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When her mom and dad fight, and when she can ignore her guilt over being the fraying rope that tied the Smith family together, Summer notices that Grandpa sips from his flask less. Not less in general, but less when mom and dad fight. Like, he’ll be going at it all through dinner, but the second dad complains about Beth not paying him enough attention and Beth declaring that she IS a real surgeon, it slips back into his pocket and he only pulls it out when he’s saying something to piss Jerry off.
Summer, happily, can’t imagine what it’d be like to have a daughter at all. But that means she also can’t imagine what it must be like for Grandpa Rick to have to see his daughter in a miserable, dead end marriage that she’s too dependent on to leave. (Let alone dealing with the fact that she’s probably too dependent on it in the first place because she has abandonment issues and can’t let people go, but hey. Summer’s not a psychologist, she can’t say that for certain.)
And Rick not drinking excessively--His general reaction to stress is drinking. Summer’s heard him drunkenly stumble into Morty’s room enough times after a crisis that shook them all more than normal. Hell, he’s accidentally wandered into her room and accusingly said, “You’re not--Where’s Morty? You’re not him, where’s the piece of--where’s the dipshit?” at least once a month since starting to live with them--So that’s abnormal. Because the fights clearly bother him almost as much as they bother Morty. Summer can tell. She gets Rick more than he thinks she does--After the fiasco with Tiny Rick, they have a bond. A bond, guys.
And she’s absolutely sure, through this bond, that he’s abstaining from drinking (more) around Jerry and Beth’s fights because he has something he wants to say but has enough tact left in him not to say. Or it’s something that once he complains about it, Beth will turn it around on him and finally freak out on him for abandoning her.
Regardless! Summer’s convinced he has something to say. And because Summer, like all teenagers, wants to know everything about everyone’s business, has decided to figure it out.
She waits until the next time he traumatizes her. It’s a given it’ll happen sooner or later. Melting baby via used spaceship will be hard to top, but if anyone can fuck up a grandchild’s mental state, it’s Rick Sanchez.
The details of the event leading up to their conversation aren’t important and Summer will never, ever say anything about it. Ever.
Morty’s doped up on alien morphine in the backseat and Summer’s curled up underneath Grandpa Rick’s lab coat in the passenger’s. Her lips are painted blue with a substance she will continue to call paint until she gets home and can cry in the shower in peace, and frostbitten purple underneath. She’s freezing and her hair’s singed on the ends and somehow--somehow, like always, Rick looks completely unaffected. Outside of his hands trembling around the steering wheel, he looks the same as always. Half-drunk, kinda gross, old, and confident as all hell.
Summer could’ve saved her younger self a lot of grief if she had inherited half of that “able to look confident through pure bullshittery alone” gene. Fuck mom for not passing on the useful genes. Instead, Summer got her metabolism and abnormally sweaty pits.
Because Summer and Morty have become champs at compartmentalization, she tugs the coat tighter around her and hoarsely asks, “Grandpa Rick?”
He startles and she startles when he startles. In retrospect, her voice was pretty loud in the silent abyss of space. Rick had to get Morty to stop looking out the windows because he started to have a freak out over the stars, so he told Morty to count the stains on the floor. He counted out loud for about an hour, never getting higher than seven before messing up and having to start over. Unsurprisingly, he’s still absorbed in the task and doesn’t look up at Summer’s question.
“Yeah? What is it?”
She tries to think of how to ask it for a second. Then gives up and asks, “Why do you hate Jerry so much?”
He looks at her.
“I mean, besides everything about him,” She says. “I hate him too, I get hating him personally. But like, why do you hate him as Beth’s father so much? Not as a person-to-person, because we all hate Jerry person-to-person, but why do you hate him as father-to-son-in-law? Moreso than most dads hate their kids’ spouses, you know?”
Grandpa sighs. “Summer, sweetie, listen--Listen, I’m not--You’re great, Summer, don’t get me wrong, you’re--You’ve got a lot more going for you than that moron back there--” He jerks a thumb back at Morty. Morty, who’s counting using his fingers and seems confused when he runs out after ten. “But he knocked up my seventeen year old daughter--Seventeen, Summer, you’re seventeen, imagine having a kid at that age.”
