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kumkaniudaku · 4 years

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Mama

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mama’s! I also hope those who may be experience tough mental states during this time were able to be surrounded by light and love. I care about you and your cute face.

Little giggles and warnings to be quiet filled the kitchen of the Boseman home, the mid-morning sunshine lighting the brown faces huddled around the counter. The youngest of the group was the only member not covered in one of the ingredients sprawled across the marble surface. On a regular Sunday morning, the area would be kept tidy as CoCo moved around her sanctuary with trained precision to prepare breakfast for the family. But, for one of two special mornings during the year, Chadwick and the kids snuck around to beat Tasha to the punch and do the heavy lifting.

“Daddy, I don’t think Mommy will like this. It looks...nasty.”

Genuine shock flashed across Chadwick’s face before his booming laughter rang out.

“Does it really look nasty, Princess? You tellin’ me you wouldn’t eat some of your mommy’s favorite french toast?”

“Only if mommy makes it. This looks like sad pancakes.”

Chadwick took a look at the dish and silently agreed.

Tasha had an affinity for brandy soaked French Toast from the moment her late grandmother allowed her to taste a piece when she was young. The dish was always reserved for special occasions and, in special cases, a session of lovemaking that was too incredible to overlook. When CoCo made them, the golden brown pieces of bread sat on the most expensive plates in the house covered in granny smith apples and syrup in all their glory. After Chadwick had taken his stab at the recipe, the results weren’t nearly as picturesque.

Instead of pillowy slices of challah arranged expertly on the plate, Tasha would be met with slightly mushy apples atop pieces of toast with varying shades of brown and the occasional speck of black. The recipe called for two tablespoons of booze, but without the patience to decide if the tablespoon he used was enough, Chadwick opted for a full shot from his wife’s “special” shot glass.

Micah was right. With the bread soaked in alcohol and apple juice, the french toast did look like sad pancakes.

“You know how you didn’t wanna eat broccoli and cheddar soup because you said it looked like snot,” Chadwick asked Micah who nodded in response. “But you liked it because I made it taste good! Well, your mama will like this because I made it taste good even though it looks like snot.”

“And because she thinks we’re cute?”

“Especially because she thinks we’re cute.”

The slow creak of a door opening above their heads made Chadwick wink to Micah with a smile.

“Mama,” Noah exclaimed, clapping his hands together to mimic the way Tasha would greet him with the good morning song and dance.

“I like the way you think, AJ. Let’s go feed Mama.”

Serving tray in hand, Chadwick helped Micah make careful steps up the stairs and to the room. Tasha’s conversation beyond the bathroom door was unusually groggy and slow with morning drowsiness. Some clever planning from Chadwick kept CoCo up past her self-imposed bedtime to buy time for breakfast prep the next morning. His efforts were paying off.

“Yeah ma, I don’t know where they are. It’s too quiet in here,” Tasha informed her mother over the phone.

“Well are you gonna look for ‘em?”

“No. Hopefully they’re out getting my gift. I’ve been dropping hints about an upgraded wedding ring.”

“You haven’t even been married a decade yet.”

“So? A girl could use new diamonds!”

“That boy spoils you rotten, child.”

“He does and I love him.”

Chadwick caught the small sigh on Tasha’s end of the conversation and smiled. She’d been dropping more than hints and the ring. She was making her way into the “let me come out and say it” category day by day.

“It doesn’t matter what I get anyway. I’m more interested in your reaction when you get your gift! I told Daddy to record it.”

“That must be what he’s calling my name for now. I’ll call you with the verdict later.”

CoCo exchanged goodbyes with her mother before dipping into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her absence gave Chadwick and the kids enough time to slip into the master bathroom unseen and set up her Best Mom Ever surprise. The moment her trophy was placed on the bedside table, CoCo opened the door.

“Happy Mama’s Day!”

A broad smile stretched across CoCo’s face as she clutched her chest and admired their excited faces.

“My babies! Is this for me?”

“Yeah! We got you gifts and a trophy and breakfast!”

“Well I’m excited. Show me what to do!”

While Micah gave her mother instructions, Chadwick took his moment to pepper Tasha’s cheek in kisses.

“Happy Mother’s Day, baby. You the best.”

“Ooh does that mean I got my ring?”

“Of course. I installed the new doorbell last night.”

Backing away from his kiss, Tasha made her disgust known. “Get away and give me my son!”

“Ah don’t be like that, Cookie!”

CoCo playfully shooed her husband away and took her spot in the chair beside their bed to wait for whatever Micah had in store. Her first gift came in a ornate, handmade frame.

“This one is from Noah! It says I love you Mommy.”

Tasha took a look at the rainbow of unintelligible signs and shapes and smiled. “I see the vision. It’s abstract! Thank you, Chunk,” she cooed as she brought Noah up to her lips for a kiss. “What’s next, Mikes?”

“I gots the best gift for you from me. Open it, open it!”

