After the difficult apartment hunt, getting a job had been easier than Joyce imagined. It was three days after moving into Olga’s basement suite that she found a job. The first two days Joyce looked through the classifieds. She called several businesses but quickly found she was either too inexperienced or she had too much education. The second day Olga came to her.
“No job?”
Joyce sighed dejectedly. “No job.”
Olga was silent for a moment. “You are a hard worker? Are you willing to work long hours?”
Joyce looked at the Polish woman curiously. “Yes.”
“I have job for you,” Olga said. Her expression was pleased and slightly smug.
“You do?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, I call my friend and you go for interview.”
It was a historical artefacts shop. Joyce was in the middle of her interview when Carla, the woman interviewing her, paused, her eyes narrowing at something she read on her resume.
“You have a business degree?”
“I … I know it’s not exactly the type of background you’re looking for in an employee, but I am a very good worker. I learn fast. You can start me at the very bottom; I don’t mind that. I’ll work week days and weekends. Mornings and evenings -”
“It’s alright, Joyce,” Carla said with a smile. “I was just a little surprised. It doesn’t mean I won’t hire you.”
Joyce blinked, a bright smile tentatively kissing her lips. “You want to hire me?”
“Yes.” Carla smiled. “My degree was in French literature, but here I am now. You can never tell where you’ll end up.”
“No,” Joyce agreed. Her smile lit up her entire face. “You certainly can’t.”
--
Over the next several months Joyce became more comfortable living in Sunnydale. Sharing tea at least once a week with Olga, they came to an easy friendship. At work she proved herself a reliable and hard worker and was slowly being given more responsibilities.
Even though she had been more than a little disillusioned in the beginning about how living on her own would be, Joyce was quick to realize the reality of her situation, and found she liked her new life. She couldn’t afford the luxurious and expensive things she’d enjoyed in her old life. At first she missed the things she’d taken for granted: such as manicures and hair stylists. But, Joyce knew she had to save her money. So she saved. She had never really considered being poor before. She had always understood the concept of poverty, but her life had been so set apart from the poor that she hadn’t completely appreciated the fear of not having enough. Not enough money. Not enough food. Not enough to just get by.
But now she did understand. Now, having to pay for rent, gas for her car (a rusty, twenty year old gas guzzler she’d bought for five hundred dollars), groceries, money she put away for when the baby was born, and the million other miscellaneous things she’d never thought of before, she was barely scraping by.
Joyce could barely believe how much money she had spent without a second thought back in her old life. She’d spent hundreds of dollars without blinking an eye. She thought it would have been hard to sacrifice the luxurious activities she’d so previously enjoyed, but it was surprising how easy it was to give them up. Her nails weren’t manicured, but she was fine with that. And she really didn’t mind getting bargain haircuts.
Letting go of her previous life felt like a burden was being lifted from her. She was creating a new life – and not just the one inside her. She was no longer dependent Joyce Summers - the rich girl living in an apartment paid by her parents, getting an education she never really wanted. She was independent Joyce Summers – yes she was poor, but she made her own decisions. She lived in a basement suite, worked long hours and barely made enough money to get by, but it was what she wanted. She was happy.
She had never felt so free in her entire life.
--
“You’re pregnant?”
Joyce choked on a mouthful of tea. “What?”
Olga skewered Joyce with a scrutinizing eye. “You gain weight. You have rounder face. Rounded tummy. You’re pregnant, yes?”
Joyce had honestly thought she wasn’t showing that much. “Olga ... I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before ...” she trailed off helplessly. Joyce had always known she’d have to tell Olga, but she had hoped it would have been later. She really wasn’t looking forward to finding a new place to live.
“You have the look for it.” Olga smiled. “A bit like my sister. But she looked more like an angry chicken. A fat angry chicken.”
Joyce couldn’t help laughing. Olga joined her a moment before Joyce sobered. “I’m very sorry, Olga, that I didn’t tell you in the beginning. I just needed somewhere to live ... just ... can I stay here for another two or three months? I promise I’ll move out before the baby is born.”
Olga’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Why do you want to move out?”
“Well, I mean, your ad said no kids ...”
Olga smiled in understanding. “Your baby is welcome to live here.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I like you, droga.”
“You’ll really let me stay here with my baby?”
“Really. Now, more tea?”
