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Post by Jenny on Jan 17, 2009 10:53:43 GMT -5
Emma took another look at the clock on her desk, and almost jumped. It had been quite a considerable amount of time since her stepfather had left to fetch her mother and dinner for them all, and she was starting to get a little worried. She knew it was Colette Widdershins' first day at the bank today, and she couldn't help but think that the reason that they were running so late was that the blonde woman had once again caused some sort of trouble. Emma had grown to like her because her mother had become fond of her, but she still kept in mind the way she had acted towards the entire Squalor family only a year ago.
Just as she was starting to consider calling her stepfather to check if everything was alright, she thankfully heard the ket turn in the front door, and the footsteps of her parents enter.
She rushed to greet them, relief washing over her, until she saw them. Jerome's cheeks were a little pink, as if he might have been crying, and similarly her mother's mascara was smudged.
'What?' she asked, before she could think of a question to follow it up with. 'What happened?' she asked, and rushed to take the bags of food from her stepfather. 'Is everything OK?'
Jerome nodded, and gave his wife a kiss on her forehead. 'Everything's fine, Emma,' he responded. 'It's just that we had a bit of a shock.'
'A shock?' she asked quickly, knowing that no matter what Jerome was always determined to keep from her anything that might upset her.
'We had a car accident on the way home,' he clarified, and when her mouth fell open, he continued before she could have chance to panic. 'But we're not hurt, sweetheart. It was just a little....surprising.'
'How did it happen?' Emma asked, not knowing that this was possibly the worst question to ask.
'I wasn't watching the road properly,' Jerome responded, a lump rising in his throat again. What if he'd been going faster? Whatif Emma had been in the car? He didn't think he'd ever trust himself again after this.
'I was distracting him,' Esmé said, almost under her breath, but just loud enough that everybody heard. 'It wouldn't have happened if I'd just pulled myself together.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 17, 2009 15:16:00 GMT -5
Fearing she might try and bolt, Jerome laced his arm around her waist. Emma could tell from her mother’s red-rimmed eyes that she had cried for a significant amount of time, and the only explanation was that Esmé and Colette had participated in yet another one of their quarrels.
“It’s Mrs. Widdershins, isn’t it?” Emma said at last, when it appeared that neither of her parents was set on revealing the truth. “Mother, what did she do to make you so upset?”
Esmé shook her head, not yet ready to disclose the argument in full detail. Jerome could feel her trembling, and he turned to Emma. “It was just a little dispute,” he explained. “Colette had some trouble at the bank this morning, and she took her frustrations out on your mother. I was trying to comfort her on the way home, and I made the mistake of taking my eyes off the road for a moment. That’s when we veered the front bumper of another car, but thankfully the driver wasn’t injured.”
Normally, Emma would have had no problem expressing her anger, but her mother was already so upset that the teenager knew this wouldn’t exactly be the wisest decision. Instead, Emma replied, “Don’t worry, Mother. I’m sure Mrs. Widdershins didn’t mean it, whatever it was that she said. And there was no harm done— you and Jerome and the other driver are safe.”
“Yes, dear,” Esmé said, and sniffed as she laid her head on her husband’s shoulder. “I know.”
The Squalors made their way down the hall to a small kitchen suitable for just the three of them. While Esmé sat quietly at the table, Jerome and Emma went about getting the plates and silverware.
Over the last year, Jerome had begun to feel more confident in regards to his wife’s condition, and had moved some of the sharper cutlery back into a few of the kitchens. But he was still wary that she would go for the sharpest utensil she could get her hands on the moment his back was turned.
“Darling,” Jerome said as he set two plates down on the table, while Emma put a knife, a fork, and a napkin next to each. “I know you aren’t hungry, but I did get you your favorite from the Veritable French Diner. I’ll just put it away now, and later on I’d be happy to reheat it for you.”
Esmé merely nodded, as Jerome went about opening up the Styrofoam containers with their food and dishing everything out onto plates for himself and Emma. He couldn’t say he was very hungry himself, but he knew if he didn’t eat now then he would just spend the rest of the evening snacking on salmon puffs.
Their dinner was quiet and uneventful for the most part. Jerome and Emma did no more than pick uninterestedly at their food, their eyes drifting every few seconds to Esmé, whose focus stayed on her lap. She was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of nutrition, and was just about to tell her husband that she had changed her mind and ask if he could heat up her food for her after all. But before she could get the question out, the telephone on the wall of the kitchen rang.