Micah couldn’t stop dancing while she watched Tasha carefully pull apart the ribbon adorning a slender, Tiffany blue box. Tasha fully expected another charm bracelet, but the actual gift was nothing short of confusing.

CoCo looked to Chadwick for answers and received a secretive smile in return.

“What is this baby girl?”

“It’s a magic wand because you’re magic! And it’s glass so that it sparkles.”

The explanation made CoCo melt in her seat. “You think I’m magic?”

“Yeah! You do all the cool stuff like cooking and playing dress up and taking pretty pictures and teaching me how to read. You’re like a fairy!”

“Oh my...I’m gonna cry. Come here, sweetie.”

Micah rushed into her mother’s arms for a huge embrace that seemed to last forever.

“I love it so much, Munchkin. I’ll keep it forever and ever. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Micah exclaimed, unaware of the emotional roller coaster she’d just gifted Tasha.

“Whew, the WATERWORKS. Can you beat that Daddy?”

“Actually,” Chadwick answered, dramatically drawing out the word. “Let’s take a break and eat breakfast. I made you famous brandy French Toast.”

“Mmmm, I-.” Tasha’s face dramatically changed expressions as she watched a steaming hot plate of mush be placed in front of her. “This looks...food-y.”

Chadwick caught the hesitation in her sentence and smiled, “We know it doesn’t look as good as yours, but we know it tastes good.”

“And we’re cute!”

“You guys sure are that. I guess I should dig in?”

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” Micah danced and chanted as Tasha attempted to cut through the thickest and, somehow, driest portion of the bread.

All eyes were on her to watch for her reaction. She chewed and chewed...and chewed some more until she had small enough portions to swallow. The sting of potent bourbon nearly made her choke, but she smiled through the reaction.

“Does it taste good, Mommy.”

“Mhmm,” she answered through pursed lips. “Hey, Mikes, Daddy forgot your being me water. Can you bring me a water bottle from the kitchen?”

Micah jumped at the opportunity to be helpful and dashed out of the room. Once she was out of earshot, Tasha’s eyes grew wide.

“Babe, I think I’m drunk! Did you soak it overnight?!

“I may have gone a smidge too hard but the cinnamon flavor is there right?”

“Hell if I know! I can’t taste anything past liquor,” she laughed. The sound drew Noah’s attention and he craned his head around to kiss her lips. “No, no, baby. Can’t have you tipsy at 9 in the morning.”

Chadwick couldn’t help but laugh at his blunder, but chose not to comment. Instead, he chose to take a seat beside her in the bed and pull out the gift hidden in his pocket.

“Since I did less than stellar with your favorite breakfast, I figure I’d give you this to make up for it.”

He presented her with another Tiffany blue box and Tasha immediately knew that was inside. She rushed to pop the top and squealed when she was met with a beautiful diamond with an engraved band.

“Another wedding band? I’m so surprised! I would have never guessed.”

“Yeah right,” Chadwick mumbled. As soon as the words left his lips. Tasha covered them in kisses.

“You the best, babe. I love you.”

“I love you.” A second kiss cake right as a flash of fluffy coils came rushing in to join the rest of the family on the bed. Tasha quickly received the cold bottle before welcoming Micah into her arms.

“I love you all so much. Thank you for being my babies.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Micah affirmed, snuggling closer to CoCo.

The room filled with laughter from wall to wall as they enjoyed time together. Tasha didn’t need flashy gifts and trophies on a holiday to know that she was loved. In her mind, the three versions of her heart was enough to make every day worthwhile.

——

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

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the memory of what we would become // Charlotte&Lola

Summary: High School AU But As Adults. Winter 1997. Charlotte, one year shy of 30, has come back from jet-setting around the world as Rolling Stone’s international correspondent for Christmas, and decides to stop in at Lola and her father Leo’s diner.

A/N: 3749 words. WTF this wasn’t meant to be this long. File this under; things that will not make sense since I haven’t published the actual High School AU. so for reference, in the HS AU Lola’s dad doesn’t die, instead he leaves her mother, takes lola to LA, and opens up a diner there. this is set 12 years after the actual HS AU. UNEDITED. @misscharlottelee @summersummerland THIS IS SO SAPPY IM DYING

----

The walls of Leo’s had changed colours several times over the years, and the latest was a serene lilac. Charlotte steps in, out of the cold, out of the snow, pulling off her scarf and gloves in the sudden warmth of the heated seating area; it’s a relatively slow day, at least for Leo’s, so it’s still bustling with activity. It had been over a decade since Leo’s had opened, and slowly but surely it had turned into something of a landmark of their little suburb as word of it’s reputation spread along the coast, and then through the nation, with bands like Motley Crue, stars like Keanu Reeves and Peach Perry, mentioning it in interviews, and even a certain Rolling Stone writer bringing it up occasionally in articles. Despite it’s popularity, it had retained it’s heart, clearly, as a teenager greets Charlotte, a kid with too many piercings and no eyebrows, smiling all kinds of bright in a way that most probably wouldn’t expect from such an boy who looked so alternative.

