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Pretty, pretty please, don't you ever ever feel like you're less than f*ckin' perfect. Pretty pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing, you're f*ckin' perfect to me!
DAPHNE
I am not his mother.
I have to remember that.
There have been many times where I just wanted to hold him and brush the hair away from his face, especially after a bad quarrel with his father. But, I have to remember.
I am not his mother.
It’s been 13 years since I joined the Grimm-Pitch household as Malcolm’s wife. If I had to be honest, it was not a role I would have asked for, but one that I accepted. I was the only daughter left to be married from a branch of the Waters family. Malcolm and I had been friends during our time at Watford. He was good friends with my fiance, Declan. Declan and I were supposed to be married right after graduating from Watford, but he was killed in a skirmish between some magicians. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, because the Declan I knew would never risk his life for a stupid squabble between boys.
I died the same day he did. Declan died and I had lost any other fight to be happy. Nothing mattered in my life anymore because he was gone from it.
So when Malcolm showed up on my doorstep, a year after losing the love of his life, and asked that I become his second wife, well my parents all but jumped at the opportunity to marry their daughter to a Grimm.
I refused. I wanted nothing to do with Malcolm Grimm and with being the replacement to the great Natasha Pitch.
Then I met Basilton.
There was something about the sad, lonely little boy that broke the walls I had put up around my heart. I would never replace his mother, I knew that. But this child needed someone to give him comfort, a sense of stability. This child needed a motherly presence. So I accepted and I married Malcolm.
Marriage to Malcolm was not what I expected. We were never truly intimate, only really engaging in intercourse to provide more children to the household. We did find comfort in each other, and a shared sense of mourning for the loves we had lost. It hasn’t been an unhappy marriage, but Malcolm and I were more like best friends rather than lovers. My children (all 5 of them), brought me a happiness that I never thought I would feel again after losing Declan.
I had tried to be a calming presence in Basilton’s torrential life. I offered him support and as much love as I could. I took him to his violin lessons when he was younger, I taught him how to drive. I watched him grow up into an amazing young man.
I raised him.
I raised him and I loved him.
I still love him.
The six weeks where we lost him, were the worst six weeks of my life. I could not eat; I could not sleep. Malcolm had to cast sleeping spells on me just to get me to rest. I was running on reserve energy, walking in a day dream. When we got him back, it took everything in me to let him leave for school. I did not want to send him back to that hostile place, where there were people who wanted to do him harm.
Malcolm often told me that I risk overstepping my boundaries when it came to Basilton. He accuses me of being somewhat overbearing. Of course I overstep my boundaries! The poor child’s life has not been easy. Losing a mother at such a young age, at the same time becoming afflicted with a condition that would almost certainly mean death if the Coven knew about it. Someone had to worry about him, and to care about him.
But… we don’t talk about Basilton’s condition.
We don’t talk about Basilton’s condition, nor do we talk about Natasha.
And we certainly don’t talk about Basilton’s homosexuality.
When Malcolm and I first learned that Basilton was dating Simon Snow, it was a shock to me. More so because, as far as I knew, Mr. Snow hated Basilton. I remember gently touching Basilton’s arm and asking him if he was sure about this, and if he was happy about it. When he nodded, it was all I needed to know. Malcolm did not take the news well. He waved it off as a phase, and refused to bring up the topic again. I had tried to get him to understand his son, but he refused to listen to me and would often shoot me down.
My foot came down tonight, at dinner. I was tired of not talking anymore. I was tired of seeing the look of anxiety on Basilton’s face every time he had to come home to visit. I was tired of Malcolm not listening.
Malcolm had started to pressure him. Going on about expectations and what his future plans were. Basilton kept giving one-word answers, but I could see his eyes becoming more and more narrow, his fists clutching tightly at the table cloth. I focused my attention on the other children, but kept glancing between the two.
Malcolm didn’t notice (and if he did, I don’t think he would have acknowledged it). He started talking about having Basilton come to more Coven meetings and start learning how the Coven worked so that, when the time came, he would be ready to take his place. Basilton grumbled that he did not want to spend his life arguing at Coven meetings. There were other interests he wanted to pursue.