Emma knew the rule about answering the telephone during dinner, and so she stayed put. When it rang again, and then a third time, Jerome remembered his earlier conversation with Colette. Pushing his chair back from the table, he stood up and went to go answer the phone. Taking it off the receiver and holding it to his ear, he said: “Squalor residence. This is Jerome speaking.”
“Jerome?” returned the unmistakable British voice of Fernald Widdershins. “Colette told me about the accident— I wanted to call and make sure you and Esmé got home safely.”
Jerome glanced quickly back over his shoulder at his wife and daughter, then turned back to the wall. “We’re fine,” he replied. “Thank you very much for your concern, Fernald. Esmé and I were more shaken up than anything else, but thankfully neither we nor the driver of the other car was injured.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 17, 2009 16:12:53 GMT -5
Fernald took a cautious look over his shoulder. He knew Colette had gone for a shower upstairs, but that didn't make him any less uneasy. The last thing he needed was for Colette to think he wasn't on her side.
'I'm glad you weren't hurt,' Fernald remembered to add, and then cleared his throat. 'But that wasn't the only reason I called.' he took another look over his shoulder for good measure, and then continued. 'Colette's very proud, Jerome,' he said, quite quietly. 'I heard a bit of a biased version of what happened, and I just wanted you to tell Esmé that Colette really is sorry for what she said.'
Jerome sighed. 'As much as I believe that, Fernald,' he said. 'I think Esmé needs to hear that from Colette herself. She called when we were in the car, didn't she, wasn't she calling to apologize then?'
'Well, yes,' Fernald responded awkwardly. 'But you know what they're like, Jerome. One minute one of them wants to apologize to the other one, and the next the other one wants to apologize and the other wants nothing to do with it,' Jerome had to spare a laugh at that. It did seem sometimes that Colette and Esmé were just far too similar. 'I just---'
He paused, and Jerome took it upon hismelf to interrupt. 'Yes?' he asked, and Fernald sighed.
'It sounds very selfish and stupid to me now,' he replied. 'But I wanted to call to tell you that Colette's sorry, and she really doesn't want to quit. And she doesn't want to get fired, either. And so, please, please tell Esmé to forgive Colette for what she said. I don't know what we'd do if Colette lost her job, just after I've been demoted, and I just wanted to make it clear that----'
'---It's OK, Fernald,' said Jerome, and turned to beckin his wife over. She stood up silently, and crossed the room to stand behind him with her cheek leaning against his shoulder. As much as Jerome hated to break that contact, he tapped her shoulder and made to pass the phone to her. 'Tell Esmé instead, and I'm sure she'll be able to reassure you.'
'Hello?' his wife said into the phone. 'Fernald?'
'I just wanted to call you on Colette's behalf,' he said again. 'I know Colette's a bit stubborn sometimes, but she's very very sorry for what she said earlier.'
Esmé nodded, even though Fernald couldn't see that. 'I know,' she said. 'But it doesn't make it any easier that you're the one saying it rather than her.'
'I wanted to ask you,' he continued. 'How Colette actually did today at the bank. She's told me one side of the story, but is she going to be able to keep this job, Esmé?'
Esmé seemed a bit shocked by the question. 'Well, of course,' she replied. 'I told her she did much better than I did on my first day, and I kept hold of my job, didn't I?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 17, 2009 18:53:14 GMT -5
This reassured Fernald tremendously, and he smiled to himself. “When Colette called earlier,” he said, “she wanted to tell you she was sorry for what she said during your argument.” Fernald wanted to add that Colette’s biggest fear (and his as well) was that Esmé might try and hurt herself, but felt that all it would do was add to her stress. “She regrets everything, Esmé. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt you.”
“I see,” said Esmé, who was not willing to forgive Colette just yet if the contortionist couldn’t be bothered to call herself. “Where is Colette now?”
“She’s in the shower,” Fernald replied. “But I can have her call you as soon as she gets out.”
“O.K. Give me forty-five minutes, though— I was just about to have some dinner when you called.”
“Alright. Just do me a favor, and don’t tell Colette I called when you hear from her.”
“I won’t.”
“Thank you. Take care, Esmé.”
