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Valerie Maclay's anniversary never gets any easier. Even aged 27, married and living in their two bedroom apartment, Tara wakes with a heavy heart. Willow's already gone from the bed, but Tara can hear the sound of the radio playing quietly from the other side of the door. She stays there for a while, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling from the taller of the trees outside. It’s mid December, and it’s cold. Her mind wanders to her mother. Alabama winters were always rainy and mild.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been lying there when Willow peers her head around the door, still in her pyjamas. A pair of socks and an old hoodie of Xander’s he’d left while visiting have been added to keep her warm. She smiles briefly once she sees Tara's awake and makes her way over to get back in under the covers.
“Good morning, my beautiful wife.” She kisses Tara’s cheek twice and cuddles up to her side. Fingers dance across Tara’s stomach lightly, causing the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards.
“Morning.”
It occurs to her that she doesn’t even know what time it is. She picks up Willow’s wrist to check her watch, which reads 10:17. It’s a Saturday, and they’ve both asked to only be contacted for emergencies this weekend. She’s not surprised to have slept this late. The week at work had been stressful, with lots of research and travel arrangements going on after a new Hellmouth was discovered near Buenos Aires. They’d decided on sending a few of their training slayers down to scope out the situation. Even though there ended up being no immediate danger, it had been an odd few days of anxiously awaiting news and updates. It always makes Tara nervous sending her girls out on missions she can’t help with.
“It's snowing,” Willow says, and she can’t hide the enthusiasm in her voice. New England winters are still exciting after spending the majority of her life in California. They’ve been living here for over two years now, but Willow still turns into a child at the sight of snow. “It’s only light right now, but the forecast said it’ll be heavy for the next couple of days.”
“Good weather for cuddling,” Tara comments. Willow squeezes her around the waist.
“Very good.”
Tara knows Willow hasn’t forgotten what day it is. It’ll come up eventually, but neither of them want to discuss it first thing in the morning. This though, this silent support she's offering right now by just lying with her for a few minutes, speaks volumes. Willow doesn’t usually come back to bed once she’s up.
“Breakfast?” Willow asks after a stretch of silence. “We kind of need to use up those eggs. I could make french toast.”
Tara’s favourite.
“Sounds delicious.”
Willow gives her another minute or so of snuggles before she starts to move. Tara catches her arm before she can commit to getting up, earning her a look of quiet concern. “I love you,” she whispers, and Willow softens again. She runs a finger along Tara’s jaw and leans in closer to kiss her. It’s sweet, and it’s unselfish, offering nothing but comfort and reassurance. Willow pulls away and gives herself a few moments just to look at her love. “Take your time,” she tells her, stealing one more kiss for good measure before she gets out of bed. She leaves the door open on her way out in case she’s needed.
Tara listens to her pottering about for a while, mumbling to herself as she prepares their food. Eventually, she braces herself for the hours ahead, and gets up. She pulls on a pair of warm socks much like Willow, and wraps a thick knit cardigan around her tightly to keep the cold out. The thermostat is set to automatically heat up early in the mornings and in the evenings. They’re not usually home at this time of day, and neither of them want to go fiddling with the buttons.
Willow’s already stacked a couple of slices on a plate by the time she appears in the kitchenette area. Tara goes to the fridge and reaches into the fruit drawer to start putting together a side for them to share. She frowns once she realises all that’s left is a bunch of red grapes and exactly seven raspberries. As it turns out, the fruit drawer isn’t the only section of the fridge that’s lacking.
“We need to go grocery shopping,” she says, more to herself than anything. Willow looks over from her place in front of the stove.
“We said we’d go Monday evening.” It’s a gentle reminder, there’s no judgement or impatience behind it, but Tara’s cheeks flush as she hears the words. She vaguely remembers a discussion from the night before about rotating their usual weekend habits to accommodate this day, but no details that really stuck with her. She was more worried about the aforementioned day at hand and the emotions that would be accompanying it.
“We’re out of fruit.” She gestures bashfully towards the underwhelming sight in front of her.
“There’s still bananas and a couple of plums,” Willow replies, nodding towards the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. “And we have lots of veggies to use up too.” She smiles at Tara easily. “I think we’ll survive a couple of days without strawberries.”
