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Out of everything Leo wants to share with Laia almost from the moment he met her, there is one, only one, that he dreads.
The road stretches beyond them, as smooth and clear as the sky above them. The car radio plays his favorite songs (Laia's doing).
And inside, his organs are turning to mush. Breathing normally takes an active part of his concentration.
Cold fingers touch the back of his hand on the wheel, shifting his focus to the softness of her hand, the gentleness of her caress. He breathes out, in. Her chosen perfume of the day, orange blossom and lavender, fills his lungs and mind, infinitely more pleasant than his previous disarray of thoughts.
Laia gently takes his hand off the wheel and brings it to her lips.
"We can go back, if you're not feeling well," she says. "I'm sure she'll understand if we reschedule."
And like that, he's back to disarray. He breathes in, schooling his face into calmness.
He's not going to be a coward. They are all adults, they are all on good terms. On the phone, his mom had sounded excited to meet Laia. She's easy to please, doesn't demand much. And Laia will like her, probably. They can bond over... plants. Over the old discs his mom likes, maybe.
It's just merging families. It's just his mom.
"I'm good," he says, nonchalant.
Leo can feel her eyes on him, can almost hear her try to word her thoughts in the best way. That alone brings a smile to his face, and he indulges and brings her hand to his lips in a silent thank you.
"I swear, love," he says, "It's just normal meet the parent jitters. I just want everything to go—" Well. "—perfect, you know? Don't worry about it."
Laia is silent for a few moments.
"Alright," she finally says, softly. She squeezes his hand once. "But... Well, I'm here. And, you know"—he can hear the light teasing in her voice, a clear attempt to distract him—"between the two of us, shouldn't I be the nervous one? What if she doesn't like me?"
"Impossible," he says without thinking.
"Right. Forgive me for thinking you might be biased."
"Excuse you? I am always objective about your perfection."
"Completely impartial, clearly."
He smiles, opts for deflection. "And let me remind you, Miss Burnell, that you were more nervous than me when I met your family."
"Well, yes. That would be because my family is insane."
"They were amazing."
And they really were. Gregory—"Call me Greg, son"—talked to him as if he already belonged to the family, bantering with him over sports and best trip destinations.
Annie was more practical, more grounded. Because Laia had warned him, he was prepared for her vague but intense questions about his work in security—which in any other family would be a justified interest in his financial situation, but was here a concern over his involvement with dark supernatural forces. And though Leo was generally against lying, he could surely be excused for that one instance.
He could tell Annie slowly came around — Laia's daggerlike looks at her, which he could feel even without looking, might have helped. Eventually, the questioning stopped, and after processing his completely normal human answers, Annie hesitantly shared about her work in the university as a peace offering and welcoming sign, which he hoped she wouldn't retract after his disappointing contributions to the conversation ("statistics sure sounds really cool").
And Millie showed her support by talking about her favorite—fictional—vampires and by asking if she could name one of her future nephews or nieces. In retrospect, she probably just wanted to see Annie turn the shade of purple she did. It really wasn't any surprise that the little chaos demon hit it off so well with Noe.
"I think," Laia's smiling voice brings him back to reality, "this is your bias talking again."
"Your family is great," Leo says, honest. "I had nothing to be scared of."
"You're not afraid of anything, love," Laia's voice is half-soft, half-admonishing.
He laughs. And then wonders if that's still true, if today is any indication.
His mom's house looks exactly as it always did, except for maybe some more plants in the front yard. The house is simple, unassuming. The terracotta exterior gives the place a warm look, and the stone path is adorned with inviting, blooming wildflowers.
"It's very beautiful," Laia says beside him.
"Right."
In this quiet, picturesque afternoon, his worries seem silly. Vlad would probably laugh at him if he knew he is this nervous, and for what? Laia likes everyone unless she has a very good reason not to. And who wouldn't like Laia back? The only creature he could think of was that Satan wannabe, so. It's going to be fine.
