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Fig hates this room. It used to be hers when she was Figueroth Faeth, the daughter of Gilear and Sandra Lynn Faeth. But that's not who she is now. She's just Fig, daughter of Sandra Lynn Faeth and whoever the hell her mom decided to cheat on her dad with.
Gilear. He's Gilear Faeth, not her dad. Gilear might hate her just as much as she hates this stupid room, with its stupid elven posters and photos covering up the walls underneath. The stupid four poster bed with its original cherrywood peeking through the chipping white paint. A bright, lacy comforter mocking her with its lighthearted air. The photos and memories laying around that were built on a lie. Fig scrubs at her eyes to overwrite the way they burn, pricking with unshed tears.
It isn't her fault that she's a lie. A lie to Gilear, a fraud. She didn't know! It was her mom who kept it from Gilear, kept it from the both of them. But when he packed his bags and left, the sadness on his face when he spoke to her mom was only anger when he looked to Fig. He just stared at her for a long moment, standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame and the other on his suitcase. For all the words he had for her mother, all he had for Fig in that moment was a blank, angry look. Like he didn't recognize her, like he wasn't her dad. Like she wasn't his Fig. Like maybe Fig Faeth had never existed at all.
She picks at the comforter under her hands. It keeps catching on her nails now, pulling painfully when she moves around at night. The pillowcase has small tears in it too, since the hook of her horn snags and twists up in the fabric as she sleeps. She really needs new sheets. A new room, actually. Fig's stomach cramps at the thought.
'Fig, darling, this is your last year before you become a high schooler. A veritable teen, if you ask me.'
'Dad, I'm already a teen! FourTEEN, you know?' Fig frowns.
Gilear smiles as he shifts the car into park. He's dropping her off for school today.
'Well… to make up for my oversight, and because I was thinking about it anyway, we could redo your room next summer. A new high school room for the high school Fig! Why, I imagine she'll be a different person altogether from the junior high Fig you are now. What do you think?'
'Really? And I can get anything I want?'
'Absolutely, Fig. I'm very proud of you.'
Fig lunges across the console and crushes her dad in a hug.
'Aw, dad! Thank you! No take backs!'
Gilear wheezes 'I wouldn't dare. Now, Fig… out you go to school.'
Fig relents and makes to leave the car. She ghosts her hand over the clips holding her hair in place.
'Okay! Love you, dad! See you later!'
'See you this afternoon. I love you too, Fig.'
Fig cringes. Not like you could redecorate your room with your daughter if you didn't have one. Fig glares at the photos framed on her wall. An elf girl stands in most of the pictures, smiling with various people or in front of random spaces. She has long blonde hair and a warm complexion. There are no horns in sight, and though there aren't many photos where both of her parents are present, many of the photos show her with her father. Fig shuts her eyes against the returning burn of tears.
Fig really hates this room.
She needs a change of scenery. Fig makes her way downstairs to the den, a room almost jokingly decorated more like something you would find in the surrounding forests than the suburbs. Her mom has amassed a truly impressive - and annoying - amount of animal knick knacks onto the mounted shelves. A jar of spare claws found on patrol, photos for some of the endangered litters that were born in the past few years that Fig's mom is especially proud of, a selection of cross stitches of some of the more prominent fauna in the area. Her mother's griffon is among them, a wedding anniversary gift from Gilear three years ago.
Fig stops perusing the shelves and flops onto the green leather couch. It's unbearably stiff from disuse, since her mom is never home long enough to use it and Gilear stuck to the kitchen or his home office. It's still all set up, too. He had only taken the bare essentials when he left, leaving most of his office untouched. She already poked around in there and found his credit card information, buying several tiefling-specific things in revenge. Horn caps, for one - her issue with her pillows is not unique.
She clicks the telecrystal on with a lackluster press on the remote. The news station blips to life on the smooth pane of crystal, tinged with telltale shimmer native to older models. Something about the residual magic from the cores they used way back when. This telecrystal is older than she is, but It gets the job done. Her mom gets the weather, Gilear got his news, and Fig gets her reruns of old cartoons when the mood strikes her. She channel surfs looking for something good, but at this time of day all that's on is movies that are either too long or too boring for her to care about. She settles on a washed out musical with people prancing around holding parasols.
Fig is in the middle of the final scene, a number with even more parasols and people dancing and singing in tinny voices warbling out of the telecrystal, when she hears the lock on the front door. She turns to look over the back of the couch as her mother steps through the front door, pulling her ranger's jacket off and shaking some feathers and fur off of it. Sandra Lynn pauses when she notices Fig in the den looking at her, before setting the jacket on its hook.
'Hello, Fig.' Sandra sounds about as stiff as you would if you only talked to your daughter once every handful of days.
'Hello, mom.' Fig stares as Sandra fiddles with the keys in her hand. If she feels awkward, then good. She should.
Sandra gestures at the telecrystal. 'Are you watching Hello Dolly?'
'I don't know, am I?'
Fig narrows her eyes at her mom, daring her to continue the conversation. Talking every couple of days is already too much, in her opinion.
Sandra sighs and walks past the den's opening, deeper into the house.
Fig settles back on the couch and flicks the channel to see the program details at the corner.