“Welcome to Leo’s, was it just yourself today, or will others be joining you?” He asks, and Charlotte gives a warm smile at the familiar greeting.

“Just me; do you know if Lola’s in?” She asks, and for a moment, the kid hesitates, and looks over his shoulder.

“Lola?” He calls, and through the familiar window into the kitchen, Charlotte sees Lola, hair short and eyes bright, look up expectantly. Her whole face lights up at the sight of Charlotte in the entryway.

“Charlie!” She exclaims, and the kid visibly relaxed, nodding to Charlotte, affirming what they both already knew, “Nathan, can you take these burgers to Roan and his sons? Charlie’s an old friend,” Lola calls out to the boy, who zips away, picking up the plates of burgers as Lola put them up to be collected.

“Is that Charlie?” From the back of the kitchen, Charlotte hears Leo call, and after a moment, she also sees his head pop out of the walk-in refrigerator as she approaches the counter. From somewhere further in the refrigerator, out of sight, she hears a faint, child-like, ‘Auntie Charlie?’ followed by Leo disappearing again, though she could still hear him; “yeah, buddy, Auntie Charlie!”

“Hi Leo! Good to see you!” Charlotte calls out, and sits as at the counter as Lola bustles out from the kitchen and around the counter to wrap her friend up in a hug. It’s been months since the girls have seen each other, and to walk into the diner, so familiar and warm, smelling like herbs and spices, to hear the food cooking and the music playing, it felt like coming home.

“Charlie, look at you, you’re so grown up!” Lola holds Charlotte at arm’s length, giving her an approving look over, which she does every time Charlotte comes back to town since they’d both graduated college, like they’re not still the same age, that being almost thirty. Charlotte rolls her eyes with a good natured smirk, brushing off Lola’s smirk as she tucks her gloves and scarf into her purse, “where’d you fly in from this time, Miss Jet-Setter?” Lola’s grinning from ear to ear, moving back behind the counter to start on a milkshake for Charlotte without her even needing to ask.

“Australia,” Charlotte settles into one of the stools by the counter, beaming with pride, “wrote a piece on this rock band, Silverchair, only sixteen, can you believe that?”

“Tommy was sixteen when Motley first got together,” Lola pointed out, to which Charlotte’s grin turned soft and nostalgic.

“Yeah, but they didn’t make it big for a few years,” she reminded, “but Lola, you and Leo would love them, salt of the Earth kind of boys; actually, you might have heard some of their stuff, they were kind of big here too, Tomorrow? Their album’s called Frogstomp.”

“Dad,” Lola calls over her shoulder, “have we played any Silverchair? Frogstomp? Song called Tomorrow?” After a moment, Leo emerges from the freezer with a small, dark-haired child balanced on his hip.

“I think I’ve heard of them, maybe on the radio? Should be play them; what do you think, Charlie, you’re the expert here?” And his smile is so bright, so familiar, that it hits Charlotte square in the chest; he’s still so tall, broad, and intimidating, but his smile offsets it all, kind and gentle, and when she sees he’s wearing a Motley Crue t-shirt -

“Hi, Auntie Charlie!” The kid on his hip, who looks to be about five years old, is waving broadly to her, beaming.

“Fuckin’ love Silverchair,” says a girl with bright green hair from where she was watching burger patties cook on the grill, not even turning around, hip cocked and spatula in hand.

“They are very good,” Charlotte agrees with the girl, before waving back to the kid, grinning just as broadly, “hi Mal!” Much to the kid’s delight.

Both Lola and Leo grin, talking about how they’d have to look into the band. Leo takes a moment to look over the various people in his kitchen cooking and preparing meals, more than Charlotte thinks she’s ever seen, but it makes sense seeing as how the demand has risen. But then he’s joining Lola by the counter, putting the child down and stepping around to wrap Charlotte up in a hug.

“Sorry if I’m a bit frosty, Mal and I were putting away the produce, weren’t we buddy?” Stepping back, he grins at the child, who’s standing by the counter wearing a blinding, and also familiar smile, stepping up onto a stool that made him the perfect height to serve if he so chose.

“Tutu Leo says he’s gonna teach me the special spice mix for the patties soon,” the child, Mal, delights, and Lola puts Charlotte’s milkshake down, and ruffles the kid’s hair.

Maleko Jr already looks like his namesake, and like his mother, but Charlotte would know Nikki’s green eyes anywhere, and there’s something about the bassist in the kid’s smile too, that has Charlotte’s heart warming at the sight.

“Momma, can I have a milkshake too? A chocolate one?” The kid turns to Lola, wide-eyed and hopeful, and Lola gives a fond grin.

