#ok this fits no theme really but i finished this last week and waited patiently to show u all!!

[weisbrot]

Enjoltaireweek2017 last contribution - last kiss

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

Tripping Over Myself

Pairing: Logan x OC (Charlotte Wheeler)

Summary: Charlotte’s not the best at communicating and it gets her in a bit of trouble. (takes place shortly after Drawn to a Flame)

Warnings: Language. Lots and lots of language. Seriously...so many f-words. lol Also, mentions of her previous car accident (it’s not super detailed, but it is brought up a few times) and her resulting injuries.

Word Count: 5525. I swear ... I was certain this was going to be nothing more than maybe 2k words. And then this happened and the thing that I wanted to happen in this fic didn’t even happen so that’s fun lol

Logan belongs to Pixelberry, but the other two lovelies are all mine.

A/N #1: This was written for @rodappreciationweek​ MC day. And sticking with the theme from the first two pieces in this series, I have pulled the title from the lyrics of Shawn Mendes’s Stitches.

Also... a huge huge thank you to @burnsoslow for reading a piece of this that had me chasing my tail for what seemed like forever and fixing it for me. You are the best!!

“Hey hey hey! The hell you think you’re doin?”

Freezing mid step to turn back around to where Paul was glaring at her from his now-seated position where he'd rolled out from under her car on his creeper, Charlotte scrunched her nose up in confusion. “You were bitchin’ that you didn’t have your 3/8 down there. Figured I’d grab it so you’d stop muttering to yourself.”

“I had one rule for letting you stay after you showed up here today. And I made it explicitly clear.”

“But – “

“No. No buts.”

“C’mon Paul! You can’t seriously expect me to sit on that damn stool the entire time we’re here. I am fully capable of walking to the toolbox and grabbing a goddamn socket!”

“Lottie, sweetheart. You are still healing. You need to take it easy.” Instead of the calming effect she was sure he was shooting for, the soft gentleness of Paul’s voice just reminded her of an adult trying to calm a child who was in the middle of throwing a massive tantrum. And that ratcheted her mild frustration up until she was actually throwing a damn fit.

“For fuck’s sake! I know I’m fucking hurt. But I’m not a complete invalid. I don’t think me taking three fucking steps across this damn storage unit and picking up a tool that weighs a few ounces is going to do me in when a fucking slab of concrete didn’t!” Her hands flew up to steeple across her nose and mouth. “Shit. Paul – “

Gaze firmly locked on his white-knuckled grip on his wrench, Paul cut her off with a slight shake of his head. “Nah. It’s … it’s fine, sweetheart.”

In two shaky steps, Charlotte was across the unit and gingerly kneeling in front of him. Slowly, as if she were approaching a spooked cat, she eased the wrench out of his hold so she could wrap his hand in her own. “No. It’s not ‘fine.’ I … I shouldn’t have said that. I promised I’d stop acting so nonchalant about the accident.” Before he could interject, she nudged his knee with her own. “Shush, lover. I really am so incredibly sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. You’re only trying to look out for me. And I appreciate that more than I could ever say.”

Finally lifting his head from staring at the floor between them, Paul’s teary eyes met hers, twisting her heart even harder. In barely a whisper, he asked, “The hell did you have to go there for?”

Letting out a harsh sigh, Charlotte stood up and whirled around. It was a motion she instantly regretted when every thing went a little off kilter and her vision started to swim. Ugh! Not this shit again. She fought against the urge to lean against the work bench to her right, not wanting Paul to decide that she needed to be taken home: that was the last place she wanted to be at that particular moment.

“Lottie?”

Finally giving up any thoughts she'd had of blowing off his question with the pretense of being fine, she practically exploded, “Ugh. I’m just … I’m so fucking tired of all the hovering!” Her fist closed around one of the lug-nut caps that were lined up on the bench, waiting patiently for the new wheels and tires that had yet to be ordered to be installed. The urge to hurl it at the closed roll-up door was only eclipsed by the desire to not mar its mirror-like finish: finding replacements that matched the original set from L.A. was hard enough the first time and she certainly didn’t want to have to do it again because she'd briefly lost her damn mind. So she forced herself to replace it into its previous spot and let out another, albeit quieter, sigh. “Look … I love Logan, ok? Like all that head over heels, all my heart bullshit? I feel all of it for him. With him. But fuck it all. He has barely given me six inches to breathe since he showed up in my damn living room. I know it's only been a few weeks, but it has felt like years and not in a good way. I mean, I had to sneak out of my own fucking home just to come down here today!”

“Sweetheart – “

“I know. And I get it. I scared the shit out of him. Hell, I scared the shit outta both of you guys. But … “ Finally turning back around – slowly and carefully this time -- to face Paul again, she let her shoulders sag. “I can’t live with someone micromanaging every second of my day. Every move I make. I … I cannot go back to that kinda life.”

Stepping up to stand in front of her, Paul gently rubbed his hands up and down her upper arms. “Have you talked to him? Told him all this?”

She laughed bitterly. “I have tried. So many times over the past few weeks. But every time I try to bring this or anything remotely related to the accident up, he just completely shuts down on me.” Voice breaking with the tears she was fighting to hold back, she muttered, “I can’t lose him again. But I can’t keep doing this either.”

“C’mere.” Careful of her still-casted arm and still-tender ribs, he wrapped his arms around her. Instinctively she tucked her face against his neck, letting his presence soothe her. After several silent moments, he pressed a kiss to her temple and asked, “You want me to talk to him ‘bout it?”

“As much as I would love for you to do that … you can’t. I have to be the one to get through to him if this is really going to work between us.”

Tightening his hug ever-so-slightly, Paul kissed her temple again. “I’m so proud of you, Lottie.”

“For what?”

“The girl I met a lil over a year ago would never.”

Pushing back from him enough to see his face, she narrowed her eyes at him as she tried to decipher his meaning. When she came up empty, she questioned him, point blank, “The hell nonsense are you talkin’ about?”

“When you first started pestering me at the sideshows, trying to bully me into giving you a spot in one of the races. You had everything so locked down, I’m not sure a stick of dynamite would have gotten you to open up. Even after I succumbed to my still-ongoing case of Stockholm Syndrome oof – “ using her cast to knock him in the stomach may not have been her smartest idea, but it was still an effective form of retaliation – “and we started hanging out more, you kept most of your feelings tucked away in that vault. I mean, sure, you eventually let me in, little by little … but, my point is, I’m proud of you for admitting how you are feeling.”

Despite the way her eyes rolled exaggeratedly, she couldn’t keep her lips from twitching with the smile threatening to break out across her face. “Would you shut up already?”

“Only after we circle back to that bit about you sneaking out to come down here. Thought you said Logan drove you?”

“Um … how ‘bout we go back to you singing my praises?” All she got in response was a stare down from Paul, so she relented with a sigh. “Fine. I noticed Logan had dozed off, so I slipped out and called a cab to bring me down.” When his eyes went wide, she held up her free hand and quickly added, “I left him a note. I’m not the one that just vanishes without a trace.” The venom in her words caught even her by surprise.

“Maybe without a trace. But never without a conversation.”

“Ugh.” Charlotte’s head fell forward so that her forehead was resting against his chest, grumbling, “Thought you were ‘posed to be my friend and stick up for me?” He shot her a knowing look, but she continued on before he could launch into the spiel she'd already heard dozens of times before. “Fine. Ok. You win. Save the damn lecture and put the time to better use. Say … running me home?”

Laughing, Paul retorted, “Bout freakin’ time, sweetheart.”

A short time later, Paul was pulling up to the curb in front of her apartment building. Mind already running through the things that she needed to say to Logan as she reached for the door handle, she jumped when Paul’s hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t I even get a ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’ first?”

“Shit! I’m sorry! Thank you so much. For letting me hang. For forcing me to talk this shit out. For bringing my ass home.”

Chuckling indulgently, he told her, “You’re welcome. For everything.” She once again started to climb from the car, but stopped when he continued, “But, I need you to promise me that you won’t sneak out like this again.”

Chuckling indulgently, she shrugged her shoulders and opened her door before tossing back, “I would, but I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

The glare she got in response was stern, but the effect was all but negated by the warmth in his voice as he threatened, “Fine. Lemme put it to ya this way, sweetheart. If you do it again, I’m dumping your ass. For real.”

She waited until she’d stepped out and up onto the sidewalk before she turned around to say, “It’s so adorable when you act like you could live without me, lover,” before turning to walk through the front door, blowing him a kiss from over her shoulder.

As she crossed the lobby towards the elevator bank, her eyes caught on the Out of Service sign and she let out a groan. Despite her annoyance, Charlotte didn’t blink an eye before heading for the staircase, figuring it was only a minor inconvenience. Especially since, at her last appointment, the first thing she’d asked once her doctor had mentioned that she was good to start easing back into very light physical activity was if she was okay to take the stairs to her apartment, because the ancient elevators were constantly having issues and she knew that having the freedom to move around more meant nothing if she couldn’t get in and out of her damn apartment. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect, he assured her that she’d be fine so long as she took it slowly and carefully. Still, she knew even with the green light from her doctor, it was going to feel like a trek after having spent so long doing little more than traversing the path between her bed and her couch.

True to her expectations, by the time she’d gotten to the second floor, she was definitely more winded than she’d usually be and her entire body was beginning to take on that achy feel of being suddenly being forced to work. But neither of those things is what had her slumping against the wall with a white-knuckled grip on the handrail. No, that was brought on by the way the world had seemingly begun to spin around her, setting her completely off balance.