“And?” She won’t budge. She’s heard this one before. “C’mon, Grandpa Rick. That isn’t it, we both know it.”
“When did you get so smart, huh? Are you a damn--Are you a prodigy now? A psychic prodigy who just knows--who apparently knows more than me?” His eyes are glued out the window though, and he hasn’t reached for his flask yet.
Summer shifts so she’s facing him and her back’s against the door. “No, but give me some credit, Grandpa. Jerry’s a piece of shit now, but he wasn’t always THAT bad. When Morty and I were really little, he did alright with us. He had been providing for us until the ‘hungry for apples?’ disaster. You’re mad for another reason.”
“Ohhhhh, look at--we got a fucking Sherlock Holmes on our hands here!” Rick snaps.
“C’mon, Grandpa! What’d Jerry do?” She nudges his seat with her toes.
“Since when is he ‘Jerry’ to you? Not that I--The disrespect for authority is great, don’t get me wrong--”
“Grandpa, focus. What’d he do?”
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Stretches his neck, rolls it around, fingers at his flask but doesn’t pull it out, eyes the “Eject” button a little too keenly for her tastes--
“It’s not--Jerry’s a dick, and he treats Beth like shit. So there’s one. For another, Jerry has a dick. Which is a problem.”
There’s a long silence.
“You know, like an actual penis. He has one.”
“Yeah, no. I get that. I thought we were past the, ‘That man stole my daughter from me and I still try to intimidate him with my shotgun’ spiel though.”
“No, I mean he has a penis--An actual dick--”
“I know that my father has a dick, Grandpa!”
“You’re not listening! He has a dick! Beth doesn’t like dicks!” He throws his arms up. “She’s gay! Beth has always been gay! And Jerry knew!”
And that--
Wow.
Summer wasn’t expecting that one.
“He was her friend--You know that right? They didn’t just--There wasn’t a prom hookup and a baby and BAM, they elope and have you nine months later. They were friends, he was her best friend--Don’t you think that you would’ve heard about an old high school friend? From either of them? Well you wouldn’t! Because they were thick as fucking--They were close, and he was her friend, and when she started--
“She started wondering, you know? You think you know yourself, and you question it because someone makes a comment--One of Beth’s girlfriends was all, ‘Oh you only date butch girls because you’re actually straight’ and Beth was all, ‘Oh no, maybe she’s right’ because--You know, emotionally vulnerable teenage girl who’s insecure enough as is because society--Society fucks teen girls over, you know that? It’s fucked up, Summer, teen girls get the short end of every stick and once they fucking grow up their lives still suck.”
Pausing, he fumbles with his flask and chugs half of it. Summer knows she’s hit the real issue with that, and she relaxes slightly.
“So anyway--Jerry. Beth’s supposed best friend. They go to prom--As friends, because. She’s gay. She’s a fucking lesbian, so they go as friends. And they get trashed, because. You know. High school prom. What else do you do?
“I don’t know the details, but my point is--She was vulnerable, doubting herself, and I have no doubt in my mind that Jerry--the fucking weakling and coward and gross asshole he is--took advantage of that and fucked her instead of being a--I dunno, a halfway decent person, let alone a friend. And she’s convinced herself that he’s the best she can do and that she’s straight and that she needs him and it’s disgusting, Summer, that a woman like Beth’s been reduced to this when she doesn’t even like the guy anymore!”
He’s breathing heavily at the end of it. Gulps in a couple of breaths before draining the rest of his flask and tossing it into the backseat.
Summer gives him a minute before asking, “Grandpa, as a slightly less involved party--For one, having a dick isn’t equal to being male, like gender’s a social construct, you know--”
“Please spare me your lecture, just because you’ve read one Tumblr post and I’m not being politically correct--We both know Jerry’s cis for fuck’s sake--”
She ignores him and continues, slightly louder, “And for another: Sexuality isn’t set in stone. Like, it could’ve changed for her. Maybe she’s bi, or maybe she really is straight.”
“I know my daughter, for one.” He pauses and adds, “And for another, I’ve seen her internet history. Lotta boobs, Summer. Lotta vag. Lotta high heels. And do you know how often she and Jerry have sex?”