He leaves the car in a hurry to open Laia's door and take her hand. She stands, graceful as a ballerina, her carefully wrapped gift in hand and a smile on her lips.
"How is my hair? My makeup?"
"You're perfect, don't worry." But even after Laia thanks him, she checks her reflection on the car window, as if she doesn't believe him. Rude.
When she deems herself acceptable, she puts on a smile (ah, the shyer, charming one she gets around strangers) and takes his hand, and off they go.
Laia is the one to ring the doorbell. He focuses on the familiar feel of Laia's soft hand in his. Focuses on stroking the back of her hand while he hears movement inside, footsteps. Focuses on Laia's arm brushing against his when the door opens.
And there is Mary Nolan, shorter, older, and smiling more than he remembers.
"Oh, Leo," she says, "You look more like your father every day."
Leo and his mother are on good terms. Beyond the occasional misguided snapping when he was younger and angrier, he and his mother never fought. They do not speak often, but both seem to prefer it that way. He had hesitated to tell her about his trip to Romania, letting her know only in case Cathy had an emergency, and even then, his instructions to Cathy had been to resort to Henry and the agency, who had given their word more than a few times that they would be watching over her.
He had forgiven his mother for her absence when he needed it, and concluded that he was lucky he managed to turn the anger and pain into something productive. He had turned out well, he didn't hurt anymore, and that was the happy ending of that tale.
Except he still has to see her, and talk to her, and this shouldn't feel like a problem, but it does.
His mother had let them in, apologizing for something all the while—either the lack of space, or of proper decoration, or whatever she felt she had to point out. He hadn't been listening.
It's so stuffy in this house. No music, no liveliness, no noise except the droning of the TV, turned on to a random game show. In his home, he can always hear Laia humming, or Nosferatu playing with his toys, or Cathy playing her games. And the parlor here is stuffed with plants on every surface that would fit one, all fighting for space and light. The ugly curtains aren't open enough, making the place gloomy, claustrophobic.
Laia's fingers intertwine with his a second before she embraces him, drawing his head to rest on her shoulder. Her hand strokes his hair in a soothing motion, so full of care and tenderness that he can't help but melt. His shoulders feel particularly good, which makes him realize how much tension he had been carrying in them.
But then his mother's footsteps come from the kitchen, and he reluctantly stands up straight.
"Such a beautiful vase," his mother tells Laia again. "Thank you for the gift, dear. So Leo told you how I found myself in gardening?"
He watches Laia take a second to readjust herself to reality, putting on a strained smile. His mother doesn't notice, taking a seat on the couch. He and Laia follow suit.
"Uh, that's right."
"I've always been a wild girl, always in love with nature. I figured, might as well learn to take care of it, you know?" She laughs at herself.
Then she must notice how close together they are, hands still joined, and it reminds her of what they're supposed to be doing here.
"How did you meet again?"
"Uh…" Laia smiles at him. "We were staying in the same hotel in Romania. We were lucky to meet there, when we hadn't yet here."
"Oh, right, Leo did travel. How's Catherine, by the way?"
Leo clears his throat. "Cathy…"
Cathy helped organize two events for the city. Cathy volunteers at the teenage center. Cathy is recovering splendidly from almost dying twice in two weeks. Cathy is advocating for mental health support for people affected by supernatural attacks. Cathy makes me so proud I can barely believe it.
"Cathy is fine. She's doing great in school."
"Oh, good!" His mother smiles. Her eyes flick to the TV for a minute, where they're announcing the winner of this round.
Laia's hand squeezes his tighter.
A ding coming from the kitchen makes her jump.
"Well!" Mary says. "Time for my famous meatloaf! Go wash up, kids, lunch will be just a minute."
His stomach drops. A weight falls on him again, making his head pound and his shoulders ache. "Mom, Laia is a vegetarian."
His mother stops, possibly remembering the two phone calls they'd had and what he'd said about exactly this.
"Ah." Her face reddens, but she cheers up. "Don't worry, dear. I make great salads too."