What could have been five minutes or five hours later, she chanced peeking an eye open, but the vibrant mosaic tile pattern of the stairs was still swirling and swimming about in front of her, causing her to slam it back closed and drop her head back – gently – against the wall. Frustrated that the only change in how she felt was the deep churning and roiling in her gut, she finally acknowledged that she wasn’t going to be making it up the rest of the way on her own and pulled her phone from her pocket to call Logan.

Without opening her eyes, she placed her finger over the fingerprint reader, waiting for the digital clicking sound that signaled it had been unlocked, but it never came. Steeling herself for the unsettling sensations that were about to wash over her, she once again peeled an eye open and pressed the power button to wake up the screen. A loud groan escaped her when the screen remained dark, reminding her that she had forgotten to charge it the night before.

Faced with the unsettling choice of either continuing on in spite of the vertigo – which seemed risky, even by her standards – or staying in her spot for who knows how long until the episode passed, Charlotte couldn’t hold back the sobs building in the back of her throat or the tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she slid down the wall to sit on the step. All she wanted, with a desperation she hadn’t felt since those first few weeks after he'd walked away the last time in L.A., was for Logan to wrap her in his arms. To whisper all of his sweet reassurances in her ear. To be the calm and steady force that centered her through the storm.

Almost as if her longing thoughts had conjured him, he was suddenly there, hands running gently over her arms and then brushing away her tears as he rattled off question after question, not leaving her space to actually answer one before moving on to the next. It was just as well, however, considering her addled mind couldn’t seem to make any sort of sense out of the words, choosing instead to latch onto the strained breathlessness with which they were uttered.

Wanting, or rather needing, to reassure him that, while she felt awful, she was wasn’t in mortal danger, she blindly reached out until her fingers brushed against the familiar, well-worn softness of his favorite denim shirt. As she ran her fingers across what she recognized as his chest, his free hand came up to tangle gently in her hair and she sank into the touch. A beat later, his forehead was resting against hers and she couldn’t have missed the shudder that ran through his body or the shaky exhale that passed his lips if she’d tried.

Charlotte’s fingers curled around the button-lined edge of shirt and she whispered, “It’s okay baby. I’m okay,” so softly she was surprised when she felt his answering scoff fan across her face, confirming that he had actually heard her.

Instead of a snarky retort or censuring lecture she was expecting to hear, the next words out of Logan’s mouth were simply, “You good if I pick you up?”

Her eyes shot open at the almost frigid indifference in his voice and the sight in front of her knocked the wind out of her like a punch to the gut. His brows were deeply furrowed and his lips were pursed together so tightly that they were barely visible. It was one thing to know that he was worried and upset – she’d felt it in his every tentative touch -- but it was something else entirely to see it.

Wanting nothing more than to ease some of his tension, she trailed her fingers up from his chest along the side of his neck and face, across his forehead until she could smooth them along the deep-set lines running between his eyebrows. It was a left-over habit from when she’d briefly moved into his loft in L.A., one that had never failed to relax him. This time, unfortunately, it didn’t have the same effect and her heart sunk just a little bit deeper into her stomach. Feeling defeated, she let her hand, along with her gaze, drop back down to her lap as she answered his question, “Yeah. I think the dizziness is mostly gone now. So long as we take it slow, I should be fine.”

Without hesitation, Logan pulled back enough to push himself up out of his crouch and it took everything she had not to whine at the loss. Within seconds, he was leaning back down to wrap one arm around her back while the other slid underneath her knees. Instinctively, Charlotte wrapped her free arm around his neck and as soon as she did, he was standing back up and tucking her against his chest, making sure to be mindful of both the strap of the sling across her back and the bulkiness of her cast. He spared her one glance with a raised eyebrow, but immediately averted his eyes when she assured him, “I’m good.”

Despite the way that he was cradling her so carefully in his arms as he carried her up the next two flights of stairs, with what seemed like no effort at all, it felt to her as if there was an entire canyon between them. Not once did he look down at her. Not once did he even twitch as if he was thinking of dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Not once did he open his mouth as if to say something to her. Even when she had to drop her head against his shoulder as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her, the heavy silence remained.

As soon as they were back inside the apartment, Logan settled her gently onto the couch then turned to grab his pillow and a blanket from the pile of bedding he made each morning when he folded the pull-out away. Wordlessly, he tucked the blanket tightly around her – just the way she needs to be able to sleep alone. As he was reaching up to place the pillow beneath her head, she caught his wrist in her hand, whispering his name beneath her breath. Rather than make eye contact with her, he simply shook his head once and slipped away from her grip.

Stung by his rejection, Charlotte didn’t try to stop him again as he left the room. Instead, she curled up into as tight of a ball as she could on her good side, letting the scent of him on the pillow and blanket take over her senses until she was slowly drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

By the time that she woke up, the living room was cast in complete darkness, save for the bright green LED light letting her know her phone was finished charging. Lotta good that does me now. She blinked a few times in an effort to get her eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting, but still could barely make out the outlines of the rest of the furniture surrounding her. Even still, she knew Logan wasn’t in the room with her: she could always feel his presence when they were in the same space and that feeling was noticeably absent as she slowly pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the couch.

After giving herself a couple of minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to be dizzy again, she got up and headed towards the kitchen, figuring that would be his most likely location. Sure enough, she found him there, perched on one of the oversized chairs that in no way matched the tiny, shitty-ass excuse for a dining table that he currently had his forearms resting on. He was staring at the wall in front of him so intently that he didn’t even seem to hear her enter the room. Or, at least, that's what she was choosing to believe.

With just a couple more steps, she was able to close the distance between them, allowing her the ability to wrap arms around him from behind. She never made it that far, however, because as soon as her palms made contact with his shoulders, he startled and tensed beneath her touch. She opened her mouth to apologize for scaring him, but he cut her off before she had the chance, seething quietly, “Don’t you dare pull that fucking shit again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t just sneak out without a word and then not answer your damned phone for five hours and expect me to be okay with it!”

“Okay, one? I left you a note telling you where I went. Two? As you clearly have already figured out, my fucking phone was dead. I didn’t even realize it until I was on my way back up here!”

Standing up from the chair so fast that he nearly knocked it – and her – over, Logan whipped around to face her, eyes wild with fury. “So one irresponsibility is just supposed to excuse another?”

Charlotte gave up all pretense of trying to stay calm, throwing her hands up in the air as she shouted, “For fuck’s sake, Logan! You knew where I was! If you were that damned desperate to get ahold of me, why didn’t you just call Paul?”

“I did. He wasn’t answering his goddamn phone either! By the time he finally did pick up, it was over half an hour after he’d dropped you off.” While he’d started off yelling at her in a volume that rivaled her own, Logan had trailed of into little more than a whisper by the time he was done. And that cut her deeper than the loudest insults ever could.

Unsure of how to respond, Charlotte reached up to fiddle with his spark plug necklace. It was something that had become a somewhat-nervous habit for her when he’d given it to her back in L.A. and she’d picked it up again once she’d begun wearing it almost constantly after their reunion. That simple, unthinking motion ended up being the answer to her loss of words, however, when the cool weight of it in her hand, combined with all the emotions running rampant through the room, sparked the memory of how she’d come to possess it in the first place.

“Logan, baby.” She paused, waiting until he looked up from the floor to meet her gaze before continuing gently, “You remember what you told me when you gave this to me?”

He raised an eyebrow at her as if asking her where she was going with this abrupt subject change. When she didn’t give him an answer, he let out a harsh sigh before replying, “Not entirely. I remember it was before the Grapevine job. Something about it keeping you safe like it did for me?”

“Yeah, that was part of it. You also told me how you came to wear it, too. How you'd survived a crash that you probably shouldn’t have.”

Rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air, Logan sniped, “Okay … so? What's the point of this random-ass trip down memory lane?”

“You told me that you’d almost died. In a car accident. Right before we were about to go steal four very expensive sport cars. And we were going to steal them off a car hauler on the freeway, no less.” As if he had suddenly figured out where she was going with this, his eyes widened before narrowing on her. He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to stop him. “I’m not gonna lie. As much as I was so touched that you were giving me something that meant so much to you? The story behind it fucking terrified me. Because if you – who had been driving so long and had so much skill at it – could wreck like that, what chance did I have at holding up my end of the bargain? Not to mention, just the idea of you getting hurt almost sent me into a tailspin. And I’m not so sure that that wasn’t your plan all along.”

“I – “

Walking over to wrap her arm around his neck, she kissed first his cheek and then his lips briefly and tenderly. When he didn’t tense up or pull away from her, she chanced nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. “I know, baby. You were just doing whatever you could think of to keep me safe. I understand that. And I understand that the result of me being a complete dumbass during that race scared the shit out of you. But I’m still here. I’m still alive. And today’s episode notwithstanding, I’ve been feeling really good. So this whole, hovering-over-me thing? The it’s-too-dangerous-out-there-thing you’ve been doing? It’s smothering me and I … I just can’t do it. It took me far too long to escape it with Wheeler. Far too long to find the strength to realize that it was okay – more than okay – to be who I wanted to be regardless of whether the people in my life accepted it. So … as much as I hate worrying you, I cannot go back to that old, boring version of myself, the one that never really felt like me, just because it's safer.”

Logan inhaled sharply and hands tightened ever so slightly where they had been resting on her hips since she'd tucked herself into him. A couple long beats passed before he finally muttered, “You know, you seemed to have skipped over the most important part of that story, though.”

Face scrunched up, she asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That wasn’t just me giving you a good luck token. That was me trying to tell you not only to make sure you’re always in control, but also to make sure you learn from life's lessons.”

“I know.”

“Do you, though?”