Tara sighs in a brief moment of disappointment, but she smiles back. Willow’s right, obviously. She takes the remaining fruits out of the fridge and brings them to the sink to rinse them off before placing them in the centre of the table, back in their cartons. She busies herself brewing some tea for them both, stopping briefly to drop a kiss on Willow’s shoulder every time she passes by. Finally, Willow places their plates on the table. Two slices for Tara, and three for herself, like always. Tara’s favourite toppings have already been added: honey, cinnamon and a sprinkle of brown sugar. She sits down and inhales deeply.
“Smells good,” she says as she exhales again. “Thank you.”
They eat with minimal conversation, letting the sound of the radio fill the quiet. They don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company. Willow asks if there’s anything in particular she wants to do today, and Tara shrugs. Truthfully, she wants to go back to bed and rule this day out. She knows Willow would let her, would probably get back into bed with her and stay there all day if Tara wanted her to. She doesn’t want to make a fuss though. They both know this is hard on her, even if she hasn’t mentioned it yet. Willow’s seen her through enough anniversaries to know. Their schedules have been cleared for a reason.
They finish their meal and do the dishes together, Tara humming along to the songs playing on the oldies stations they’ve tuned in to. She catches Willow smiling at her a few times, and she doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed anymore. In college, those adoring looks would make her blush and duck her head shyly. Now, she doesn’t doubt Willow’s love for a second. She doesn’t know how she got so lucky, to have met the love of her life at 19, but she did, and she wouldn’t trade Willow for the world.
It hurts to think that Willow never got to meet Valerie Maclay. She was the kind of person you felt instantly comfortable around, and Tara knows they would have loved each other. She never did have many friends, but the few and far between had always said she was lucky to have such a nice mother. Tara always knew that. Her father was strict and controlling, and frowned upon anything that went against his own Catholic upbringing. Her mother had always thought she'd be able to change his mind. She loved him, and Tara would never understand how or why, but she did. Unfortunately, love wasn’t enough to change a man so set in his ways. Tara knows that by the time she was old enough to understand, her mother was too far gone. Manipulated, talked down to, punished, the woman learned to hold her tongue until eventually, she began to believe he was onto something.
Tara remembers times when she was a kid, when her mother would tell her to keep their meditation practices or their crystal lessons a secret. Her mother had taught her how to read auras and energies, sadly a little too well. Tara watched her aura change over time until she was someone completely different. It had scared her, and in a way it had saved her life. Seeing that transformation, the way her bright mother dimmed with every yell and every blow, that was the thing that Tara held onto. She couldn’t help her mother, but she would help herself. After, when she was alone and grieving, she vowed to never let her own light go out.
Living without her mother’s protection proved more difficult than she’d ever anticipated. Her brother’s threats were followed through more often than not, and her father didn’t exactly put a stop to it. He expected her to pick up where her mother had left off, adding extra chores to the ones she was already struggling to keep up with. If Donnie had already disciplined her during the day, he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Tara had never felt like she had a great relationship with them, but losing her mother had cemented what she’d always truly known. She had to get out and she had to do it soon. Her senior year brought talks of college applications and flyers hung up on bulletin boards along the halls. One look through a scholarship booklet and suddenly Sunnydale was her future.
The amount of times she’d thought about changing her name once she got to California were too many to count. Having that connection to the men who had treated her so terribly had always felt wrong, and in a new town maybe it would be best to start fresh. If they came looking, no one would know of Tara Maclay. She’d planned on looking into taking her mother’s maiden name as soon as she got settled in Sunnydale, but nerves got the better of her. Then there was Willow and friends and, for the first time, hope. She started to relax after a year had passed with no sign of the people she’d escaped. And then, once she’d finally stopped looking over her shoulder, Donnie was in the Magic Box.
The thing was, Tara had managed to surround herself with the kind of people who genuinely cared for her. Who stood by her and claimed her as one of their own. Who loved her just as much as she loved them. And god did it feel good. Disowning her relatives, ordering them to leave her with her real family in her new home, was one of the most exhilarating things she’d ever experienced. Freedom was something she’d never dared to dream of having.