“Goodbye, Fernald,” Esmé said, and hung up the telephone. She turned to Jerome. “Darling, I think I’d like to have some of that boeuf bourguignon now.”
Nodding his head and smiling his big, goofy smile, Jerome raced over to the refrigerator.
“Who was that on the phone?” Emma asked.
“It was Mr. Widdershins,” Esmé replied, as she slid back into her seat at the table across from her daughter.
“What did he want?”
While Jerome stuck Esmé’s dinner in the oven, she explained to Emma the relevance of the telephone conversation with Fernald.
“What time did Mrs. Widdershins say she’d be calling back?” asked Emma, once her mother had finished speaking.
“About an hour from now,” Esmé said.
“Oh. Would you like me to stay with you and answer the phone if it rings?”
“That won’t be necessary, dear. Besides, don’t you have homework you need to be doing?”
Emma looked to her stepfather.
“Your mother’s right, Emma,” Jerome said.
“Oh, alright,” Emma sighed, rather annoyed that he had no intention of taking her side on the matter. She slid the uneaten portions of her food into its container and then carried it over to the refrigerator. She placed it inside and then shut the door.
Before Emma left the kitchen, she walked over to her mother and gave her a hug, holding on longer than usual. Esmé returned the gesture, kissing Emma in the center of the eyebrow as she pulled back.
“You’re O.K. now,” Emma said. “Aren’t you, Mother?”
Emma’s face— which was identical to her mother’s in every way other than the shiny, shiny eyes and the absence of a birthmark on the left side two inches from the bottom lip —was filled with concern that was reflected in her piercing blue eyes.
Esmé cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and replied, “Yes, darling. I’m absolutely fine.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 18, 2009 9:34:13 GMT -5
Emma still looked as though she might have liked to stay with her mother anyway, just in case she got upset again over anything. She had always been fiercely protective over her mother ever since she had begun to understand her condition. Emma was the same over Carmelita, and to some extent her stepfather, even if it wasn't entirely necessary. She had never, ever been able to stand someone talking badly of her family, even when she was only a little girl, and it was one of the qualities that Esmé thought she might have liked most about her. It was something her father had never exhibited, and something that really was a characteristic that Emma had picked up from Jerome. It was comforting sometimes to think that most of Emma's personality had come from nurture rather than nature.
When Emma stood by her side for a few moments longer than necessary, like a particularly loyal pet, Esmé smiled again. 'Go on, Emma,' she said. 'Go and do your homework. I promise I'm OK.'
This finally seemed to satisfy Emma, who nodded and disappeared out of the kitchen and down the corridor into her room.
Jerome set the timer on the oven and took a seat next to his wife. 'I'm glad you decided to eat something, darling,' he said. He was never quite sure how best to praise her for eating something, but he knew he had to make it clear that whenever she did decide to eat properly it made him very proud indeed.
'Well, it is my favourite,' she excused. Even though Esmé was still extrememly conscious of eating in front of people outside of her family, she had started to see over the past few years thatbeinf so self-conscious in front of Jerome and Emma was vaguely pointless, and had started to eat more normally at home at least.
'Don't be too harsh on Colette when she calls you back,' Jerome said abruptly, not knowing how really to breach the issue. Esmé's eyebrows raised slowly, and her husband couldn't help himself but to blush. 'I just don't want you two to fall out again, my love,' he clarified. 'You know how miserable it makes you when you and Colette aren't on speaking terms. And there's only another day really until you have to spend a whole weekend with her. So please, my darling, please, just let Colette get away with it just this once?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 18, 2009 13:59:25 GMT -5
Esmé knew that Jerome’s request was the result of his fierce concern over her well-being. Not wanting to be the basis of her husband’s upset a second time around, she nodded in response. “O.K.,” she said, just to emphasize her point. Her earlier feelings of wanting to hurt herself had already dissipated, and she was thankful that she hadn’t let them get the better of her the way she usually did.
While the Squalors waited for Esmé’s food to finish heating up, she did something she did only when she was alone with her husband. Sliding out of her chair, Esmé propped herself onto Jerome’s lap, her slender arms curling around his neck while her long legs dangled off the side of the chair. His emerald eyes gazed lovingly down into her cerulean ones, and she felt a rare moment of happiness surge through her. Jerome leaned over to kiss her, and Esmé purred softly as their lips met.
