FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cover art by Pac.

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I was nervous about going to see grandma and grandpa Williams that night. Of course I was. It was always a bad sign when they asked to have me for dinner, but not my moms.

Don't get me wrong, it always made things tense when my mom had to be around her parents for too long. Often, the times that I got to visit them on my own were the times I got to see the two of them being more relaxed and comfortable. That said, when they were relaxed, they tended to let out their opinions a bit more freely.

The offer they'd left me with last time wasn't making things easier. The knowledge that they were expecting an answer... well.

I had to leave practice early that day after school. I still went, of course. A half hour or so of shooting free throws and doing dribbling drills would do more to calm my nerves than any amount of thinking or assuring myself. It still wasn't much, compared to my normal after school schedule. On any other day, I would have had at least an hour of basketball practice, and then I would have run home for dinner before going to my dance classes. I liked my schedule. The constant activity and exhaustion helped keep me level most of the time.

I rushed back home after my brief practice session, my bare paws slapping along Toronto's sidewalks. I had my earbuds in, so I had to triple-check every time I dashed across an intersection against the walk sign. A few people sent angry honks my way, but I ignored them. Yeah, like they wouldn't have done the same.

I slowed myself to a jog as I approached our home. One of the servers from my mom's restaurant was setting up the chalkboard sign as I approached. She raised a hand in greeting as I jogged by, and I gave a nod back. I knew most of my mom's staff by sight, and a good chunk of them by name - I still helped out on the weekends when they were understaffed. I didn't bother to look through the restaurant's front window to see if my mom was there - it was Wednesday, which meant she was going to be onsite at one of her other restaurants across town. She would be home later tonight.

I entered the small door right next to the restaurant's entrance, and then took the narrow stairs up two at a time. The music and the smells from the restaurant faded some as I scaled the steps. I pushed open the door to our apartment, and glanced at the clock on the stove to check how late I was running.

"Berty?" Mom's voice called from somewhere deeper in the apartment - probably my moms' room.

"Hey mom, I'm home!" I replied. I finished wiping my feet off on the mat, and made my way over towards my room.

"You were supposed to be home, like, ten minutes ago to start getting ready!" She was trying to sound like she was scolding me. She wasn't doing a great job. "Mallory would be pissed."

"Yeah, but she isn't home!" I tried to keep the laugh out of my voice. I had already tossed off my bag, and I opened my closet to grab out the set of formal clothes that were hanging there. I was fortunate - any other six and a half foot tall kangaroo would have had trouble finding good clothes that fit him. My mom knew people through Toronto's hospitality industry that had managed to cut her deals, though. It made things easier to have tailored clothes when I visited my grandparents. I left the door to my room open a crack so I could keep up my yelled conversation with my mom.

"Gosh, some people's children. It's like nobody ever taught you respect for your elders or something."

"Wasn't that your job?"

"I was too busy trying to keep you from jumping out the window or climbing up the walls. Probably some exorcism in there somewhere, too. You get that from Mallory, you know. It's the squirrel blood."

I laughed. I was trying to toss on my clothes as quickly as I could without wrinkling them. I'd worked a few shifts at my mom's more formal restaurant, so I knew how to wear my clothes right. Normally I wasn't rushing while I was putting them on, though. "I don't know if that's how that works, mom."

"Well don't tell Mallory that. I'm still using it as my excuse."

I snorted. I finished doing up my belt, and then stepped over in front of my mirror to do my bowtie. The knot was practiced and simple, and I took a moment to just look at myself in the mirror and straighten my clothes. I'd managed to strike a compromise with the formal clothes - the slacks and my bowtie were a bright red, while the shirt and my belt were a more tame grey that matched nicely with my fur. It had taken a lot of negotiation with my mom, who still thought I ought to look prim and proper to go and see my grandparents.

Of course, she didn't know that they actually liked my little flashes of colour and personality. Why would she, though? She never got to see them when they weren't around their daughter. They were completely different people when they were on their own.

After tonight, I might not get that same casual attitude anymore. I looked myself in the eye in the mirror, and forced myself to take a couple deep breaths. I wanted to go and find a ball to dribble. I wanted to put on less encumbering clothes and flex my muscles, bend in uncomfortable ways. I wanted to not think about this fucking dinner.

