Work Text:
Mary Frank Sledge was not very pleased when her son Eugene informed her he was moving to Florida to pursue his Masters degree in Ornithology. She was significantly less pleased when she learned that Merriell Shelton would also be moving to Florida, and that he would be living with Eugene. Her husband had tried, on many occasions, to soothe the tensions between her and Merriell in the 4 years he had been in their lives. His efforts had doubled in the last year, especially since the incident that left Eugene and Merriell hobbling back into their home only a few hours after Eugene had stormed off, dragging Merriell with him. Eugene had come home with the start of a nasty bruise on his chin and Merriell had stood in the corner of their parlour staring off down the hallway and out the door. She’d hoped then that he’d follow his gaze. Just leave and never come back.
After Eugene had (fled) moved to Florida she began writing him. Incessantly. She told herself - and Edward Sr. - that she just wanted to make sure he was alright, to keep up with his life. She knew deep down that was only part of the reason, and that there was a far uglier reason lurking in her depths.
Eugene didn’t respond to every letter but he dutifully tried to maintain the correspondence. She would ask how his classes were going, and he would respond to tell her of the things he was learning, include diagrams and interesting tidbits about the wildlife in the Everglades. She would ask if he was enjoying the weather. He would share stories about going to the boardwalk with classmates, or research trips down to the Everglades, stories about his too pale skin and sunburns. She would ask if he had met any interesting girls, he would pointedly ignore the questions.
So it was that October was winding down into November and Thanksgiving was approaching.
She wrote him to ask if he had any plans for Thanksgiving. He responded to say no, in fact, he did not. She wrote again to ask if he had time off for Thanksgiving. He responded to say that yes, in fact, he did. She wrote again to ask if he would come home for Thanksgiving, since he had time off. He responded that he wasn’t sure, he’d have to see if Merriell could get the time off work.
She remembered clutching that letter angrily, wondering who had invited him? She certainly hadn’t. She wrote him again, telling him as much. That Merriell was not, in fact, invited. This was to be a family affair, close friends and family only. She also happened to know a lovely young girl, the daughter of a friend of a friend, who might be joining them as well, but other than that, no one else.
Eugene didn’t respond.
It was officially November and she knew she was running out of time so she wrote him again. She pointed out that he had not replied to her letter and she needed to know if he would be coming, if she should invite that lovely young girl or not. She imagined him staring at that letter, all that static and fury buzzing under the surface and indulged herself an admittedly petty smile. She knew it was childish, he was her son and for all of her frustration and annoyance she truly did just want the best for him. Why couldn’t he see that Merriell Shelton was not the best for him? All of her quiet sighs, and pointed looks, and glass smiles and the words she couldn’t just say out loud were for his benefit. He would eventually burn out that anger and stubbornness and come to his senses.
She was not expecting his response.
Mother,
I wouldn’t worry about inviting that ‘lovely young girl’ you know. If I do come for Thanksgiving, you can be sure that Shelton will be coming with me. In fact, from now on, if you invite me home for whatever reason, assume that you’re inviting him as well. If you’re not, then assume I won’t be coming.
Eugene.
Edward Sr. read the letter and smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. “He gets it from you, you know.”
She spluttered and turned her glare on him. He chuckled and shook his head. “Face it Mary Frank, one of you is going to have to bend, and I suggest if you want to see him again, that you be the one to do it.” He smiled gently to soften the blow of his words and then left her in the study. She smoothed the letter out on the desk in front of her and stared at it as the sun played shadows across the wall.
***
When Thanksgiving came and went and Eugene was not there with them, she knew that she couldn’t hide from it anymore. Edward Sr. was right. Her son was more like her than either of them would like to admit, and if she didn’t bend first, she knew she’d lose him for good. She had already faced that nightmare. When Eugene had left and gone off to war she thought she’d seen the last of her baby boy. When Sidney showed up at their house and told them he felt alright about Eugene’s chances she tried to let his words soothe her, but she couldn’t help but feel they were a pretty lie. Simple words to ease a mother’s worries, but she saw the way Sidney’s shoulders seemed hunched under the weight of what he’d seen. When Eugene finally did come home, she knew she was right. The man who returned to their home, who looked so much like her son, was not the boy who left them. It had broken her heart to watch her tender boy struggle so under the weight of things she knew she could never understand, and when Merriell had shown up and whisked him away to God knows where, he returned lighter, more himself. Mary Frank thought that was a blessing, but she just found herself losing him in another, unexpected way.
She had fought against this in so many ways for nearly five years, had desperately wanted back that boy who left to fight for his country. She thought maybe it was time to accept that that boy wasn’t coming back. Did he even really exist in the first place? She wondered idly. Either way, to have Eugene in any way, she just had to accept that she would have to have Merriell as well. The man made her uncomfortable in many ways, he smoked too much, he would go from withdrawn and sullen to this unnerving, slowly simmering combatant. Slyly smiling and smirking, pushing buttons, cursing with this knowing glint in his eye and she never knew what to make of him. He made her feel harried and frustrated, weak and furious, utterly helpless. Maybe it was never him, so much as what he represented, her subconscious supplied.
She wrestled with these thoughts for days. Waxing back and forth until finally she slammed into the study, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and scrawled a simple letter.
Eugene,
We missed you at Thanksgiving. Your Father and I would very much like if you and Merriell could both join us for Christmas. Please let us know.
And tell Merriell I say hello.
Mother
She stuffed the letter in an envelope, addressed it, and put it with the other outgoing mail before she could change her mind.
Just over a week later she got the reply.
“We’ll both be there” was written on a scrap of paper in Eugene’s writing. Included was a receipt for two train tickets from Florida to Mobile.
With that settled she went in search of her husband and found him in his study. “I want you to take me into town tomorrow.”
“Alright, what for?” He asked without looking up from his books.
“I need to get some things.” She answered simply and then left without another word.
***
Eugene found it almost endearing how Snafu was standing in his parents parlour, holding the harmless object in his hands like it was a live grenade that could go off at any moment.
“What the fuck is this Gene.”
“Well Shelton, I believe it’s a stocking.”
Snafu threw him an annoyed glare. “I can see that. I mean what is this.” He hissed, shaking the offending object at Eugene’s face.
Written neatly in his mother’s looping handwriting was a name. “It says Merriell, and if I’m not mistaken - and after all this time I really hope I’m not - I believe that’s your name.”
“Why in god’s name, is there a Christmas stocking with my name written on it in your parent’s parlour Gene?” He stared at the stocking mournfully. “What t’hell does it mean?”
Eugene smiled and came up behind him, placing one hand on the small of Shelton’s back, and the other over the hand currently clutching the piece of cloth. “I honestly don’t know Mer, but I think it’s a good thing.”
“A good thing?” Shelton huffed.
“Yes. A good thing.” He took the stocking from Shelton’s hands and hung it back up in it’s place. Right next to his. “We sure deserve one.” He murmured.
A good thing. He thought, rolling it around his mind. God he hoped so.