Taken aback by Logan’s abrasiveness, Charlotte stumbled back a step, only to be met by narrowed eyes boring into her. “I ... I … I do.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing.”

“Logan – “

“Do you even realize how fucking stupid that stunt you pulled today was? What if that episode had hit when you were out there on the streets somewhere? All alone?”

Even though she knew his point was valid, Charlotte couldn’t bite back her derisive scoff. “First of all, I was literally by myself when it happened, so yeah, I have a decent idea.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Continuing on as if she hadn’t heard his outburst, she added heatedly, “Second, the only time I was by myself today was on the elevator ride down to the lobby, the walk from my cab to Paul’s storage unit and back here in the stairwell. It’s not like I was fucking gallivanting around the whole goddamn city.”

“For fuck’s sake! It’s not – you know what? Just forget it.” Throwing his hands up, Logan turned to storm out of the room.

“Sure. Just ru … run away. It’s – “ Tears that she refused to let fall clogged her throat and she pressed her lips together in an attempt to gather her composure. She realized, however, that the damage had been done, her stuttering robbing her words of their intended venom, so she pressed on with a watery whisper, “It’s what you do best.”

Practically freezing mid-step, he pivoted back around to face her, hands scrubbing at his face. “Damn it, Char. I’m not running away.” Shoulders falling when she rolled her eyes at him, he quickly closed the distance between them to lace their fingers together and insisted, “I’m not.”

“Then why – “

Without warning, Logan crushed his lips to hers in a kiss that left her short of breath when he finally pulled back just far enough to murmur, “’Cause you refuse to acknowledge how fucking reckless you’ve been and it is frustrating the ever livin’ shit outta me. And it just felt like it was better to walk away than say something I’d regret. Something just to hurt you. I don’t want … I can’t hurt you like that.”

Charlotte pulled back a little bit further to meet him square in the eye. “Future reference? Words are no big deal. You walking away? That’s the shit I can’t handle.”

Tangling his free hand in the hair at the base of her head, he gently pulled her face back so he could feather another kiss across her lips before replying, “Noted.” Another barely-there kiss. “Thing I can’t handle?” A slight tug of her bottom lip between his teeth that pulled a sharp gasp from her. “You not takin’ this shit seriously.”

This time, instead of leaning in again, Logan pulled pack just a bit further. She tried chasing after him, but he maintained their separation until she dropped her head back with a groan.

“You even listenin’ to me?”

“Um … yes?”

“Charlotte.”

“Hey!” She tried to glare at him, but instead ended up giggling, “You were the one distracting me!” When he leaned back in for another kiss, Charlotte dipped back as far as she could. “See! You’re doin’ it again!”

“Answer the question and I’ll stop.”

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Shaking his head at her with a familiar and fond smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward, he chuckled, “Okay … Answer the question or I’ll stop.” As if to emphasize his point, he pulled his hand out of hers and untangled his other from her hair to place them both on her hips to keep her planted to her spot when he took a step backwards.

Making sure to soften her words with a smile, Charlotte grumbled, “Ugh. Fine. If you’re gonna be so cruel about it … “ A light pinch pulled another giggle from her. “Okay. Okay. Yes, I heard you.”

“And?”

“And … I get it.” The incredulous look he gave her almost had her flinching. “Look, I get that I haven’t been the most … appreciative for the way that you’ve been taking care of me. And I get that I can’t go back to ‘normal’ just because I want to.”

“Char – “

“Hold up! I’m not finished!” Stopping to heave a frustrated sigh, she continued, “I’m going to do better from here on out. I’m gonna take it easy until the doctors clear me. I’ll do a better job of listening to my body when it starts telling me to take a break. And I’ll stop fighting you so much about it.”

“Not stop all the way, huh?”

“I think we both know me better than that.”

Pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, he snickered, “Okay, that’s fair. That mean we’re done with this sneaking-out shit, then?”

Raising an eyebrow defiantly, she fired back, “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you done with all your helicopter shit? Because if you are? Then yes. I’m done sneaking out.”

Logan studied her face with an inscrutable expression on his own for what felt like hours before nodding his head once. “Fine. I’ll chill out so long as you behave.”

Wrapping her arm around his neck with a smile, she told him, “I’m so glad we got that settled. I hate fighting with you.”

“God, me too. Are you as exhausted as I am?”

Charlotte snorted as she dropped her head against his chest. “Oh, my god. You have no idea.”

“Why don’t we call it a night, then?”

The hopefulness in Logan’s voice almost made her snicker, but she managed to smother it by placing a kiss to a spot right above his heart. “That sounds like a great idea, so long as we go together tonight.

The words were barely out of her mouth before he was nodding eagerly and answering, “Done.”

A/N #2: Just in case any one is wondering (since I haven’t written about Paul and Charlotte’s friendship nearly as much as I have wanted to) and also because I just really want to share this tidbit behind Charlotte’s nickname for Paul. When the two of them first started to become friends, the way Paul was always calling her “sweetheart” drove her absolutely crazy for reasons I may actually write about at some point? lol so she decided to retaliate by calling him “lover.” Unfortunately for her, however he didn’t mind, so it obviously didn’t have the desired effect. Eventually, it became a habit of affection and each of their nicknames stuck. Thank you for indulging me in this moment of ridiculousness

Perma Tags: @burnsoslow​ @mvalentine​ @anotherbeingsworld​ @adiehardfan​

Logan Tags: @brightpinkpeppercorn

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C6

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment, hurt/comfort

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 6 - Aggravation

-

Peter didn’t have long to enjoy the calm and quiet before his parents woke up and steadily the house seemed to come to life. Soon, Tony came into the kitchen.

“Have you finished that drink?”

“Nearly” Peter said. “Why?”

“When you’ve finished it, don’t get another one, or anything to eat. Ok?”

“Um... Ok?”

“Good boy” Tony nodded, opening the fridge. “You need to get dressed today”

“I... Wasn’t going to not get dressed”

“Mm” Tony said, clearly not listening.

Peter sighed and downed the rest of his drink. There goes the peace, he thought.

-

Peter went out of his way to keep his distance from Tony, which wasn’t too difficult, given the size of the house. After about an hour, he heard Tony calling his name, but he chose not to take any notice. 

Unfortunately, Loki always knew how to find him, and he weaselled him out within minutes.

“Your father’s been calling you” Loki said. “Didn’t you hear?”

“...No”

“Yes you did. Come on now”

Peter whined and stayed where he was.

“Loki? Have you found him?!” Tony shouted, soon appearing in the doorway. “Oh, you’re there! Did you have your headphones on? Whatever; get your shoes on”

“Why?”

“Just do as you’re told, chick” Tony said firmly. 

“But why?!”

“Because I said so!”

“That’s not a good enough answer!”

“For gods sake, Peter! Just do as you’re told!”

“BUT WHY?!”

“Peter, stop shouting” Loki snapped. “Go and get your shoes on. Now”

Peter sighed in an exaggerated fashion and stormed off. So much for a quiet day at home.

-

Tony grabbed Loki while he was waiting for Peter.

“He’s ok, right?”

“Yes, he’s fine” Loki said. “Why?”

“I don’t need to overshare with him, right? We’ll just get it done, and then I’ll like, I don’t know... Treat him or something?”

“Tony, you’re overthinking this. You made the decision alone; you can execute it alone” Loki said, not quite hiding his disapproval. “Look, I really do need to get going”

“You said you weren’t going to work this week”

“I know, but I’m needed today. We’ll talk later, ok? I love you”

“I love you too...”

Loki kissed him, and Tony kissed him back, although he still seemed worried.

“Don’t look so scared, darling” Loki said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll be back this evening”

-

Peter got ready to go out, but when they got down to the garage, he held onto the banister and refused to get into the car.

“Peter, stop being silly: we’re going to be late” Tony said. “Do you want me to get your dad?”

“Just tell me where we’re going and I’ll get in the car”

Tony sighed heavily. “Just get in the car”

“JUST TELL ME WHERE WE’RE GOING THEN!”

“PETER! DON’T SHOUT!” Tony shouted. “We’ve got a doctors appointment. Happy now?”

Peter paused. “Ok. I don’t see why you had to refuse to tell me for so long”

“Just get in the car, Peter”

-

Peter watched Tony closely in the car. He seemed a little tense, but he wasn’t giving anything away. Peter assumed he was due for a blood test or something - he couldn’t see any other reason Tony would try to put off telling him - but even then, it wasn’t something he’d ever done before. But then again, Tony had been acting pretty weird lately, so who was he to judge? He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long: he wanted to go home.

-

The other patients in the waiting room weren’t exactly subtle. Peter hated the feeling of being watched, and he hated overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and mutterings about him and his family. He glared at them as he sat down. Tony sat beside him and put an arm tight round him, almost as though he were restraining him.

“Just ignore them” he murmured. “We don’t need to give anyone anything to react to”

Peter didn’t say anything. He leant into Tony and looked at the floor, following the swirling pattern with his eyes. At least being at the doctors demanded some kind of privacy, even if they were celebrities. Even so, he really wished he was somewhere - anywhere - other than here. 

It wasn’t long before their names were called and they could leave the waiting room.

“How are you?” Dr Manning asked.

“I’m alright, thanks. As much as I can be under the circumstances. And you?” Tony said.

“I can’t complain. And how are you, young man?”

Peter didn’t say anything; just followed them into the office. 

“Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice” Tony said, taking a seat. “How are you doing it? Are you doing blood?”

