Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or their world.
This is fanfiction and I'm just playing for fun, not making any money.
Summary: Andrew puts his cold to good use. Ah, the Van De
Kamps and their manipulations.
Notes: Written for Symphonyflute as a holiday gift. Enjoy!
On Wisteria Lane, as on most streets in the world, there
were very few certainties. The residents could count on the postman to deliver
mail six days a week. They knew the Independence Day fireworks would always be
shown over the elementary school. And they were sure that a juicy piece of
gossip would spread through the neighborhood faster than a wildfire.
A beat-up,
dark gray sedan slowly made its way up the street. It pulled over, tires
scraping briefly against the curb, and came to a stop in front of Bree Van De
Kamp's house.
But there were a few
more certainties for some people than for others. And not all of them were
good- the certainties... and the people.
Andrew,
sitting in the passenger seat, reached for the handle of the car door.
"Hey," said
Justin. "I don't get a kiss goodnight?"
Andrew sighed.
"You know I don't like doing that in..." he gestured at their surroundings.
"Cars. Not after..." He refused to speak to almost anyone, including his mother,
about his time on the streets. But Justin knew, in graphic detail, for this
very reason1. "Besides," he continued, "I think I might be coming down with
something."
"Really?"
Justin looked sympathetic. "Want me to take care of you?"
Andrew
smiled back, but shook his head. "I'd rather go home." His smile turned into a
grin. "There is nothing so good as watching
my mother jump through hoops when I'm sick."
Justin made
a sound that was something between a laugh and a sigh.
Shrugging,
"Hey, like David Sedaris says, 'if you can't be cute, be clever.'" Justin just stared
at him, and Andrew shrugged. "All right. Maybe I can be both."
*
Andrew
walked in the door to his house, intending to go straight up to his bedroom and
climb under the covers. However, his mother was walking from the kitchen to the
dining room at that exact moment, carrying a casserole dish, and spotted him.
"Andrew, where do you think you're going?"
"Just up to
my room," he answered. "Because I-"
She shook
her head. "I don't care what your reasons are. Dinner is in two minutes and
there is no excuse to miss it. Wash up and join us."
"I don't
know, Mom..." He paused, thinking carefully about his actions. He hoped he might
cough or sneeze right then and there, but he had no such luck.
"I do not
care what your feelings are about the matter, but as long as you live in my
house, you will attend dinner." Attendance at family dinners was not optional.
Andrew
sighed to himself, not certain that he should take family dinner tonight. He
imagined the crisp sheets and perfectly plumped pillow. Finally he decided
there was nowhere more appropriate than the dinner table to say what needed to
be said. So he stopped by the bathroom to wash up and took his usual seat at
the table where his mother, sister, and new stepfather already sat.
Tonight's
dinner consisted of lasagna, made with eight different types of cheese, green
beans with pearl onions, and croissants. No one commented on how little Andrew ate.
But eating wasn't an important part of dinner; the important part was sitting
there and pretending to enjoy yourself. Even when you felt like you were
getting sick.
Bree regaled
them all with the current news. A dignified lady never gossiped, naturally, but
there was a fine line between gossip and crucial pieces of information that any
concerned neighbor needed to know. "So I heard from Mrs. Marsdon on the PTA
that..."
Andrew felt
his nose tickle and he smiled triumphantly for a moment, before his expression
fell and breath raced. "ahhhh-KITChooo!"
He had intentionally sneezed freely, mostly on his portion of the table but not
entirely.
"Andrew!"
Bree had a lovely way of scolding viciously using only a person's name. And
once upon a time, Andrew might have felt a twinge of guilt at hearing it.
But now he
could not possibly care less. "Excuse me," he said as politely as possible. "You
did insist on me being here," Andrew pointed out as he picked up his cloth
napkin and blew his nose. "Even though I'm sick." He sniffed. "But I'm willing
to stay here for this lovely family dinner since apparently-"
"Go
upstairs to your room," Bree insisted, staring him down. "Right this minute."
Smiling to
himself, Andrew bounded up the stairs. It made him slightly breathless, which
made him cough, which made him sniffle... and that all made him climb into bed in
slow motion and collapse there.
A few
minutes later, he felt a thick blanket being draped over him and a cool hand
pressed against his forehead. He looked up to see his mother hovering over him.
"Andrew," she said once again, this time in a much softer tone. "I'd like you
to sit up and take some medicine now."
He thought
about refusing, just to get her annoyed, but he did actually want to have that
medicine. So he pulled himself up and took the small plastic cup of thick green
liquid from her. It tasted awful but she had a glass of water for him to chase
it down with. He would have called it thoughtful if he didn't know it was just
routine. He sniffed and handed the empties back to her.