“I think so; it’s a special occasion, Auntie Charlie’s back. Do you want me to make it for you or -?” but before Lola can even suggest, Mal hops down from his stool and strides over to the milkshake equipment, claiming that he could do it himself, radiating pride.

“Mal’s really starting to help out around here,” Lola says with pride of her own, her smile turning so adoring as she watches her son, “Since school’s on break, I told him he’s more than welcome to play with his friends or watch TV, but no, he just wants to listen to Motley records and help out Tutu Leo.”

“Lola your kid is a delight,” Charlotte all but wheezed, watching Mal focus intently as he tries to applying a chocolate sauce drizzle to the inside of his cup, the way they did when they made milkshakes here. Charlotte raises her voice just a little, “Mal, last time I was here, you were just handing out napkins, look at you now!”

“I was four then, Auntie Charlie,” Mal says with surprising seriousness as he puts his cup on the bench, and then drags his stool from the counter to the milkshake area, pulling the milk out of the fridge below the counter and climbing atop his stool, “I’m five now, I’m almost an adult.” He says it so matter-of-factly, in a tone that sounds so much like Nikki, that Charlotte has to stop herself from laughing, and from the endeared look on both Leo and Lola’s faces, this was the sort of thing he said often.

“He thinks once you turn ten you become an adult,” Lola whispers to Charlotte as clarification, and it does little to stop the endearment from blossoming in her chest.

Around them, the staff still works, still moves and cooks and prepares, a well oiled machine, competent thanks to Leo and Lola’s tutelage, able to work well while giving Leo, Lola, and Mal, time with Charlotte.

“How’s Razzle?” Leo asked amicably, changing the subject. Before Charlotte can answer, he quickly asks if she’d like anything from the pastry display, and Charlotte accepts a strawberry tart with thanks.

“He’s good, he’s at my parents’ house, sleeping off his jetlag; he spent the last week with me in Australia, so it’s been kind of a whirlwind for him,” she says with a gentle fondness. In the years since that fateful Junior year, so much had happened to all of them, and the development Razzle and Charlotte’s relationship was some of the most surprising.

During their last year of high school, communication with Razzle was mostly via phone calls and letters, and despite trying their hand at long-distance, after a year, with his band’s growing success, and Charlotte’s growing academic demands as she finished school and started looking at colleges, they both decided that it wasn’t the right time.

After graduating, Charlotte managed to get a scholarship to study Journalism in New York, giving her room to breath, to think, to reinvent herself away from her family and all the pressure and drama that came with her. It had been hard at first, especially being so far from her friends and her cousin, but at least she had Eileen, the two of them sharing a shoebox apartment in the city, studying side by side.

So Charlotte had her fair share of flings and hookups through her first year of college, boyfriends and one night stands and things that were sort of in the middle, still talking often with Razzle as friends, but nothing ever seemed to stick. In her second year of college, when presented with the opportunity to study abroad, she took it, heading to the UK with an ulterior motive.

They’d needed the time apart, to grow as people and as friends, but the moment Charlotte steps off the plane, and Razzle’s waiting with her name on a sign, a bunch of flowers, and a bright smile, Charlotte knew she was still absolutely gone for him.

They’d been more or less together for the better part of a decade, with Charlotte often joining Hanoi’s tours, or Razzle following Charlotte to wherever Rolling Stone had sent her since she’d become their foreign correspondent in 1994. Both were now well versed in being understanding, with such hectic and conflicting schedules, but when they’re together, Charlotte can’t help but feel seventeen again, falling in love with him all over again, and she knows he feels the same.

“Australia, that’s on my bucket list,” Leo mused from where he had been wrapping napkins around knives and forks, and putting them neatly in a basket.

“Oh, you’d love it,” Charlotte enthuses, “if you ever want to expand your business, I think it’d be a hit down under.”

“It becomes a chain, but only with a store here, and one in Australia,” Leo snorts a laugh at the idea, though it’s amused rather than derisive, before he brushes the thought aside, “nah, I think with the diner as big as it is, and being in talks with the pub, that’s all I want.” He says with a fond grin, though that second part was news to Charlotte.

“The Kings’?” Charlotte says with interest, looking over her shoulder at the now rather tired-looking pub across the road.

“The owners are looking at selling it,” Lola says tentatively, looking to her father who wore a small smile, giving a nod of confirmation, “since we started started selling merchandise, we’ve been pulling a little bit more of a profit than usual, which, you know, that’s not what’s important, but I was kind of interested in buying the pub.”

“Oh shit,” Charlotte muttered, “you’re talking about me being all grown up, Lo, you guys are buying a pub?”

Behind Lola, Mal had thoroughly mixed his milkshake, and took the cup off of the mixer, putting a bright, paper straw into it and carrying it around the counter to sit himself next to Charlotte as they all spoke.