Dr Manning shook his head. “No, no, blood isn’t necessary. There’s other just as good ways - maybe even better ways - to do it”

“Oh good. You know this one hates needles” he nodded towards Peter. “And to be honest, I’m not a huge fan either”

“I don’t think anyone is” Dr Manning said, organising some items laid out on his desk. He picked up one of the sticks, which had what looked like corrugated foam at the end. “When did you two last eat?”

“I had something about three hours ago” Tony said. “I’ve made sure this one hasn’t had anything for a while either. About an hour and a half ago, maybe more?”

“Good. Good, thank you for heeding my advice” the doctor said. “Now, shall we do you first?”

Peter looked between the two grown-ups, trying to work out what was going on. He’d started to feel a little funny; a bit sick and hollow, and nervous. He didn’t know what he was doing here.

Dr Manning was leaning against his desk now, standing in front of Peter, and Tony, who had just said he’d go first - whatever that meant. Peter tried to make eye contact to question them, but neither men were looking at him. Peter watched, a little taken aback, as Tony opened his mouth. It was only when Dr Manning put the stick into his mouth that Peter twigged that it was a swab - and he suddenly knew why. 

His heart started to thump in his chest, and he felt sick. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening, but he hated it all the same. What was going on? This was a dream, surely? Tony had been so insistent, so clear that he was against this... So what had changed? What had he missed?

Peter waited, and all too soon the fourth swab was finished and packed, and all eyes turned to him. Tony refused eye contact. Dr Manning smiled.

“Alright, kiddo” he said. “Your turn”

“No”

Tony and Dr Manning looked at each other. Tony looked at Peter.

“What do you mean; no?”

“You didn’t tell me this was why we were coming! You didn’t say anything about this!” Peter said, outraged. “It’s not fair! You haven’t got any right to do this!”

“Peter, you can cope with having a few swabs in your mouth” Tony said. “It’s not a big deal, and you’re still just a kid: I can make medical decisions on your behalf, and you can’t back out of this one”

“Isn’t it technically a matter of science, not medicine?”

“Don’t be pedantic, Peter” Tony sighed. “Come on, kiddo; don’t be difficult”

“I’m not being difficult: I’m being perfectly reasonable! You should’ve told me about this, or at least ran it by me!” 

At first Peter hadn’t been so bothered about this prospect, but then he’d changed his mind, and now that he was being backed into a corner by it, it was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

“But why?! You always said never to give in to the press, and that’s what you’re doing! You said it didn’t matter!”

“I said a lot of things” Tony said. “But I’ve made a decision. I’m doing this for you, sweetheart”

“No you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! I’m doing it so I can get the press off our backs - yours, most importantly. They’re not gonna leave us alone until something else blows up, or they’ve got the proof they want - and ‘something else’ is taking too long. So we’re giving them proof that you’re not my biological son. Ok?”

“No, it’s not ok!”

Tony sighed. “If it doesn’t matter, why make such a fuss over the test?”

“It’s a matter of principal!”

Tony laughed slightly. “Peter, come on now”

“Perhaps” Dr Manning said. “Perhaps you should have told him before bringing him here”

“Exactly!” Peter nodded. “Thank you”

“Peter, no one is going to hold you down and force your mouth open. If you don’t want to do this, I certainly won’t make you. But try to understand where your father’s coming from”

“I do understand where he’s coming from! I just think it was wrong of him to force it on me like this”

“Sweetheart” Tony took hold of Peter’s hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I really need you to let me do this. It’s my job to look after you, and protecting you from the press is part of my job description. This is the only way to get them off our backs. Please, it’ll only take a few minutes”

Peter looked at the swabs lying on the doctors desk. He looked at his and his father’s hands. He didn’t feel sure about this, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. But he also had a feeling that even if he was technically being given a choice, he only really had one option.

So he nodded, and he saw Tony sigh with relief.

“Thank you”

Peter never especially liked Dr Manning touching him, but somehow this felt worse than ever. He didn’t like being so close either, and not knowing where to look. He finally settled on the clock, watching the seconds tick by painfully slowly. Four minutes had never felt like such a long time. 

-

Tony stopped when they reached the car, and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop him. Peter made himself look at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, kiddo. I really am. Honestly”

Peter nodded slightly.

“...Thank you” Tony said. “Thank you for doing it anyway. I know it’s not very comfortable”

Tony rested a hand on Peter’s cheek, brushed his hair back from his face, and then pulled him close and hugged him tight.

“I really am doing it for you, kiddo. I can’t stand the way the press have been treating you and making you feel. In a few days, we’ll get the results, and then we can put this whole thing to rest. Ok?”

Peter snuggled into Tony’s chest. He still felt a bit funny, but he was starting to feel better. He liked the feeling of Tony’s hand on his head, and he knew where he was coming from. Besides, Tony had always looked out for him. Why would now be any different?

“Alright then” Tony stepped back and cleared his throat. “Get in”

Peter did as he was told, and when Tony started the car, he spoke.

“Um, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m kinda hungry”

“Yeah?” Tony said. “Well, let’s get you fed, then!”

“Ok. What do we have in? I kinda fancy something hot”

“Why bother cooking? We could always eat out”

“Oh! Really? Um...” Peter thought for a moment. “What about daddy?”

“He’s gone to the hospital, remember?”

“Has he?”

“Uh, yeah!” Tony laughed slightly. “I guess you didn’t hear that bit of conversation then. He’ll be back this evening. He won’t know, mind, or care if we eat without him. So, what do you fancy?”

“I don’t really know. What about you?”

“I don’t really know either” Tony said. “Hey, how about we just find somewhere different, like, one of the places you used to go with May? Or somewhere we’ve never been before? What do you say?”

“Well... That could be interesting, I guess” Peter said. “It could be good?”

“Yeah, it could be good! Let’s do that then!” 

Tony seemed so enthusiastic about the idea that Peter couldn’t really shoot it down. Besides, sometimes it was good to try something new.

“Well, you can pick the restaurant” Peter said, fiddling with the car stereo. “And I’ll choose the soundtrack”

There was a short silence before music filled the car.

Tony laughed slightly and ruffled the boys hair. “You’re definitely your father’s son, you know”

Peter just shrugged. He knew.

-

Peter had a sneaking suspicion he’d overestimated his stomach when ordering. He had a feeling Tony had too.

“Well, my father always said my eyes were bigger than my belly” Tony said, putting his fork down. “It was his way of calling me a greedy bastard, I think”

“Oh right” Peter said awkwardly. “You never talk about him, you know”

“Why would I?”

“Well... he was your dad. So... that makes him my granddad... It’d be good to know a bit about him”

“Look on Wikipedia then”

Peter pouted, but he didn’t push it. Neither of his parents spoke about their parents. Sometimes he didn’t mind, but sometimes he did. Especially when his friends started talking about their grandparents and he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. 

“So” Tony said. “Do you think you can manage a pudding after all those buffalo cauliflower whatsits and onion rings and chicken and stuff?”

“You bet!” Peter said, grateful for the break in tension. “What about you?”

“Maybe something small. Depends what they’ve got”

“They had some great looking stuff! I might want two puddings” Peter said, snatching a dessert menu out of the stand. “Good job we have separate stomachs for sweet things, right?”

Tony chuckled. “Your whale’s gonna have to retire from singing at this rate! You’ll burst if you eat too much more. Or at the very least throw up”

“Yeah, maybe, but it’ll be worth it”

“Mm, well I don’t want you making a mess of the upholstery, so don’t go overboard”

“...Red velvet and white chocolate cheesecake” Peter said. “I’ve made a decision”

“Mm. Well, I’m just gonna have a coffee...”

“What kind?” Peter asked, looking at the list, and especially at the liqueur coffee offer at the bottom of the page.

Tony hesitated. “...Just a latte. I’ve already eaten too much. I’ll finish off your cheesecake when you give up half way through”

“Ha! There’s not a dessert on the planet that can beat me!”

He was wrong, of course, and gave up a little over halfway through his pudding - but he told Tony that he left it on purpose, because it didn’t seem fair for only one of them to get a pudding. So Tony finished it off for him, and then they both sat back, feeling too full to even move.

“...It’s been a pretty long time since just the two of us did this” Tony said. “It’s good to spend a bit of time with you”

“Yeah... Hey, since we’re too full to start a fight, can I ask you something?”

“That sounds ominous” Tony said. “What is it?”

“Are you taking me out of St Hendricks?”

Tony stopped for a minute. “...What makes you think that?”

“I overheard you and daddy talking about homeschooling”

“Ah. Uh...” Tony set his mug down. “How would you feel if we did?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. If you did it right now, I don’t think I’d care. I’m not exactly getting on with the people there right now”

“I see”

“So, are you taking me out of school?”

“We’re not sure yet. We’re still thinking about it. Although not so much right now, because we’ve got a whole bunch of stuff to sort out. Like all this stuff with the press... You know you’re not allowed to tell anyone about what we did today, right?”

“Who am I gonna tell?” Peter said, shrugging. “I’m not gonna go shouting about it. I think you know that. Or at least you should, considering how long you’ve known me”

“Yeah” Tony checked his watch. “Hey, we should be heading back: I’ve got a conference call in an hour. You can amuse yourself for a bit, can’t you?”

Peter nodded.

“Good. Right, come on then”

Peter did as he was told, but as they were walking to the car, he realised that the meal they’d just had was much better in theory than in practice. He’d thought he’d come out of there feeling healed and warm and happy, but he didn’t. He didn’t like his father very much right now, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself. Maybe he’d go to sleep for a bit when he got home. He just hoped that afterwards, he’d feel ok again.

