Gabby had been having a tougher time than he let on. It was never easy for someone to suffer through the decline of a parent, but it was particularly difficult with Lenora for many reasons. Firstly, she had never been a strong witch, so she was already predisposed to being of little use to herself, and as she got elder and her magic weakened, she found herself in more and more need of assistance. Secondly, because this was the woman who had suffered a life of poverty to raise him. Though Gabby's father had cared for their needs, she had never felt very well off as she had no one to depend on but bottles of liquor. Lastly, Gabby could not help but feel a little guilty. She had taken on the burdens of old age early in her life, and it had taken its toll while he had been partying in his father's manor. Moving back had not been an act of kindness - what choice had he had?
Visiting his mother was torture. He tried to do it often, if not stopping by at least once a day, but he tried to make a long visit at least once a week. He arrived and Harriet, his mother's live in caretaker, claimed she would leave to get some shopping done. Instead, she spent an hour listing all of the various complaints and ailments of the body. His poor mother sat there, quiet and without the ability to speak up, and he forced himself to listen to Harriet because the woman did such as good job of keeping his mother company.
Harriet finally motivated herself to get up and leave, and at that time, Lenora attempted to do what she could to prove she was doing fine. She made the tea by hand because she was unable to summon magic strong enough to lift the kettle, and she walked about, panting and cringing. No matter what Gabby said, he simply could not get his mother to sit down and let him take care of her. He could not bring himself to say much about his life, and often resorting to lying. As far as his mother knew, he had a desk job in the Ministry and was seeing a nice woman named Carol, but it was not yet serious.
Harriet arrived and held him hostage for another half hour before he could make up an appointment and escape. Now as he walked down the street, he felt sick to his stomach. Lying to his mother had never brought him a sense of joy, but doing it to her in this condition wracked him with shame, and yet he did not know what else to say. Any day could be her last and he did not want her to worry.
Then there was that. He could lose his mother any day. There was no feeling more dreadful than that.
He needed a drink. The hand of the clock was barely brushing afternoon, but a drink was definitely in order. He walked the street, glancing into windows as he did, searching for a welcoming bar or pub, anywhere that could become a temporary home for an hour or so while he recovered from talks of rheumatism and Harriet's granddaughter Kendra. It seemed the Sobriety gods had other plans for Gabby however, because before he could find a bottle of wine to curl up into, he spotted Maisie Morrison in a record store.
If Gabby had met Maisie Morrison before he met Maximus Morrison, and she had been of age, he definitely would have attempted to bed her. He supposed he was glad he had met Max first, because (while he did appreciate the girl's slender figure and cute personality) he would have never been able to become friends with the man if he had slept with his sister. Max was much too protective of his siblings to get over a thing like that, and Gabby needed the soft-spoken man in his life - though he would never admit it seriously enough for anyone to believe it.
Nevertheless, Gabby liked Maisie. He was well behaved around her, and could actually hold a decent conversation with her. He did find himself more easily flustered around her, for he did not completely trust himself to remember to distinguish Maisie from the other women he might meet. Every year she became more distinguished and Gabby had to invent more reasons why he would not like to sleep with her, when indeed only one ever kept him from it.
She was a cool girl, though, and he liked talking to her. It reminded him that he could have nonsexual relationships with women, and he thought one of their odd conversations might rouse him after the particularly grim one he had just surfaced from. He immediately pushed his way into the store and strode down the aisles towards her. He placed himself next to her and began rifling through a box of odds and ends, before glancing at the object in her hands."You know... My mum claims Freddie Mercury caught a pair of her panties at a concert once. I'm still nor sure I believe it."
Great. He had already brought up panties.
by Alice Rousseau Sat Jan 04, 2014 1:31 am
