Moon 😝

growing up with melissa schemmenti as your mom (headcanons)

melissa schemmenti who checked under the bed for monsters every night without being asked. flashlight and everything.

melissa schemmenti who had your hair braided and your lunch packed before you were even fully awake, moving through the kitchen like she'd been up for hours.

melissa schemmenti teaching you to ride a bike by letting go before you felt ready. "you don't learn balance holdin' on."

melissa schemmenti who cleaned a scraped knee with one hand and kept stirring the sauce with the other, barely looking down. "you're fine. you're still standin', ain't you?"

melissa schemmenti who taught you to work dough with your hands before she ever let you touch a mixer. "flour ain't gonna bite ya. get in there."

melissa schemmenti who let you lick the spoon and pretended not to notice half the frosting never made it to the cupcakes.

melissa schemmenti who taught you to play cards before you could do long division. "never let 'em see your hand. not in cards, not in life."

melissa schemmenti who told you letters just liked to be difficult sometimes, and that didn't make you stupid, not for one second. she'd know.

melissa schemmenti who held a grudge against a teacher who embarrassed you in third grade for actual years. never said a word to the woman again. still brings her up like it happened yesterday.

melissa schemmenti who showed up at the school office the second she heard someone gave you trouble, calm as anything, terrifying as anything. "just wanna talk to somebody."

rocky roads;

content warnings: mother/family issues

You didn't call first. You never do when it's bad enough to actually show up. Melissa took one look at you through the screen door, mascara gone patchy under your eyes, and didn't ask a single question. Just pushed it open.

"Get in here," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen like it was settled.

The couch was still covered in plastic. It always was, no matter how many times you told her nobody actually keeps it that way anymore. She didn't care. Said furniture was an investment and investments don't get ruined by people who can't hold a glass right.

You sat at the table instead, because your legs felt like they weren't fully yours yet, and watched her move around the kitchen without asking what happened. She just started pulling things out. Bread. The good cheese.

"I'm not hungry," you said.

"Didn't ask." She didn't even turn around.

You picked at the edge of the tablecloth instead of talking, and for a while she let you. The only sound was oil starting to hiss and her humming something low under her breath, off key on purpose probably, just to fill the space so it didn't feel like she was waiting on you.

"So." She finally slid a plate in front of you and sat down across the table, arms crossed, eyes doing that thing where they go soft and sharp at the same time. "You gonna tell me, or am I supposed to guess who I gotta go have a conversation with."

You told her. Not all of it, because some of it still hurt too much to say out loud without your throat closing up, but enough. That your mom had twisted the whole thing again, made it sound like you'd started it, like you were the one who couldn't let anything go. Like you always made everything about yourself. Like your feelings were the problem instead of the reason.

Melissa's jaw tightened before you even finished.

"She said that to you." Not a question. Her hand was flat on the table now, fingers pressed white at the knuckle.

"She always says something like that."

"Yeah, well." She exhaled through her nose, sharp, the kind of breath that usually came right before she said something she meant. "That woman don't know what she's got. Never did, sounds like."

"Mel."

"I'm not gonna pretend I like her, tesoro. I never have and I'm too old to start lyin' now." Her voice dropped, less fire in it and more something else, something she'd never say the name of out loud. "You're not the problem. You hear me? Whatever she told you, whatever she's told you your whole life, that ain't the truth. That's her stuff. Not yours."

You didn't answer right away. Couldn't, really. She let the silence sit there instead of filling it this time, which somehow said more than anything she could've added.

"C'mon," she said eventually, standing, nudging your chair with her hip on the way past. "Bring the plate. We're not doing this at a table like a couple of strangers."

The living room lamp was already on low by the time you settled onto the plastic-wrapped cushions, the crinkle under you almost embarrassing until she dropped down right beside you like it wasn't a thing, like the space between you had never once been a question. She grabbed the remote off the side table without even looking for it, muscle memory clearly, and the opening bars of Rocky started up before you'd even gotten comfortable.

"Really? Rocky."

"Don't gimme that face. It's a classic." She tucked the blanket off the armrest around both your shoulders in one motion, quick, like it was nothing, like her arm settling behind you after wasn't something either of you needed to acknowledge. "Guy gets knocked down again and again and just keeps gettin' back up. That's the whole point. You need that tonight more than some sappy movie where everybody's fine by the end."

You leaned into her without deciding to. She didn't stiffen, didn't make it weird, just adjusted like she'd been waiting for exactly that the whole time.

"Thanks, Mel."

"Don't thank me." Her voice had gone quiet, rougher than usual. "Eat your food. And stop lettin' that woman live rent free in your head. She don't deserve the real estate."

You ate. You watched Rocky throw punches at frozen sides of beef in a walk in freezer that probably violated about six health codes, and somewhere around the second act you felt her fingers find your shoulder, just resting there, thumb moving slow like she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

Neither of you said anything else about your mother for the rest of the night. You didn't need to. Melissa had already said everything that mattered, and the rest she just showed you, one plate of food and one movie at a time.