dear so-and-so
Dan, Serena. Background Blair.
1398 words. PG.
Summary: You wanted a better story. Who wouldn't?
Note: For![]()
sing_song_sung! I am so bad at being on time with these lately, wow. Anyway! Marriage angst!
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Serena chooses the house. It's the last place Dan ever thought he would end up, a little white house in Connecticut with a fence and a yard, but there's a fierce kind of desire in her eyes he's not going to argue with. She's three months pregnant and she wants a home, a nest, a fireplace to take Christmas pictures in front of.
They set up the baby's room before they've even got their bed put together. They paint it pale green for neutrality's sake. Serena doesn't even look pregnant but she's brightly happy – glowing, appropriately enough. Dan loves her right then, surrounded by paint swatches with her hair thrown up.
They lose that baby.
Serena spends a lot of time in bed after that. Dan spends a lot of time not knowing how to spend his time. He paints the baby's room white again. He gets rid of all the furniture. He throws out bloody sheets and feels empty, awful, dry-eyed. He doesn't feel much of anything.
Eventually he runs out of tasks. He crawls into bed with Serena and she presses her wet face against his shoulder, clutches his shirt, says with a tremulous voice, "Where have you been?"
And he realizes he was supposed to be here with her the entire time.
Against all odds they become closer instead of pulling apart. He teaches Serena how to make pie and chili and waffles and all kinds of things. She watches him with a determined crease between her brows, chewing her lower lip. Her apron has a pattern of autumn leaves and a little pocket shaped like an acorn. They get a dog, some kind of tan-and-white beagle mix who chooses to sleep directly between them in their bed. Serena names her Snickerdoodle. It's enough.
Dan is exhausted by the prospect of fiction and so decides to give up writing for a while, even though part of the reason they moved into the country was so he could write. He even has an office set up facing their garden, where he watches Serena play with the dog through the window in lieu of writing anything. He's sick of the sound of himself. He's sick of words and what they mean.
He gets a job teaching creative writing at the local college and wades through other people's words instead.
Eventually they start trying again. Serena gets pregnant easily and is very careful, takes her vitamins and goes to the doctor and reads all the books she can get her hands on.
Blair is pregnant at the same time. Isn't that funny, they say, isn't that perfect. They plan on having girls together, girls just like them.
Dan finds himself sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night more and more, sitting at his desk in front of his window and staring at the dark trees until the sun makes them slowly gold. He pulls out that old stupid typewriter he'd gotten strangely used to and starts writing a play about a girl who falls in love so hard it shatters her.
He specifies that the girl has red hair, as though that's all it takes, as though that is enough evidence to point to and say see? see, she's not anyone.
He likes the look of the typewritten pages. He likes the look of the typewriter on his old wooden desk. He writes steadily as Serena's stomach grows bigger. He's not sure how he thought he could give it up when it's so clearly in his skin, his blood.
When the play is done he can't tell who the main girl is supposed to be anymore but it doesn't much matter at that point; two days after the play is finished Dan's daughter is born and she's the only girl he really needs.
Annabelle grows up looking more and more like Serena. Dan is unsurprisingly devoted to her and she is glued to his side in return. He reads to her every day, Annabelle tucked up next to him in a big chair, her chin propped on his arm as she listens intently, blue eyes travelling from the page to his face and back. Serena marvels that she can sit still for so long, but she's Dan's daughter too, even if she doesn't look a thing like him.
Blair had a boy. He doesn't look like her. Before Annabelle was born, Blair used to pester Serena about moving back to the city so the girls could start school together, but she dropped that once she had a son instead of a daughter. Now she sometimes makes jokes about marrying them off but mostly doesn't seem to know what to do with little Henry, is content to let his nanny take over.
They end up back in New York for a little anyway, for the staging of the play Dan had written six years before. He's nervous about it, especially having done very little in the interim except raise his kid, especially because Serena will see it. She's never read it, wanting to be surprised, and he hasn't known how to explain it. There's no way to have that conversation that doesn't circle back to things long-buried, long-forgotten. It's supposed to be the past but Dan is getting ready to throw it back in everyone's present again.
They go to opening night as a picture-perfect little family and afterwards Serena stands in their hotel room looking worn, her earrings in her hand and her heels off. Annabelle is passed out on the bed, a careless little girl sprawl, still in her party dress.
