ArchivedLogs:Meeting the Parents

Meeting the Parents
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, James & Sarabeth Holland	2013-05-25 '
Location Holland Farm - Georgia
There has been dinner. And brief tour of the farm and house. And breakfast. And people have been given rooms -- Jax and Micah separately -- and it will, soon, be approaching lunchtime again. Through this all, Jackson's parents have been polite. Kind of distant, kind of /harried/, but, well, they have just had a ton of strange mutants dropping in on them fairly unexpectedly. Some time before lunch Jax approaches Micah wherever he may be. He is colourful. Rainbow Brite t-shirt, purple capris. "We're making lunch," he announces. Along with a kiss. Brief kiss. Micah is outside! As he has been for much of the trip thus far. It might be he misses green spaces that aren't deliberately planted and full of tourists. He is casually sprawled out in the grass with his back wedged up against the trunk of a rather welcoming tree, and damned if he's not knitting again. The rainbow blanket found itself completed on the train ride down, and another is well on its way, though this one is in stripes of cheerful leaf green and robin's egg blue. The growing rectangle of fabric contrasts brightly against his red and orange plaid button-down shirt, which is worn open over a plain white tee and washed-out blue jeans. He is singing, in a light and lazy fashion that is well suited to the dappled half-shade he has found under the tree's boughs, Norah Jones' "Painter Song". At least, that is, until he spots Jax approaching. Then his mouth is too busy broadening into a sunny smile. Micah finds a good stopping point on the knitting and stabs the needles right back into the fabric, shoving the whole mess into its travel bag before popping up to his feet. "Hey, hon," he greets, along with that little kiss and a quick squeeze of a hug to complete the matched set. "Is that /we're/ makin' lunch, or lunch is bein' made an' if I try to help I'll get shooed again?" The question comes with a bubbly sort of giggle tacked onto it. "That is, /we're/ sneaking into the kitchen and starting lunch before ma has any say-so about it." Jax curls his arm around Micah's waist, returning that hug in a less quick squeeze, leaning in to let it linger. "... probably there'll be shooing eventually, we'll hafta be stealthy 'bout it. And quick." He steals another kiss, here, and nuzzles at Micah's neck before letting go. "Blanket's comin' along pretty. Those kids are gonna be the /warmest/. You enjoyin' the trees? After lunch," he says, brighter, "we should go ridin' up higher in the mountains, the view's -- pretty much breathtaking. I mean it's /already/ nice here but --" His hand slips into Micah's, but he doesn't tug yet. Just tips his head back, eying the tree Micah has been sitting under. Micah's smile slides right into an impish sort of grin as Jax reveals his plans. "Guerrilla lunch-makin'…you rebel." He snugs Jax close when the opportunity presents itself. "I'm pretty much enjoyin' the /everythin'/. S'nice here. An' I'm up for hikin'." Micah collects his knitting bag by its strap and starts wandering slowly back toward the house, hand in Jax's, but no need for tugging. "What're we makin' that we're likely to get away with sneaky-like?" "Riding," Jackson corrects absently, fingers lacing through Micah's as he starts drifting back towards the house. "We're making casserole. S'easy enough to throw together an' shove into the oven and then it's all oveny and done and can't be stopped. Won't be through for an hour but the work's finished in fifteen minutes." He slips in to the house, through to the kitchen, sneaking off to peek towards the back gardens to SPY on his mother working out there before they get to work. Probably kind of DOUBLETIME QUICK. Operation NINJALUNCH. "Even better. Up for that, too, an' brought m'boots this time an' everythin'." Micah's hand squeezes at Jax's as they walk, and he's wearing that goofy, lopsided grin the whole way. "I make for a good sous-chef. You direct an' I'll dice, slice, n' chop with the best of 'em." He really does his best not to laugh too much during this process, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to ninjalunch preparations. Casserole, as promised, only takes so much preparing, even when making it for a lot of people. It is just on the verge of ovening when the door opens -- admitting not one but two Jaxparents, in from the gardens outside. "-- think there's still a bit in the fridge but I