Chapter Text
You've had a hellish day at the office. In general, you know that clients are always idiots, but you’re confident that today’s one has been the worst ever.
“Karnstein! Did you see the CEO’s face? I was on the verge of killing you when you suggested that maybe they should hire another advertising agency for their campaign. I don’t know how you saved it, but I definitely want you to stay with us forever!”
“He's an idiot that doesn’t know what’s good for his company. If he had paid more attention to our proposal the first time instead of Elsie's legs, he would have understood it correctly in the beginning.”
At least you have fun winding up Ian, your boss. Ever since you started working with him as a trainee, he has never ceased to be frustrated by your behavior. But he’ll never let you go because he knows how good your ideas are and how well you do your job, even though he swears that his hair has gone grayer since you joined the firm. From the day you started, his business and client base has kept growing, so he knows your work is beyond reproach. Now that you're the Creative Director, his agency is the country's number one.
“Hey, sweetie… Uhm, I mean, Carmilla, you have several calls from the school.”
Elsie has been working as your personal assistant for several years. Ever since that one time that you lost your composure at the New Year’s company party and nearly slept with her, she thinks she can flirt with you all the time. Fortunately, she doesn’t try to cross any boundaries during working hours; when there are people around you in the office, she’s professional and mostly subtle about what she thinks is going on between both of you. As far as you’re concerned, nothing’s ever going to happen between Elsie and you. But apparently, she’s convinced that it’s only a matter of time.
“Thank you, Elsie,” you reply curtly. “I’ll return the calls in a minute. You can go now.”
“‘Sweetie, eh? Now you're like the voyeuristic guy from that teen movie who sleeps with his assistant?” says Ian when she leaves.
“That was bondage” you reply to your boss who looks surprised by your correction. “Ian, anyone with half a brain knows the difference between voyeurism and BDSM,” you sigh.
You try to make it clear that you haven’t read any of those books. That is if you can call them books at all.
“Whatever, Karnstein! I just wanted to congratulate you on getting the account, so I’ll let you make your calls ... Sweetie.”
Your boss walks out of your office laughing, and you pick up the phone to return the calls from school.
An hour later you find yourself walking through the school hall, following a secretary taking you to the appropriate classroom. When you arrive, you see three children sitting at different desks in the room. At the back, there is a child with a black eye. It's a lot worse than you expected from the phone call. There’s snot pouring out of his nose as a woman tries to wipe his tear-streaked face, while a man beside them with crossed arms looks bored and apathetic.
In the middle of the room, there seems to be a little kid almost hidden in their black hoodie, which prevents you from seeing who they actually are.
Near the main desk and beside the door, you find the reason for your presence there; a small girl with curly, honey-blond hair. But her hair is not as flawless as when you left her to the school this morning, nor her clothes as clean as expected. Stunned, you stand in front of her small desk, waiting for her to raise her eyes and acknowledge your presence. She knows you’re there but keeps her head lowered because she knows what awaits her. After watching her with folded arms for a few minutes, you bow down to look into her eyes.
“Do you want to explain what this is all about, Cupcake?”
The small girl raises her head slightly, and you can see the regret on her face.
“Sorry, Mommy,” she whispers.
When you stay silent, she continues to talk. “But it's not my fault, I swear. He started it! There was no need for him to be mean. He said horrible things. He shouldn’t have said them. We supposed to be kind to others. It really wasn’t my fault.”
“Hayley, you can’t just punch a kid because he insults you.”
Ugh, you don’t recognize yourself. Carmilla Karnstein preaching against violence?
“He didn’t say anything to me. But he still said ugly things. I asked him to stop saying them, but he wouldn’t stop, Mommy!”
You breathe deeply before finally understanding what your daughter is trying to say.
“Wait, if he didn't say anything bad to you, then why did you hit him?”
“Because he was bothering Sloan,” said the blonde, looking towards the other child you had noticed earlier.