-

Peter sat looking in Loki’s room, looking at the big picture on the wall by the door. It was old now, evident by the fact it was all three of them with May. Things had been much simpler back then, Peter was sure of it. He loved his parents, but he still felt he’d swap his current life to get May back. Sure, some things were better now (well, quite a lot of things), but he’d been happy back in the days where he was only in this giant house two or three nights a week, and he resided in the scrubby old flat in Queens with May, and he was friends with Ned, and he mastered a double - almost triple - life, and he was out as Spiderman every single night. 

He couldn’t help feeling melancholy when he thought about that. Nowadays, he probably went out as Spiderman once or twice a week, if that. Some weeks he didn’t go at all. There were times where he’d go out every night for a week or so, but it wasn’t a constant thing. It wasn’t that he’d lost interest, or that it had lost its meaning: it was just that he didn’t always have the motivation, and somehow life kept getting in the way. Besides, it had started to feel different, mainly because he kept comparing it to the old times in Queens. Spiderman was still well known, but Peter had long since stopped being excited whenever his alter-ego turned up in the papers. At least no one knew it was him. Well, aside from his parents. And the Avengers. And Ned... But none of those were likely to spill his secret, and he knew that. Sometimes he felt like he wouldn’t care if people knew - but he also felt like his parents would mind very much. It was a tricky one.

-

Peter eventually slipped off Loki’s bed and went to his own room. He paused, looking at the locket hanging beside his sink. He liked having it there (although he did often forget about it), but sometimes it just reminded him of the “arrangement” Loki and Tony and May had had. He’d stopped feeling bitter about that a long time ago, but he still didn’t like thinking about it. Especially now. Because if he thought about it too much, he almost started to believe what the papers were saying. And even when he didn’t believe them, he completely understood where the reporters were coming from.

After all, what other conclusion would anyone pull from a man who had spent most of his adult life being a self-proclaimed Playboy? Who knew how many people his father had slept with? That was another thing Peter didn’t like thinking about. Sometimes, when Tony talked about Peter being his heir; his successor, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe - just maybe - he was fated to follow a little too closely in his father’s footsteps.

And as much as Peter loved him, he was grateful he was only adopted. Because, (as much as he’d never admit it out loud) he didn’t want to grow up to be anything like Tony Stark.

*

[artificialqueens]

Searching, Waiting, Looking -Ch02- (Trixya) - Pichitinha

A/N: it took me 84 years but I’m back with a second chapter. This is as cliche as the first one, a little bit longer and overall gay. It’s also on AO3 and I’m here on tumblr as @pichitinha

Chapter 2 - We’re all patiently impatient

Trixie makes absolutely sure that she’ll be at least fifteen minutes early to their agreed coffee meeting because the first time she’d met Katya had been the first time she’d been late to anything in ages and she already hates that that’s the first impression she caused. Granted, Katya hardly looks like the type of person that would hold it against her, but that was a fluke, it’s not who she is, and it’s important for her that Katya knows that. So she’ll be her usual Trixie early, ready for anything with her entire schedule planned out for her - both in her brain and in her little planning book where her whole life is stored, really - and wait for Katya if she has to. She doesn’t mind waiting, she’s used to it, but she wants Katya to know what kind of professional - what kind of person - she is.

As she’s crossing the street to the little café they agreed to meet at, though, she can see Katya turning the corner and arriving at the same time. Maybe she also likes to be early to everything. That’s a quality Trixie loves in people, especially those she has to work with, so she hopes it’s true. Katya looks serene, a bit lost in her thoughts, and it tugs a smile to Trixie’s face.

“Katya, hey!” She waves as she’s crossing once she and Katya are close enough that she doesn’t have to shout. Her outfit today is more tasteful - well, it’s less horrific, more normal and fitting for an afternoon out in a coffee shop, but the pattern is still troublesome and Trixie’s really curious as to how she always makes her looks work when they’re actually are super ugly. Maybe she’s just really naturally pretty.

“Oh, hey! You’re early.” Katya hugs her quickly, more of a squeeze with one arm than an embrace, and Trixie can faintly gather the smell of her shampoo, something light and breezy that she can’t really place but that makes Trixie think of dandelions flying in slow motion and that somehow matches the way Katya’s hair dances in the light wind that’s hitting them on the sidewalk. It’s poetic, almost, and it widens her smile a little.

“I usually am, yesterday was a complete rare event, I swear.” Trixie feels the need to explain herself, for some reason she really wants Katya to be assured of her personal qualities.

Katya merely raises both her hands as if in surrender. “Hey, I’m not the time police. It’s fine. Let’s go in, I really need a coffee.”

They find an empty square table at the back of the café where the light isn’t great - which explains why most of the students in the place are crowded at the tables at the entrance where the sun is peeking through the window - but it’s quiet and there’s space to spread sheets on the surface and it’s not on the way to anything so there shouldn’t be people walking by. Katya orders a black coffee, Trixie sticks with a tea, and soon they’re seated in silence and Trixie wonders where the hell one starts planning a wedding.

(She’d googled it, of course, for hours the previous night. She’s still lost, though. She has no idea what she’s doing. But she’s doing it anyway.)

“So,” Katya looks just as lost as she is, but she’s still very joyful. “How about we play a bit at our actual jobs of pressing a button in a camera and throwing flowers around in a room before we dive into, you know, planning an entire wedding from beginning to end with zero experience?” She places both her elbows at the table as she speaks, rests her head on her hands and opens a very large but clearly dry smile as she finishes her sentence, and Trixie can’t help the laugh - or rather scream, as her friends have complained she does - that escapes her throat. She looks very cute like that, younger somehow with the two pigtails she has adorning her face, and Trixie can see in the hollows of her cheeks the coat of foundation she’s wearing.

“Yeah, ok, that’d be good.” She smiles and settles comfortably into her chair. Katya is as easy to talk to as Sasha had mentioned. “I do more than throw flowers around a room though, sometimes there are ribbons.”

“Oh my, how could I forget the ribbons!”

They laugh together and both start digging papers and photos out of their portfolio bags. They turn to each other, each with a huge stack of things at hand, and both giggle again.

“You go,” Trixie offers, settles her things on the empty chair next to her and watches as Katya spreads a few simple wedding pictures on the table.

Trixie’s barely glanced at them but her jaw drops immediately.

“Ok, so these are some weddings I did where the theme was like fall, which is kinda boring if you ask me, but anyway. So each was with a different decorator and idea, of course, but this is a type of photo I always like to get with the couple no matter what type of wedding it is and I think it translates well, no matter what’s going on around them. What do you think?”

Katya has her eyes on the photos as she speaks, her eyes fidgeting over them as if she is nervous, but now as she asks Trixie the question she can feel her eyes on her, questioning. She doesn’t look at them, though, can’t tear her own eyes away from the raw emotion that’s displayed on the photographs on the table. The scenery is different for all of them, the colors matching in the pastel and hazel fall setting but different in every other aspect, and the poses each couple is in also differs - there’s a man and a woman locked on an embrace, their faces almost touching but their eyes closed, expression serene, and there’s one with two men, one hugging the other from behind with his head buried on his neck, their eyes also closed and happy little smiles, and the others all follow the embrace and eyes closed pattern, but in different ways, different expressions, different everything.

Except for the feeling. Trixie isn’t sure how she does that - how she gets the couple to portray exactly what she has in mind, even - but she feels pure and unadulterated contentment when looking at each and every one of them. She feels calm, in peace, and a little bit in love herself - with what she doesn’t know, but she feels it.

Sasha wasn’t lying when she praised Katya’s work. She has no words.

“I… these are phenomenal, Katya. Like, truly magnificent.”

“Oh, please.” Katya waves her hand, makes light of the situation, but a quick glance is enough for Trixie to notice the faint blush on her cheeks. It’s adorable, really.

“I’m serious, there’s so much emotion in these. How do you do that?”

Katya shrugs sheepishly, lets her fingers roam the pictures as if she’s reminiscing.. “I don’t know. I just… that’s why I became a photographer, you know? It was never about photographing something but rather what that photograph would mean. Does that make sense?”

Weirdly, it makes all the sense in the world to Trixie. That’s why she never sold herself as a wedding decorator per se but ended up doing those almost exclusively. She doesn’t know the couples, doesn’t follow their lives afterwards to know if it worked of if they got divorced the week after, but there’s just something when she’s decorating a room for a wedding, when she knows that the day will be important, even if briefly, even if only then, that the people in there will be at their happiest for a couple of hours at least, it just severely beats down decorating a room for a company fifteen year anniversary.

“It does.” Trixie sighs. “It really does.”

*

They spend another half hour looking over Katya’s pictures, Trixie’s intent on analyzing every single one carefully resulting in several minutes spent in every set of new photos that Katya displays. Trixie can’t help it, really, she’s beyond amazed with Katya’s talent. And she doesn’t seem bothered, on contrary, seems flattered and even a bit embarrassed at Trixie’s clear awe when looking at the pictures. She keeps pointing out details, describing what feelings she gets from each, and every time Katya seems a bit surprised at how well Trixie reads what she meant to show. Trixie’s proud of herself, if she’s honest.

“We make a great pair,” Katya mentions lightly at yet another one of Trixie’s observations, this time on the last set of photos she has to show, and Trixie feels the corners of her lips tugging into a grin before she can even process it. The words sound nice.

“I’m not saying we don’t, but your pictures are so clear. You’re really talented, anyone would get what your goals are.”

Katya shakes her head, but doesn’t let her smile disappear completely. She looks so pleased and Trixie’s a little pleased with her own self for it. “You’d be surprised.”

Trixie can’t picture anyone looking at what she just looked and not being completely awestruck. Katya’s talent is clear in every colors she uses and to think that people might not see that is mindblowing. “Some people are really dumb.”