--
Later, looking back, Joyce didn’t know she would have coped without Olga’s help during and after her pregnancy. The older woman constantly brought nutritious food for Joyce to eat, provided a motherly ear for her to bend, and was full of wisdom gained through her own personal experiences.
“When I was pregnant I craved most odd things. Orange with pickle. Sauerkraut with chocolate,” Olga said one day when she saw what Joyce eating.
“Hm. Oranges and pickles don’t sound so bad.” Joyce offered Olga some of her food. “You want some of my chocolate egg sandwich?”
Olga’s nose scrunched up. “No thank you, droga.”
Through long hours and hard work, Joyce was slowly moving up into higher positions at work. Carla had been a bit surprised when Joyce came to her and told her about the pregnancy, but she promised that if Joyce still wanted the job afterward the baby was born, it was hers.
So, Joyce’s pregnancy, for the most part, was uneventful. She attended regular checkups, at Olga’s urging, and was told she was carrying a little girl.
Her little baby girl.
After passing her due date by a week, and twelve hours of labour, Joyce Summers delivered a healthy baby girl. Pink. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Perfect.
The moment she saw her daughter, everything seemed to come into focus. This little bundle was her heart and soul. The complete love and devotion she felt when she looked down at her small child overwhelmed her.
“There, there,” a nurse said kindly when Joyce began to cry. “It’s alright. You have a very beautiful daughter, Miss Summers.”
Joyce smiled around her tears. “I know.”
“Do you have a name for her?”
Joyce studied the sleeping baby in her arms. “Elizabeth,” she said finally. It felt right. “Elizabeth … Buffy Anne Summers.”
--
Joyce had never really had any prior experience with babies. She’d seen many in passing; mothers pushing them in strollers in the mall or on the street. She had only held a baby once in her entire life. It was right after her cousin gave birth to a baby boy. Her cousin had thrust the tiny, squirming creature into her arms while she made a bathroom run. Joyce had been so afraid of breaking the helpless baby that all she could do was stare in terror at the small bundle and hope she didn’t hurt him during the two minutes her cousin was gone.
It didn’t really look that hard. Being a mother, that is. From watching her cousin it seemed it was mostly feeding, changing and sleeping. Simple.
However, after getting up at least three times one night to see why Buffy was crying, she could only look back at her misconceived notions of motherhood and shake her head at her naivety.
“Wnuczka,” Olga cooed. “My little wnuczka.” Buffy grinned around toothless gums.
Olga had been amazingly helpful to Joyce. She didn’t know if she would have lasted that first year on her own. The Polish woman never minded helping her with Buffy. Unable to afford daycare, Joyce was even more grateful for Olga when the older woman took care of Buffy while she was at work.
Olga adored Buffy as though she were her own granddaughter and doted on her shamelessly. By the time Buffy was three years old it had become a ritual between just the two of them to go to the local ice cream parlour and have large sundaes once a week.
Joyce moved into a manager position a few months after Buffy’s first birthday. With her increased wage she was able to save money and put it towards nest egg that she hoped would grow enough to eventually be put towards a house down payment.
The first few years of Buffy’s life were relatively normal. Normal as life can be with a single mother and pseudo Polish grandmother. Even though her upbringing was a bit unorthodox, Buffy was a happy child. Joyce became very comfortable in Sunnydale, no longer worrying her parents were trying to find her. Life was, for the most part, normal.
It wasn’t until Buffy was almost four years old that Joyce began to realize her daughter may not be as normal as she’d previously thought.
One early evening she’d finished loading the dishwasher and checked her watch. Leaning through the open kitchen window, she called to her daughter to come inside.
Buffy shouted, “No, mommy!” and continued to play in the sandbox Olga had put in for Buffy’s second birthday.
Joyce dried her hands on a tea towel. Buffy’s refusal wasn’t surprising. She was an extremely stubborn and bright little girl - sometimes a bit too stubborn for her own good.
Walking out to the sandbox, Joyce put her hands on her hips. “Come inside, Buffy. Bedtime is in ten minutes.”
“Wanna play.”
Joyce reached for the little girl. “You can play more tomorrow, okay?”
Buffy wriggled out of her mother’s grasp. “No!” she screeched.
Joyce rubbed her temples. It was one of those nights. “Yes, Buffy. Let’s get to bed.”