When you turn around, your gaze connects with the eyes of a distressed little girl who had lifted the hood of her sweatshirt. The child’s hair is almost the same intense black as yours, and her pale skin makes it seem even darker. There is something about her that draws your attention, and you give the girl a friendly nod before returning your gaze to the blonde.
“I understand Hayley, but you can’t go around the world defending every person you meet. She has to learn to stick up for herself; you’re not always going to be there to take care of her.”
“But he said horrible things! He was making fun of Sloan and said she was ugly, and I told him that Sloan is not ugly, and he didn’t need to be mean to her. But he wouldn’t stop. He said no one wanted to be friends with Sloan and that her clothes were dirty, and it was awful. I told him to leave her alone, but he didn’t stop and kept saying bad things. Then he pushed her. You always told me that no boy should lay a hand on a girl, and that’s why I hit him!” says your daughter in a rush.
That is one of the worst things about Hayley; she can talk for hours. When Will brought her to the fair, you had to listen to her stories for at least a week afterward. And yes, it can drive you to distraction sometimes, but you had also learned to love it.
“Hayley, you can’t do that. I know you wanted to defend the girl, but really you can’t go around hitting everyone just because they’re attacking someone else.”
“It's not fair! He was bothering my friend.”
“Hayley, today was the first day of school. You don’t even know her!”
“It doesn’t matter! Sloan's still my friend,” insisted Hayley.
You can feel the gaze of the other child again and turn to notice her staring. You're not sure, but she seems stunned at hearing Hayley’s assertion.
“Buttercup …"
“It's not fair,” says your daughter again with downcast eyes and pouting. You’re defenseless and realize that you’ve lost miserably. You breathe deeply as you have been doing ever since the blonde came into your life.
You straighten up and start to walk towards the couple and child when something interrupts you.
The room door suddenly bursts open to reveal a flustered blonde entering the room awkwardly. The woman remains frozen for a minute when she sees you looking at her, and you manage to register a slight blush on her face when you raise one of your eyebrows in question. Her hair is just like your daughter’s, only messier, and her eyes were just as piercing as Hayley’s.
The short blonde stares at you a few more seconds before running to the black-haired girl, but not before bumping into a pair of desks on the way.
Your mind has gone blank since you saw her but you manage to gather yourself together again before approaching the other child's parents. You easily manage to convince the father to drop the whole matter, but the real difficulty is with the mother who doesn’t want to accept that her child is also to blame for what happened.
“I think your son owes an apology to my daughter!”
The voice that interrupted your discussion with the child's mother makes you shudder for a moment. You turn around a bit to find the blonde next to you, and she’s absolutely furious.
“Rudolph doesn’t owe anything to anyone. He deserves an apology for being hit!”
You try to speak, but the tiny blonde cuts you off.
“Hayley was just defending my daughter from your son's bullying!”
You again raise an eyebrow at the blonde. She is supporting your daughter, and she says her name as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It also seems that her cheeks go red again when she sees you watching.
Not that you've been staring at her enough to notice how cute that is.
“How dare you! My son is not a bully! Why don’t you do something about your weirdo daughter’s attitude?”
The blonde woman goes red in the face again, but this time, it’s a little terrifying and not remotely cute.
“Oh! I will not allow you…"
The blonde takes a step towards the other woman who seems terrified by her action. But you grab her wrist to stop her, even though you’re a little scared of her yourself. You still find it amusing to see how this little woman becomes a maelstrom of violence to defend her daughter. It’s humorous and cute.
Still scary, though.
The blonde trails her gaze from your face to your hand taking her wrist and back to your face again. Now you’re the one who’s blushing slightly, and you slowly loosen your grip to talk with the boy’s mother.
“Look, lady, there is no need to make this bigger than it is. Hayley will apologize to your son, with the only condition being that he apologize to …"
“Sloan,” says the blonde when she sees you don’t know the name of her daughter.
“Sloan,” you add, nodding to the blonde.
The woman agrees, intimidated by the look of the blonde while her husband, who is now sitting on one of the desks, seems to enjoy the scene a little too much. The blonde goes over to her daughter, while you rejoin Hayley.