“Oh my god no don’t--”
“Not often. As a previously-married adult, it’s abnormally low the amount of sex they have.”
“Wow, I really needed to know that. I really did.”
The more Summer thinks of it though, the more she can sorta, kinda see it. Mom’s heavy drinking before she and Jerry ever go on “date nights”, her reluctance to give Summer “The Talk”, the bitterness directed towards Summer and Morty on her really, really bad days--
And honestly? Summer knows Jerry. She can see him pulling something like that. They all recognize it when he does it since they’ve grown around it, but he’s always tried to play other peoples emotions. (”You’re only saying this because you hate me!” “Yeah dad, that’s it. It’s not because you were dumb enough to try using bacon grease to clean a wine stain.”)
They’d be in Beth’s car after prom. Beth would be reclining in the driver’s seat, drunkenly upset over her ex’s words and saying, “But she’s wrong, isn’t she? I know me. Right? I know me, I know I know me, right?”
And selfish Jerry, cheap rental suit rumpled and noticeably lacking the scent of cheap booze, would lean over. Whisper, “Beth, she might be right. I mean, look at us.”
“What?” Beth would laugh. “What ‘us’, Jer?”
He’d run a hand along her hair, brushing against her ear lightly. “You know I love you. I know you love me. I really think we were meant to be.”
“Aw geez--” Because she had the verbal tic before she started drinking more, shortly before Grandpa started staying with them. Summer remembers vividly her saying, ‘aw geez’ whenever she or Morty would spill their juice or break something. “Jer, I don’t think so.”
“Beth, I love you. So much it hurts me.” And when she looks at him like he’s crazy, he’d add, “I’ve always been there for you. You owe me. I’ve been a great friend. I’d be an even better boyfriend, you know. You owe me a chance, Beth, you really do.”
And drunker than she’s ever been, Beth would think, “It won’t hurt. Everyone experiments, yeah?”
Summer would be conceived, and Beth would think afterwards, “Is that how it’s supposed to be? Is that what I want?” and Jerry would make her feel bad for thinking otherwise, and--
And somehow they’d end up here. With Beth hating Jerry but unable to leave him, Jerry hating that he has to make his wife love him but coveting her nonetheless. An endless cycle of codependency because they’re both fucked up and incapable of breaking out of it.
There’s something wrong though. There’s not really a reason why Beth couldn’t have chosen to raise Summer alone. Lots of moms do it. And Beth was on her way to medical school, she’s Rick’s daughter for fuck’s sake. Jerry and Morty seem to forget that underneath the abandonment issues, misery, and wine, Beth’s as smart as Rick. Less developed, and not focused on space and robots, but Beth’s smart. It’s her genes keeping her and Morty perfectly average.
Point is, Summer can’t see her choosing to raise a child with Jerry right out of high school unless she had to. Unless she had no one else. But if Grandpa’s telling this story, he was still there. He was at least there until he knew Beth was preg--
Motherfucker.
“Wait a minute,” Summer says. “Wait. When did you leave, Grandpa Rick?”
He doesn’t answer.
And ah.
It clicks.
HIs adventures, his attachment to Morty, his adoration of Beth, his until-recently distance from Summer, his hatred for Jerry--
A mean, nasty part of Summer crows in victory. She’s not the reason their family sucks. Or at least, not the sole reason. She was born, but everything leading up to her birth--Mom and Jerry arguing over whether to get an abortion, them getting married, Mom having to give up on medical school--That’s on Rick. Well, it’s on Rick if you take the blame completely off of Beth and Jerry for fucking up their lives. Which you can’t really do, because. You know. They’re adults responsible for their own shit. Rick leaving didn’t have to make their lives miserable, yet here they all are.
Summer wonders how Rick bailing on Beth really affected their family. If he hadn’t left, Mom might either be single or in a relationship with a woman, raising or not raising Summer and some adopted kids. Or maybe ones she birthed on her own, Summer doesn’t know if Mom would want to go through childbirth again or not. Jerry would have Summer on weekends, maybe, if he hadn’t signed away his parental rights.
