08-15-2013, 01:06 PM
For the record, it wasn't a congenial sort of "hey, long estranged parents, yeah, everything's fine now, come crash at my apartment so we can sing songs by the fireplace and hug it all out" invitation, but more of a dutiful "this is kind of why I have this space, not just for you but for anyone who needs a waystation" kind of thing. It had been wary, and not quite reluctant, and at the same time so full of a confidence that few other than Reese seem to inspire that it's quite possible it seemed like something more than it was. It's not that he doesn't want to see Shelly, of course. Or even that he's entirely against seeing Marshal. But . . .
Well. What's past is past.
He does, indeed, knock on the door first. It's a stalling tactic; maybe he hears his father's laughter from outside the condo, where he hesitates by the door (there may or may not be a text shot to a certain Shadow Lord saying wish me luck, heading into the lion's den in text speak shorthand) for long enough that it might seem like he'll turn around rather than coming in. Finally, though, a key slides its way home and turns tumblers, aligns them so that he can come in. He's been here to see Jake, of course, and maybe Sam's brought Reese's new nephew to her brother's apartment (for a supervised visit, of course, because even the most loving of sisters don't leave babies with alcoholics without the strictest of understandings if it can be helped) a time or two. Reese knows Jake and Jake knows him, but the resemblance Reese holds with the self his parents had known is tied mostly to the eyes (full of spark, of rebellion, of stubborness and impatience), the hair, the shape of the face that's so like Sam's. He's thinner now, and maybe a bit taller too though he's still a couple inches short of six feet; maybe he gets his lack of stature from Shelly's side. He's hardworn, full of wrinkles one doesn't necessarily expect to see on a twenty-eight year old face. (If one smells intently, he may or may not smell of a fortifying shot of whiskey amongst all the cigarette smoke. The weed, though, he's left alone for this visit.)
"Hey, Sam." The warmth there is genuine and though there are still mending wounds, Reese and Sam were always close before he left and it didn't take as long for them to renew that bond as one might think. It's easy to slide up and put an arm around her shoulders, to kiss the top of her head as bigger brothers everywhere do to little sisters they love. "Hi Mom - I brought wine and salad stuff, if you want it. Dad." The former is distant but warm enough, while the latter is a bit on the cool side - distance, yes, and then some. And the distance is physical as well as emotional - there may be a tenuous peace, but Reese still hasn't talked to his father since that first call home. Shelly's gotten a call or email every week or two since (bland things, nothing overly personal, but enough to know that he's relatively well and that yes, he's trying), but Marshall? Nothing.
One has to look hard to find the scars, but they're there if one knows what to look for - the marks of things that have happened in the time they've spent apart, both good and bad. It's to be expected, probably, that he keeps things as impersonal as he can now, to start with, even as they're all there to ooh and ah over a new Evans, this baby that Sam's adopted.
"Isn't my new nephew adorable?"
Well. What's past is past.
He does, indeed, knock on the door first. It's a stalling tactic; maybe he hears his father's laughter from outside the condo, where he hesitates by the door (there may or may not be a text shot to a certain Shadow Lord saying wish me luck, heading into the lion's den in text speak shorthand) for long enough that it might seem like he'll turn around rather than coming in. Finally, though, a key slides its way home and turns tumblers, aligns them so that he can come in. He's been here to see Jake, of course, and maybe Sam's brought Reese's new nephew to her brother's apartment (for a supervised visit, of course, because even the most loving of sisters don't leave babies with alcoholics without the strictest of understandings if it can be helped) a time or two. Reese knows Jake and Jake knows him, but the resemblance Reese holds with the self his parents had known is tied mostly to the eyes (full of spark, of rebellion, of stubborness and impatience), the hair, the shape of the face that's so like Sam's. He's thinner now, and maybe a bit taller too though he's still a couple inches short of six feet; maybe he gets his lack of stature from Shelly's side. He's hardworn, full of wrinkles one doesn't necessarily expect to see on a twenty-eight year old face. (If one smells intently, he may or may not smell of a fortifying shot of whiskey amongst all the cigarette smoke. The weed, though, he's left alone for this visit.)
"Hey, Sam." The warmth there is genuine and though there are still mending wounds, Reese and Sam were always close before he left and it didn't take as long for them to renew that bond as one might think. It's easy to slide up and put an arm around her shoulders, to kiss the top of her head as bigger brothers everywhere do to little sisters they love. "Hi Mom - I brought wine and salad stuff, if you want it. Dad." The former is distant but warm enough, while the latter is a bit on the cool side - distance, yes, and then some. And the distance is physical as well as emotional - there may be a tenuous peace, but Reese still hasn't talked to his father since that first call home. Shelly's gotten a call or email every week or two since (bland things, nothing overly personal, but enough to know that he's relatively well and that yes, he's trying), but Marshall? Nothing.
One has to look hard to find the scars, but they're there if one knows what to look for - the marks of things that have happened in the time they've spent apart, both good and bad. It's to be expected, probably, that he keeps things as impersonal as he can now, to start with, even as they're all there to ooh and ah over a new Evans, this baby that Sam's adopted.
"Isn't my new nephew adorable?"