“Ugh, stop with the complimenting already, it’s gross!” Katya swats Trixie’s hands away as she jokes, her eyes shining as she gathers her things to put them back in her bag. Trixie laughs at the cute grump face she makes and moves to get her own pictures. Katya seems absurdly interested. “Yes, show me your talents now.”

“Before you see anything you should know that I have unfortunately never had a photographer that could capture my ideas as I wanted them to be captured so don’t judge me too hard.”

Trixie isn’t usually shy about her work - she’s a good decorator and she knows it - but now that it’s her time to share her work her brain is haunting her with everything Katya just showed her - beautiful, amazing works of art -, and it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed.

Katya merely looks at her like she’s grown an extra head. “Uh, I’m a photographer? I’ll be able to tell that the photographer did a bad job, don’t worry.”

Trixie’s heart swells with her plain confidence that whatever she sees will be the photographer’s fault, and Trixie hopes briefly that she’s right, that none of the photos she brought - although chosen very carefully to share her talent - have any of her mediocre decorations, where the time was too little, or the theme too strict, or the couple too unhelping.

Trixie starts with her outdoor wedding photos, knows it’s a bit irrelevant given Shea and Sasha actually have a closed hall, but she loves them and their simplicity and the fact that her decorations have to match the existing nature; and she really wants Katya to see what she’s capable of - what she knows she’s capable of. After what she’s seen of Katya’s work, she wants her to think she’s a worthy partner. She knows she is, she just needs to prove it.

Katya grabs the first one off the table and puts it weirdly close to her face, her eyes squinting and roaming through the entirety of the picture, searching. Trixie is oddly uncomfortable, loves the wedding she’s currently scrutinizing and really hopes she doesn’t hate it because if she does, Trixie doesn’t think she’ll have anything else better to save herself.

“That was such a poor choice of lightning for this photo. They totally missed how a color gradient could have formed with the flowers and the sunset in the back.”

Katya moves to show her, places her finger on the middle of the frame where the intersection between the flowers and the sky is, but Trixie doesn’t look, she doesn’t have to. She had placed those flowers there strategically, had known that the sun setting in the back would create the perfect colors to follow the line of the flowers if taken from the right angle from the ground at the beginning of the carpet. She’d told the photographer that, several times, up until the point he had outright told her he went to school for this and she didn’t. He never did take the picture she wanted, never immortalized the image she envisioned, and the crappy photo she took on her personal phone is the only proof she has of that.

Now Katya’s pointing that out, after maybe staring at the picture for thirty seconds, and she seems sad at the missed opportunity. Trixie’s heart aches for a moment, because that’s a particular event she’s never really forgotten, was never able to replicate again, and she’s part sad by the confirmation that what she wanted was indeed possible, but mostly happy because Katya gets it. She wasn’t there, she didn’t see it, but she gets it.

“Trixie?” Katya asks with arched eyebrows and Trixie notices she’s been staring at her the whole time, mouth probably agape.

“Sorry, I just- hold on.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and frantically looks for the picture she took that day. She had an older phone, then, but she’s saved it through all the months and always has it in her gallery. “Bare in mind that I am not a photographer and this was taken with an old iPhone, ok?”

Katya nods even though she seems lost, and takes Trixie’s phone.

“Oh!” Katya stares at the phone for several long seconds, and then the right side of her lips tugs into a cute side smile, content. Trixie’s heart soars. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. That was wicked smart, Trixie.”

Trixie can feel herself blushing, readjusts a bit on her chair as she feels warmth spreading all over her face and chest in pride. She never realized how much she wanted to be recognized for that feature that’d been gone unnoticed. “Thanks. I’ll never forgive the photographer for not capturing it.”

Katya nods in agreement, eyes still on the crappy picture on her phone. “It truly is a shame. Maybe next time you do something like this you can invite me to take pictures?”

“Yes!” Trixie finds herself nodding before Katya has even finished speaking, her reply perhaps more enthusiastic than necessary. “I think you’re right, we make a great pair.”

Katya finally gives her back the phone, stares at her again like her entire focus and attention are on Trixie and she can practically feel the weight of it. “We do.”

*

“Ok, so that’s basically it, right?” Katya asks staring up and down the page on her notepad where she and Trixie made a list of everything they have to do for the wedding - well, everything they think they have to do. They looked at several websites and discussed each item to see its real relevance and added a few of their own - are there oddly specific photography and decoration items? Yes - and currently they have an entire written page consisting of no less than seventy-four items.

“Basically,” Trixie snorts. “Yeah, I guess that’s basically it.”

Katya smiles and gives a little laugh, puts down the notebook with a sigh as she leans back on her chair and stretches. Trixie can see a tiny part of her stomach, then, and it’s lighter than her arms but tanner than her face and it’s fully toned. She averts her gaze when Katya speaks again, “So where do we start?”

“By moving to Mexico and pretending we never agreed to any of this?”

Katya’s laugh is loud this time and it fills the entire room and it is undeniably adorable. Trixie can’t help but smile in return. “Good plan,” Katya replies when she manages to stop, leans on the table still completely focused on Trixie. She hasn’t stopped smiling yet. Trixie wouldn’t ever stop smiling if she had her teeth, she thinks.

“I don’t know, there are definitely lots of things to do and we don’t even know the date they’ll get yet. Which, of course, is number one on the list. We don’t have a lot to work on right now.”

“Let’s discuss the couple then, maybe we’ll get some ideas. Tell me about you and Shea, how long have you known each other?”

Trixie feels her smile dropping for a second before she puts it right back on. She loves Shea, she’s been her best friend for years, but she doesn’t like discussing their friendship, especially with someone she just met, no matter how fast and easily they hit it off, even if they’re someone who knows and loves Shea as well.

“I met Shea back when we both still lived in Chicago. When I decided to move there from Milwaukee my friend Kim told me she had a spare room that she and her roommate needed to rent, so there I went. Her roommate was Shea and we became friends very fast. The three of us were inseparable.”

Katya raises her eyebrows, seems weary. “What happened to the third friend?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She still lives in Chicago so we don’t see each other all that much. But we talk everyday, I’m sure she’ll be the maid of honor.”

Trixie stops talking then, feels like she’s given pretty much all of the important details - what else could she say? Katya is still looking at her like she expects more though, and there’s a few uncomfortable silent seconds where neither says anything and both look uncertain.

But Katya recovers quickly, clears her throat and takes it upon herself to share. “So, I’m Russian.”

“Oh?” Trixie isn’t sure where she’s going with this, but she’s glad for the change of subject.

“Yeah. I mean, technically. I was born there but my parents moved to Boston soon after that. But anyway, I met Sasha in Russian 101 in college.”

“Why would you take Russian? Why would Sasha take Russian?”

“She didn’t, she was the TA. I did because I figured it would be an easy A. It was, but that’s neither here nor there.” She makes a dismissive motion with her hand and Trixie laughs at her sly grin.

“You cheated, you mean.”

“They never said a fluent person couldn’t take the entire language curriculum. French and Russian awarded me with an honors degree, thank you very much.”

“Cheating,” Trixie insists.

“Loophole,” Katya replies, a giggly sound marking her sentence. Trixie giggles with her. “But, anyway, we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Was she stupid smart at school, too?” Trixie asks, has always wondered what Sasha was like in college. If she was anything like she pictures, effortlessly good at everything and often praised, Trixie thinks she would have been impossibly jealous had they studied together.

“I don’t think Sasha knows how to be anything other than stupid smart, honestly.”

Trixie chuckles, nods for lack of what to do. “Yeah, I figured.”

There are a few seconds of silence in which they each finish their now cold beverages and Katya takes the opportunity to change her expression to completely serious for the first time.

“Do you… hm, do you like Sasha? Like as a partner for your best friend?”

Trixie feels her jaw dropping instantly, sits up straighter at the shock of the words - or rather her tone. She sounds convinced the answer is actually no. Granted, Trixie has several unresolved personal issues that may or may not have a side effect on how she thinks of Sasha sometimes, but at the end of the day Sasha has been a constant presence in her life for the past three years and she’s been a really good friend and a perfect match for Shea. Trixie genuinely loves her and she really hopes that she doesn’t give off the wrong vibe.

“Oh my god, yes! I adore her. Did she say something? Does she think I don’t?”

“No, no, no! Sorry, Sasha likes you a lot. You just made a face, just now. I thought… I misinterpreted, sorry.”

“Oh.” Trixie doesn’t know how to explain it. She can’t find the proper words when she herself isn’t sure yet of why she sometimes feels the way she does. So she takes the easy road. “Single’s jealousy, I guess.”

“A wedding decorator who wants to get married? Groundbreaking.”

Trixie scream laughs again, swats Katya’s arm lightly. “Shut up!”

*

“So, is she mad as a hatter or what?”

Trixie and Shea are seated as comfortably as it’s possible on Shea’s ridiculously old couch, the one she’s been saying for over a year she was going to replace and now she won’t because she and Sasha will buy a new one when they move in together after the wedding. They each have a box of chinese food and they are halfway through them when Shea asks about her meeting with Katya.

“She most definitely is. We actually hit it off pretty well.”

“You did?” She raises her eyebrows, seems surprised at that.

“Yeah? Why? I wouldn’t peg her as someone difficult.”

“Oh, she isn’t. I’m surprised by you.”

Trixie kicks her on the shin as she scream laughs. “You bitch!”

Shea laughs out loud, throws her head back for good measure, and Trixie cuckles to herself. She wonders briefly how it’ll be between them once Shea gets married. She wonders if the next however many months they’ll have before the wedding will be like a countdown of last moments like this. The thought leaves a lump on her throat and she tries really hard to force it down with her wine.