Instead, Beth probably went storming up to Jerry with the pregnancy test. She probably shoved it in his face and said, “What are /we/ going to do?”
And the boy who just wanted to fuck a lesbian, who wanted to prove he was attractive and /cool/ enough to fuck a girl who doesn’t like boys, is suddenly trapped. Or maybe he really did love Beth, and it was a dream come true. Something to tie them together forever. A baby, which, in heteronormative society, is supposed to be a symbol of a man and woman’s gross straight love.
Summer knows that Rick let it happen. He’s too guilty for his timing being a mistake. He knew what would happen and he hates that he let Beth make herself miserable when he could’ve stopped it.
She looks back at Morty. “Nobody exists on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere. Everybody dies.” It’s become her mantra when she feels in over her head. And she turns to look at Rick, and sees something new in the twist of his lips. They’re tighter, pressed together until the skin around them is pale, and she thinks that for once, Morty told her something he learned on his own. Without Rick’s influence.
Summer says, “I get it now.”
Rick grumbles. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Go join the ‘I hate Rick’ club with your dad now, you can happily blame your family’s issues all on me. Go figure.”
“Grandpa Rick, I don’t blame you. I mean, yeah. Things would’ve been different if you stayed. Morty probably wouldn’t be alive.” She sees him flinch and hides her grin in the coat. It says a lot about her that she’s not bitter, that she’s only happy and proud to have sorted out Rick’s messy emotions on her own. “Which, and don’t repeat this when he’s detoxed, would be a real bummer. I’d’ve hated to be an only child.”
His hands flex around the wheel, and she can almost feel the tension in his shoulders. She reaches over to hold the shoulder closest to her for a moment.
She says, “Jerry and Beth are adults, you know. It’s on them for fucking up their lives. Either of them could’ve changed things at any point, but they’re too damn stubborn and selfish and scared. That’s not your fault, really.”
He’s staring at her now, and she shrugs, letting go of him. “You can take maybe twenty percent of the blame for the Smith-Sanchez family fucked-up-ness, I think. That seems fair to me. It’s not like you left Mom when she was, like, I dunno. Six or something. She was graduating high school, which sucks and you’re still an asshole for it, but it’s not like. I dunno. It’s not more than twenty percent still, to me.
“Mom and Dad get thirty percent each, because it’s mainly their issues actually fucking up everything, and Morty and I get ten percent because we’re underage.”
Rick’s still staring, so Summer turns to face Morty in the backseat.
“That sound alright, Mort?”
“Yep. Yep yep yep.” He looks up at her, grimaces. “Are we like. Gonna. I dunno. Talk to mom about her being gay? Is that gonna--Is it a thing? Because an entire sexuality conversation would be awkward and I’m not really--I don’t want to. We’re all a little gay, I mean--Look, space is--Even dad is, you know, I caught him crying over a guy named Gary last week. But in space...” Morty flops over to lay out on the seat, sighing. It sounds a little dreamy. “Anything goes, guys. Fucking. Anything. Goes.”
“He was actually conscious enough to get all of that?” Rick groans after an awkward pause. “Great. This became an entire Thing now. Fuck you, Summer.”
A gasp comes from the backseat. “Rick! You can’t say ‘fuck you’ to your granddaughter!” Morty makes an odd, screeching noise at the end.
“Fuck you too, Grandpa Rick,” She says with a grin. “Fuck you too.”
...
“Wait a--Have you been looking at all of our internet histories?” She shrieks.
“No Summer, I’m a decent human being who restrained himself to only spying on one family member.”
She and Morty exchange uncertain glances.
“Psych!” He cackles. “In case you were wondering, Morty’s the most vanilla, but that’s because he sucks at using the search engine--Like jesus Morty, you’re looking up crap like ‘big cocks and bigger tits’ what the fuck---what do you think you’re going to find?
“And Summer--Hoo boy, make sure you’re being safe. Some of that shit--Some of it’s even new to me, and I’ve been--Well, you guys met Unity.” He pauses. “Also--I have to say: It brought a tear to my eye knowing both of my grandkids are equal opportunists. Really, I mean that--”
“Oh my god this conversation needed to stop an hour ago please stop this needs to stop--”