She occupied her spot in his lap until the timer beeped, and with a little whine she stood up so that he could go fetch her dinner for her. She followed him over to the stove, wrapping her arms around him from behind and squeezing his stomach affectionately.
“Darling, as much as I like it when you do that,” Jerome said kindly as he spooned Esmé’s dinner onto a plate for her, “I’m afraid it is a bit of a distraction.”
She giggled, nuzzling into his shoulder a little before letting go. Plate in hand, he turned around and ruffled her hair. Putting his arm around her, they headed back over to the table.
Jerome was amazed by how quickly Esmé managed to wolf down her boeuf bourguignon, as if she hadn’t eaten a thing all day. He had a sneaking suspicion she hadn’t, and waited until she’d finished before bringing it up.
Sweetheart,” he asked, carefully, “when did you last eat?”
“I told you, Jerome,” Esmé replied. “I went out to lunch this afternoon with Colette and a few other women I work with.”
“But did you eat anything?”
Esmé looked guiltily at her husband, knowing his eyes could read her expression all too well. “I went into the restroom after we got back, and ate a cracker.”
Jerome smiled, but his eyes were sad. He had already stressed to her so many times over the years about the importance of eating properly. Now that she had impressed him with finishing everything on her plate, he saw no reason to lecture her.
“It had cheese on it,” she added, as if that made up for it. She was just about to remind him not to worry about her, when the telephone rang. “That’s probably Colette.”
“Would you like me to answer it?” Jerome asked.
“No, darling. Let me do it.”
Jerome nodded, but followed Esmé over to the telephone, just in case it turned out she needed him.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 18, 2009 16:45:46 GMT -5
Esmé didn't have time to pause before she answered the telephone, but turned to smile at her husband all the same for coming to comfort her if she needed it. She held the phone to her ear while slipping her hand into his.
'Hello?' she said into the reciever, even though she was already well aware of who it was that was on the other end.
Colette, on the other end, nervously chewed her lip, and Esmé silently observed the countertop and awaited a reply.
'It's Colette,' the contortionist stated, and looked over at Fernald, who was trying to act like he was busy mending one of the cabinets from Faust's room, but really she knew he was listening. 'Are you OK? You know, after the crash?'
It was a subtle way to ask a question that had nothing to do with the subject they were really discussing, and Esmé smiled. 'We're fine,' she answered. 'Just got a bit of a shock, you know. But we're not hurt.'
'Who was driving?' Colette asked, unable to help herself, and Fernald did turn to give her a look then, but she ignored it.
Esmé didn't see how that was particularly relevent, but answered all the same. 'Jerome,' she said, and Colette let out a loud sigh of relief. 'But it never would have happened if I hadn't been distracting him.'
As much as Jerome wanted to tell her once and for all that it hadn't been her fault, he knew it was best not to interrupt her conversation with Colette. And so, he simply patted her comfortingly on the back, and waited until Colette finally apologized to remind his wife that she hadn't been to blame for their accident.
'To cut a long story short,' Colette said, and ran a hand uncomfortably through her hair, sending unruly blonde ringlets flying everywhere. 'I'm sorry about earlier, Esmé. The reason I was angry is because I thought the people we went out for lunch with were all looking down on me, and judging me, and I suppose because you were friends with them, I took it out on you.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 18, 2009 19:59:30 GMT -5
Colette’s words reminded Esmé of a time fifteen years ago, shortly before her marriage to Jerome. They had taken a drive out to the country for a weekend to visit his parents at their estate, so that Maxwell and Cora Squalor could meet the woman their son had planned to marry. The visit had not gone over well, as Esmé’s future mother and father-in-law had found it necessary to ask her a variety of questions that she was not prepared for.
How did you come to meet my son?
You do know Jerome wants children, don’t you? How many do you plan on having?
I find the idea of proposing to someone after knowing them for only one evening quite questionable. What exactly are your intentions after you’ve married my son?
Maxwell Squalor had asked most of the questions, and after every one Esmé found herself growing more and more nervous. To make matters worse, Olaf had called her cell phone at least thirty times that weekend, and she had found herself coming up with constant excuses (some less believable than others) to leave the room.
