Charlie Strand (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
disownment) wrote2022-03-28 12:57 pm
disownment) wrote2022-03-28 12:57 pm
fathers be good to your daughters // daughters will love like you do
Even as the taxi that brought her from SeaTac drove away, Charlie Strand contemplated walking away from the 3 story house without approaching the front door. This. Was stupid. A mistake. Could not, in any way, end well.
She'd picked up the phone half a dozen times over the last month and nearly called Alex Reagan to interrogate her, only changing her mind because she knew, she fucking knew every word out of her mouth would end up on that stupid podcast. A dozen more times, she'd very, very nearly broken down and called her father, and hadn't, because...
Because stubbornness, mostly. But also, because phone calls weren't good enough. She wanted to look him in his damned smug face and make him look back when she said everything she needed to say, asked every question she needed to ask.
And this way, she could be sure nothing was recorded.
Taking a breath, Charlie strode up to the front door and leaned on the bell, stepped back and squared her shoulders, angled her head--already subconsciously preparing for a fight.
Inside, Broooklyn sat across from her foster father at the breakfast nook with her homework spread out in front of her, little feet kicking back and forth as she read aloud from a book about Ruth Bader Ginsburg for her social studies class. "'In 1940, little Ruth's neighborhood was vibrant with immigrants--people from Italy, I--Ireland, England, P...Po-land, and Germany. Jews from Russia, like Ruth's father, Nathan Ba...Bader. People from different cultures with different holidays, foods, and...tra-di-tions. But in all these families in Brooklyn'--that's my name!" She looked up from her book briefly to beam, feet kicking a little faster for a moment, before she ducked her head to continue. "'Brooklyn, New York, and in families everywhere, one thing was the same: Boys where expected to grow up, go out in the world, and do big things. Girls? Girls were expected find husbands.' Ew, that's gross!"
Brooklyn made a face, thoroughly dismayed, and reached for a carrot stick to snack on and soothe her disgust. When the doorbell rang she froze, her smile fading, and she looked in the direction of the front entrance with some trepidation. It was stupid, but she was still afraid someone might come and try to take her away. If it was Alex or Ruby they wouldn't have rung the doorbell.
She'd picked up the phone half a dozen times over the last month and nearly called Alex Reagan to interrogate her, only changing her mind because she knew, she fucking knew every word out of her mouth would end up on that stupid podcast. A dozen more times, she'd very, very nearly broken down and called her father, and hadn't, because...
Because stubbornness, mostly. But also, because phone calls weren't good enough. She wanted to look him in his damned smug face and make him look back when she said everything she needed to say, asked every question she needed to ask.
And this way, she could be sure nothing was recorded.
Taking a breath, Charlie strode up to the front door and leaned on the bell, stepped back and squared her shoulders, angled her head--already subconsciously preparing for a fight.
Inside, Broooklyn sat across from her foster father at the breakfast nook with her homework spread out in front of her, little feet kicking back and forth as she read aloud from a book about Ruth Bader Ginsburg for her social studies class. "'In 1940, little Ruth's neighborhood was vibrant with immigrants--people from Italy, I--Ireland, England, P...Po-land, and Germany. Jews from Russia, like Ruth's father, Nathan Ba...Bader. People from different cultures with different holidays, foods, and...tra-di-tions. But in all these families in Brooklyn'--that's my name!" She looked up from her book briefly to beam, feet kicking a little faster for a moment, before she ducked her head to continue. "'Brooklyn, New York, and in families everywhere, one thing was the same: Boys where expected to grow up, go out in the world, and do big things. Girls? Girls were expected find husbands.' Ew, that's gross!"
Brooklyn made a face, thoroughly dismayed, and reached for a carrot stick to snack on and soothe her disgust. When the doorbell rang she froze, her smile fading, and she looked in the direction of the front entrance with some trepidation. It was stupid, but she was still afraid someone might come and try to take her away. If it was Alex or Ruby they wouldn't have rung the doorbell.