Then Malcolm threw a bomb.
He asked if those interests included Simon Snow. I glared at him when those words left him. I stated that his comment was uncalled for, but Malcolm ignored me. I could see Basilton becoming more and more agitated, as he asked his father to understand that Simon Snow was more than just a silly interest. I listened as he asked his father to understand that Simon was a very important part of his life. I listened, and Malcolm avoided and ignored. It all came to a head when he demanded that Basilton start really thinking about his future and that the expectations that came with his name could not include Simon Snow.
I think I may have exploded at that point. I was not proud of losing my temper, but at that point, I had enough.
I slammed my napkin on the table loud enough to startle the twins and cause the baby to begin crying. Vera had to come in and take her away. I turned to Malcolm and hissed that it was enough. Basilton had taken the distraction to angrily leave the table. With dinner sufficiently ruined, I gathered the rest of the children and ushered them upstairs.
After putting the children to bed, I had wanted to speak to Basilton, but figured it was best to give him some space in order to process everything before going to talk to him. Besides, he was most likely hunting on the grounds. So, I went into the master bedroom and started to think about what would come from the evening. I was not worried about the stability of my marriage. Malcolm would not dare bring about the scandal of divorce into this household. It was one of the few instances where I could use Malcolm’s insistence on propriety to my benefit. Tonight, I would finally speak up. Tonight, I would fight for his son.
Overstepping my boundaries be damned.
I am brushing my hair at my vanity, when Malcolm walks into the bedroom. I can feel his foreboding presence behind me, even before I notice his reflection in the mirror. He looks rather cross with me. I take a deep breath and place my brush on the counter. I stand up from the chair and face my husband.
“You made quite a spectacle of yourself at dinner.” He states in an icy tone.
“I cannot stay silent anymore Malcolm.” I stare at his dark eyes and defiantly place my hands on my hips.
Malcolm stands inches to my face and points his finger at me. “Watch yourself, Daphne.” He speaks in a quiet, yet threatening voice. I scoff at him. Let him threaten me. I push his finger away from my face and point towards Basilton’s room.
“He is your son! He is your brilliant, strong, incredibly kind-hearted son, who is only asking you to accept him for who he is!” I do not realize that my voice has risen so high that I am practically shouting. I hope the children will not hear our argument.
Malcolm rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. “He’s a child, Daphne! He doesn’t know who he is!” I look at him incredulously. I cannot believe that this was the same man who wept when Basilton was brought home, after those horrid six weeks.
“Bollocks Malcolm! He is more sure of himself than anyone I have ever known!” I raise my hands over my head. I must be making quite a show of myself right now. Merlin help me, I do not care. These are feelings that should have been expressed months ago.
“He is a PITCH! There are expectations that go with that name.” Malcolm is still so calm, but the way that he says his late wife’s name. As if nothing could possibly hold more weight. I continue to shake my head, and angrily pace around the bedroom.
“I cannot believe you are forcing that upon him! Malcolm, we have BOTH lost the people we love the most in this world. Yet, here you are, trying to do the same thing to your own son!” My eyes begin to well with tears when I think back to Declan, and Natasha. Basilton does not deserve the same fate that befell myself and his father. He has found a little piece of happiness in his life and deserves to keep it. I point a finger up above me: “Do you think she-”
“Do not bring her up Daphne!” Malcolm thunders. I flinch involuntarily, I was not expecting him to shout like that. It is good to know that the man is capable of such emotion. I straighten myself out and address him calmly, as his friend.
“I will bring her up Malcolm. Now I know that I am not his mother, you’ve reminded me of that fact plenty of times. But I have watched him grow up into a fine young man, and I do love him as if he were one of my own.” I reach out for his hand, imploring him to listen to me, for once in his life, to listen to someone instead of his own stubborn thoughts. I continue to speak gently to him. “I look at our children, and all I want is for them to be happy. I know that Natasha would want the same for Basilton.” Malcolm pulls away from me and walks to the fireplace
“He can be perfectly happy with the path set in front of him.” He speaks softly into the flames. I walk up beside him and grab his arm. I try to turn him towards me, and I need him to look at me as I address him.