“I’m kidding, I’m glad you hit it off. She’s a good friend to have, she’s the most selfless person you’ll ever meet and I’m marrying Sasha.”

“Wow. Is it a Russian thing? It doesn’t sound Russian. She’s as selfless as a Russian. Nah.”

Shea smiles mischievously and places her empty container on the table, picks up her glass of wine. “Wow, you already know she’s Russian? It took me three months.”

Trixie rolls her eyes, is not surprised at all by Shea’s comment and has no doubt about where she’s going: there’s nothing Shea likes more than trying to set Trixie up. Anyone, anytime, anywhere.

“We were discussing how we met you guys. Because we’re planning your wedding. We’re business partners.”

“Sounds kinky.”

Trixie gets up then, fake exasperation. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m joking!” Shea laughs and moves to grab Trixie’s arm, pulls her back to sit on the couch. “She’s a catch though, if you’re interested. And she’s gay.”

“Much better than last time when you tried to set me up with your straight coworker, I’ll give you that.”

“She’s not straight, she’s pressured by society’s heteronormativity and she’ll realize that soon enough, give it a year!”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Ok,ok!” She surrenders with a motion of her arms, light smile on her lips. “Tell me about my wedding then. Did you plan it all already? Can we do it this Saturday?”

“Yep, in fact we have already reserved the dumpster down the street.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. How-” Shea stops talking when her phone lights up on the coffee table, Sasha’s name and photo on the screen. “Uh, sorry.”

Trixie dismisses her. “Go ahead.”

Shea gets up to answer the phone on the other room and Trixie takes these few minutes to breathe. She finishes her wine, makes the last sip turn to three as she stares at the apartment that Shea’s lived in since she moved to California a few months after Trixie. It’s familiar to her, like in sitcoms where it’s always the apartment of one of the friends that becomes the point. Kim always stays there when she’s visiting and so does Trannika even if she visits less. Pearl is there constantly and she always has Violet with her and no one is sure why they go to Shea’s place when it’s the furthest and not the biggest, but it’s their thing now, she guesses.

She doesn’t want to be that friend, the best friend in the Bridesmaids movie that gets jealous and bitter and ruins everything because she can’t get a hold of her emotions, but it’s hard when it feels like the last solid thing she’s managed to maintain is going to fall apart. Shea’s friendship is the one thing she managed to keep after all the turmoils in her life - leaving her family in Wisconsin, leaving her friends in Chicago, leaving a string of relationships that she wasn’t able to save everywhere she went. All her friends are married or in a relationship or some even happily single and Trixie still struggles with the ghosts of all her past girlfriends haunting her. She’s not old but she is getting older, and she hates the feeling that she’s stuck while everyone else passes her by. While life passes her by.

She gets up from the couch and grabs all the boxes and dishes to clean the place a little bit, tries to ground herself to the reality of the now and to convince herself that she’s overreacting and things will be fine. Kim lives almost on the other side of the country and their friendship is still one of the strongest bonds Trixie has. She’ll be fine with Shea having a wife. A wife that Trixie knows and likes and is friends with.

Shea is happy and that’s all that matters. It is.

“So Katya thinks you’re ‘one of the most talented people I’ve ever met’, quote, and seems very infatuated by you, says Sasha.” Shea says when she enters the kitchen and finds Trixie pouring herself some more wine, leaving just enough on the bottle for Shea to get half a glass.

“Sasha did not say that.”

“Ok, that’s my interpretation of what Sasha said.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “You can’t expect me to date every single person you’ve ever met, Shea.”

“I wouldn’t keep trying if you dated one! You’ve been single for like five hundred years, Trixie, you gotta get out there!”

“It’s been like less than a year.”

“Potato, potahto. But anyway, she seemed really impressed with your work, Sasha says she’s looking forward to working with you.”

There’s still some sort of innuendo in Shea’s voice, but Trixie ignores it in lieu of the compliment, smiles despite herself. She can’t help the giddy feeling in her chest at the praise. She loves what she does and she loved Katya’s work and she doesn’t necessarily need validation but she loves that she got it, especially from her. “Me too! Her photos were mindblowing, she’s amazing. Your wedding’s gonna be, like, the best wedding ever made.”

Shea smiles back, seems happy at the prospect, but then she sighs a little. “I know that you’ll be the best decorator in the seven realms and that my wedding is gonna be the most beautiful in all of the lands, but I’m still sad you won’t be my maid of honor.”

Trixie sips on her wine at that, tries to find the right words to reply.

She’s sad too. But it’s better this way.

“You’ll forget about that as soon as you see how magnificent the hall will look.”

“I can’t wait. We’ve decided on a date, by the way. It’ll be in six months.”

“Oh.” Trixie’s not sure how to respond. Six months isn’t that close but she kind of thought they might wait for another year or so. “Already?”

“I know it’s a bit tight for the planning, but you know we don’t want anything too big, right? We’ll make it work, don’t worry.”

Trixie nods, smiles a bit as she pours a tiny bit more wine. The planning. Right. That’s why she’s surprised, because the closer it is the less time she has to plan.

“Of course we will, I’m amazing at what I do.”

“You are a conceited little country gal, that’s what you are.”

Trixie shrugs and grins into her glass. Her insecurities be damned, she’ll focus on the now. “Maybe.”

[msmovingforward]

Pride Versus Envy: RHONJ S11 E8

We open with shots of the women getting ready at both Melissa and Dolores’s Shore houses. Marge Sr. texts Margaret, informing her that she just got a laser treatment on her face, and she sends along a picture of her looking like Freddy Krueger. Joe Gorga slaps Melissa on her ass, as Melissa asks if Joe thinks dinner will be peaceful that night.

Back at Dolores’s house, Jen says that if Margaret starts with her, she’ll start with Margaret. Honestly, what is it with women named Jen on Bravo? I don’t like them. Jen Shah is going out in a blaze of fire on RHOSLC, and I would love to see something similar happen with Jennifer Aydin because she’s boring and annoying to me. There. I said it! OK? Sorry!

Back at the Gorgas’, the men are pregaming dinner in order to numb the trauma that is inevitably about to befall them when their wives start fighting. Melissa asks Margaret if she’s ready for a peaceful dinner.

In a confessional, Margaret says that if Jen starts with her, she will finish it. I love to see it.

The two parties arrive in separate vans at La Mondina restaurant and sit at separate tables. Men at one, women at the other. I just noticed that the vans have plastic wrap separating the passengers from the drivers, and I can’t help but wonder if this has always been the case to keep the drivers from crashing due to the imminent danger of stilettoes, hoop earrings, and pinot grigio cracking the windshield or if this is a coronavirus precaution. 

Everyone at the women’s table orders a pear crusher martini, while the men considerately place their entire order at once. Because you know, it’s the HEIGHT of COVID when they’re filming, and this restaurant has probably just re-opened for the first time in two months, and most normal people are still horrified of the virus. These women are just scared of their botulinum toxin migrating. The men cheers with tequila shots to a “no bull shit guys night!”

Teresa wonders aloud how the celebration for Nonno will go, saying that he always wanted her and her brother to get along. We’re shown a flashback of Joe Gorga screaming at Teresa the previous night and slamming his engorged fists on the table. Apparently, there was no fracture, by the way. If Nonno is sober enough in whatever afterlife God saw fit to place him to witness that fiasco, I’m sure he’s beaming with pride.

Over dinner, Joe Gorga again brings up the prank phone call Teresa made in Lake George, informing him that Melissa had been cheating on him with a server. Joe claims that the joke must have some sort of “life.” In confessional, Teresa wonders why Joe keeps bringing it up, wondering if something really is going on in their marriage.

The food comes out and several people had ordered octopus, so everyone jokes about “octopussy” for what seems like an eternity. Remember Octomom from 2009? She had an octopussy! Melissa starts giving Teresa dating advice, saying to remember what it’s like to have a man around, passive aggressively saying loudly enough so Joe can hear that he sucks because he thinks she’s too independent. Yes, Teresa, the secret to a happy relationship is to take advice from the passive aggressive woman who’s currently miscommunicating with her husband right before your eyes! And the thing she’s telling you is that she’s basically unhappy and feels like a kept woman. Sound advice, sooouuund advice. Dolores tells Teresa to pay attention to red flags. Like living and spending all your time with your ex husband and not your current boyfriend, Dolores? I’d be surprised if Teresa knows what the term red flag means. Jen gives the advice not to let a man curse at her, and we get my favorite sonic boom sound effect because this is not actually dating advice at all, but in fact shade towards Margaret because she yelled at Joe Benigno the previous night. 

Marge says, “So do you think Joe should leave me because I yelled at him last night?” We are shown a flashback to Margaret screaming, “Did you ever hear it from anybody in town? Tell me right now!” Honestly, it wasn’t really that bad. Jen’s a bitch. Get her and her sixteen bathrooms out of this franchise. Please!

Jen responds to Margaret, saying, “Yeah that is a red flag. I don't talk derogatory to my husband. I was shocked.” Teresa is probably getting excited at this point that they’re going to see the running of the bulls because her brain can’t handle the idea of a symbolic red flag. Also, it’s a red flag what you told us last week about how you sat, scantily clad in a Turkish cafe while your mother told you to shut your mouth because men don’t like women who talk too much, Jen. It’s a red flag that you slut shamed Margaret after she shared that she’d been coerced into sleeping with her boss when she was 20 years old. READ A FUCKIN’ BOOK, JEN. IT’S 2021.