“It’s O.K.,” Esmé assured Colette. Esmé kept in mind her own past experiences, as well as what Jerome had told her about not being too hard on Colette. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
Colette wanted to add how afraid she’d been that her previous words would be enough to drive Esmé to hurt herself, but couldn’t bear the thought of bringing up anything that would upset the financial advisor, and so chose to bite down on her bottom lip instead.
“So you forgive me?” Colette felt the need to ask. “We’re friends again?”
The question made Esmé smile, and she looked to her left to see if Jerome had figured out what had happened yet. Judging by the goofy yet adorable grin on his pudgy face, he had, and Esmé puckered her lips at him. He blushed, and she squeezed his hand before returning her attention to Colette.
“Of course we are, Colette,” Esmé assured. “Goodness, we must’ve had a hundred or more squabbles in the past year, and in the end we’ve always made up. I don’t see why this time would be any different.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 19, 2009 16:07:34 GMT -5
Colette, on the other end, couldn't supress a pleased smile. She didn't know exactly what made each of their arguments seem more serious than the one preceeding it, but each and every time she and Esmé fell out, Colette was always fairly convinced that they were never going to speak to each other again (until one of their husband's intervened, anyway). She supposed it was part of the fact that she was very sensitive and incredibly thin-skinned, but she was never able to see their squabbles for what they were: unimportant.
'I don't know why I thought it was any different,' she admitted shyly. 'I guess I was just really sorry for taking it all out on you. You didn't deserve it.'
As much as it was nice to have someone apologizing to her with no trace of biterness in their tone, Esmé knew that even this argument had been partly her doing. After all, she could easily have taken the hint when Colette stopped wanting to talk to her, and she could have avoided taking Ellinoire Conelly out for lunch and inviting Colette along, when it was clear she was alredy having a difficult day.
'Melissa and Annette didn't mean any harm,' Esmé stated. 'But they are a bit judgemental sometimes. But, if it helps, they're not really my favourite people, either, and you won't have to see them much I shouldn't think.'
'I think it was probably me being paranoid,' Colette admitted. 'But thank you anyway. I'm sure they're not really that bad. I just felt like they thought they were so much better than me at the time.'
Colette was wary of saying more in front of Fernald, who was quite clearly listening, but Esmé knew what she'd meant.
'But I guess it's something I'm going to have to get used to, isn't it?' she said. 'What with our stay with the Snickets and the Baudelaire's coming up.'
Esmé shrugged, even if Colette couldn't see that. 'I'm not so sure,' she said. She didn't think that the Baudelaires or the Snickets were the type of people to look down on others, but then again it had been fourteen years since she'd last seen the Baudelaire's, and they were bound to have changed. It would be foolish to imagine that their traumatic experiences ould have had no effect whatsoever on their personalities, and it was a little worrying to Esmé how Violet and Klaus Baudelaire were going to react on seeing Colette, Fernald and herself, and even to some extent Jerome. Her biggest fear, though, was what their reaction to Emma might be. The previously well-kept secrets behind Emma's paternity were no longer so, but after all the horrific events of the past year, Esmé did not wish for this issue to be brought up again. She knew Kit must have seen it, and reacted relatively well, but she didn't know how the Baudelaire's were going to react at seeing another child with some of her father's characteristics.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 19, 2009 18:10:57 GMT -5
Colette seemed to sense Esmé’s anxiety, which manifested itself in the contortionist’s following words: “Do they know yet? About Emma’s birthfather?” “I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t,” Esmé said. She didn’t sound cross in her response, but Colette picked up the worry lining her best friend’s voice. “Kit Snicket had no trouble figuring out whose daughter Emma is, and so I’m positive she’s already reported it back to the Baudelaires—” The more she spoke of it, the more upset Esmé felt herself becoming. She had always been fiercely protective when it came to her daughter, and she didn’t like to think how she might react if one of the Baudelaires said something to upset Emma. Then again, Esmé doubted it would come to that, as Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire had never been the type of people to judge others the way Esmé’s father-in-law had. Still, the idea was still enough to upset her, and she felt tears burn her eyes just as Jerome’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind, his hands pressing gently against her stomach. Esmé swallowed back her tears, and sniffed lightly. She covered her husband’s hands with hers while her other went on holding