“It’s not finalized yet, but hopefully in the new year some time.” She sounds so fucking proud, and for a moment, Charlotte barely recognizes her from the girl she’d met twelve years ago, the standoffish, closed off, new kid at school. It was strange, knowing that the girl she’d first met reading a porno mag in the beer garden across the road, had a Masters in Business Administration, and was successfully running the business side of her family’s restaurant. Without sacrificing the quality, cheap price, or heart of Leo’s, Lola had taken over the the successful business, and helped it to thrive.

“That’s so exciting!” Charlotte’s eyes shone brightly as she leaned on the counter, beaming at her old friend, “and how’s Nikki; I heard Motley’s last tour went well, is he back yet?”

“He’s actually due back from the studio any minute,” Lola grins, “I wish I would have known you were coming, he could have brought the band.”

“It’s no worry, I mean we’re all coming for lunch on Saturday, right? After Eileen and Keanu fly in -?”

Mal made a noise of protest as Leo bent all the way over the counter and angled to take a sip of his milkshake.

“Sorry Mal, usually they’re a hundred, million dollars, but I will settle for one sip,” Leo told him, and Mal clicked his tongue, shaking his head in a way that looked so much like Lola.

“They’re four dollars, Tutu, it says on the menu, but you can have a sip because I love you,” he said, with an uncompromising sincerity as he angled the cup and straw to his grandfather. Leo’s expression melted to adoration, thanking the boy as he took a small sip, while both Lola and Charlotte looked on in awe as they watched the exchange.

“How did me and your dad ever make something half as sweet as you?” Lola cooed, and Mal gave her a toothy grin in response, before joyfully slurping down his milkshake. As if on cue, the door to the diner opened, and Nikki Sixx himself stepped in, shivering from the cold.

“Hey Nikki,” Nathan, the boy by the door, says with an easy familiarity, not even bothering to ask if he wanted a table, and Nikki greeted him kindly in turn, while greetings from other nearby staff were also offered to the newcomer. Leo offered a wave and a greeting, but his name was called from the kitchen and he followed the call quickly.

“Dad!” Mal yelled at the top of his little lungs, jumping from his stool and leaving his milkshake forgotten, to practically tackle the bassist who had just arrived. Nikki picks him up with ease, swinging him around before wrapping him up in a hug, making his way to the counter where Lola had taken a sip of her son’s milkshake, and Charlotte had watched the encounter with delight.

“Charlie Lee-Dingley,” Nikki smiled warmly at her, carrying his son over, who was hugging his father tightly, face hidden in the mess of Nikki’s black hair, “it’s good to see you, how long ago did you get in?”

“Like three hours ago,” Charlie laughed, honest, and his eyebrows rose as he moved behind the counter to press a kiss to Lola’s temple in greeting. Mal, in his arms, surfaces only to take his milkshake out of his mother’s hands, content enough to just be quiet and drink, tucked up against his father. Like this, they make a strangely picture-perfect family, and Charlotte’s heart warms at the sight. “Razzle’s sleeping off his jetlag at my parents’ place; how’s the new album coming along?”

“Apart from Vince walking out on us like a -” he hesitates for a moment, gaze flicking to his young son, “- dweeb,” he settles on, “we’re great, actually our new singer, John, he’s fantastic.”

“So Vince is really out for good?” Charlotte asks, and has to hold herself back from pulling out a notebook, journalistic instincts kicking in at the hint of a scoop in her field. But these are her friends, so she restrains herself.

“He’s being -” again he hesitates, which Charlotte finds strange considering Lola swearing with seemingly no consideration for her son earlier, “not nice, and his priorities weren’t with the band; it was for the best.” He concedes, and then puts Mal down when the kid starts wriggling, following after Leo into the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry, am I allowed to swear in front of him?” Charlotte asks, lowering her voice, and both Nikki and Lola grinned.

“Yeah, of course, we want Mal to know that swearing’s just words, so we’re okay with it, but we just try and keep from using language about other people that’s too harsh around him, like Vince is still a good Uncle to the kid, we don’t want him to think negatively about his family just ‘cos of business stuff, you know,” Nikki explains, and oh what the fuck, when did they become so reasonable.

“Of course,” Charlotte nods in understanding, before asking, “so is Vince coming to lunch on Saturday or...?”

“Between the band stuff and People Magazine telling the whole world that Peach is expecting a kid with that 90210 actor she left him for? Probably not,” Lola snickered, “but he gave me a call the other day and said he’s going to stop in and give Mal his Christmas gift while the band is at the studio some time next week.”

“He’s so fucking petty,” Nikki hissed, rolling his eyes. Lola wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a side-hug as a show of support, still so short next to him, like she had been ever since the end of high school. She bounces up on her toes and kisses Nikki’s cheek where he’s scowling.

“It’s cute that he got Mal a gift,” Charlotte points out, which Nikki begrudgingly agrees. Despite the fact that neither Lola nor her father celebrated Christmas, Nikki was raised to, and so were most of the kid’s not-technically-related family, like the Lees, the Austens, and the Neils, and Lola was more than happy to participate, in part, for the people she loved.

