heart attack love

But that’s not what she hears. She hears her daughter is not engaging. Not in class and not with her peers. She hears her teachers are concerned. That it may be an adjustment thing. And if she’s being perfectly honest, she hears her own mother’s voice telling her she was being selfish and harming her child by moving her halfway across the country and destroying her family just to prove a point. 

“She won’t engage.” Her voice is a little flimsier than before, even if she’s kept an iron grip on her facial expression. “What does… that mean, exactly?” Maybe she’s just being Felicity. A bit of a Fabray. Fran has never been good with people. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems right now.

“She’s not... participating,” she’s trying to be gentle, she really is. Even if she’s like pretty sure this Ms Fabray is genetically programmed to hate her or whatever, because even if she hides it like freaky well Fee can tell she’s worried. What mother wouldn’t be? “Doesn’t really want to go out at recess, do her school work...” She keeps giving Fee that eyebrow (the one she now recognizes as Scary Quinn), but she decides to keep that to herself because her feeling slightly intimidated by a nine-year-old isn’t really important to the conversation, is it?

‘It could be the move,” Fee agrees, though she really hopes Ms Fabray doesn’t take it personally. That’s totally not how she means it. “We’re all resistant to change, kids just have less control over it -- so they take it back in whatever way they can.” She shrugs, offering a sympathetic smile because she knows this can’t be easy -- to hear or to handle. Whatever’s brought them to New York has clearly been an adjustment for the both of them. 

“I doubt she’ll hate it here forever,” a pause, and then because she thinks it’s what her mom would have wanted to hear, “Or you. She’ll adjust. The kids in her class are really great, and all her teachers are super dedicated, it just takes time. But as parent and teacher, it’s important we’re on the same page.” She thinks, anyway. She might have to take at her handbook later. 

“Fabray.” She offers her maiden name even if her feelings towards it aren’t much warmer than the ones towards her married one. But she has to call herself something. And Fran doesn’t quite fit the formal bill as well as she’d like. “Ms. Fabray.” Frannie sits on the offered seat, back straight and ankles crossed under the chair. Her hands rest on the too-small desk, fingers laced together. Fifteen years of nun-enforced classroom manners can’t be ignored.

“I’ve been told Felicity’s behavior is… problematic.” For lack of a better word. She doesn’t have any specifics. Her daughter comes home every day in her usual (since the move, at any rate) sullen mood, answers with ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ and ‘i dunno ma’am’ pretty much all of her questions. No complaints beyond the general unfairness of living in Manhattan and not down in Dallas. No mentions of punishments or getting into trouble. It’s honestly hard to imagine Felicity misbehaving at school. 

Hot Mom is a Fabray. Fee can feel her shoulders tighten, her eyes widen. It could totally be a coincidence -- in fact, she most definitely hopes it is and yet... she totally has that scary Quinn thing going for her. And doesn’t that just figure. Of all the elementary schools in all of Manhattan Quinn’s, maybe sister’s (cousin? super young aunt?!) kid has to go to hers? 

She’s like pretty sure she messed up cosmically at some point in her life because this just seems unfair. Of course, Hot Single (probably totally straight Fee, honestly get your shit in order!) Mom is a Fabray and therefore like... genetically predisposed to hate her. Suddenly Felicity’s behavioural problems make perfect sense. 

Taking her seat on the opposite side of the desk, Fee does her best to compose herself. Because like, if she’s lucky this Ms. Fabray doesn’t actually know who she is and as the parent of one of her students Fee feels like she really should attempt to make a good impression. 

The very last thing Fran needed today was a call from her daughter’s school to tell her she needs to go in to talk to her teacher. But here she is. Walking to the school instead of baking the three Meyer lemon loaves she promised the coffee shop down the street. As if her day wasn’t busy enough already.

And honestly, she’s just frustrated. Her daughter is a great kid. She’s heard nothing but praise since the day she started preschool. She’s polite, respectful, smart, hard-working, and just… well, call her biased, but she thinks Felicity is a delightful nine-year-old. Maybe a little sulkier since arriving in New York, but who wouldn’t be? Surely the teacher could deal with it without making such a big fuss about probably nothing.

But she figures that’s not the best attitude to have when meeting her child’s teacher for the first time, so she sighs before opening the door to the school and making her way inside. Miss Hudson’s room is by the stairs, they say. At least it’ll be easy to find. She doesn’t particularly want to waste any more time than strictly necessary.

Except this is Felicity’s parents. And Felicity’s been... uncooperative feels generous, but she’s a good kid. Fee can tell, even under all the eye rolls and crossed arms, there’s a sweetness... somewhere, sure’s sure. Still, telling parents their precious peanut isn’t adjusting well is like her least favorite part of the job. 

So she takes a breath, prepares herself, looks up and.... pauses. Felicity’s mom is kind of... smoking. Totally, actually. Which seems impolite to think, but like she’s pretty sure Hot Mom can’t read her mind or anything, so it’s probably safe, but like -- wow. She notices a moment too late she’s been staring. Very cool, Miss Hudson. 

Your ex-girlfriend sends you jewelry for your birthday…awkward.

Bad news: They only realized who I was when they were done cooing at and petting Pupfasa.

No amount of Broadway fame can compete with a fluffy doodle’s charm, it seems. If I was a different kind of stepmother (the kind that’s not smitten with her step-pup, that is) I’d start looking for a magic mirror right about now.