Instead, I walked out of my room and over to the door to my moms' room. It was slightly ajar, but I still knocked.

"Come in, come in you devil."

I snorted, then pushed open the door. My moms' room was the normal organized chaos that it always was. The bed was unmade, and there were clothes strewn across the floor. The closet door was open, and inside I could see it was even more of a mess than the rest of the room. The blinds were pulled to keep the light dim, and the lights were set to low.

My mom was seated at her computer desk - it was something they'd assembled themselves so that it could fit her massive frame. It was basically just a slab of wood suspended between two filing cabinets. My mom's cane was standing just next to her, within arm's reach.

She turned to me in her chair, and squinted. I blinked, and then remembered and hurriedly closed the door behind me to keep the bright light of the hallway from shining into her face. I turned back and sized her up. She was still a mountain of a kangaroo, her muscles massive even if they were missing the tone of constant use. She was dressed simply, in a pair of sweatpants and an old Winchester U teeshirt. Behind her, on the dimmed computer screen, I could see spreadsheets and payroll programs.

I spread my arms out wide, letting her take me in. "How do I look?"

She eyed me for a bit, and then a grin split her features. "Good. Like a respectable scion of the Williams dynasty." We both snorted at that, even if it left a pang in my guts. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Your hair's a mess, though."

I let out a groan. I knew I'd forgotten something in my rush to get prepared. "Uh, give me a hand?"

She nodded, and tapped the ground in front of her with a big foot. I stepped over, pulling the hair-tie out of my messy ponytail. My russet hair was all still messy and a bit sweaty from practice. I just hoped they wouldn't notice when I got to dinner.

I knelt on the ground and turned around, so I was facing away from my mom. She started running her fingers through my hair, and soon she produced a brush from somewhere on the desk. As she worked, I let my eyes wander along the walls. Interspersed along the surface were panels of foam soundproofing, as well as family photos and framed bits of newspaper articles. Most of the bits of newspaper were about me, now - cutouts from when my high school basketball team had won the city championships, or promo shots my dance studio had done a few years back. There were still a few of my moms too, though. There was a faded and yellowing clip of my mom in her Winchester jersey, with the words, "The Winchester Winds' Hurricane Dorothy on the Warpath." A bit down from that, there was a magazine clipping from NOW, with a red squirrel standing in front of the restaurant downstairs from our apartment. Along the bottom were the words, "Mallory Lavoie, The Bitch of Bloor St, to Open New Restaurant."

When I was a kid, it bothered me that they called my mom that. By now, I'd come to take it with the same wry satisfaction as both of my moms.

My mom tapped my shoulder, and I held up the hair-tie. I felt her fingers work the elastic around my hair a few times, and then she gave me a tap on both shoulders. I rose to my feet, and turned to face her. I was a good deal taller than her when she was sitting down, but her bulkiness still made me feel small.

"You're nervous," she said, after looking me up and down for a bit.

"I'm always nervous when I go to visit grandma and grandpa."

"No you aren't." It was an admonishment, not an accusation. "They love having you. Can never stop talking about how nice it was every time that you visit."

I tried to keep myself from letting a breath out of my nose. The next call might not be quite so complimentary. I kept that to myself, though.

"I should probably get going. They'll be out front to pick me up soon."

"Knock 'em dead, Berty."

I grinned, then turned and left. I closed the door carefully behind me, so that it wouldn't be too loud. Then I made my way back down the steps from our apartment. The smells from the restaurant were more pronounced, now, and I knew that the dinner rush had started. I stepped out onto the street, and around a couple people who were making their way into the restaurant, and then waited.

Soon enough, a nice car pulled up just in front of the restaurant. I jogged to the backseat, and then hopped in.

As we started driving, my grandpa twisted around in the passenger seat to look back at me. "Berty! How was school?"

"Same old, same old." I gave him my best smile. Fuck, I wanted this to at least start on a good foot. "Everybody's kind of going insane over finals, but... ehn. It'll be fine."

"That's the attitude." He clapped a hand on the side of the seat.

"How's your mother?" my grandma asked. They meant their daughter. It wasn't that they didn't see Mallory as my mom - they just always defaulted to calling her Mallory, and my pouch-mom as my mom. I dunno. I tried to never let it bother me.