Her name was the last thing tying her to those people and her past. She remembers the night she’d finally brought it up with Willow. They were already engaged, planning on heading to Ontario with the Scoobies to finally tie the knot. Tara had been so worried, and needlessly so, to talk name changes. She wanted to share Willow’s name more than anything, but her mother’s memory pulled her in the other direction.
“Why don’t we hyphenate it?” Willow had suggested, so casual and genuine it had almost knocked the breath from Tara’s lungs. “Reed-Rosenberg has a nice ring to it. Loving the double letter thing.”
“You’d want to do that?”
“Baby.” Willow had taken Tara’s face in her hands then, eyes full of nothing but pure, unconditional love. “Of course. If you want to have your mother’s name, then so do I.”
“Are you sure?” Tara had asked. She wanted to give Willow the out if there was any hesitancy. They were talking about the rest of their lives.
“As sure as I was the first day I saw you at that Wicca group meeting.”
The feeling of Willow’s hands prying a long-dried plate from her own brings her back to reality.
“Hey,” Willow greets her gently, taking the towel from her grasp as well and setting it down on the counter beside them. Her hands reach out to run up and down Tara’s arms, both a soothing gesture and something to help ground her again. “I lost you for a while there. Are you okay?” Tara realises there’s a backlog of cleaned kitchenware sitting on the drying board. Willow’s already finished her part of the chore.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, eyes creasing as she apologises. Willow can tell she’s still a bit dazed. “Just.. took a trip down memory lane.”
“Good or bad?”
Tara pulls at a loose thread on her sleeve as she tries to come up with an accurate answer without worrying Willow. It’s not often that she gets caught up in her own memories like this. The ones she’d rather forget don’t tend to leave her feeling too nostalgic afterwards.
“A bit of both..”
Her hesitancy gives her away. Willow’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into the tenderest of hugs. “Go sit down,” she says, even though she hasn’t let go yet. “I’ll finish this.”
When they part, Tara does as she’s told. The apartment is small enough, mostly open plan save for the bedrooms and the bathroom that attaches them. The paper blinds on the windows are still drawn from the night before. She makes no move to open them. Today feels too dark for natural light. She sinks down into the corner of the sofa and takes a deep breath.
Going through some of the most important years of her life without the first person who showed her love hasn’t been the easiest thing to do. She remembers crying the night before her eighteenth birthday, upset about the fact that her mother would never get to see her become an adult. She remembers every one of these anniversaries since leaving home, and how she’d wished she could go back and visit that grave. The summer she and Willow moved into Buffy’s old house to look after Dawn, she’d yearned for the conversation about becoming a mother they’d never have. The lost recipes her mother had never written down that Tara had never thought to learn by heart. Photographs she’d left behind in her childhood home because her main concern was getting out. Songs that were sung to send her to sleep, songs she can still hum the tunes of but can’t remember the words to.
The weight on her chest gets a little heavier.
Willow joins her once all the dishes have been put away. They decide to spend the day on the sofa, which Tara supposes is better than spending it in bed. Willow ends up getting the duvet for them anyway. They huddle together on one side of the recliner and put their feet up before they settle the bedding over their legs. Willow searches the TV channels until they end up on one that’s playing Friends reruns all day. It’s familiar and lighthearted, a good choice for background noise. Neither of them really want to concentrate on something they haven’t seen before.
Tara knows how lucky she is to have married the woman she did. Someone else might try to distract her, or tell her to treat this like any other day. Willow gives her a space where she’s allowed to feel sad. Her mother had given her that until she couldn’t anymore.
“It’s been ten years.” The words don’t feel real. She has lived a decade without the woman who raised her, and that is a devastating fact.
“It’s been ten years,” Willow repeats. She takes one of Tara’s hands in her own, lifting it to press her lips to soft knuckles. Those four words hold more meaning than either of them can say. They’ve been through so much, together and individually, in the time between then and now. “She would be so proud of you, Tara.”
Later on, Willow will hold her close and kiss the tears from her cheeks when the weight inevitably becomes unbearable. For now, Tara squeezes the fingers laced between her own and rests her head against her wife’s shoulder, grateful for the life they’ve built. A life she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t found the courage to run all those years ago. There will always be a hole in her heart that her mother left behind, but it’s not broken anymore.
No one can replace Valerie Maclay, but this is a damn good substitute.