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Weeping Willows

Summary:

George has a fight with his mother and runs to the Creek for comfort.

Notes:

Wrote this in the span of one class period so hope it's decent! I'll double check grammar and all that junk when I get home <3
Enjoy!!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

George couldn't help but admire the poetry in his current situation. It was almost ironic.

 

The evening had started out with a tense but amicable family dinner. George had been showing his younger sister, Lisbeth, the electives he would be able to take for his sophomore year of high school.

"You can take the business classes this year, right?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Yes, the entreprenuer track is available to those in tenth grade and above." George admitted, feeling that section on the paper burning a hole in his conscious.

Lisbeth sighed, resting her chin on her arms. "Lucky, I wish they had some in middle school." 

"Cheer up, you've only got three years until you're where I am, right?"

"I guess... I wish I could inherit the company."

"Speaking of," Their mother said from the other end of the table, next to his younger brother. "George, your father and I were talking. We agreed that for your elective we could talk with Principal Mullen about letting you into the schools internship program a year early. That way you could spend the last two class periods down in the offices with your father. How does that sound?"

There was a lump in his throat as Lisbeth looked at him with shining eyes. Gathering all his courage, he spoke up.

"Actually, mother. I was thinking about taking dual art electives. Painting and Figure Study, to be exact."

"If you don't want to do the internship program, you can just say so George." His mother said. "We're perfectly okay with you taking the school's entreprenuer course. It'll be a good introduction."

"No, I want to take both Painting and Figure Study."

The air sucked out of the room almost immediately. 

 

George found himself running out of the house after a half hour of arguing over the dinner table. He hated to fight infront of Lisbeth and Anton, but they had left soon after the argument had begun.

His mother had insisted on him choosing one of the tracks, mentioning that they had no problem with him continuing with his hobby, but that he had to start preparing for his future.

She had lost it when he said he was preparing for his future, that he didn't want to take over the company.

 

Which is how he found himself back at the Creek huddled under an achingly familiar willow tree with stormy clouds circling above. He had managed to hold it together until he called Jane and Eliza. As soon as they picked up though, he felt his throat start to clog with the unshed tears. Unable to say anything without  burting into sobs, he ended the call and texted them where to meet up.

 

They arrived nine minutes later, carrying blankets and a makeshift care basket. Eliza in her pajamas, tawny hair still wrapped around her heatless hair curlers. George couldn't hold back the tears another moment, they burst through the dam he had built in an instant.

"What happened? Who do I need to ruin?" Eliza asked, handing him a water bottle and box of dark chocolate truffles from the basket.

"No one, it's really not that big of a deal."

"George," Jane said, drabing a deep purple blanket around his shoulders. "Just tell us what happened."

"I- I finally told my mother. It didn't go well."

"She's homophobic?" Eliza gasped.

"No, no I've already told them I'm bi. They're fine with it." George managed to smile through the tears, chucking at Eliza forgetting that he had been out for ages. "I told her I don't want to take over the company. 

"Seriously?" Jane asked, furious. "It's not that big of a deal. Lisbeth's been talking about being a bussiness woman since Pre-K, right? They have another son too, it's not like they have a shortage of heirs."

"But it's tradition. This company has been in my mothers family for ages and the eldest has always been the successor."

"And?" Eliza scoffed. "It's not the eighteen hundreds anymore; and if it were, Lisbeth probably would have arranged your assassination so she could be the eldest. Like those kings used to do."

George started laughing at that. "Truly? You're probably right."

"Exactly. Now, eat your truffles. The chocolate will help."

Notes:

I Have So Many Tea Timers Thoughts It Is Not Normal

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