"She's good. The light's been bothering her a bit lately, otherwise she would have come down to see me off." Only half of it was a lie. Even if bright lights hadn't been setting off her headaches lately, I doubt she would have taken all the steps down to the street with her hip just to wave at her parents.

Things lapsed into a bit of an uneasy silence after that. Eventually we got back on track when they started asking about how the restaurants were going, and if there were any new developments with them. That was always a safe topic. For whatever troubles they had with their daughter, they were always interested to hear about her wife's entrepreneurship, all of her successes and challenges.

Soon enough we pulled up to their house, and went inside. Like most houses near central Toronto, the exterior had a rough and worn quality, but the interior was beautifully decorated. Owning a house at all in Toronto was an indicator of wealth, and my grandparents were no exception. I was always glad for my more formal clothes whenever I got inside their house - it made me feel less out of place.

We kept up the casual conversation for the evening while we prepared dinner. My grandma and I did most of the work, while my grandpa kept us supplied with a constant stream of conversation. Most of the prep work had already been done, so really all that my grandma and I had to do was assemble and actually cook a few things.

I got the broccoli and cauliflower into a roasting pan, and carefully drizzled a glaze over it. My grandma got some steaks out of the fridge that had been marinating most of the day, then began shifting back and forth from outside to back inside, working on grilling them. My grandpa offered us both wine while we worked. My grandma accepted, but I turned him down. He'd been offering me wine since I was about 15. I doubt he would have cared if I had some, and by now I'd had my first experiences with booze, but I always wanted to maintain that air of proper innocence around the two of them.

We sat down to eat, and it was the normal casualness I always enjoyed with them. I sometimes felt bad about it - I very rarely got the experience of dinner at home with my moms. Between shifts at the restaurants, my own practice schedules, and occasional episodes of not being able to leave the bedroom because of pain or bad moods, the three of us normally had to steal our time together. It made these visits with my grandparents, where we got to just talk casually and at our convenience, really nice. The food was good, too. I wasn't ashamed to admit that I'd brought some of the skills and instruction my mom had taught me back to my grandparents, so our meals were always delicious.

I leaned back in my seat as the meal came to a close. There were still some bits left on my plate, but I was full. My grandpa began clearing the plates, and things took on the quiet calm that followed a good meal.

Then my grandma leaned forward in her seat, and folded her hands together. I took a deep breath in through my nose. It had to happen eventually.

"So Berty," she started, her face a calm smile. "Have you put any thought into our offer from last time?"

My grandpa kept working on clearing the table, but he was moving slower than before. He was trying to listen, and be ready to jump in whenever needed.

I took my time clearing my throat, and then leaning forward in my seat myself. I forced myself to meet her gaze.

"Uh... yeah, grandma. I'm still pretty floored by how generous you guys are being."

"Supporting you has always been our first concern." She said it kindly. I knew that she meant it kindly, too. It didn't stop the knot from tightening around my guts whenever I thought about who had paid for all of my dance lessons and basketball camps growing up. Hell, I still suspected that they covered the cost of some of my clothes. "We just want what's best for you going forward."

"Of course, and that means a lot to me. It's still a difficult decision though, you know?"

My grandma nodded in understanding. "You know, originally we made the same offer to your mother."

I blinked in surprise at that. "You did?"

"Certainly." My grandpa stepped back into the room, and stood behind his chair. "Originally we were worried that she wouldn't be able to keep up her academic studies while also pursuing sports. After she proved us wrong, though, we relented, and offered to cover her tuition while also letting her play sports at her school of choice."

I glanced back and forth between the two of them in surprise. My mom had never told me about that. She'd mentioned a few times that her parents had fully covered her tuition, since women's rugby didn't draw in big scholarships at the time. But... I'd had no idea that at first it had been on a condition of her not playing rugby. The fact that she'd managed to convince her parents otherwise was astonishing.

"Of course, we regret making that decision, now." My grandma's voice was grave, and it made that knot in my guts tighten a bit again. "If we'd known the toll that continuing to play would take on your mother, we never would have agreed."

