Chapter Text
“Are you sure?”
“Mom, for thousandth time, yes. I’m sure.”
“But the piano?”
“What’s wrong with the piano?”
“Don’t you want to be more like, I dunno, me? The guitar is a great instrument.”
“But I want to play the piano.”
“So you’re breaking my heart over a bunch of black and white keys? Seriously, kiddo?”
“Mom.”
“Have I ever told you I have abandonment issues? To think my own flesh and blood would do this to me.”
“It’s just music lessons.”
“Yeah, for the piano. Just think, we could’ve spent Saturday mornings together. I’d be a great teacher.”
“Miss Woods is really nice though.”
“Will she make you grilled cheese?”
“Probably not.”
“And will she let you watch cartoons halfway through the lesson?”
“I don’t think she’s supposed to do that.”
“And you don’t feel weird that you’re going to school on a Saturday?”
“But this is for fun. C’mon, Mom. It’s just the piano.”
“My own son,” she shook her head dramatically. “Betrayal never hurt so much.”
“Mom,” her son whined again, covering his eyes with his hands. Clarke grinned, grabbed him by the shoulders and led him into the school, marveling at how empty it was on a Saturday morning. Their footsteps echoed as they walked through the school halls, and Clarke couldn’t help but think about when she attended the elementary school. It was basically the same…except maybe a bit smaller than she remembered.
“Now, remember. Miss Woods is a teacher here, so be polite okay? But if you hate the piano, don’t be afraid to let her know.”
“Thank you for convincing her to do this, Mom.”
“Yes, well. I’m a stellar member of the PTA. It’s hard to say no to me.” Her son just laughed in response, and Clarke rolled her eyes as they finally reached the music room. The piano teacher, a tall, dark-haired woman, was leaning against the wall, her fingers tapping away against her thigh, eyes on the ceiling. She straightened when she heard them approach.
“You must be Clarke Griffin,” she said, smiling slightly. “Good to put a face to a voice,” she continued, turning to Clarke’s son. “Ready for you first lesson, Brandon?” Brandon nodded eagerly, and before Clarke could hug him goodbye or even utter a single protest, he rushed into the classroom. The piano teacher smiled slightly, holding out a hand for Clarke. “I’m Lexa Woods.”
“I tried to convince him the guitar is better,” Clarke admitted, shaking Lexa’s hand. “There’s excellent brainwashing going on.”
“You know, parents don’t usually admit they brainwash their kids.”
“Oh no, you got it the wrong way round, Miss Woods. My kid brainwashed me. I’m absolutely convinced the piano is better.”
//
“He works hard,” Lexa told her, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Brandon warm up with scales. “Has he started driving you crazy with the practicing yet?”
“Nah. I got him a keyboard, he plays with headphones plugged in. It’s blessedly quiet at home.”
“You know,” Lexa began, biting her lip as she turned to face Clarke, “this started out as just extra lessons for him, since he seemed so interested, but he’s very talented.” She uncrossed her arms and stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I teach private lessons too. Most of my students are considerably older than Brandon and they’re all very serious about music. I just…do you think he’d be interested?”
“In private lessons?”
“In something more serious. My students participate in competitions and two of them are part of a philharmonic. Katelyn, one of my oldest students, recently applied to Julliard.”
“You think Brandon’s good enough for that? He’s only eight.”
“Like I said. He works hard, and he’s talented. It’s a great combination. Maybe talk to him about it?”
“Yeah,” Clarke muttered, staring at her son as he played another set of scales. “Okay.”
//
“You have a beautiful home,” Clarke said, smiling slightly as Lexa motioned for her to sit. There was a certain bite to the air, just chilly enough that the breeze felt nice out on Lexa’s porch. The piano lesson—now moved to Lexa’s home every Tuesday and Thursday—had ended a while ago, but Lexa had offered a cup of tea, claiming she didn’t have anymore students that evening, and Clarke found herself agreeing to it. Brandon had been thrilled, finally getting the chance to play with Lexa’s puppy, a black Labrador named Wesley. “And your dog is very cute.”
“My sister got him for me,” Lexa laughed, handing Clarke a mug as she sat down as well. “She claimed that even if I chose the lonely music teacher lifestyle, it didn’t mean I should be alone.”
“So she got you a dog?”
“No one ever said she was right.” Clarke smiled in response, watching as Brandon ran behind a tree, squealing with laughter when Wesley ran up behind him, still clumsy on his legs. “Actually, Mrs. Griffin—”
“—Clarke. It’s just Clarke.”
“Okay. Clarke. I just…” She trailed off, and when Clarke turned to look at her, she was biting her lip, seemingly torn. “Today Brandon mentioned something about wishing Nat could see him at the concert in a few weeks. I don’t want to overstep, and I don’t know what your relationship with your husband is like, but I think Brandon would greatly benefit from—”
“It’s not possible.”
“It seemed really important to him, I just—”
“No, Miss Woods, you don’t understand. Natalie passed away when Brandon was three.” Lexa’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, and after a moment, Clarke took pity on her. “It’s fine.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Lexa muttered, cheeks flaming. “I’m so sorry.”
“Seriously, Miss Woods. It’s fine.”
“Lexa.”
“Sorry?”
“Just…I’ve embarrassed myself enough in front of you that anything less than first name basis wouldn’t be acceptable.”
//
“Ah, so you’re playing Beethoven? I always knew you were too smart for your own good.”