Lola and Leo did a lot for the people they loved, in their own way, and the diner was a testament to that. There were photos and articles all over the walls, posters, magazine covers, CDs on shelves, all of the bands, the people, the places, or the things they loved. There’s a wall that’s just covered in polaroids of everyone who’s ever worked here, photos of people who have become friends of Leo and Lola’s, the covers of Leo’s favorite albums spanning back through the decades, articles with glowing reviews of the diner, and three photos of Lola from her three different graduations; high school, her Bachelor’s, and her Master’s.

The first Summer Charlotte had returned after being hired by Rolling Stone, she’d come to see her first article up on the wall of Leo’s, right beside the photo he’d taken of them all from after their Junior prom, when they’d all come back to Leo’s to celebrate the night, and themselves; all of Motley Crue, Charlotte with Razzle, Lola, Peach, Eileen, even Keanu was there, beaming with his arm around Eileen’s shoulders. Now, when she looks to that photo, she not only sees her first article beside it, but she sees the one she wrote on Motley Crue, which she’d had them include in the actual printed article, a scanned image of the badge Lola had hand made for her at 17, black construction paper cut into a star that said ‘Punched Nikki Sixx’ in silver pen. There’s reviews for the movies that Keanu’s been in, TV shows Peach has been a part of, a New York Times article about a big case Eileen had won, and her business card, as well as the CD booklet that had come with the first Hanoi Rocks album, and a signed Motley Crue poster above it all. It was close to a shrine, a dedication to the people who mattered to Leo and Lola, a reminder that no matter how far they all went, they could still call the diner home.

Charlotte doesn’t look at it for too long, or else she knows she’ll start crying.

By the time Charlotte looks away from the wall, Nikki’s moved into the kitchen, put his hair up like she remembers him doing so many times before, back when he’d worked here in high school, and he’s chattering away to Leo about how the album’s coming along as they’re preparing dishes. Lola’s serving someone at the counter, and Mal’s standing beside her on his stool, diligently counting the money the customer’s given before handing it over to his mother to cash.

Charlotte recognizes it when Home Sweet Home starts playing around the same time Mal seems to, his whole little face lighting up, and he looks like he wants to call out to Nikki, but when he sees his father focused and working away in the kitchen, he stays quiet. But he sees Charlotte, and he trots over to her, bringing his stool, and standing across from her.

“Do you know this song?” He asks, seriously.

“Of course I do! My cousin and your dad wrote it!” She grinned, and Mal nodded, beaming, “you know, they started writing this when they visited me with your mom, because I was living very far away.” She tells him, “and I couldn’t come home, and it was pretty sad for all of us.”

“Why couldn’t you come home?” Mal asked, his little face all concerned.

“Because I was at school, and it was very important to me.”

“But you came back,” Mal frowned a moment, looking to his mother, and then over his shoulder at his father and grandfather, “because they came back, you didn’t all stay there.” It’s not a question; obviously Charlotte was here, he was just trying to wrap his mind around it.

“Yes, I came home; I always come home.”

“To Leo’s,” like it’s the only real answer, which, to him, who lived above the diner, it was. But as Charlotte considered, she let herself smile, let herself agree.

“Home to Leo’s.”

#motley crue #lola & charlotte #charlotte&lola #the angry lizard writes

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jenncognito · 7 years

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The Nine Spell Sisters You’ll Meet in the Cactus Garden of Insta

If you've found this blog lovely, deep down you already know you have a serious problem. It’s cool. As useless as reading this will be to save your wallet, you’ll find some peace in knowing we’re in this together. So let’s get on with the first step in solving acknowledging our shared problem by admitting that some or all of the following shit has been going on lately:

“We”* have been frantically Googling Spell and the Gypsy Collective, Joplin Jacket or worse Spell Xanadu eBay... or even more hopelessly tragic Spell Folktown. We've been waking from dreams of blue skies and going to bed fantasizing about Lotu...actually we don't go to bed - at least not lately. We’re not sleeping much are we? No. We’re up sweating; obsessing over the one that got away... or in all probability will, at the next drop - because our internet isn't fast enough; because 7 seconds is suddenly an eternity during check out; because XS sells out first. Every. Fucking. Time. What we have is full blown PTSD - Post Traumatic Spell Disorder, with more than a healthy side case of drop anxiety.

* Please note the use of the ‘Spell sister we’ here. Much like a ‘spousal we’ this in fact means you.

Sound about right?

Welcome friend. It's nice to have you. You’re safe here. At least until the end of May, when Lotus drops.

Ever wonder how this started? I do (and so does my husband, my wallet and all my abandoned hobbies.)