Leo thinks he might make a good dad. This is not a certainty; the belief oscillates too much for him to not doubt himself. He hopes he will be a good dad.
He can't decide whether this doubt is a weakness or an asset. On the one hand, he can't imagine his parents had ever seriously considered whether they were doing a good job, and thus Leo is at least a step ahead from them.
(What if they had, though? What if they sincerely thought that was the best they could do? And what if it was?)
And on the other, how could he live with himself if he did take responsibility for a child without the unwavering yes that question merits? A kid doesn't deserve anything less. He can trust in himself and still be wrong, and what then?
How could he betray his own child like that?
Lunch is mostly inoffensive. They stick to light topics and heavy lying, at least on his and Laia's side—"Istanbul was great". His mother enjoys telling them about the renovations her greenhouse is undergoing, and the book that gave her a new view of spirituality, and her famous pie that her friend Beth can't stop raving about.
Despite the irritation he can sense, Laia is gracious throughout. She nibbles her bland salad with a smile, asks pertinent questions, and, most importantly, holds his hand under the table.
After dessert, Laia excuses herself to go to the restroom, and Leo helps Mary load the dishwasher. There is no TV here to distract them, no Laia to keep things light, and silence falls over them.
His mother breaks it first. "She seems nice."
Nice? Once again he's floundering, trying to think of how to convey the love he feels. Everything they've been through fills his mind, impossible to condense into a normal answer.
He settles for, "She is. She's the best."
"You're gonna marry her?"
This one, at least, is easy. "Yeah."
"Good. There's nothing like young love."
Mary has a light smile when she says this. Leo fixes the placement of a pot, counts to five.
"Well, I intend to renew vows in fifty years." And we kind of met 600 years ago. "So, not so young."
His mother breathes out a laugh. "Don't forget to invite me."
Right, he will have to invite his mom to his wedding, one day. The thought dampens his already low mood.
But then again, maybe she will be happy just chatting with the guests. Maybe he won't have to actually talk to her and ruin his own day.
Maybe Mary senses the tension in his frame, and for once, she decides to say something about it. "You don't have to be so angry, you know? At… him?"
Leo almost drops a glass. "What?"
"It was a long time ago now." She sighs. "He moved on, and so have I, and that's for the best."
"I'm not angry. Not at him."
Because even with her putting her best foot forward, it's suddenly clear to him that it doesn't matter who Laia is. He could have brought anyone, and his mother wouldn't care or notice how important they are to him. He could have become anyone, and it would make no difference. She had checked out long ago. She, too, had left. His mother has no idea who he is, how he lives his life, and she is perfectly content this way. She moved on, but she doesn't want to be better. Not for Cathy, not for him.
He has no family. Today was just strangers playing pretend.
And he's so stupid to even hope otherwise.
"Leo…"
"I'm sorry," he says, quiet. "That was rude."
With shaking hands, Mary puts the dishes down. "I'm trying my best. I struggle too. I just…" She wipes her eyes, not looking at him. "I wasn't born to be a mother, you know?"
"I know, mom."
He can't really look at her, either. He busies himself with filling a glass with water for Mary. And then she looks like she could use a hug, so he puts an arm around her shoulder, but she hurries to step away.
"But you did well for yourself, didn't you?" she asks, rinsing the glass on the sink.
He struggles for words, and then gives up and just nods. "Sure."
For a brief second, he wonders if this was why she loves plants so much. Maybe caring for silent things that couldn't be angry or talk back or need her as a mother was a relief.
The car ride back is silent at first. Leo doesn't know how much of his conversation with his mother Laia heard, but he can feel the look Laia is giving him. She, too, is probably struggling to know what to say.
He breaks the silence, settling on what is probably most important.
"I'm sorry."
After a pause, Laia's voice is half-strained, half-confused. "What for?"
"That was—" How can he explain it? When people come together, they should bring good things to the table, not more baggage. They are supposed to add to each other's lives.