can -- oh, goodness, boys, what're you -- oh!" Sarabeth Holland is /eying/ the kitchen prep with abrupt intense /suspicion/, eyes narrowing on the heated oven, the filled casserole pans. On Micah. "Jackson Connor Holland, did you make our guest," "I didn't make Micah do anything, ma, we wanted to help cook lunch, you been doing so much for everyone and I /know/ you got a giant dinner --" "-- I am so very sorry, Micah-honey," she is apologizing to Micah instead, bustling them out of the way so that /she/ can put dishes into oven instead, "I don't know where his manners are honestly -- can I get you somethin' to --" "-- I /made/ drinks. For while cookin'." Jax is managing to look kind of patient and kind of sheepish at once. Hanging back by the door, James, still sweaty in jeans, workboots, blue denim shirt open over a white undershirt, is -- not quite smiling. But there's amusement in his bright blue eyes, deepening the crow's feet in his lined face as he watches this exchange. And stays out of it. Micah is putting in all due effort /not/ to laugh, evidence of which is unfortunately visible on his face despite his being successful in the endeavour, for once. But he has danced this dance before! Guests are better at getting a word in edgewise, besides. "Please don't apologise, Mrs. Holland. We was just wantin' to be helpful an' knowin' your dear heart would try doin' everythin' yourself otherwise. After us trompin' up your lovely home with piles of famine-faced teenagers for y'all to feed. 'Sides, y'know that one," he jostles Jax playfully in the arm with an elbow, "s'like t'explode if he don't get himself in a kitchen on the regular." Okay, so the giggles aren't staying completely subdued with that last one. Micah does manage to bring them back under control, however. "An' I might've been takin' advantage of a minute t'sneak some of the raw veggies while I was choppin'. Just everythin' around here looks so unbelievably delicious! Beggin' pardon for food thievery." He ducks his head slightly and even manages a pretty little blush with that, just across the bridge of his nose and brushing each cheekbone. His downcast eyes just-so-happen to catch the glass of iced tea that Jax had, in fact, supplied. "I been meanin' to ask, though. Y'all sun-brewin' the tea 'round here or is it another secret of the recipe, because this…" he cuts the sentence into an approving nod and takes another sip. The best of Southern compliments comes in the form of not being able to find adequate words for the praise. Even better if the words aren't coming because you're busy tasting whatever was so good /again/. "Oh -- oh, well, I mean, we grow the veggies ourself but right out --" Sarabeth stops her flustering to wave a hand out towards the garden as she sets the oven door closed. Jax sets the timer on the oven, his own lips twitching slightly as he leans back against it. James finally enters the kitchen, wiping dirt off his boots at the entry mat before he comes in. "Real polite young man you brought down," he rumbles. Though he sounds oddly /grudging/ about it. "Well --" Jax's nose crinkles slightly, his head ducking as he rubs at the back of his neck, "Yessir. He's southern." Clearly an important point. Sarabeth is getting a pitcher of the tea out of the fridge to pour one for her husband. "We do sun-brew it," she's saying, and then, "Oh! Gosh, /are/ you, I'd just assumed you was from up --" She waves. Vaguely -- north? Maybe that direction lies NEW YORK. "Where're your folks from, then?" "That's just the sure sign of doin' things the right way," Micah acknowledges with a broad smile. "We try plantin' what we can up there, but it's all rooftops and reclaimed lots, so's y'know it ain't /quite/ the same thing." His shoulders rise and fall in a resigned shrug. What is one to do? He pulls a deeper blush at Mr. Holland's almost-compliment before setting in to answer Mrs. Holland's questions. "Oh, no, ma'am. Ain't been up New York way but for a handful of months." A bit of a chuckle can't help but slip its way in there. Only folks from this far south would ever think his accent isn't a dead giveaway. "My family's all pretty jam-packed into the south-eastern corner of Virginia. Petersburg? Most folks as ain't from up that way don't have a cause t've heard of it, 'less they're big on Civil War history. Anyhow, I'm used t'some pretty extensive growin' thereabouts, too. Not quite the operation y'all have set up here, but it does take some adjustment movin' away from it." "It do, don't it? Jackson complained