“Mom,” he whined, pulling out of Clarke’s hug. “It’s an easy version. Miss Woods says I have to practice more if I want to play the real one.”
“Beethoven is Beethoven, kiddo.”
“Will you film it?”
“Film it? Oh buddy. I’m going to do the pictures-recording-hire-a-marching-band-email-to-everyone-we-know-call-up-grandma thing. The whole nine yards.” Brandon grinned, hugged her tightly, face pressed against her stomach, before he rushed off, his slacks just a little too big for him, his shoes clanking on the linoleum tiles of the auditorium, his tie already crooked.
“Having a proud parent moment?” came a familiar voice as Clarke attempted to discreetly wipe away her tears.
“God, when am I not having one of those?”
“He’s a good kid,” Lexa said, reaching out and squeezing Clarke’s elbow comfortingly. “I think he takes after his mom.”
“You don’t know his mom,” Clarke muttered, unconsciously moving closer to Lexa. “His mom has slowly been adding eggplant into his lasagna in order to get him to eat something healthy.”
“Well, that’s just outrageous.”
“I know. And I promised him I’d wait until next weekend to see that new superhero movie together, but I secretly went by myself on my day off last week. Sitting in that movie theater alone? Never been more ashamed in my life.”
“I mean, that’s unforgivable.”
“Don’t you have students you need to show off?”
“Will you be crying when he starts to play?”
“Please,” Clarke muttered, waving Lexa off. “I’ll be crying the second he walks onto the stage.”
//
“I need you to take care of Wesley.”
“Sorry, Lexa. But once you get to my property line, it’s a dog-free zone.”
“Think of Brandon!”
“I am. And if I let him babysit your puppy, I’ll be dealing with days of ‘oh please, Mom, let’s get a dog’ and I’m a sucker and I’ll say yes.”
“In just days?”
“Have you met my son? Your puppy has been taking lessons from my son in the whole ‘who can we turn into the bigger sucker’ game.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you and your pretty eyes need to turn around and go before my son catches wind of Wesley.”
“You think I have pretty eyes?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“You think I have pretty eyes.”
“I was talking about Wesley?”
“Mom! Mom! Wesley is here!”
“Oh my god.”
“If it helps, I think you have pretty eyes too.”
//
Halloween was, by far, Clarke’s favorite holiday for two reasons: One, she could dress Brandon up in cute little costumes. And two, no one judged her for all the candy she was buying. In fact, it was the perfect holiday except for the fact that Brandon seemed to think it was an appropriate night for a piano lesson.
“She promised to teach spooky songs, Mom.”
“And that couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”
“It’s only an hour. And Miss Woods said we could trick-or-treat in her neighborhood.”
“She said that?”
“Yeah, she said that she’d even dress Wesley up.” Brandon looked at Clarke, eyes wide. “Please?”
“Oh fine.”
//
“My son is a liar.”
“Does he get that from you?”
“No. Probably his Aunt Raven. She’s always teaching him how to be sneaky.”
“I should’ve called you. It’s my fault.”
“Your fault? My son dragged me to a lesson he doesn’t have and you’re blaming yourself?” They both turned when Brandon heaved a sigh as his hand slipped and he started his piece from the beginning. “Do you always take the week before Thanksgiving off?”
“Usually. I only had my sister growing up. We’re not very fond of the holidays.”
“How about you spend Thanksgiving with us? Brandon and I will be alone anyway. And I make a mean green bean casserole.”
“It’s supposed to be for family—”
“—Halloween was basically initiation into our family. Besides. How would I get by without seeing your pretty eyes for a whole week?”
//
“So funny story,” Clarke said in lieu of a hello, barging into Lexa’s home without bothering with a knock. She took off her scarf and coat, tossing it carelessly to the floor as she searched the house for Lexa, rolling her eyes when she found the music teacher standing in front of the stove, hands on her hips and a puzzled expression on her face.
“Hey Clarke. I was just making some lunch. Want some?”
“I checked my bank statement today.”
“That’s nice,” Lexa muttered, frown deepening. She stirred whatever was in the pot, her head tilted slightly to the side.
“You haven’t been cashing the checks I give you. For Brandon’s lessons.” This, finally, got Lexa’s attention, and she turned to Clarke apologetically.
“I was actually going to talk to you about that.”
“Do you not want to teach him anymore?”
“No, no of course not. I love teaching him, I love spending time with him. And you! Especially you. And that’s just it.”
“It’s not professional enough for you? Because I can back off. He loves those lessons, so if it means no more tea or dinners or walks or—” She fell silent when Lexa strode over to her with purposeful steps, cradled the back of her neck with one hand (the other tugging forward on Clarke’s belt loops), and kissed her.
“I can’t take your money,” Lexa said softly as she pulled away. “I want to go to the movies with you behind Brandon’s back. I want to spend Christmas and birthdays and the Fourth of July with the two of you. I want to argue over the pros and cons of the guitar over the piano and side with Brandon every time. And I want to see your pretty eyes everyday. Not just a few times a week.”
“Lexa,” Clarke began, pulling away. “Whatever you were cooking is burning.” With a start, Lexa rushed over to the stove, turning everything off with a groan, her nose wrinkled as she stared at whatever had been in the pot. “I think it’s a sign.”
“Yeah?” Lexa asked sullenly, turning away from the stove and meeting Clarke’s eyes.
“Yeah. It’s saying we should go out for our first date. Not eat in.”