“Cupcake, you have to apologize to the kid for punching him.”
“But Mom, that’s not fair!”
Again a sigh leaves your mouth when you get lean down to be eye level with Hayley.
“No, it isn’t, and the world isn’t always fair. But it's what you should do.”
Your daughter looks at you, still unconvinced at your words. But you know your daughter, and you know how to persuade her.
“Look, the thing is if you apologize to the boy, he will apologize to Sloan. Wouldn’t you like Sloan to feel better?”
Your daughter's eyes light up even though you see she still wants to argue the point but convinces herself that what you said is true.
“Fiiiineee.”
Your daughter walks to the back of the room to apologize to the child. You perceive that the boy cringes slightly when he sees your daughter getting closer, but when she opens her mouth to apologize, he calms down and just nods.
Hayley walks back to you, and you can see her eyes rolling while she crosses her arms. You try not to laugh in front of everyone because you know what that gesture means. Your daughter can’t stand to be told she’s wrong in her beliefs. You know she did nothing wrong, but you can’t let her go through life trying to solve her problems the way you did at her age. Being a mother means that you have to at least prevent your child making the same mistakes you did.
The other child gets up and apologizes to Sloan in a forced and blatantly unrepentant manner, while the small black-haired girl only looks at him and nods briefly.
The mother of the girl has her arms folded, and you swear that she rolls her eyes in the same way your daughter did just a few moments ago. This woman is something else.
The boy has left the room with his parents when you notice the blonde coming towards both of you, holding her daughter's hand. Sloan’s head is bowed, and again her hoodie is covering her face completely. You can almost feel the sadness emanating from the girl. You recognize something in her that calls out to you.
You look at the blonde, and you can see her concern for her daughter. But she looks into your eyes, a smile emerges on her face.
It's beautiful.
You feel yourself smiling back, but you manage to curb it. The only one who has ever made you smile like that before is your daughter, and it mystifies you that you’d do it now to a woman that you’ve only just met.
“Thank you very much for defending Sloan,” says the blonde while leaning down to Hayley.
“’It’s okay, Sloan’s mom. She's my friend, and I will always defend her,” replies Hayley, sincerely.
You see the woman's staring wonderingly at Hayley as she sheds a small tear. But she wipes it away quickly, and her smile is even bigger. You don’t know how that could be possible, but it is.
“I'm Laura.”
The blonde reaches out to offer her hand to your daughter, and Hayley shakes it firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Laura. This is my mom; she’s called Carmilla.”
You feel your daughter stare at you quizzically when she introduces you, as you’re still staring silently at the blonde.
Laura. That’s her name.
“She’s a publicist. No, she is the BEST publicist in the world. She’s Creative Director of the agency. Her agency is the best. I like to go with her to the agency because they have a basketball court. I am too small to reach the basket, but I like to see how my mom's friends play. Sometimes they let me play with them, and they carry me to shoot. Sloan is taller than me, I’m sure she could get baskets by herself.”
You feel your daughter is covering for you, after noticing you still haven’t said a word. And you still don’t.
Laura is listening fondly to your daughter, looking as if she wants to smother her with tender kisses. And the funny thing about the situation is that you are there watching this woman in the same way.
“Wow! That sounds exciting, Hay.”
The affectionate nickname that Laura gives Hayley makes you jump. It's the same one you use when your child is sick, and you want to show how much you care for her.
“I'm not very good at basketball either,” continues Laura. “I'm about as small as you but I like to run, and I’m very fast. I’m sure Sloan would love to play basketball because she’d be very good at scoring; there are times I ask her to throw out her trash and she shoots from many meters away and manages to score without touching the rim.”
This can’t be happening. You have to stop the cute conversation these two are having, or you’ll probably never get out of there.
You touch your daughter's shoulder to let her know that you two should go and finally Laura lets go of her hand.
Laura rises to her feet and now extends her hand towards you.
“Laura,” she says.
