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“Perfect gift for mother’s day” the woman chirped, flashing an over-white smile.
John swore, punching the remote to turn the TV off.
“Hey!” Sam whirled round, scowling up at her father from her place on the floor. “Why’d you turn the shows off?”
“C’mon Sammy, let’s go make dinner” Dean hurried over, picking her up and carrying her through to the kitchen area. She leant her head on his shoulder, pouting and sticking her thumb in her mouth for comfort. Dean sighed, looking back at his father, catching the fleeting look of grief on his face before it hardened into its usual glower. He sighed, knowing it was no use trying to talk to him about it. He just wondered how he was going to explain it to Sammy. She didn’t know why he and John got so upset this time of year, being surrounded by those constant, awful reminders of what they didn’t have.
“Daddy said a naughty word Dee.”
“Yeah, Sammy I heard. Grown-ups are allowed to say those words.”
He pulled a box of chicken nuggets out of the cooler, letting Sam break them up with a butter knife while he arranged them on the pan. He looked over the oven for a minute, figuring out how the dials worked. He was rapidly becoming an expert in working strange ovens, microwaves and washing machines. He soon gets it working and cooks them until they’re golden brown. He wished he could make up some of the instant mash potatoes to go with them but he suspects he’ll incur another lecture from Dad about rationing their food.
“You wanna set the table Sam I am?”
Sam giggled, pulling out plates and placing them on the table. “What else Dee?”
“Cups for juice. No knives and forks though, we can eat with our fingers”
Sam grinned all through dinner. This was a six year old’s version of heaven, eating chicken nuggets with her fingers and getting two glasses of juice with dinner. Dean smiled back at her, grateful that at least she was happy.
---
Dean woke to the alarm his father had set for him and to the list waiting under the clock.
- Wake up Sam
- Get breakfast
- Prepare Sam’s lunch
- Clean knives
- Walk Sam to school
He sighs, hurrying into the bathroom. He throws on a clean t shirt and jeans, quickly washing his face and combing his hair. He wishes he could use some of that pimple stuff he’s seen on TV commercials but Dad would never buy it and motels never stock it. He settles for the complimentary soap, praying it makes the burgeoning lumps on his chin calm down. He rouses Sam, tells her she can watch cartoons while she eats breakfast (because she only sits still when entranced by the ninja turtles) brushes her hair out and puts it into two pigtails. He sends her off to get dressed and pack her school bag while he cleans and oils Dad’s hunting knives. He quickly sheathes them and puts them away in Dad’s duffle, knowing that Sam fidgets with anything left lying around. He ties Sam’s shoes for her, coaxes her into a jacket (though she refuses to wear a hat), pops a paper bag with a peanut butter sandwich, a bag of peanuts, an apple and two Twinkies into her backpack and finally gets her out the door.
While they walk he quizzes her on her spelling words and math equations. He drops her off outside her class with a quick “do well, stay safe” and a kiss to her forehead before hurrying off to his own class.
---
“Today class we’re going to do an art project”
Sam grinned. Art projects meant all the cool stuff came out. Glue and glitter and the funky scissors that cut in zig zag lines.
“Go and sit at your tables and while I get the craft supplies out y’all can think of something to make your moms for mother’s day”
Sam crinkled her brow, confused. The rest of the kids got up and eagerly took their seats, leaving her behind.
“Samantha, are your listening ears turned on? I said go to your table”
Sam blushed. Not wanting to get told off she hurried to her seat, that horrid feeling of confusion still twisting in her tummy. The teacher set the art supplies on the middle table and after a quick reminder about sharing and waiting your turn, he let them all get to it.
Everyone around her got busily to work, sketching and colouring but Sam sat still in her chair, no idea what to do. She tugged on the sleeve of the boy next to her.
“What, I’m trying to colour...”
“What are we doing?”
The boy stared at her like she was dumb. Tears rose in Sam’s throat.
“We’re making stuff for our mommies”
“What’s.... What’s a mommy?”
Now he just looked horrified “You don’t know what a mommy is?” his voice rose until he was practically yelling. All the other kids turned to look. Shame burned in Sam’s chest. She hated feeling stupid.
“Tyler why are you using your outside voice inside?” Mr Cunnings came over, stern eyes fixed on Sam’s table.
“Sam doesn’t know what a mommy is!”
The stern look fades from Mr Cunning’s eyes and he kneels down beside Sam, looking at her with soft eyes.
“Is that true Samantha?”
Sam nods, tears bubbling up in her eyes. Mr Cunnings takes a deep breath.
“Come with me Sam. the rest of you keep working on your own projects.”
He takes her over to the quiet reading corner, letting her sit on the big cushions and passing her tissues to blow her nose. He pats her back until she calms a little.
“Sam it’s ok that you don’t know what a mommy is. You aren’t in trouble.”