"Which is why we're making the same offer for you." My grandpa took his seat at the table again, and smiled at me. "If you promise not to take part in competitive sports, we'll fully cover your tuition and living expenses. It's as simple as that. Obviously, you'll still be able to take part in intramural activities, and I'm sure you could find dance groups. We're not asking you to give up entirely on your interests - just try to think about your future. Think about your mother."

By this point, I wasn't meeting either of their kindly smiling faces. They meant well. God, I knew they meant well. Part of what they said even made sense. The first time they'd made the offer to me, I'd been seriously considering it. Hell, even this time, after I'd already made up my mind, I started doubting myself while my grandpa was talking. It was the same thing that drew me up short both times, though. He'd told me to think about my mother.

So I had. And so I did now.

I cleared my throat, then forced myself to look up at them again. My stomach still felt all knotted up. I tried to force my voice to be steady as I responded. "Again, uh... thank you. That's overwhelmingly generous, and I don't know how to tell you much I appreciate it. But uh... I think I've made up my mind. I've already been approached by scouts from a few American schools. It'll be a lot of work but, uh... Yeah, I'm going to have to say no."

Things were very quiet in the house as I finished speaking. I kept forcing myself to meet their gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. A fight? Yelling and screaming?

Instead, my grandpa just let out a very heavy sigh, and my grandma just kept quiet. She was the one who answered.

"You're sure? Again, you and Mallory know better than anybody what rugby did to your mother."

We did. She had trouble walking now without a cane. Some days her body just hurt, for no apparent reason. What was worse was the long term effects of the concussions. On many days, light or sound set off headaches. Every now and again she would just be moody for a few days, or she would wake up in the middle of the night and wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

But also... she was working. She was helping my mom with keeping up the books and managing payroll for the restaurants. And for all the things that were awful and shit, the two of them were happy.

"I'm sure." I nodded. "I'll be careful, and I'll take care of my body."

"And your tuition and living expenses? I don't think I need to remind you that your mothers can't exactly cover all of that."

I cleared my throat again. Both of my grandparents knew that my grades weren't good enough to qualify for any scholarships. But... "I've heard back from a few American universities. I've got some pretty generous sports scholarships on offer. I'll probably have to work during the summer to cover living expenses, but uh... I dunno, I've got good experience working for my mom."

That didn't seem to satisfy either of them, but, well... I guess it didn't matter.

The rest of the evening was quieter, and it felt like there was some sort of brittle barrier in the air. My grandma offered to drive me home much earlier than usual, and I accepted. The drive was almost perfectly quiet, so I just looked out the window and watched the streetlights passing.

When we reached the restaurant, grandma pulled over as close as she could get, and I hopped out. I thanked her for the ride and the evening, and she pulled away. I stood there for a few moments, just letting myself catch my breath.

Well that was that.

I walked the rest of the half block home, my hands in my pockets. I passed by in front of the restaurant as I headed for the door. It was crowded in there, and I could see a short line of people waiting for seats.

I was just unlocking the door to the stairs when a voice with just a hint of a Quebecois accent called out, "Oi, Berty."

I glanced over my shoulder, and was startled to see my mom leaning out the front door of the restaurant. She was supposed to be on the other side of town tonight. Her eyes had that sharp look they got whenever she was in action mode, and her long russet squirrel's tail was flicking behind her with agitation. Her hair was pulled back behind a bandana, and I suddenly understood, even before she started talking.

"We had three people call in sick for their shifts. You down to make some extra cash?"

I stared for a moment, then grinned at her. That sharp look on her face cracked a bit, as she returned the crooked grin.

"You going to finally let me into the kitchen?" I asked as I stepped towards the door.

She snorted. "Please. You'd cut your finger off before you finished one dish, and Dorothy would kill me. You're on tables."

I stepped inside, into the rush of the restaurant. Like I said before - people knew me there. Most of the rest of the serving staff knew me as the emergency backup server. I probably could have worked barback, if mom would let me get my Smart Serve. But I was already dressed nicely, and I knew my way around the restaurant, so I just started taking orders. My mom made her way towards the back and into the kitchen.

The rest of the evening passed in a rush of loud music, the buzz of conversation, and sliding around other servers carrying plates of food. I fell into the rhythm easily - it was as natural to me as dribbling a ball or getting on stage.