for years 'bout havin' no good places to -- well, he /still/ complains 'bout that," Sarabeth admits, a light note of laughter in her voice. "I can't really imagine. I ain't never spent a whole lot of time in the city. What brought you all the way -- I mean, why anyone would ever want to -- I mean, why New York?" Having acquired tea for her husband, Sarabeth is now getting out plates. Because the casserole in the oven won't be done for a good while. And so. She is instead setting out snack: some bean dip, some guacamole, some carrots, some chips. And then starting to slice some melon. Micah knows well enough not to jump at helping in the kitchen again, with Mrs. Holland standing right there this time. But he does manage to sneak the plates and napkins into appropriate places on the table. Sneaksneak…oh, how did those get there? "Big part of it was t'do with m'work. Medical assistive technology, mostly bracing and limb replacement sort of things. But I pick up the general wheelchairs, walking aids, communication devices, an' the like, too. An' medical specialty work always follows the population centres, just to keep it supported. Y'know how it is…always gotta hike a /minute/ to get in from places like out here for the specialists. I tend to work with kids'n vets, mostly, an' that's even more so. So when I went to start my business, I figured city was the best bet. An' it seemed a nice change of pace, too--y'know us young folks always gotta do a new thing." A playful grin tugs at his lips at that, and he pauses for another sip of tea. "I had a coupla friends up New York City, so it seemed as good a place as any to start." "How'd you get into --" Sarabeth is asking, though James cuts her off with, "Jackson told us about --" which just triggers a /blush/, and a hasty-apologetic: "Oh, oh /gosh/, I had clean forgot that you -- I mean, you don't /look/ -- I mean, oh gosh, I didn't mean, I just -- I'm sorry, I --" Her blush deepens. She cuts the melon a little more hastily. Jackson crinkles his nose, slipping in to put one hand over hers, take over the cutting mid-chop. "Goodness, ma, you'll lose a limb /yourself/ you get yourself worked up with a butcher knife. I don't think Micah wants to be doing no business for nobody /here/." His mother looks kind of shocked that he has said this. His father looks vaguely amused. It takes a few beats longer for his mother to come around to amused, while Jax takes over with melon-chopping. "I just," Sarabeth says, "I'm sorry, he's just -- not said a lot about --" She frowns, a little uncomfortably. Micah gets a little lost for a moment in watching the family tennis match of interrupted sentences, eyes darting back and forth like a puppy. He finally finds a natural pause to slip into. "Ohgosh, folks, you ain't gotta get all apologetic and flustery," he reassures, hands patting a the air in a calming gesture. "It ain't somethin' I talk about every minute 'cause it's done been the way it is m'whole life. So it ain't new an' excitin' from my end as much." A soft smile warms his features throughout, clearly demonstrating that he is /not/ upset. "If y'got questions about it, I'm happy to answer 'em, though." "Well it ain't, just, exactly, the leg he ain't -- said much about, it's, well, you." Sarabeth refills /everyone's/ glasses, then puts the pitcher away, taking a seat at the table. Her fingers fidget kind of uncomfortably with her own glass. James just frowns at his. "I mean, we don't even -- I don't even really know how long y'all -- how long y'two've been -- friends." Jackson flushes at this, and he's already opening his mouth to protest this term when she hastily (uncomfortably) sort-of-corrects: "-- or whatever you're calling it." This doesn't really help Jax's blush. He scoops up his own glass, relocating to the table to perch on a chair, one leg tucked up beneath himself. "-- I ain't sure what to call it's the important part," he says, "though I do kinda wish y'all had had a chance t'meet under better circumstances than everything being /terrible/. Micah's --" His fingers are squeezing the glass harder, and this is perhaps to hide the distinct tremble they are developing. "-- a real important part of my life. I guess we've been dating since March, or thereabouts. Feels like longer." His father is /also/ squeezing his glass pretty hard, though his hands are not shaky. His jaw is kind of /clenched/, though. He's not looking at Jackson, just out the window. "Well, that's --" Sarabeth takes a sip of her tea. "That's --" Another sip. "March, that