Bree
produced a box of tissues and set the trashcan by his desk at the side of his
bed, instead. "Now," she explained. "Cover your nose when you sneeze and drop
the tissues into the trashcan when you're finished. I refuse to root around
your room to pick up used tissues."
Feeling
another sneeze coming on, Andrew took a tissue. He was glad for it, a moment
later, as the sneeze he produced was strong and wet. "hehhIhShhooo!" He blew his nose and dropped the balled-up tissue
over the side of the bed. He meant to piss her off by blatantly missing the
trashcan, but it hit the rim and bounced in instead of out. Slightly
demoralized, he lay back in his bed. As though to reward him, she reached down
and plumped his pillow, then tucked the blankets around him.
Andrew
blinked up at her and she sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're not going to
get mad and yell at me for... downstairs?"
Bree cocked
her head. "I do not yell," she stated. "And I would hardly get angry with you
for that. Yes, it was terribly inconvenient to have you sneeze all over my main
course. But it pales in comparison to, say, murder."
Andrew glared at her. "Besides," she got up. "You did not get your flair for
drama from your father."
She walked
to the door and Andrew called out after her, "Well, I didn't get it at drama
camp!"
*
"I deed
bore tissues," Andrew said, thrusting the box at his mother. "Add sub juice. Or
baybe just water. Add adother video gabe."
She gave him
the widest and most forced smile he had ever seen. "Of course, Andrew." Not at
all flustered, she left the room.
He sighed
to himself. It was quite enjoyable to order his mother around. "hehh-" His box of tissues was nearly
empty but there were enough for this. "hehhh-Ershooo!
Hahh... k'Shoo!" But it would have been much more exciting to order her
around if he didn't feel so miserable at the same time.
"Boy, you've
really got this down, haven't you?" Andrew looked up to see his sister hanging
in the doorway.
"Guess so,"
he said with a sigh. "But she doesn't exactly look flustered." And he didn't
exactly have a completely stuffed-up nose, either. "hehh-Kishoo!" But he was far from well.
"Flustered
is what you're going for?" Danielle asked. "With Mom? Good luck with that!" She
laughed her way down the hallway.
Contrary to
popular belief, it was entirely possible for Bree Van De Kamp to be flustered.
Andrew had seen it before; Andrew had been the cause of it before. And even though she wore that sickeningly sweet
smile the whole time, it still counted. Now she looked as though nothing were
wrong and it was difficult for even Andrew to gauge her mental state. If anything,
he thought she might actually be enjoying this.
"I could
use sub soup!" he yelled, loud enough to be heard downstairs. "But dot creab of
bushroob!" He cleared his throat, feeling a tickle rising there. "Add
crackers!" he added.
That did
it. Andrew rolled over onto his side in a fit of coughing, turning his back to
the door. He blew his nose and felt his breath hitch again. After reaching over
for the tissue box and cleaning it out, his body shook beneath the blankets. "h'KEHShhhhh! Kerchooo! Hahh... huhhChoo!" He
blew his nose until he had no more tissues. Then, as his nose began to stuff-up
on one side, he rolled onto his back. He heard footsteps on the stairs and had
just enough energy to call out, "Hobe that's ice water!" The footsteps stopped, then faded as they went back
downstairs.
He coughed
again and smiled. But his smile would have been warmer had he not actually
needed the cold water. He resisted the urge to follow his request with a
'please'. Andrew wondered whether one of
those might make her bring the items faster. He wanted the stuff... but also sort
of wanted her. And he liked all the attention she was finally paying him. It all
sounded perfectly absurd.
But perfect
and absurd were sort of the foundations of his family life lately. The two were
comforting in their familiarity... as comforting as the warm blankets around him.
Andrew found himself closing his eyes.
Bree walked
in just minutes later, with a video game she had borrowed from Lynette under
one arm and a tray of food and other supplies in his hands. "Here you are,
Andrew." She noticed Andrew's steady breathing and decided that she did not
want to wake him.
Yes, there were some
things in life that were certain. Like the misery of a cold, or the importance
of keeping up appearances.
Bree glided
silently across the dark bedroom. She set the tray down on the nightstand then
paused over the bed, looking down at a sleeping Andrew. Bree leaned over and placed
a gentle kiss on his forehead. As she stood back up, she realized with a start
that Andrew was awake. He blinked, looking up at her, and then gave a small smile
of appreciation. Slowly, conservatively, and genuinely she smiled back at him.
But for all of the
things that could be counted on... and all the things that could be planned... one
thing that is almost completely unpredictable is the relationship between a
mother and her son.