Archive of Our Own ^beta

Midnight Chat

Betty knocks softly on Sally's bedroom door before entering. She is surprised to find her daughter wide awake and crosslegged on the bed in a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt.

"You're still up," she says, almost accusingly.

"And you're still very observant," Sally shoots back, shifting her position so Betty can sit on the bed with her.

She hugs her knees to her chest, her legs and feet bare, her hair mussed worse than usual, and for the second time today Betty wonders at this person who no longer acts like her little girl.

If she ever did.

Sally is watching her, unblinking and solemn.

"You're still awake too, Mom. How come?"

Betty hesitates, it is not her nature to apologize, but the words need to be said.

"Sally, I want to apologize for my sharp words earlier. I didn't mean to imply you were a whore."

Sally's eyes darken, and after a long pause she says, "Yeah, Mom, you did. But that's okay, 'cause I'm used to your shit now."

The rebuke hits home, and Betty finds herself on the defensive.

"My God, Sally! You don't give an inch, do you?"

"Not usually, no. I can't. And as for earlier, no biggie, you said what you felt, I said what I felt, and now it's over." She pushes back a strand of hair. "I gotta learn not to let what you say hurt me anymore."

She reaches out to take Betty's left hand in hers, studying it, rubbing the gold wedding band with her thumb.

"I know this is hard for you," she says softly. "And if it was me suffering like you are I'd be a raving bitch."

Betty arches a brow, and her daughter gives her a fake glare followed by a small smile.

"Walked into that one, didn't I?"

"You sure did," Betty replies, returning the smile. Then she sniffs the air. "I smell mint."

"Under the bed," Sally says, so Betty reaches down and pulls out a half-full bottle of Peppermint Schnapps.

"Jesus, Sally! Is this how you've been coping?"

Sally shrugs. "Just on the nights I can't sleep."

She takes the bottle from Betty, uncaps it, and takes a small sip. Then she offers the bottle to Betty.

"Have some."

Betty hesitates. "I really shouldn't..."

"C'mon, Mom, live a little," Sally says, then realizes what she's said and flushes. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be," Betty replies, grabbing the bottle and taking a healthy swig. "That was good advice."

Sally's gaping at her, but what her daughter doesn't know – doesn't need to know – is that once a teenaged Betty Hofstadt used to cry herself to sleep with a bottle, too.

She hands the bottle back to Sally, who caps it and sets it on the bed between them.

Sally stretches out one leg and wiggles her toes, admiring her toe ring. She glances up to see Betty watching her.

"Does my toe ring shock you, Mother?"

"No, actually. Is that why you got it?"

Sally flashes her an annoyed look. "That'd be a stupid reason to do anything. I got it from Carol, and I wear it 'cause it looks good on my foot." Again the unblinking gaze. "Does anything I do shock you?"

"Not anymore, but there are things that worry me."

"Like?"

"Well, your swearing, your taste for alcohol, and your immodest attire, just to name three."

Sally's eyes narrow. "I swear when I'm pissed, I drink when I'm stressed, and I wear immodest attire 'cause it makes me feel sexy."

She stretches out her other leg and crosses her ankles, absently fingering a loose thread on the hem of her t-shirt.

"But here's the thing, Mom. When I chopped off my hair that time, you slapped me. When I got caught masturbating you sent me off to a shrink, and just today you basically called me a whore for wearing a short skirt and a tight blouse."

"What's your point?" Betty asks, not sure she wants to hear it.

"Just this. All those times, and a bunch of others I could mention, you only cared how it looked, the goddamn appearance of things, rather than wondering what I was going through to act that way." Her voice turns bitter. "And now you're dying, and it's still the same old shit."

Betty feels herself getting defensive again, and also a little angry. "Sally, I don't like where this is going. And I certainly don't like your tone."

"Deal with it, Mom. It's about time we had this talk, so just shut up and listen for once."

"I'm listening," Betty says, glaring at her. "But this better be good."

"You tell me," Sally says, and Betty is surprised to see tears streaming down her face as she reaches under her pillow and pulls something out.

Her letter, looking well-read.

"Sally, I expressly asked you not to open that until after my death."

"And I never said I wouldn't, so too bad." Then she starts to read: "' Sally, I always worried about you, because you marched to the beat of your own drum. But now I know that's good. I know your life will be an adventure. I love you. Mom.' "

They stare at each other in silence, then Betty sighs.

"I'm sorry if my words saddened you."

Sally clenches her fists, inadvertently crumpling the letter.

"Mom, don't you get it? Your words didn't sadden me, they proved that maybe you love me after all, but what totally breaks my heart is that you wanted to deny me that gift 'til after you were fucking dead!"

More tears now, but this time Betty's crying too as the two of them cling to each other.

Sometime later, after they have cried themselves out, Betty says, "You'd best get some rest. You don't want to be tired at school."

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Mom."

"Oh, that's right, silly me." She picks up the Schnapps. "Scoot over, then."

"Feeling no pain, Mom?" Sally asks as she makes room, and if there's sadness in her smile at that moment, there's love too, and for Betty that's more than enough.

They sleep side-by-side, long bare legs outstretched and the almost-empty bottle of Schnapps nestled between them.

One younger, still a girl really, with her longer, more-tousled hair, wearing a rock star t-shirt and a toe ring.

One older, still beautiful despite the sickness eating away her lungs, wearing a proper nightgown and a wedding band.

They look like sisters.

They sleep, and sometime during the night the younger one moves closer, her wet cheek pillowed against her mother's breast.

She sighs, and on this night at least, the bitter, angry dreams do not plague her, and she rests peacefully.

THE END