ain't long at all, is it?" Micah's blush starts creeping on up to the tips of his ears as soon as talk moves away from /simple/ matters like prosthetic limbs. He offers a quiet, "Thanks," as his glass is refilled. Hazel eyes beam gratitude at Jax for speaking, though the contents of the ongoing conversation keep adding layers to the red stain to his cheeks. Yep, that is sure some fascinating tea! Sip. "No, ma'am. Does sort of surprise me every time I think on it, m'self." "March, that's just, what, two months, that's -- Jackson," his mother actually sounds a little relieved, here, "that can't be that serious." "It's been a pretty intense couple months," Jackson answers with another deepening blush. "I mean, it's -- I mean it's serious. I mean, a time like this, Micah weren't -- everything that just happened -- with the boys and all, I --" He fidgets, teeth dragging against his lip ring. "Take someone I trusted a whole lot to get them involved with helping out, back in New York. But him being /here/, that weren't cuz he helped get alla them out. That's cuz /I/ need him." His father still looks out the window. His grip on his glass is tight. "Look, I -- well." Sarabeth is frowning at the plate of food. "I --" She looks up at Micah, but only briefly. "M'glad -- s'good you was -- there for --" Fidget. "It was good of you to. Help." It's a little bit stilted, but she manages a smile afterwards. "-- You. Ain't even a mutant, are you?" Jackson kind of winces. He reaches for a slice of melon. "No'm, Micah's as human as you are." Oh/gosh/, everyone /else/ is all fidgety and Jax is blushing and now Micah is fairly certain he's going to catch on /fire/. Perhaps that's why he is almost halfway through his glass of tea again already. "Helpful's what I…kinda…do, I guess," he puts forth with a small smile. "An' no, not the way most people mean by… Unless you want to go countin' things like mutated MC1R proteins." He tugs at a lock of his auburn hair (which has been lightening noticeably redder with more sun exposure) to illustrate. Micah…stop with the bad science jokes. "S'worse things y'could be doing than helpful," Sarabeth says, her smile widening a little stiffly. And then: "What /do/ you do? Outside'a just workin', I mean." This eases her smile, a little less stilted, a little more amused: "Assumin' y'ain't like Jackson here an' you find time to /do/ things outside'a just workin'." Jackson blushes again, glancing up at Micah. "I /totally/ do things that ain't working!" This draws a chuff of breath from James. Not particularly a laugh. Just a short sharp exhale, as he pushes back his chair and stands. "S'real good of you to help out, son," he says, finally looking at Micah. His lined face looks sort of grim, sort of stern, but in repose perhaps this is just how it /looks/; it is hard to tell. Perhaps not, though; something in it makes Jax's shoulders tense. "I --" it sounds like a protest of some sort but whatever it is is cut off by his father's simple: "Need to get back to work. Be seeing y'all at supper." "Oh/gosh/, I'm all kindsa busy," Micah starts right in on his ramble. Give him a safe topic and watch him /go/ like a wind-up toy! What awkward silence? "A lot of it is work-type things, though," he admits with a sheepish glance to Jax. "Ain't been a year since I started up my business in New York, so she still takes a lotta movin' along. S'just me an' my call centre-slash-medical billing specialist, Janine. An' I do some moonlightin' at a garage a friend of mine owns. S'what I used to do up through finishin' school, y'know? M'pops owns a place back home. Been workin' some community-type gardens for…um…disadvantaged folks in the City. An' I volunteer with Project Linus, mostly knittin' and deliverin' blankets to hospitals. I'll fill in for one of the folks as is better trained in instruments than I am for Friday afternoon music time at one of my paediatric hospitals, when they got a slot just sittin' open. But I like…readin'. An' computers. An' I have /two/ game nights set up now; one with Jax an' his friends, an' one with the folks I knew from before I moved. Y'know Jax's school has a whole /stable/ out there?" Micah finally realises just how rambling his ramble has become when Mr. Holland addresses him. "Thank you, Sir," he replies simply, with a little duck of his head. "An' thanks for takin' the time to sit with us a spell. Know y'all are busy folks, so it means a lot." "That -- does sound, goodness, y'sound like kinda an angel," Sarabeth says, "I mean, 'tween what you do for