Yeah, it's fucking Hello Dolly. God dammit.
Fig gets up to grab her crystal off its charger and maybe a snack before the next movie starts. Might as well make a night of it. Sandra is already in the kitchen, but Fig is very good at pretending her mom is somewhere else. Like in hell. Actually, she probably has been there to meet with Fig's real dad. Damn. Fig shuffles through the array of popcorn packets before selecting a a sweetcorn variety. Helios' cartoonish face beams up from inside the clear plastic wrapper prison, helpfully teaching how to make the popcorn in the microwave. He also dutifully plugs a verse from his bible at the end, right before the nutrition facts mark the package as anything but holy.
Fig shucks the wrapper off and pops the bag into the microwave. Leaning against the cabinet, she scrolls on her crystal.
Sandra clears her throat. 'Fig.'
More scrolling.
'Fig.'
Still scrolling.
'Figueroth.'
'It's just Fig.'
Fig hears her mom's eye twitch without looking up from her crystal.
'Fig, can we talk?' she sounds tired.
'We are talking.' not tired enough, if she's still trying to talk to Fig.
'Fine. Fig, I don't like this. Us. We don't talk anymore. We don't spend time together.'
'Mom, we never did those things. You just notice it more now since you feel guilty for being a liar and costing me my second father.' Fig feels a bitterness on her tongue.
Sandra goes quiet. The only sound is the low thrum of the microwave behind Fig, and the growing pops of the corn kernels inside. Fig thinks that's the end of it, until her mom sighs.
'I… am sorry-' Are you? Fig thinks.
'- I didn't mean for any of this to happen. And it isn't your fault. I know you're upset with me, but really Fig, I did the best I could to keep this from happening.'
'You did your best to keep from cheating on Gilear? Like it was a struggle to just be with the guy you married?'
'No, no Fig, that's not what I mean-'
'Then what do you mean, mom? That this all went wrong and it's not my fault, it's not your fault, it's nobody's fault? That it's understandable that I'm upset, but not that I'm upset with you? My whole life is a lie! Gilear doesn't even see me as his daughter, and I don't even know who my real dad is because you won't say shit about it! I didn't do anything and I'm the one paying for it! My dad is gone and my mom is never here, so I'm just alone. And that's upsetting. So, I'm upset.'
Fig's chest heaves, the bitter taste in her mouth mixing with the familiar sting behind her eyes. She feels a headache coming on. Sandra stands silently across the island counter, caught between looking angry and stricken.
'… mom, he's who I spent all my time with. He took me to school, we would get groceries together, go to the movies on the weekend. He's the one all my old friends knew by name. And now he's, what, a stranger? He doesn't know what to say to me unless it's to tell me I'm not his daughter. I hate him, and I miss him, and I hate that I miss him.'
Fig turns away to open the microwave. Stares at the bag inside, little puffs of steam coming out of the creases. The sweet smell is soft and warm and makes her stomach curl in on itself further. Tears are about to spill from her eyes but she can't wipe them away without proving she's crying about this. That she's not above this. Sandra's fingers drum dully once against the cabinet top.
"I… Fig. Gilear is still your father. The things he said, they aren't okay, but they're not forever. They're the words of a man with his life falling apart around him. And… you didn't do that to him. I did. He shouldn't have had to find out about what I did through you, going through something you didn't even understand. You needed support, and Gilear and I didn't give you that. I… don't want you to be upset with me. I thought you needed time, and space, and I didn't think about how much space you already have with him gone. I'm… sorry. I don't know how to say it in a way that shows I mean it. But I do. I mean it, Fig."
Fig shudders, a tear streaking down her cheek. Her throat clenches and the back of her mouth feels swollen shut. This is why she doesn't like talking with her mom. Her mom wants to talk about what's happened, move past it, and Fig can't. She can't go through this and not get any answers about her life. And she can't be above it all and not let the hurt land. Her voice wobbles.
'I, can't trust that. You - you know I can't. Not when you won't tell me… Tell me anything. About my real dad. I can't just act like you haven't done anything.'
Fig feels a hand on her shoulder, and keeps staring into the microwave. Helios' little face is still smiling at her and telling her The popcorn setting on your microwave won't get the job done! You know how elf-tech is! 3 minutes is best- and the rest is blotted out from oils soaking into the paper. She keeps looking like she can read it anyway. She wants to be fine. She wants to hate her mom. Hating her and Gilear would make it so much easier to be fine with the way they've left her to drift in herself as she changed.
'You're right… I shouldn't ask that of you, Fig. I should listen to what you're asking from me. I've been thinking as myself more than I've been thinking as your mother. You were always so hard for me to read, and Gilear always took care of you. I need to be here for you now. Can you look at me, Fig?'
Her mom's voice is so gentle, and Fig turns to look at her. She recognizes the trembling shine of wet eyes as her mother's face is twisted in a concerned frown. The hand on her shoulder moves around her to pull her closer, but her other arm hesitates. Fig could leave, if she wanted. Go up to her room filled with who Figueroth Faeth was, or the den full of the life Sandra Lynn and Gilear made together as the Faeths. Or, she could stay here, as Fig and her mother.
She wraps her arms around her mom and squeezes tight. Her mom squeezes back.