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It was summer, and Matthew Thyme's school friend was getting married. Mags had extended the invitation to Matt's mother, as she'd had particularly fond memories of her, so much so that his mother had gotten a plus one where Matt hadn't. Which was remarkable in and of itself, but also meant Matt's mother had brought Rosemary, and Matt was officially worried.
Ever since his parents had split up, his mother had been going around with Rosemary and she seemed to be growing more and more attached by the day. And on the one hand, it was good. She should have friends. Matt was glad someone had been there for her during the divorce and did what he couldn't, go-between that he was. But they spent every moment together. They lived together, they worked together, and every time his mother visited him, she called Rosemary daily, just to talk over the events of the day. And the way she talked about her- like there wasn't anything else going on in her life, like she didn't have anything else… it was worrying, and Matt had to say something.
He found her alone, watching the dancing from a wall table, sipping a glass of champagne. Rosemary's purse sat next to his mother's on the table, and Matt eyed it warily.
"Hello, Mum," he said, sitting down.
His mother flashed him a weary smile. "Matthew! Mags looks happy, doesn't she?"
Matt looked toward his friend, who at that precise moment was attempting to dance the Macarena to "Come On Eileen" with her husband, and let himself laugh. "She does appear to be having fun, doesn't she? Hey listen, Mum, can we talk?" He sobered, nabbing a pint from a passing waiter.
His mother turned towards him properly. "Why yes, if you like. What's this about?"
Matt sipped his drink and braced himself. "It's just- I'm worried about you." He watched his mother's brow furrow fractionally. He had to do this. Matt took a deep breath. "I know you say you don't want to date, but honestly, I think you might be lying to yourself about that." His mother stared at him. Matt thought he might be about to be on the receiving end of a lecture, but it didn't come. His mother simply looked at him quizzically.
"Go on," she said.
Matt wasn't about to give up this opportunity. "You say you don't want a relationship, but that's because you're using Rosemary as a crutch. You sort of latched onto her after Dad left, and are using her as a replacement." His mother's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "No, listen Mum. You used to get your emotional support from Dad. Now you get it from Rosemary. You used to live with him, now you live with her. You used to spend every minute of every day with him, now you do it with her." His mother's lips parted in a silent gasp. She turned away, clearly trying to process this. "Come on, Mum," Matt added. "You can hardly stand to be without her. Every minute you're not with her, you're talking about her. That's before you call her, because you can't go a single day without talking to her. You're using her in place of an actual relationship. It's not healthy."
There. He'd said his piece. She knew now. Matt sat back and watched his mother. She was still staring, wide-eyed into the distance, her face going through a hundred different micro expressions. Finally she sat back and took another sip of her champagne. Then she snorted.
"What?" Matt asked, somewhat affronted.
"You see, but you do not observe." His mother flashed a knowing smile.
"Mum, are you quoting Sherlock Holmes?"
"It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data."
"Mum…"
His mother raised her eyebrows and turned back to the table. She began gathering up she and Rosemary's purses. "Matt, I'm not using Rosemary in place of a real relationship. I have a real relationship, with Rosemary." She stood, slinging both backs over one shoulder. She waited.
"I- didn't know that was an option," he said on autopilot.
His mother nodded, the hint of a smirk flitting across her face. "No, nor did I. Still, I'd better go talk to her about it. I'm sorry to worry you Matt. I know it hasn't been easy for you, with your father and I splitting up and having to worry about both of us. Still…" she pursed her lips, "next time the MET offers some diversity and awareness training, best take it. It doesn't seem to be top of mind for you." His mother patted him on the shoulder, and left, angling through the sea of bodies towards the gardens, which presumably was Rosemary's preferred respite from the party.
It was Matt's turn to stare into the distance. What the hell. What the hell. He'd given his mother a talk, intending to point out that she was unintentionally taking advantage of her friend, and instead, he stumbled into a conversation about her lesbian awakening. Why him?
Although in hindsight, his mother's intense love of Rosemary made sense now. A lot more sense… if Matt looked at it in a romantic light. If his mother had felt a connection with Rosemary, even without knowing what it was, it made sense they'd grown as close as they had as quickly as they had… and why his mother talked about Rosemary so much- she'd had a crush. His mother had had a crush on someone. Still had. Truly ludicrous information to receive about one's mother. Although, given the state of things, it probably was a little beyond a crush now. Well really, as friends, they were simply close. If it was actually romantic, they were already living together, they shared a car, and a bedroom on the job, or so Matt had heard. Dear god. This was insane. This was bonkers. His mother- and Rosemary. He should be furious. Or concerned. Or something. So why was he smiling?
And he was, grinning away like nobody's business. His mum and Rosemary. And Rosemary made her so happy. Happier than he'd ever seen her, if he thought about it. And one only had to see them together to know that his mum made Rosemary happy too.
And when his mother told him about the two of them, he'd sat their stupidly instead of being supportive of her happiness like any good kid should… Well, he'd have to remedy that.
He set aside his pint and scanned the crowd in the direction of the garden. Nothing.
And oh god, once Helena found out about this, she was never going to let him forget it. Ever.
There were too many people between Matt and the garden. He began shouldering his way through the crowd, angling away from the drinks of tipsy school friends and the groom's alarmingly large set of drunk uncles who were inexplicably moving in a pack, back towards the food tables.
He was just cutting across the corner of the dance floor to avoid said pack of uncles when he found himself being pulled bodily into a Macarena conga line by Mags. From then on, it took all of Matt's concentration just to keep his arms moving at the right time, let alone bend down without bending into the person in front of him on their way up.
When he eventually managed to extract himself, he practically sprinted through the crowd to the edge of the garden. He peered out into night to see- his mother and Rosemary, making their way up the garden path towards the merrymakers. They were walking hand in hand, leaning into each other, and generally looking quite content with the world.
Matt relaxed. Everything was fine. He caught his mothers eye and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. She nudged Rosemary and pointed. Rosemary waved.
This was nice. Matt was happy. His mother was more than alright. And he was planning on taking credit for this, some way or another.