Laia has a warm, courteous family who clearly adores their two children and welcomes him in with an abundance of grace, even through the fears Laia told him her mother had. And Leo doesn't even have a single parent he can introduce her to without shame. He doesn't have one parent he would be happy to trust with their children.
Her fingers touch his knuckles on the wheel. He didn't realize he was gripping it, and he hates it. He hates all of this. Hates this anger, hot and more familiar to him than his own father would be by now. Hates that he thought his mother might receive Laia with some grace. Hates how petulant, old, the desire to have caring parents is, as if he was a teenager again.
Leo slows the car to a stop by the curb. Wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.
And in a second, Laia is there, climbing his lap and embracing him. It's clumsy and perfect, and he holds her as tight as he dares, trying not to hurt her.
His swallow doesn't have the same concern. She envelops him, grounds him as he struggles and fails to breathe, to think, to not cry.
"I wish you could have met Matt," he gets out through the lump in his throat. "You would have liked him."
"I know."
Minutes pass until his thoughts quiet down even a little. He ruined Laia's look, the shoulder of her dress now wet where he'd laid his face, but Laia pays it no mind. She keeps her attention on him, studying his face as she wipes away the last remnants of tears. Kisses his cheeks where the tears had been.
He tries to smile. "This family thing is complicated, huh?"
Laia doesn't buy his attempt. She kisses him again, her arms tightening their hold on him.
He kisses her shoulder. "I'm sorry that didn't go better."
She stiffens in his arms. Then she moves slightly away to study his expression again, brow furrowed and biting her lip.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Laia asks. When he nods, she continues, "I'm… really angry at my mother."
He raises his eyebrows. He thought—no, he was sure—those two were close. In the few times he's met Annie, he could see the mutual admiration between mother and daughter.
"And it's not the same, not even close, I know, but… For hiding me instead of teaching me to be brave. For taking me away from you. And I know she couldn't have known. But I'm still angry."
Laia had expressed something similar before, in the quiet dark of their room. How they had been robbed of an entire life together. She just hadn't let this much bitterness seep through, and he understands why. The thought hurt too much.
"And meeting your mom? Yeah, I'm angry too. Because you deserved better. Because you were sad. You take priority, do you understand? At the end of the day, I wouldn't care if your family was full of saints. I only care how you feel."
"But, Laia," he says, quiet, "I don't even have a family to share with you."
"You are my family. You, Cathy, and Nosferatu. And I can't—I can't fix it and give you the parents you deserve, but we can make our own family. We can be better than them. …Quite easily." That made him crack a smile, just for a second.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
"I know so." Laia was smiling that way he loved most, real and with such faith that it was impossible not to follow her. "Our kids will actually want to see us when they grow older. Especially you."
"You don't know that."
"But I do. You're gonna be better than them. Wanna know how I know?" She cups his face, stroking his cheekbone. "You already are. You could not be further than them. You're attentive, you're caring. …Too caring." Her reproachful look at him makes him smile. "And I just… I couldn't see any part of her in you, now that I've met her."
He breathes out, taking in the words.
"Thank you."
Laia kisses him, and he relaxes further.
But then she pulls away. "Leo?"
"Hm?"
"I want to take your last name, when we get married."
Silence settles between them for a moment.
"After… that?"
That true smile is back, and his pulse races. She joins their hands. "Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, because no matter what… just know that I'm on your side."
He loves her so much it shouldn't be possible. He smiles at the familiar words; hides his face on her shoulder to conceal the abundance of emotion taking over him. And she must know, or feel it, because she caresses the back of his head, keeping him close.
By the time he can lift his face again, they're both smiling—her, with a hint of mischief.
"And you know," Laia says, "if you want to compare terrible families… should we talk about my extended one?"
"…Fine, you win. Even though that's cheating."
Laia laughs, so he lets it slide. She kisses his cheek.
"Take me home. I'll draw you a bath. We'll eat some real food and do whatever you want the rest of the day."
"As long as you're with me."
"Always."