a “shut-eyed firebirds” sequel
summary: nancy believes she’s in for a peaceful weekend at the beach with jonathan, their infant daughters, her best friend lauren, and lauren’s boyfriend jamie. then, she receives some news that could knock down her house of dreams, her precious life in new york. (future fic) (slice of life) (fluff and angst)
The wind picks up on the beach, lashing the red hazard flag against its mast.
Skin stinging, Nancy Byers messes with her infant’s snap scarf. She straightens it so that it sits neatly under her girl’s chin and tucks it into her quilted jumpsuit before cuddling her tight, desperate to protect her from the windchill.
She smooths her palm over the cool, soft bronde curls that stop right above Holland’s ears. Honestly, there is minimal difference between her hair and her child’s (and her husband’s, for that matter). She just can’t do long hair anymore, she’s too busy. If the late great Princess Di could be one of the most beautiful women in the world with a layered pixie, so can she.
You also have to think of the money she and Jonathan save on shampoo/conditioner. The plan is to keep their hair short and the kids’ hair short for as long as possible. An extremely doable goal, as Lauren is a professional stylist, always adamant about undercharging Nancy for her services.
“Oh my,” she says, “that’s too cold for my Lindy baby. Just too cold on your little face, huh honey?”
Her daughter wriggles and nuzzles and kicks, letting out clipped shrieks.
“Ah! I know I know I know, it’s alright, trust me…Mommy knows.”
She rubs up and down her back until the painfully cute squeals die down.
Above the ocean, a few terns go kip and kirree, sounding even needier than Holland. They will migrate any day now, if they want to live. Nancy watches them row through the air, darting and dipping, their pointed wingtips beautiful.
“God!” Lauren barks, that serene demeanor of hers suddenly nowhere to be found. “Why do I keep doing that?”
“What! What is it?” Nancy frets.
Lauren chucks her water brush pen. “My stupid hibiscus.”
“It looks horrible, I just smeared the darkest color and I ruined it.”
“Can’t you cover it if you paint a background?”
“Solid ivory, I wanted everything around the flower to stay solid ivory,” she says, tapping on her sketch pad with splayed fingers for emphasis, “this is the fancy paper.”
“It was gonna look so nice.”
“Uhh, no, it isn’t,” she sasses.
“Well that lotus I saw you do before was nice. I was wondering if I could have it?”
Lauren huffs and sweeps aside her art supplies. She releases her uncharacteristically frizzy waves from their fluffy ponytail, only to gather them up again seconds later and set about tying them back. That girl must have thirty some odd inches. Her long locks and the high winds that roll into Montauk with the passage of extratropical cold fronts are a match made in hell.
This may be her best friend’s first bad hair day.
“Laur? For my house? Can I have it for my house?”
“Yeah, fine, whatever. I don’t wanna see it again.”
Yayayaya, Holland babbles.
Nancy bites her lip, speculating. As she does so, she lets the baby explore her body freely. Dr. Holland checks her heartbeat, pats her cheek, strokes her jaw, and grasps her necklace.
Muh-muh, she squeaks plaintively.
Those slanted little ellipses, those pools of innocence, blink slowly back at Nancy, three parts silver, one part blue, and everything inside of her sighs with delight. Her infant’s dollish features seldom fail to induce hypnosis in her.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
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