"I don't know why you wanted to embarrass me," Serena says.
"I didn't," Dan says. "I – that's not what that was. It was just a play. Just a story."
"You're not writing in code, Dan."
He looks down. "It's fiction."
Serena shrugs tightly. "I'm not the one who's going to have to explain it to her one day." She tilts her head towards their sleeping little girl.
Dan's thought about that but come up with no answers. One day his daughter will read his books and she'll be smart, so she'll wonder. How does he find a way to say I fell in love with your Aunt Blair without making her doubt everything she grew up knowing? How does he say I loved her so much sometimes it feels like a part of me shut down just so I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore to a girl who will grow up thinking her parents had the perfect marriage? If she asks how he fell out of love with Blair, how does he say he's not sure if he ever did?
He is reminded of his father and his mother and Lily and it makes him sick.
But Annabelle is only six and Serena wants to believe him, so she does. Dan takes to writing historical fiction for a while and gives up examining his own life.
He wakes earliest and sneaks out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Serena. Annabelle grumbles and swats at him, making him smile, but he's able to get her up and in the kitchen. He pushes a chair to the stove and together they make pancakes shaped like the letter S. Dan dabs flour on Annabelle's cheeks and nose so it looks like she was working hard. She giggles, sounds like her mother.
"What's going on here?"
Serena is leaning against the doorframe, hands on her stomach. She's smiling, soft and pleased, and it's moments like this that Dan thinks that he did the right thing marrying her, that they can be happy, that they are in love.
"You're supposed to be asleep," he chides. "We're bringing you breakfast in bed."
"For Mother's Day!" Annabelle adds, flying off the chair and over to Serena, looking up at her. They look just alike.
Serena meets Dan's eyes over Annabelle's head, says softly, "Thanks, baby."
Dan shrugs, smiling, and gestures her over. "Come help."
Serena takes Annabelle's hand and leads her back over. Annabelle climbs back into the chair, taking the spatula from Dan with authority, and starts to explain to Serena how to flip them properly. Serena smiles and nods along, stroking Annabelle's hair.
This is his life, he thinks. This is it.
Dan, Serena. Background Blair.
1398 words. PG.
Summary: You wanted a better story. Who wouldn't?
Note: For
sing_song_sung! I am so bad at being on time with these lately, wow. Anyway! Marriage angst!
Serena chooses the house. It's the last place Dan ever thought he would end up, a little white house in Connecticut with a fence and a yard, but there's a fierce kind of desire in her eyes he's not going to argue with. She's three months pregnant and she wants a home, a nest, a fireplace to take Christmas pictures in front of.
They set up the baby's room before they've even got their bed put together. They paint it pale green for neutrality's sake. Serena doesn't even look pregnant but she's brightly happy – glowing, appropriately enough. Dan loves her right then, surrounded by paint swatches with her hair thrown up.
They lose that baby.
Serena spends a lot of time in bed after that. Dan spends a lot of time not knowing how to spend his time. He paints the baby's room white again. He gets rid of all the furniture. He throws out bloody sheets and feels empty, awful, dry-eyed. He doesn't feel much of anything.
Eventually he runs out of tasks. He crawls into bed with Serena and she presses her wet face against his shoulder, clutches his shirt, says with a tremulous voice, "Where have you been?"
And he realizes he was supposed to be here with her the entire time.
Against all odds they become closer instead of pulling apart. He teaches Serena how to make pie and chili and waffles and all kinds of things. She watches him with a determined crease between her brows, chewing her lower lip. Her apron has a pattern of autumn leaves and a little pocket shaped like an acorn. They get a dog, some kind of tan-and-white beagle mix who chooses to sleep directly between them in their bed. Serena names her Snickerdoodle. It's enough.
Dan is exhausted by the prospect of fiction and so decides to give up writing for a while, even though part of the reason they moved into the country was so he could write. He even has an office set up facing their garden, where he watches Serena play with the dog through the window in lieu of writing anything. He's sick of the sound of himself. He's sick of words and what they mean.
He gets a job teaching creative writing at the local college and wades through other people's words instead.
Eventually they start trying again. Serena gets pregnant easily and is very careful, takes her vitamins and goes to the doctor and reads all the books she can get her hands on.