the phone to her ear. “Esmé,” Colette asked, fretful of the idea that perhaps Esmé had put down the phone and rushed off to do something foolish. “Esmé, are you alright?” “I’m fine,” the financial advisor reassured. “Jerome is with me.” Colette smiled, wondering why she hadn’t assumed that in the first place. “If it’s O.K. with you,” Esmé continued, “I think I’ll get going now. The dishes still need to be done, and Jerome and I want to check to see how Emma’s faring with her homework.” “Alright,” Colette replied. “I need to go get dinner started, anyway. Faust has an alarm clock in her stomach that will go off if she doesn’t eat at exactly seven o’ clock.” Esmé giggled. “So I’ll see you tomorrow at Mulctuary Money Management?” “Absolutely.” “Alright, darling,” Esmé said. “Enjoy your dinner, and have a good evening.” “You, too, Esmé,” Colette answered. “And don’t worry; everything’s fine now.” “O.K.” Esmé clicked off the phone and returned it to the charger before falling back into her husband’s arms, purring as his hands pressed a little more firmly against her stomach. *** “Something tells me your conversation with Colette went well,” Jerome said five minutes later from where he stood over the sink. Esmé was standing beside him, dishrag in hand as she waited for him to hand her the plate he was washing. “It did,” she replied. “We worked it all out and she apologized.” “Well, you are best friends. And neither of you ever seem to stay angry at the other for more than a few hours.” “That’s only because we miss each other. I never had any siblings, and I suppose I consider Colette to be the sister I always wanted but never had.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 20, 2009 15:23:47 GMT -5
Jerome didn't find that sentiment at all deifficult to identify with--he'd always thought he would have liked to have a sister, or at least somebody else that wasn't just Andrew. They got along well enough now that they were both adults, but there had been plenty of times where Jerome shy personality and reluctance to argue had irritated Andrew beyond belief. People seemed to consider the brothers quite similar, but they still had major differences, and mostly ones that they had hated about each other when they were children and teenagers. Jerome, for one, had always thought it would have been lovely to have a little sister, or at least a brother that wasn't cleverer than he was, but he had never wished to be an only child, especially not under his father's effective rule. He couldn't have imagined what life would have been like as an only child under Olaf's instead. No matter how unpleasant Maxwell Squalor had been, he'd never been a psychopathic arsonist-murderer. Jerome knew enough about Colette's past to know that even if she had a sister, she wouldn't likely know her,a nd it didn't surprise him that two friends who had so desperately wished for company in the form of a sibling when they were children would consider each other as this.
'Having siblings isn't a walk in the park, though,' Jerome joked, handing her a dish he'd finished washing. 'Take it from someone who has one.'
Esmé dried the dish all the same, but he could tell by the way her face fell just a little that perhaps he'd said the wrong thing. Things had never quite been the same between the two Squalor brothers since Andrew had admitted to having feelings for Esmé (conveniently at the same time as all of the drama about Olaf's return had occurred), and, similar to every other event, Esmé found ways to blame herself for it. No matter how many times Jerome endeavoured to explain to her that if he wanted to contact Andrew he would do so, she still blamed herself almost entirely for the almost total collapse of the relationship between Jerome and his younger brother. Because of this, Jerome also seemed to contact his mother less, and this certainly didn't help Esmé feel any better. It was as if she'd distanced him entirely from everyone in his family--from his father before his death, to his once close brother.
'I didn't mean it like that,' Jerome said quickly. 'I just meant siblings never stop arguing. And they're annoying, too, especially if they're younger than you are.'
Esmé bit her bottom lip, and it turned a deeper shade of red temporarily. 'I know you didn't mean it like that,' she said. 'But there's got to be a reason you don't ever call Andrew any more, hasn't there?'
Jerome stuttered over a response. 'We've.....grown apart,' he stated feebly, and Esmé didn't even grace it with a laugh (which was all it really deserved). 'Besides, it's not as if we never speak. He sent us a Christmas card, remember, and sent everyone presents?'
'Yes, but he didn't personally deliver them, did he?' she responded. 'Not like he would have done. Before.'
'Well, Emma's more grown-up now,' he argued. 'He doesn't feel like he needs to come by so much to see her.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 20, 2009 16:46:43 GMT -5
“Or me,” Esmé muttered softly, before setting the dish she had just dried on the shelf of one of the higher cabinets. Her eyes floated to the floor, and she fought the urge to cry. “If it weren’t for me, then you’d still be in contact with your family.”