Since science is ignoring me won’t explain the root cause of my condition, I've been working on a few conspiracy theories to help explain how one innocent retail therapy sesh, consisting of a Route 66 dress, turned into a full blown brand dependency that has me mapping out intricate buying strategies a full 48 - 72 hours before every drop:

Conspiracy Theory 1: Spell infuses their hand drawn fabrics with Stevie Nick's breath which they have bottled into microscopic nanotubes that fit into the heads of sewing needles. After the Australian TGA denied approval on a Stevie Nicks Vape pen, wherein the user would actually inhale the muse’s vocal chord filtered CO2, Spell had a shitload of unregulated gypsy breath on their turquoise encrusted hands. As Spelly and Lizzy are committed to sustainability, they quickly found a way to repurpose this rare and precious resource. The result? Once you start wearing a Spell piece, Stevie’s magical gypsy breath whispers into your pores, delivering you an effortless high that obviously demands you chase it again and again... on the wings of an enormous owl, obviously. Why this is probably true: Look no further than yourself - yes or no, you increasingly find yourself totally down with multiple layers of lace you would have never considered wearing at this age (or since that rad 1990 Jr. Prom dress)? Yes or no, you have found yourself with both a Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac Spotify Channel on endless rotation? Yes or no, when someone mentions the word leather, you blurt the lyrics “take from me my laaaace?” (note: There is actually a Spell Sisters 70’s Festival Jamboree playlist on Spotify. You’re welcome from Lulu Mey, the goddess who created it.)

Conspiracy Theory 2: Spell runs a genius instagram account 782k followers strong and just when you think you can ‘totally survive without another piece from Festival ‘17 BAM - you see it styled on a muse that could easily be you. You could be in Thailand, in that backless Lolita, in front of that waterfall, with those lovely beachy waves in your hair and no shoes because you floated there (on the owl - duh.) In fact it probably IS you… because they plucked that image straight out of your unicorn mind, put a 72% Lark filter on it and fed the ‘travelling you’ right into that instagram channel. They did this as a courtesy ICYMI; you know, all the retargeting ads the other gentle signs reminding you that you actually do NEED this piece in your life and it’s no longer optional. Why this is probably true: because it is true. See: @spell_byronbay.

Pick your theory but the FOMO (Folktown Obsessed Must Own) is real. Obviously, they have put a serious Spell on us - sorry not sorry, pun was too obvious. Show me another brand tribe that feels compelled to share their instant bond on insta when they show up full twinsies at a party (Who wore it best? Both of us! Yay! Love you! Love you more! #twinsemoji) Show me another brand tribe that has women from ages 18 - 81 searching for a magical unicorn in the shape of a mumu. Show me another brand who has more authentically gorgeous UGC. See: #myspellcollection #spelldesigns #spellskirtswish #vintagespell #spellluxelace #spellfestivalstyle

While we share a familiar ache in our wallets and art museums for closets, we’re a globally diverse tribe to be sure. Still yet, with every Spell Sister you meet, you connect with a little piece of yourself, right? Just in case your affliction is fresh and you’re still trying to find your cactus rose footings... Here’s the short list of the nine Spell Sister’s you’ll meet fall in love with in the cactus garden we call Insta (ps, I’m @jennvonhagen )

1) The Unconditional Lover: She buys something from every drop, and even if she's secretly not 100% sure it works on her, she's committed to making it work and her tribe is there to help her rock it hard. Queue the extra large knotted hemline and for God’s sake woman - just belt it. Spell can do no wrong - not even a dress recall phases her - she kept that Blue Skies Maxi Wrap dress, and she wears a kimono made of bubble wrap over it - and somehow it actually works for her - because she belts it.

2) The Fresh Collector: She "just found this new brand OMG" Bae got woke somewhere right after Hotel Paradiso and she can't shut the fuck up about her OZ obsession - because she DISCOVERED it you guys. We don’t blame her for the misconception, we felt EXACTLY the same way. Her insta is full of ‘lowered gaze’ shots that have you wondering WTF she’s staring at. Educated guess - it’s 16 trash bags full of labels she’ll never wear again. Regardless, she looks amazing in that dress, so we don’t give a shit - we welcome her with open kimonos. Babushka was her first ‘fully aware drop’; her collection has a shit ton of it. We’re simultaneously proud and worried, because she has no idea what she’s gotten into.

3) The Hider: Everything is NWT. She hasn’t even worn what she's got, and the challenge of justifying the spend is getting exponential. With her towers of white boxes getting harder and harder to conceal, the Husband is now on to her. Busted a few times during a delivery, she now sends the white boxes to the neighbors house and swears:

“It’s from Target/ I’ve had this forever/I’m borrowing it/Yay Swapped!”

(Rejoice hiders: the boxes are being transitioned out. You’ll no longer have to hide them - now you can simply obsess over collecting the cute new calico bags.)

4) The Girl Next Door: Nobody knows what she does for a living, but apparently she lives at Spell. I mean right inside the fucking Byron store... 12 minutes after a drop goes live, she's #spellswishing in the latest sold-out-soon-to-be-Unicorn. We hate her. Just kidding we love her. Just kidding we want to be her. Just kidding, we’ll settle for a sleepover - in her bohemian yurt, which is probably located right outside Spell’s cactus garden.