work and the volunteerin' and -- Jackson, y'found yourself a --" Her hands /wring/ at the glass. James just frowns, and nods at Micah. Curtly. Then heads out, just a little more stompily than he headed in. "Yeah, I kinda did." Jax's blush is still deep, and his tone subdued, but his smile is warm as he looks at Micah. "-- an angel who also helped make some real delicious lunch and /you/, ma'am, are gonna get off your feet an' rest for the next forty minutes 'till it's cooked." He gets up, crossing the table to lean down and peck his mother lightly on the forehead. "-- 'cause y'know Spence's sure gonna keep you on 'em the rest of the day." The blush, which had been slowly on its way out, ramps right back up. Hello, pink. You were nice to visit for a moment, but it's time to go back to /bright red/! "Oh…oh, no. I just…started workin' with kids like me an' y'see all these things the kids an' their families need an' sometimes it's really just easy to give a little…somethin' I would've been doin' anyhow." The tumble of words fades a bit mumbled toward the end. Micah's fingers go scruffing through his hair like they have a /purpose/. "Thank you for the snacks." That was…kind of random. "Oh -- oh!" Sarabeth looks like she's possibly gearing up to get /flustered/ again at the mention of food, but the mention of Spencer derails this again. "Oh, dear, where /has/ he got off to, I promised him he could help me out in the garden." Well, so much for sitting down, but! Grandkid-time is probably pretty relaxing anyway. For whatever manner of relaxing Spencer provides. She flashes Micah a smile. "Oh, it weren't nothin', honey-honey. I'll see you come lunch." She gives Jackson a hug, and bustles off. Probably in search of a wayward teleporting seven-year-old on forty acres of very hide-able property. This might be fun. Jackson exhales heavily once she is gone, and gives Micah a quick smile, too. "Well." Just that, for a moment. And then, "... thank you. For. Um. Comin'. This weren't really how I wanted to introduce you to -- well. Thanks." "Spence? Oh…I imagine he's prob'ly hidin' himself. Hardly caught a hint of 'im since we got in here. I ain't got momma-senses, though." Micah has a little smirk in answer to Mrs. Holland's smile. "Have fun." Micah quirks a brow at Jax's sudden…thanks. "Not sure what you're thankin' me for, jus' comin' along an' enjoyin' your company an' your family's hospitality. Seems like I got a pretty good deal." He lightly plucks up Jax's arm by the wrist, placing a soft kiss there before returning it to its previous location. "An' that was a million times not as bad as some of the introductions I've had to parents. I mean, nobody accused me of turnin' you gay or told me I had to leave or nothin', even." Micah giggles, his teeth pressing gently against his lower lip. It's funny /now/. "Oh, no," Jackson assures Micah lightly, "they're way too polite t'say that t'your face. They'll say it t'me later." He slips his arm around Micah's waist, leaning in to rest his forehead against the other man's. But only for a brief moment before he is kind of self-consciously pulling away. "... think I'm thankin' you for a lot," he admits, blushing. "You kinda are an angel." "Oh!" Micah's eyes go wide for a minute. "I'm not…the first you brought home, am I? Or does that just happen every time? I mean, m'pops is like that, but I also bring home /girls/ and I think he kinda figures 'Phase over!' every time /that/ happens…um." Bah. Micah is never going to get all of the way out of this blush, is he? March in the red spectrum again! He swats playfully in Jax's direction a few times, not making contact with more than a brushing fingertip at best. "Now you're just tryin' to make me blush on purpose!" "The second," Jackson answers, "and I got kinda royally chewed out over it last time. I don't know if it'll be better or worse this time cuz they -- uh. Kind of /like/ you a lot. But you still, you know. Guy." There's a distracted moment where he looks kind of distant -- maybe worried, maybe just thoughtful. But it shifts, quickly, into a /bright/ smile. "No /way/, that was jus' me bein' honest. If I was tryin' to make you blush on purpose," he says, leaning in slightly closer with an arm curling around Micah's waist, "I'd tell you all the things we're gonna do when we get back home away from parents insistin' we have separate bedrooms." He leans in closer, to kiss Micah's cheek lightly. And maybe whisper a few of them. Possibly he wants to make Micah's blush last straight through to lunchtime.