She turned away then, and Jerome switched off the sink. Drying his hands on his newly pressed Dockers, he placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and slowly turned her around to face him.
“If you think about it,” Esmé said, “then really, what’s changed since my return from the Mortmain Mountains?”
“Absolutely everything,” Jerome responded, shocked that she even had to ask such a question. “Our marriage was one of convenience, until the night you turned up in my bed and told me that you loved me.”
“I’d fought it for nearly a year, but in the end I realized that all I was doing was lying to myself. If I continued, then I’d just end up bitter and unhappy, and so my only solution was to tell you the truth.”
Smiling, Jerome pulled Esmé into his arms, kissing her tenderly on the lips. “I was so glad when you finally came to your senses. I always knew in my heart that you would come around— all you needed was time.”
Esmé leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder, but her mind was still troubled. “I don’t care what your family thinks of me,” she said. “But you can’t let their opinion of me interfere with your relationship with them. Sometimes I wonder why you can care so much for me when all I’ve done these last fifteen years is complicate your life.”
Esmé felt a tear roll down her cheek as Jerome’s arms tightened around her, and she hugged him as tightly as she could, her arms just barely able to lock around his waist.
“My precious darling,” he whispered. “Haven’t you realized by now how empty my life would be without you in it?”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 24, 2009 18:02:53 GMT -5
Esmé's breath was coming in shallow little sobs, and he patted her back as comfortingly as he could. 'But wouldn't you be happier without all the complications I cause?'
'No,' Jerome said simply. She always had moments of insecurity, and he arguably knew better than anyone how to comfort her and make her feel better about herself again. 'No, Esmé, sweetheart, don't you understand? I love you, and I love Emma, and Carmelita. And without you, I wouldn't have any of you, would I? I'd just be lonely and sad.'
Esmé sniffed. 'You could have married someone that didn't make your family so upset,' she muttered. 'You caould have married someone knew and had children with her, and then everything would be fine.'
He kissed her forehead, and shook his head gently. Her feelings of insecurity, he imagined, probably originated from the very fact that she had an affair in the early days of their marriage. Because of this, no matter how much she trusted him, she couldn't help but think that if he ever did find someone else, then she had no right to tell him he couldn't leave her.
'But I don't want anyone else, Esmé.' he assured, and kissed the tip of her nose to prove it somehow. 'I only want you. And it's only natural that Andrew and I don't spend a lot of time together: he's very, very busy, after all.'
She seemed still a little discontent, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips anyway, seeming a little happier. 'OK,' she agreed eventually, though it was clear her heart was not in her acceptance of his excuse. 'I believe you.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 24, 2009 20:52:09 GMT -5
“I love and adore you, my darling,” Jerome said. “More than you can possibly begin to understand. And I could never see myself with anyone but you.”He kissed Esmé’s lips, which lingered with a sweet mixture of lip gloss and gravy. The tears still remained at the corners of her pretty blue eyes, and somehow this fact only increased her indescribable beauty. “I love you, too,” Esmé said, and hugged him in a way that stated she would only let go when the need arose. Jerome held his wife for another few minutes, letting her hold tightly to him the way she did whenever she was frightened or upset. She could be so clingy at times, a concept he found to be absolutely charming. He would never have believed the woman who had often snapped at him for staring at her for too long and pouted when he refused to hand over his credit card would come to need him so much. What was more, she now desired him as he had always desired her, a dream that had become a reality fourteen years ago. When at last the time came for them to let go of each other, Esmé kissed Jerome’s nose and allowed him to lace his arm around her waist. In response she did the same to him, then rested her head on his shoulder and pressed her hand against his stomach. “Come on,” Jerome said. “Let’s go check and see how Emma’s doing with her homework.” *** The next big crisis occurred in the wee hours of the following morning, right when the sky had turned from black to a very dark blue. Esmé had just had a nightmare— which often occurred whenever she was particularly stressed —in which she’d lost sight of Jerome in the Hotel Denouement as it was burning. She awoke trembling with tears in her eyes, but when she’d rolled over with the expectancy of finding her husband next to her, all she felt was an empty spot where he should have been.“Jerome?” Esmé asked, and turned on the light. She crawled out of bed and peered into the built-on bathroom, only to find it empty. The nightmare still stuck firmly in her mind, she began to panic. In turn, her heart started to race, and she darted out into the hallway. “Jerome!” Esmé cried, and her tears burst forth. “Jerome, where are you?!” She began to run, the thought that her husband had finally tired of her and her pathetic problems urging her forward. She was so blinded by her tears as well as her fear that she didn’t hear the voice of her daughter calling from behind her, let alone notice the round object that she eventually crashed into. Esmé practically bounced off Jerome’s stomach, hitting the plush carpet rear-first. As she continued to sob, he held out his hands and pulled her to her feet. “Where were you?” Esmé demanded angrily, despite the fact that both her voice and body were positively shaking. “I woke up and you weren’t there! I was so scared that you—” “What’s happening?” Jerome and Esmé turned to see Emma standing before them in a nightgown her stepfather deemed far too risqué for someone so young. However, he was far too preoccupied with Esmé to point out his stepdaughter’s choice of sleepwear. “Nothing, Em,” Jerome assured. “Your mother just had a nightmare, that’s all. Go back to bed.” Esmé sobbed loudly, and threw herself into her husband’s arms.