5) The Historian: Her collection dates back farther than Gypsy Queen and she probably has that first Sugarhigh+Lovestoned tee they styled the early jewels with in a safety deposit box. She can recite the name of every collection and every piece in it. She can spot fakes too, because she knows exactly when the logo lock up changed thanks to Rachel Pony Gold (circa April/May 2012). She indulges in the bootstrapped sisterly romance of it all. Damn right she owns the book; it’s signed - obviously.

6) The Cheerleader: She likes EVERY photo with Spell in it, and she will tell you you look GORGEOUS every single time she sees you on Insta because she believes that you have a beautiful unicorn soul. “You in that Sunset Road + Festival ‘16 mashup = AMAZING!”

She imagines you in your private cactus garden teaching your children how to hand letter affirmation mantras and macrame their own diapers as you sip organic kombucha and braid your bestie’s hair. She loves you. So. Fucking. Much. Her pronouns are heart eye emoji and kiss emoji.

7) The Impulse Buyer: constantly swears to God and all that is will-powerful that she WILL. NOT. CAVE to the next drop. She is going to be practical for fuck’s sake. (Yah, Lotus has alot of yellows and olives.. I’m more of a “summer”) But then she buys the Joplin Jacket because Florida winters are “brutal”. She has a large return shipping bill, admits that this is merely an endless paypal exchange and knows the Customer Service Angels by name (Oh, hey Angela). She uses the RA form and chat feature to send them love notes and see how they’re holding up after each drop.

8) The Wing-Woman: you either are one, have one - or both. She’s as hardcore as you are and she doesn’t judge your illness. You both have issues. This is the person you spend hours strategizing with before every drop. You two have your own kind of math and it’s harder to follow than ‘conceptual math. But this secret Spell math is a thing of fucking beauty: no matter what the equation, you always get the answer you want:

”Ok, I returned my Blue Skies Wrap, so I have a credit, plus what I saved on the Babushka Midi equals the price of the Joplin …. I’m net zero!”

You size up the line, screen shotting Snapchat and teasing each other via text. You pro/con every piece based on some fictional, rational version of you that “doesn’t need another gown, but needs to go with 2 piece sets you know, for more daily use.” (Um, sure - whatever you need to tell yourself hun.) If you’re on vacay during the drop, she’s got your back - as in your paypal payback - unconditional support is just a click away. She’s also hunting unicorns for you on the side and blowing you up on text in the middle of the night with buyer’s guilt (note the lack of remorse. There is never remorse, just fleeting guilt and temporary indulgence shaming for going overboard with both the Stardust Cami AND the Jacket “I’m a living Goddamned disco ball, WTF have I done? But I lurrve them.Yay me!)

9) The Unicorn Hunter: She’s next level obsessed, willing to throw cash and half her current Spell stash at the "last ever of it's kind, ever." ‘Evil-bay’ is alternately her nemesis, and her reluctant savior. After multiple talks off the Buy It Now button and pleas to her practical side, she eventually caves for her Unicorn, pays an obscene price and then never takes it off. See: Anything Folktown or a Xanadu Maxi Dress on eBay/Poshmark/Depop/Facebook Swap & Sell insert streaming tears emoji + unicorn emoji

As different as we may be - there’s something beyond swirling around in art that pulls us together. Perhaps it’s the addictive cocktail of anticipation + adrenaline + winning. Even as we’re confident that Spelly, Lizzy and all the Angels are sorting through the surprise growing pains, deep down we know there’s a small part of us that will miss bonding/sweating/crying over the chaos. More likely though, it’s the authentic friendships formed while supporting each other. ( I just heard a story from two best friends who met via a hashtag. They live a world apart, but talk every day.)

While I can't offer a cure (because Lotus/May/God help us), we can still justify our spending take comfort in knowing we’re not alone. (Or maybe that just adds to our stress because at least 20K+ of us have the notifications turned on for an intense Facebook page where we channel our obsession into smarter ways to buy/sell or swap more pieces.) Either way - rejoice in the Spell Sisterhood - our love runs deep, our tribe is epic and your OOTD is eternally on point.

PS - does anyone have a Turquoise Folktown Skirt and Top set in XS? Seriously, I die.

Note: You can follow more of the saga on Insta @jennvonhagen After I wrote this blog, I stumbled upon a hilarious thread on the Facebook Spell Designs Buys Swap and Sell page where fellow sisters are sharing their legit addiction and proven survival techniques. I’m currently interviewing for a follow up to this post, where I’ll share stories from all nine types of sisters. If you identify with one or more of the above, comment with your number(s) and if you’d like to be a part of the next post, message me here, on Insta or email me at [email protected]

#spell and the gypsy collective #spell #brand #fashion #tribe

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