When Joyce reached for her daughter again, Buffy growled low in her throat. For a flash of a second Buffy’s eyes darkened to a deep emerald, leaving no white or pupil and her pearly incisors elongated to wickedly sharp points. Joyce gasped, stepping back. But, in the next moment, her daughter’s normal green eyes shone back at her, her teeth were smooth and regular. Joyce blinked again. Did she...? No. It was a trick of the light. Trick of the eye. Impossible.
Joyce put the incident out of her mind. She convinced herself it had been her imagination – she had been very tired that day, anyways. She never thought on it again until two years later.
Buffy’s preschool teacher, Mrs. Phelps, called Joyce at work one day, explaining she wanted to speak with her after school that day.
At the school, Buffy played with the crayons in the back of the classroom while Joyce sat in a chair across from Mrs. Phelps.
“Miss Summers, you’re daughter is a very intelligent child,” Mrs. Phelps began carefully. “But I am concerned about some of her behaviour lately.”
“What do you mean?”
Mrs. Phelps looked at Joyce seriously. “Some of the other children are afraid of Buffy. I believe that she may be bullying them.”
Joyce’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “My Buffy? Are you certain?”
“The past couple weeks she’s segregated herself from most of the class. I’ve heard some very strange things from the other students.”
“Like what?”
“It seems some of the other children believe she can grow fangs, or some such things.”
“Fangs?”
Mrs. Phelps smiled slightly. “I know this is the children’s imagination working in overdrive, but I can’t help but think that Buffy has frightened them so much that they have presumed to give her … animal like qualities.”
“I see.”
Mrs. Phelps glanced past Joyce at the oblivious little girl merrily drawing in a coloring book. “I wouldn’t have brought this up to you unless I was truly concerned.”
“I know … I understand.”
“So you will talk to Buffy about this?”
“Oh … yes,” Joyce replied, her mind working a mile a minute. “Yes, of course I will.”
Joyce drove home on autopilot. Buffy was singing loudly in the backseat, but Joyce barely heard her. What she had seen two years ago ran through her mind. Hadn’t she only imagined that? What if she hadn’t? Joyce glanced at her daughter through the rear-view mirror. Was something wrong with her baby girl?
Later that night Joyce was tucking Buffy into bed when she brought up what Mrs. Phelps said.
“Buffy, today at school Mrs. Phelps told me something. I want you to be honest with me, okay?”
“Yeah, mommy,” Buffy said, snuggling deeper under her quilt.
“She said that … that some of the other children think you can change how you look.”
Buffy looked up at her mother quizzically.
Joyce swallowed heavily. “That you can … grow fangs.”
Buffy’s face cleared of confusion. She nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Can … can you show me?”
“Sure!” The next moment Buffy’s eyes became a dark emerald and her incisors had sharpened. Joyce gasped, jumping up from when she had been sitting on the bed. Buffy’s face melted back into her green eyes and blunt teeth. Tears slipped down her cheeks at the sudden fearful look on Joyce’s face. “Mommy? What’s wrong?”
Joyce felt her heart break at the sight of her distraught child. Gathering Buffy in her arms she whispered, “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why you … you …” Buffy hiccupped.
Joyce looked down at her daughter. Her daughter. Buffy was her baby girl and Joyce loved her more than anything and nothing could change that.
Joyce kissed the top of Buffy’s head. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You just surprised me.”
Buffy sniffled into her mother’s shirt. “How long have you been able to change like that?” Joyce asked.
Buffy shrugged. “I dunno. Forever I think.”
Joyce was silent for several minutes. Buffy was starting to drift asleep in her mother’s arms when Joyce said, “Buffy, can you promise me something?”
Buffy blinked. “Huh?”
“This is very serious, Buffy. I need you to make a big girl promise, okay?”
“Okay, mommy.”
“Promise me you will never, ever change in front of anyone again.”
Buffy’s brow crinkled in confusion. “But why?”
“It’s to protect you, honey. Some people just won’t understand. Please promise me.”
“Okay,” Buffy said sleepily. “I promise.”
Joyce kissed her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
[Reviews - 61]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2173 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
thank you so much for the reviews. It warms my heart that people are interested in this story.
Chapter End Notes:
For the inquiring minds:
Droga - sweetheart
Wnucska - granddaughter
I will be the first to admit my Polish is not very good. So I apologize if I've translated wrong.
Droga - sweetheart
Wnucska - granddaughter
I will be the first to admit my Polish is not very good. So I apologize if I've translated wrong.