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Post by Jenny on Jan 25, 2009 11:57:13 GMT -5
After Emma had safely disppeared around the corner into her bedroom once again, Jerome gently pulled his wife away from his chest to look her in the eye. Her cheeks were stained with her tears, but she eentually managed to bring herself to look at him.
'Darling,' he said calmly, hooking an arm around her and walking her back to their bedroom. 'What was it that scared you so much?'
'I had a nightmare!' Esmé sobbed, though if she had been a little less distraught she might have realized that Jerome had already figured that out. 'I dreamt that we were in the Hotel Denoument again, in the fire, and it was exactly like the first time except then you weren't there and I was all on my own! And then I-I w-woke up and you w-w-weren't here! And I-I thought m-maybe you'd finally g-got t-tired of me and l-left!'
She looked as if she might have wanted to say something more, but her sobs took over, and her breaths were coming so shallowly that she was unable to say anything else. Jerome clicked his tongue, and then sighed sympathtically. There was no way for him to fully convince her that such a thing was never going to happen, no matter how many times he said it, and so instead he wrapped a blanket around his trembling wife, and waited for her to slowly calm down.
After a couple of minutes, she seemed to have calmed enough to speak. 'You didn't answer me,' she said quietly, and Jerome forced his eyes open. He had felt himself slowly falling asleep, but that wouldn't help resolve anything. 'Where did you go?'
Jerome wasn't a particularly brilliant liar, and his instant flush gave him away. 'Ah, I was hungry,' he said, and if Esmé hadn't been feeling so sad she might have laughed. Jerome was a pathetically bad liar, and this was something she found incredibly reassuring about his personality. But, at this precise moment, it wasn't helping her to feel any better.
She frowned. 'No you weren't,' she said, and he blushed again, and ran a hand through his messy hair the same was he always did when embarrassed.
'It's not important,' he said shyly, and she simply frowned deeper.
'Well, you can tell me what it is then, can't you?' she argued, and tried her very best not to be angry or impatient with him. After all, he had tried not to tell her, so it was her own fault if she didn't like the truth behind it.
Jerome took a deep, shaky breath. 'I was in one of the spare rooms,' he answered, and she raised her eyebrows.
There was a short silence. 'Well, why?' she asked simply, unable to think of a way to ask him that wouldn't cause him any offence. 'I won't be upset,' she added as an afterthought, when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything more. She knew that what worried him most was upsetting her, and if she convinced him that he wasn't going to make her cry again he would be much more likely to tell her what was really bothering him.
'It's just that---' he rubbed his eyes tiredly, and took another calming breath. 'I'm sorry, my love, but I just haven't been sleeping, unless I'm on my own.' Her perfect mouth fell open a little, and he forced himself to continue without concentrating on that. 'I didn't want to say anything because I knew it would upset you. And so, for the last week I've been sneaking away into the spare room after I knew you were asleep, and setting the alarm so that you wouldn't wake up without me there.'
There was a short moment of silence once again, and Jerome turned his eyes up from staring at the white sheets to look up at his wife. Contrary to her promise, her eyes were filled with tears and she looked exceptionally ready to cry.
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