“Carmilla," you reply. “Hayley, we have to go,” you say awkwardly when you realize you’re still staring at Laura.
Hayley walks to Sloan and gives her a hug. The black-haired girl tenses slightly when she feels your daughter’s arms embrace her.
You and Laura are just spectators for the scene, and she smiles again at your little girl's actions.
Again she looks at you and then looks at her hand still clasped in yours. You withdraw yours immediately. Is it getting hotter in this damn room!? They were supposed to have installed a new air conditioning system, according to the tour you had to take when signing Hayley up for this school, right?
“Mom, before we leave, can I show Bagheera to Sloan please?”
You can only nod to your daughter's wishes and pass her your phone to search for pictures of the black cat that you got her for a pet.
There is a brief silence as the girls sit at a desk away from both of you to look at the cat pics. Hayley starts to tell Sloan about how you took her to the pet shelter to get the black cat and that she named him ‘Bagheera’ after her favorite book.
“Really, thank you so much,” says Laura breaking the silence while leaning on the desk in front of you. “Sloan has a hard time making friends. She is very shy, and that makes her reluctant to talk to other kids. So they think it's weird because she's always reading or listening to her music. She has never had a real friend.”
You look askance at Laura, but you keep watching the two girls and how they interact. Your daughter is already recounting the first day that the two of you tried to bathe Bagheera. He gave you dozens of scratches while you tried to get him into the bathtub, leaving both of you wetter that the cat after the ordeal. Hayley dies laughing whenever she tells that story, and this was no exception.
Sloan is attentive as she looks at the pictures and all she does is nod and smile at the contagious laughter of your daughter. That always happens to you too, no matter how tired, angry and frustrated you are. When you hear Hayley's laughter, you can’t help but smile.
“You know Sloan told me that Hayley had said she was her friend. Your daughter is an angel.”
She is, you think.
“I would love her to be friends with Sloan if you didn’t mind. I’m sure Sloan would love for her to come home to play.”
Now Hayley has one arm around the shoulders of Sloan who looks a little overwhelmed with the situation while she’s holding your phone and continues to show her more pictures. Your daughter has removed the hood so they can see each other while chatting and the girl lets her do it without flinching. You find yourself recognizing a kindred spirit in Sloan.
“It’s fine by me,” you finally manage to say.
You look at Laura who is still smiling, apparently heart-warmed by the actions of your daughter and your approval of the friendship.
“Whenever you want us to do it, call me,” you say.
You spit out the words without thinking, and when you realize how they sounded, it’s too late to take them back.
“I meant, when you want Hayley to play with Sloan,” you say awkwardly. “Look, just give me a call and we can schedule a playdate.”
Stupid school, it is clear that they lied to you about the air conditioners. The room is hotter than hell. Laura obviously finds it warm too, because you see her fanning herself with her hand
“Thank you. You don’t know what that means for me… well, for Sloan and me,” Laura answers as if nothing happened and you thank her silently for ignoring your foolish comment.
You nod and call Hayley again to pick up her things so that both of you can leave. Laura tells Sloan to do the same.
“Again thank you for defending Sloan. That other child is such a brat.”
“Well, you can’t blame him with parents like that. Who the hell names their child Rudolph anyway?”
Somehow, Laura makes you feel comfortable enough to release one of your classic snarky remarks. The blonde lets out a loud laugh. Loud and melodious laughter, like choirs of angels. That laugh.
A few minutes later, the four of you are standing outside the main door of the school.
Hayley again embraces Sloan who seems increasingly comfortable with each hug and approaches Laura to hug her too as she says goodbye.
“So, The Clash, eh? You have excellent taste. See you soon, kiddo,” you tell her while you point to the hoodie.
The girl looks up to you and smiles shyly. You ruffle her hair and return the smile while saying goodbye.
Laura extends her hand to you again.
“It's been a real pleasure, Carmilla” Laura says cheerfully.
“A real pleasure, Laura” you agree.
Still smiling, you walk back to your car with your daughter’s hand in yours. After all, it has been a very good day indeed.