Over at the men’s table, Joe B explains that he and Margaret fight, but it’s always over in ten minutes. Joe G responds, “Yeah. You wear the G-string. She wears the pants.” OK, Gorga, enough! Where do you buy your underwear? The roided out kids’ section? They must have that in New Jersey right? It’s in every strip mall next to the breakfast place that sells pork roll, egg, and cheese sandwiches.

Jen tells Marge that she is “no stranger to meannness...” (followed by another BOOM!), “to say that my husband is my meal ticket.” Can it be mean if it’s true though, Jen? Like tell me, what exactly are your SKILLS? In what labor market would you be able to support yourself? 

Marge retorts that Jen’s only “aspiration is to live the way off your husband.” Jen responds that her only focus is her family, and Jackie says in confessional that sometimes having a career was easier for her than raising children. Marge says it was wrong of Jen to bring up what she told the women in confidence on camera about how she has slept with her bosses in the past. Jen claims that Marge never said it was a me too thing and that Marge made it seem like she was intentionally sexing it up for her bosses as a young woman. Marge accuses Jen of victim blaming, and says that Jen has a perception problem. Melissa chimes in, pointing out that using this against Margaret now is a huge violation of girl code. Jen questions if it’s such a big deal why Marge is going to put it in a book for the world to read. Marge advises Jen to read the book, or better yet listen to the audio, because Jen is an idiot and lazy and probably can’t read.

In the vans on the way home, Melissa and Joe Gorga get in the following stupid fight:

Joe G: Melissa, you gonna wait for your husband? Mel: NO! Joe: Holy shit. You don't wait for me? Mel: Why am I waitin' for you? You're right here, bro. Chill!

JOE slams van door. There is another boom sound effect.

Mel: What are you mad about? Joe G: I'm not mad about nothin'. Mel: Did I do something wrong? Joe: No. Mel: Tell me if I did. Joe: I would just like my wife to wait for me. I mean you just walk away like you don't even have a husband. Mel: Wait. Wait. Joe: Cause when my wife takes off-- Mel: I'm sorry I took off. I'm the host. That's like crazy. Joe: Alright from now on you just go by yourself while I just walk in the back.

Joe clearly doesn’t like all this independence Melissa has now with Envy. (Seriously, does this store really make any money though? Not for nothing, Joe, but I think your crooked house flipping business is still a more solid source of income). Melissa says Joe is spoiled and that she’s sick of kissing his ass. Joe says to be careful what Melissa says or she’ll never see him again. (What a great little narcissist he is!) The two separate ways, as they arrive back at the Gorgas’ Shore house.

Teresa has a very boring conversation with Audriana on the phone during the van ride back to Dolores’s.

Joe Benigno tries to therapize Joe Gorga Jersey-style, along with Evan back at the Gorgas’. I have to say Joe Benigno seems like such a genuinely great guy, and I’m so happy for him and Margaret. He may not be able to pull together a funhouse-themed living room for his wife over four seasons, but damn if he’s not patient, kind, and empathetic. Joe Gorga shares that the change in their marriage bothers him.

Meanwhile upstairs, Jackie and Margaret check on Melissa, who asks what she’s doing wrong. They both assure her that if she were doing something wrong, they would tell her. If there’s one thing you can always count on a Housewife for, it’s to point out others’ flaws. Margaret explains that “[Joe Gorga] is very sensitive. He took you walking in front of him to another level.”

Back downstairs, Joe G’s narcissism is showing again. He tells Joe B, “ You know I wanna be loved. Is that a problem? OK If it is a problem, Whatever!” UGH YES JOE YOUR ONLY FLAW IS YOU WANT TO BE LOVED. IT WASN’T TOTALLY CRAZY THE SHIT YOU JUST PULLED IN THE VAN AT ALL!

This is juxtaposed with Melissa saying to Marge and Jackie, “ He's a very old school mentality. Like, when we started our marriage, I was 24 years old. I did whatever Joe told me to do. He was someone who was jealous. He was someone who was saying, 'Don't move. Stand right here,' and I thought that that was amazing.” We are then given a confessional of Melissa saying, “ Growing up, there was cheating rumors out there about my dad. I watched my mother cry plenty of tears, so the fact that Joe was all about family and wanted to be together all the time was like oh my god. You're everything I've been looking for.” This is truly sad and hits home for me because I can definitely relate to being trapped in a narcissistic relationship that I thought was right at one time, and eventually I saw the light. My heart breaks for Melissa, but it blossoms for her storyline. Thank God! Finally! Melissa continues to tell Marge and Jackie that Joe makes her feel guilty for having a business.

Joe G continues his psychoanalysis with Joe B, saying that his father shaped him to be the man he is. NOW we’re getting somewhere. Nonno could barely mold Play-do, let alone a human child, but honestly, that’s not Melissa’s problem. He says that now that Melissa is famous and successful she’s forgotten who she is, and he dismisses Joe B and Evan. Again, we need to take Jen’s advice from earlier, ironically. PAY ATTENTION TO THESE RED FLAGS, MELISSA! Don’t raise more Joe and Teresa Giudices!

Jackie tells Melissa that Joe G got used to Melissa being his “little bitch,” and now Melissa is not old school anymore. I’m beginning to like Jackie. Joe walks in to talk to Melissa, and Jackie and Margaret excuse themselves, as Melissa starts yelling. Joe says it’s over (but he’s a narcissist, so it’s not), and Melissa sticks to her guns, saying she’s the best version of herself that he’s going to get.

The next morning Joe B and Evan do some manly stretching outside, and Melissa confesses that she hasn’t spoken to Joe since the previous night. She also tells us that it’s very therapeutic for her to ride a giant yellow bicycle at the Jersey Shore. She leaves, and cameras do not follow. Ugh it’s always two steps forward and one step back for this one. Bill weirdly tells Frank that Bill wants Frank’s physique, so he orders a scooped out bagel for breakfast over at Dolores’s. Frank flexes his roided out biceps. Ick. Back at the Gorgas’, Joe G gives a terrible blanket apology, saying that he’s sorry if he ruined anybody’s night last night. OK, but how about your marriage? How about you knew you were being an asshole, Joey? Melissa finally backs down, and she takes everything on herself once again, essentially saying it would be her fault if Joe G ruins the memorial that night because Melissa forced the issue. Melissa confesses that she doesn’t feel good about leaving things unresolved, but the weekend is about Nonno.

Back at Dolores’s everyone is putting on white for Nonno’s memorial party, which I thought was odd because generally black is the funeral color, but this is far from the oddest choice I’ve ever seen made on a reality show set in New Jersey. Teresa is serving Beyonce’s Lemonade realness in a lemon-print dress. She says dimly, “Maybe someone will wanna suck my lemons?” There’s a ding sound effect.

Everyone gets on boats and rides to a restaurant for a luncheon. Joe G says he and Melissa had sex. Ugh. Sex fixes everything, doesn’t it?

At the restaurant Marge orders unsweetened iced tea and not iced coffee. Joe Benigno is wearing a pineapple print shirt. C’mon, Teresa, lemons are sooo 2016! Pineapples are all the rage now! Teresa says that her lemons are a shoutout to the Capri region of Italy, and I’m reminded fondly of Dorit Kemsley’s Capri room at Bucca Di Beppo. Melissa tells Teresa about her and Joe’s fight. Teresa says that Melissa needs to give Joe a lot of attention. She confesses that Melissa needs to be more grateful because it’s hard to find a man who actually loves you. Yikes this family is fucked up! Teresa’s honest opinion is that it’s a big bonus if your husband actually loves you.

Melissa begins noticing a lot of phone calls coming from a woman named “Realtor Giselle” on Joe G’s phone. It turns out to be a hilarious prank that Joe Gorga is playing to get back at his wife for having Teresa call and say Melissa was cheating on him in Lake George. What fuckin’ timing. At least frickin’ love bomb Melissa, you engorged, blood-sucking tick! Melissa says that if Joe ever cheated on her she would, “Throw [him] in the fuckin’ bay and leave [him] there.” 

Joe Gorga confesses that he’s glad Melissa is jealous enough to call Giselle back. I think I’m gonna hurl. GET HELP, JOE. YOU NEED HELP!

Nonno’s party looks beautiful, minus a half-finished collage of photos on a half-assed step and repeat. Someone brings Joe Gorga some spray paint art of Nonno smoking a cigar with his shirt open. Gross, but accurate. Johnnie Walker either sponsored this party or Nonno’s whole life. Along with another canvas painting of Nonno, BIll Aydin gives Joe G a bottle of Johnnie Walker.

Dolores says her uterus hurts, as Frankie arrives, looking like a melting Ken Doll. 

Two swans swim by in the bay, and everyone claims they’re Nonno and Nonna.

Margaret is impressed with the charcuterie board.

Teresa gives a tearful speech, saying that her father was very affectionate, and that’s where she and Joe G get it from. No he wasn’t. He was a weird slurry drunk. No you two are not affectionate... Moving on!

Gia reads a speech from her phone, calling Nonno the “glue” that held the family together. If by glue she meant the kind you sniff, then yes. Everyone throws white flowers into the bay. We’re shown a confessional of Teresa crying about how close they were juxtaposed by a flashback of Teresa asking Nonno how much he’s had to drink during season 8′s Easter episode. Joe says that Nonno always told Joe to take care of Teresa, and everyone does a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue.

I spoke ill of the deceased in this post. I just don’t buy what they’re selling about Nonno for one damn second. Joe and Teresa are great TV and terrible people. Terrible siblings usually tend to be raised by terrible parents. These opinions are mine, and I’m entitled to them.