I don't know how much time passed, but it must have been a few hours when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced back from where I was punching an order into the computer system. My mom was standing over my shoulder, her hair still pulled back in her bandana. Her fur was even sweatier than before, and she looked tired. She gave a nod.

"Alright, things have quieted down. We're good to head out."

"I can keep going for a few hours if you need."

She rolled her eyes. "Ouais d'accord. I've got staff for that. Besides, you have school in the morning. Va t'en, upstairs with you."

I sighed, but nodded. I handed my remaining tables off to the other servers who were on shift, and then headed for the door. My mom met me there - she was carrying a couple plates of food. I unlocked the door to the stairs, and held it open for her as she headed inside.

The two of us made our way up. She was moving slowly now that she was out of the rush of the restaurant. She paused, and I got the door at the top of the stairs for her. As we stepped inside, I heard my mom's voice calling from deeper in the apartment.

"Did you press our son into child labour again?"

"He's seventeen, he's hardly a child anymore."

"I question your ethics!"

I snorted while my mom made her way over to their room. I was about to go into my own room to get changed, when my mom's voice called out. "Come on in here and tell us how the battleaxes were."

I let out a low breath, but then walked into their room. The lights were still on dim. My mom had moved from the chair over to the bed. The plate my other mom had brought up was resting on the bedside table, and she was beginning to eat.

My other mom was grabbing a towel and some of her more comfortable clothes. She always showered before going to bed if she'd had to work in one of the kitchens that night. She glanced over her shoulder at me as I entered.

"To clarify, I don't support referring to your grandparents as 'battleaxes.'"

"Just so long as he doesn't say it to their faces..."

"Dorothy."

She shot me a look from the bed, and I couldn't hold in a snort.

"So how were your grandparents."

"Battleaxes."

I started speaking before they could get into it again. "They were good. Just, uh, wanted to know what I was thinking about for school."

"And you said?"

"I told them about the sports scholarship offers."

"How'd they feel about those?"

I hesitated, glancing back and forth between the two of them. Then I shrugged. "About what you would expect."

There was a snort from the bed, and my other mom rubbed at her forehead some. She finally pulled off her bandana, letting her sweaty hair hang free. "Well, I guess it could have gone worse. Now I need to wash garlic smell out of my fur."

She stepped by me, and I moved to make room for her. As she passed, her long, fluffy tail flicked by my face.

"For the record, I still think you should go with Claiborne. Mostly so your mother and I can come down to New Orleans and try the food."

"Do you only ever think with your stomach?"

She ignored my mom's jab, and kept making her way over towards the bathroom. I let out a breath, and turned to leave. My mom's voice behind me drew me up short.

"Did they make you the offer?"

I could feel my tail give a twitch. I glanced over my shoulder at her, reclining on the bed. Even in that relaxed position, my mom was an enormous, intimidating figure. She wasn't paying attention to the food anymore. Her eyes were firmly on me, and a bit narrowed.

The two of us just stared at each other for a moment. When I heard the water for the shower starting up, I cleared my throat, and spoke. "Uh... yeah. Same one they made you, they said."

She didn't break eye contact as she gave a very small, slow nod. "And you said...?"

I took a deep breath. "I told them no."

She closed her eyes, and let out a very long breath. Then she muttered, "That's my boy."

I kept eying her, and then asked, "You knew."

"Of course I knew." She shrugged. "They want what they think is the best for you. It's why they made me the same offer."

"But..." I trailed off. At length, she raised her eyebrow, and I sighed and went on. "If you knew, why didn't you talk to me about it beforehand?"

"Like I told Mallory, Berty. You're seventeen. It's your choice. They want what's best for you, but your mother and I both want you to be happy." There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, and then she inclined her head. "Now get to bed. If you're still awake when Mallory gets out of the shower, she's going to kill you."

"So I've only got like half an hour to work with?"

She grabbed a pillow, and tossed it at me. I dodged out of the way and out of the door, and her voice followed me. "Demon child!"

I made my way back to my room. I closed the door behind me, and then leaned against it, closing my eyes. I could just make out the music from the restaurant downstairs drifting up through the floor. I let myself take a few deep breaths, and then I started getting ready for bed.