She looks up at him, eyes round and glassy.
“A mommy is the lady who helped your daddy make you, who takes care of you and looks after you. Can you think of anyone like that?”
Sam brightened. Maybe she did know this after all “I’ve had ladies take care of me. Missy Margaret did when I was five but then we moved away. Old lady Bridget looked after me and Dean when Daddy was gone for a long time but he came back and we don’t see her no more. Are they my mommies?”
Mr Cunnings’ face got sad. “No, sweetie. It sounds like those ladies were just baby sitters.”
“Oh. Then who is my mommy?”
Mr Cunnings was silent for a moment. He knew from reading Sam’s enrolment forms that her mother was officially deceased. He didn’t know why Sam herself didn’t know this but he knew it wasn’t his place to tell her.
“Samantha, love I’m going to ring your daddy to come and pick you up. He can explain all about mommies”
“No you can’t!” Sam lurched forward, tugging at his hand as if to pull him back “Daddy’s gone away all day! If you ring him he’ll get mad!” Sam remembered back to the time when she was 5 and got sick at school. Dad had grumbled at the school nurse for ages before taking her back to the motel and even then he was still grumpy until Dean got home.
“Okay, okay I won’t ring your daddy. Who else looks after you Sam?”
Sam’s face lit up. She knew the answer to this one. “Dee, my big brother Dean. He looks after me.”
“No, Sam I mean someone grown up, who makes you dinner and brushes your hair and gives you baths...”
“Yes, sir that’s Dean!” Sam insisted.
Even though she knew she’d gotten it right, Mr Cunnings face still looked sad. He also knew about Dean from the enrolment forms. Dean Winchester who was only 11 years old.
“Is Dean my mommy?” Sam asked, so full of hope
“No, Sam. Dean is not your mother.”
The tears returned “So… So I don’t have a mommy?”
Her teacher said nothing. Sam sobbed hard into her hands.
When Sam would not stop crying, not for distractions or bribes or soothing, Mr Cunnings was forced to call Dean in. By this time Sam was messy breathless, whole body heave crying.
“Sammy?” Dean rushed in, scooping her up into his arms and holding her tight. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Luckily by now it was recess so Mr Cunnings sent the other kids out to play giving the two some privacy. Dean managed to get Sam calm enough to say “why don’t we have a mom Dee? Everyone else has one”
Dean’s heart sank. He knew Sam deserved the truth. But he hated to be the one to tell her.
“We had a mom Sam.”
Sam looked up at him and Dean could practically see Mary in her face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And she was the best. She was so pretty and smart, just like you”
Sam managed a watery smile “What happened to her Dean?”
Dean swallowed “She had to go away. But before she went she left me and Dad to look after you. And we will Sam. Me and Dad will always look after you.”
“Mr Cunnings says you can’t be my mommy”
Dean resisted the urge to glare at the teacher “What does he know Sam? He doesn’t know how cool I am or how special you are.”
“So you are my mommy?”
Dean swiped at his eyes “Sure Sam. I’ll be your... your umm, your boy mommy”
---
Dean has to go back to class after that but promises to be back as soon as the home bell rings. Sam spends the rest of the day finally getting to finish her art project, a rough-hewn construction paper heart that reads “i luv u Dean” and is covered in all the colours of glitter in the whole art cupboard.
Sam thrusts it into Dean’s hands as she’s unpacking her school bag before she rushes off to the bedroom, pulling out the toys in her duffle bag. Dean regards her gift for a moment. He’s annoyed by all the glitter (because of course it’s getting everywhere) and feels a little twinge of embarrassment at this girly heart with his name on it. But by the time Dad returns, in a good mood from a successful hunt, Dean has vowed to cherish it.
“What you got there Son?” John asks, leaning over were Dean sits at the table.
Dean freezes. “Um, Sam made it sir, in school today”
He stares at his father’s face, knowing the moment he realizes what this is. A mother’s day craft. A glitter shedding pink heart shaped mother’s day craft that his daughter made for his son. He waits for him to frown, to take it from his hands and insist it has to go.
Instead he smiles, blinking hurriedly. He turns and calls for Sam.
“Daddy!” Sam grins and leaps into his arms. John receives her, kissing her cheek.
“Did you make that for Dean at school today?”
“Uh-huh” She nods proud as punch.
“Well, we’ll have to look after it” he pulls out the Ziploc bags Dean uses to put sandwiches in and plunks the heart inside, sealing it up. “There. Now it’s safe”
And that night, when Sam has gone to bed, John even pulls out his keepsake box, showing Dean the pictures of Mary, where she is holding him and the one where she is holding Sam outside their house. Dean cradles them reverently in his hands, missing his mother more fiercely than ever. John gently places them back, laying Sam’s paper heart in there next to them and closing the box
“There” He says again “Now they’re safe.”
He holds Dean as he cries, long into the night.