“That is not who he is. And he does not need to be anything more than the person he is right now. He’s bloody perfect, Malcolm. I wish you could see that.” Malcolm pulls away from me and back to the fire. He runs his hand through his white hair.
“It isn’t about that. I refuse to let the Pitch name-”
“Rubbish Malcolm! Your son’s happiness is more important than his name.” I interrupt him now. I am frankly tired of hearing about the Pitch name. Basilton is more than the name attached to him.
“I will not let Natasha’s memory, her legacy die!” Malcolm slams his fist on the mantle of the fireplace. I jump back. I turn my head away from him. A part of me understands the severity of Malcolm’s words. A miniscule part of me, understands. It isn’t enough to convince me that he is right. I collect my thoughts and offer up one last plea, from my heart.
“And it won’t! It’ll live on in the lasting influence she had, in the spells she created. It’ll live on in Basilton himself, in whatever path he chooses to follow.” I force his eyes to meet mine, for he has, up until this point, refused to look at me. “But Malcolm, if you reject him, if you refuse to acknowledge who he is and deny him who he loves, you will lose him. And you will only have yourself to blame!”
Malcolm responds by walking away from me. I hope that he simply needs some time to think about what I’ve said. So I grab my dressing gown and head towards the doors.
“Where are you going?” Malcolm asks me.
“I need some time away from you right now I shall be in the sitting room.” I figure I have been honest with him so far, may as well continue.
I step out of the room and rush down the stairs. I pray that none of the children have awoken after that argument. I can’t let them see me barely holding myself together. I feel my heart racing, and my hands are shaking. I need a drink. My drink of choice is typically a deep red, a Merlot. But, tonight, after that fight, I decide to go for something stronger.
Shaky hands pull out my favourite gin: Edinburgh Seaside Gin. We have better quality gins in our collection, but this is my absolute favourite. I pour my glass and take a seat on the couch. It is after I take a few sips of the gin, where I begin to weep.
“Did you mean it?” I leap onto my feet and whip around to see Basilton standing in the sitting room’s entrance. His cheeks are flushed, which indicates to me that he has recently fed himself. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans and he is looking away from me.
“Basilton! Merlin, you gave me a fright!” I grasp at my chest. I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes and place the glass of gin on a small table. Basilton turns his head to me. His eyes are bloodshot, and I know that isn’t due to the feeding.
“Did you mean what you said?” He asks me again. I walk up to him and gently caress his face. I smile at him and looked at him in his eyes.
“Every word.”
Basilton pulls away from me. “I should apologize. I do not want to be a reason for you and father to get into an argument.” I gently lead him to the sofa and we sit down. I hold his hands in mine as I speak softly to him.
“Do not apologize Basilton. I just wish I had done it sooner.” He looks up at me and gives me sad smile.
“Thank you, mother.” He whispers.
“Always”, I tuck some of his hair behind his ear and smile at him. He nods as he gets up from the sofa. I say one last thing to him; “I understand that you may not want to come back here, and I cannot blame you. But if it’s alright with you and Simon, I would still like to be apart of your lives. I’m sure the younger children do as well. Wherever you feel most comfortable, we would like to still see you.”
Basilton smiles at me and gives me a simple nod before walking out of the room. I take a deep breath and sip some more of the gin. I look to my left and a grand portrait of Natasha Pitch looks down at me. I salute her and pray that I have done good enough for her son.
I am not his mother. I will never truly be his mother. He has a mother.
Natasha, you have left impossible shoes for me to fill. Shoes I never wanted to fill. But I did, out of a sense of duty. Because my friend needed a wife, and his son needed a mother.
I could never replace you Natasha. You will always be Basilton’s mother. He will always be your son.
But, in my heart, I will always see Basilton as my son.
Pretty, pretty please, don't you ever ever feel like you're less than f*ckin' perfect. Pretty pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing, you're f*ckin' perfect to me!