallowing the dry lump in the back of my throat because I HAVE seen a ghost.  Just one that I knew about while no one else in the house did.  “We can’t be rude.”  

Of all the men I could have married, I picked William Cooper, one of the most observant men on the planet AND one who had the most in common with my birth parents even if he had no clue about that.  He was studying me while I carefully filled the bowls with starches, then vegetables, then made certain the gravy boat was filled just full enough, adding the silver ladle my mother had gifted us with on our wedding day.  

“Michelle Cooper, we will be having a conversation about whatever it is that has you on edge as soon as our guests are settled in for the night-” Wait, what?  “It’s one night, sweetheart,” one night, I thought, feeling my tension ratchet up to a fifteen.  “I know they look like a -” he stopped, considering how to describe the mess of a trio he’d brought home.  “It’s one night.”  I nodded.  “A nice long, hot bubble bath with your husband should do the trick,” I smirked, and they said torture was outlawed.  “You and me, Mrs. Cooper, after dinner.”  

Will’s voice, when he wanted it to, could take on an octave that I swore could make me do things that nothing else could.  He would laugh and say I was being silly, but I’d squint and challenge him back with the theory that he used it to get sources to do his bidding in all manner of terrible and wonderful ways.  Since I didn’t have the type of security clearance that could either refute or prove my theory we would forever be at a stalemate on this particular argument.  

“Take the bread out and come back for another load, Mr. Cooper.”  My order was tempered by the lingering kiss I couldn’t help but give him.  “Our guests will be more likely to settle in faster with full bellies.”  

Surreal, that’s how dinner felt to me as I sat at the foot of our dining room table while Will sat at the head, J and Mira sat on one side and Frank flanked the woman he’d brought along - Sarah Ross - while Marvin Ross sat on her other side, the last to taste any of the food set before him - as if I’d poison guests in my home.  Frank Moses, a man I’d heard stories about long before I’d met Will - I tried to show no extra interest in the man, not with my overly observant husband keeping watch, but it was a difficult thing.  How would anyone manage such a task after the hero in their bedtime stories was plunked down to have dinner with them?  

Lucky for me, Sarah seemed as ill at ease as I felt, and while I grew quiet, she grew talkative.  

“So -” she smiled across the table at my children, both sitting straight and behaving as they were expected with people from Dad’s work in attendance.  “What grades are you guys in?”  

James answered first, his voice loud enough to be heard, but not too loud - Will’s pride shining as he listened to his son answer without faltering.  “I’m in ninth grade.”  He’d put his fork and knife down and was looking Sarah in the face.  Eye contact was important when carrying on a conversation, something we’d worked on after the bullying incident when Frank Moses had first come into Will’s orbit.  “I’m first string on the football team this year.” He was proud of that accomplishment, and so were we.  It had been a tough won feat, and J had earned it.  

Not to be outdone, Mira waited until her older brother finished, since we did have guests and etiquette was important, at least around strangers.  “And I’m in eighth.”  I smiled at Will, his eyes almost glowing across the full length of our table in pride.  “I prefer dance.” Her tiny chin went up a notch as if daring any of the trio across from her to argue that dance was a lesser endeavor than football.  

“Ballet or -” It was Marvin, not Sarah who asked the follow up and I shot a look his way to make certain it wasn’t coming at her in a mocking way, but he looked both sincere and interested - well knock me over with a feather.  

“I do ballet, but also tap, jazz, modern, hip-hop,” Mira’s smile grew as she spoke and so did mine.  I loved the passion that my children showed for anything - be it J’s football or love of drawing, or Mira’s need to move, watching them light up just from discussing it was enough to make me happy.  

“You’re quite the accomplished tiny dancer,” Marvin’s smile wasn’t one I might find safe if seen in the wild, but at my own table with my husband close at hand I found it kind.  

“And what do you do, Michelle?”  I wasn’t expecting it.  The question nor the person who asked it.  I know I flinched and I know that it wasn’t only caught by Will.  “I’m sorry, was that too forward of me?”  

“Not at all,” managing to find my smile again by focusing on J and Mira I turned to face Frank.  “I take care of my family, Mr. Moses.”

“She’s being modest,” Will cut in and my eyes flicked to him.  “She’s not JUST a housewife, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”  My eyes narrowed at the implication that anyone who made their family’s lives easier by being a homemaker was somehow less than, it was something Will had pointed out to me on multiple occasions.  “Chell writes.  She’s a published writer.”  His eyebrows rose as if to dare me to contradict him, but I couldn’t, he was telling the truth.  

“What have you written?”  Sarah, clearly someone who couldn’t stand silence - awkward or not - wanted more information.  “Maybe we’ve read it.”

“I’m sure you have,” Will’s smile was growing and my eyes were narrowing again.  The tease.  “She wrote ---”  And there it was, him literally removing my mask and letting these three know my nom de plume, my secret identity - I should have told him I was going to have to kill him.  

“Wow,” Sarah’s mouth dropped open and a large part of me hoped this meant she would be rendered speechless and dinner could go back to being eaten.  “That’s -”

“Impressive,” Frank’s eyes were on me, and I inhaled deeply and met his gaze.  “Where do you get your ideas?”  

Shit, I internally added money to the swear jar that we didn’t actively use anymore - and hadn’t for years now, but honestly.  Trust my husband to out me to this man, a man who he had NO idea was someone I’d known about for YEARS before he did, and now here were were face to face and HE wanted to now where I got MY ideas for books that - if someone wanted to hold a microscope up to them - bore a striking resemblance to a lot of what HE had a hand in over the years.  Fuck. 

“I have an EXCELLENT imagination.” I offered, thanking my genetics, my birth parents, and God above for the ability to lie the way I could.  

“Yeah, I guess you do,” he looked like he might believe me.  Maybe.  

I took a drink out of my glass of wine and swallowed carefully.  “Eat up, I’m sure you could use a good night’s rest.”  Because I sure as hell could.