Blair is pregnant at the same time. Isn't that funny, they say, isn't that perfect. They plan on having girls together, girls just like them.
Dan finds himself sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night more and more, sitting at his desk in front of his window and staring at the dark trees until the sun makes them slowly gold. He pulls out that old stupid typewriter he'd gotten strangely used to and starts writing a play about a girl who falls in love so hard it shatters her.
He specifies that the girl has red hair, as though that's all it takes, as though that is enough evidence to point to and say see? see, she's not anyone.
He likes the look of the typewritten pages. He likes the look of the typewriter on his old wooden desk. He writes steadily as Serena's stomach grows bigger. He's not sure how he thought he could give it up when it's so clearly in his skin, his blood.
When the play is done he can't tell who the main girl is supposed to be anymore but it doesn't much matter at that point; two days after the play is finished Dan's daughter is born and she's the only girl he really needs.
Annabelle grows up looking more and more like Serena. Dan is unsurprisingly devoted to her and she is glued to his side in return. He reads to her every day, Annabelle tucked up next to him in a big chair, her chin propped on his arm as she listens intently, blue eyes travelling from the page to his face and back. Serena marvels that she can sit still for so long, but she's Dan's daughter too, even if she doesn't look a thing like him.
Blair had a boy. He doesn't look like her. Before Annabelle was born, Blair used to pester Serena about moving back to the city so the girls could start school together, but she dropped that once she had a son instead of a daughter. Now she sometimes makes jokes about marrying them off but mostly doesn't seem to know what to do with little Henry, is content to let his nanny take over.
They end up back in New York for a little anyway, for the staging of the play Dan had written six years before. He's nervous about it, especially having done very little in the interim except raise his kid, especially because Serena will see it. She's never read it, wanting to be surprised, and he hasn't known how to explain it. There's no way to have that conversation that doesn't circle back to things long-buried, long-forgotten. It's supposed to be the past but Dan is getting ready to throw it back in everyone's present again.
They go to opening night as a picture-perfect little family and afterwards Serena stands in their hotel room looking worn, her earrings in her hand and her heels off. Annabelle is passed out on the bed, a careless little girl sprawl, still in her party dress.
"I don't know why you wanted to embarrass me," Serena says.
"I didn't," Dan says. "I – that's not what that was. It was just a play. Just a story."
"You're not writing in code, Dan."
He looks down. "It's fiction."
Serena shrugs tightly. "I'm not the one who's going to have to explain it to her one day." She tilts her head towards their sleeping little girl.
Dan's thought about that but come up with no answers. One day his daughter will read his books and she'll be smart, so she'll wonder. How does he find a way to say I fell in love with your Aunt Blair without making her doubt everything she grew up knowing? How does he say I loved her so much sometimes it feels like a part of me shut down just so I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore to a girl who will grow up thinking her parents had the perfect marriage? If she asks how he fell out of love with Blair, how does he say he's not sure if he ever did?
He is reminded of his father and his mother and Lily and it makes him sick.
But Annabelle is only six and Serena wants to believe him, so she does. Dan takes to writing historical fiction for a while and gives up examining his own life.
He wakes earliest and sneaks out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Serena. Annabelle grumbles and swats at him, making him smile, but he's able to get her up and in the kitchen. He pushes a chair to the stove and together they make pancakes shaped like the letter S. Dan dabs flour on Annabelle's cheeks and nose so it looks like she was working hard. She giggles, sounds like her mother.
"What's going on here?"
Serena is leaning against the doorframe, hands on her stomach. She's smiling, soft and pleased, and it's moments like this that Dan thinks that he did the right thing marrying her, that they can be happy, that they are in love.
"You're supposed to be asleep," he chides. "We're bringing you breakfast in bed."
"For Mother's Day!" Annabelle adds, flying off the chair and over to Serena, looking up at her. They look just alike.
Serena meets Dan's eyes over Annabelle's head, says softly, "Thanks, baby."
Dan shrugs, smiling, and gestures her over. "Come help."
Serena takes Annabelle's hand and leads her back over. Annabelle climbs back into the chair, taking the spatula from Dan with authority, and starts to explain to Serena how to flip them properly. Serena smiles and nods along, stroking Annabelle's hair.
This is his life, he thinks. This is it.