IT WAS NEVER odd for the Cobains to be together, all of them congregated into one room. For Lindy, growing up and being shoved into a single, contained area with her whole family had been akin to burning in a pit of hell. Her, Trae and Lee together in one room had never meant good news.
Yet, when she and Kurt spent time together with Charlie and Frances, she felt whole, as if a part of her had been missing when the two children she called her own were not around. Even when only one of them was present, whether it be Charlie or Frances, something always felt missing.
They were a collection of puzzle pieces, a gene pool of flawlessly compatible people who seemed to understand one another on wavelengths that exceeded human comprehension. They weren't the sort of intimate, granola families who went on road trips or camping adventures, but they were still devotedly close. Even if it meant simply being near each other.
Even though Kurt was nervous to explain Danny's proposition to his kids, Lindy did not feel the least bit wary of what their reactions would be. As she sat on the couch besides Kurt, looking into Charlie and Frances's questioning faces, she felt nothing but love for the two wonderful people in front of her.
They would never be anything but supportive of their father. And that had to do again with them being puzzle pieces. There would always be an understanding between the four of them, one that transitioned seamlessly from one of their minds to the next. The Cobains loved each other fiercely and not because they had to in spirit of traditional family ties, but because they wanted to.
Charlie and Frances would accept Kurt's wishes, that much Lindy knew. She would never doubt their understanding for the man who had helped to give them life. They adored him too much to go against his wishes.
"I'm sorry you guys . . . rushed here," Kurt said awkwardly, looking between them both sheepishly.
"No apology necessary," Frances assured him. She smiled, evoking a smile in return out of Kurt.
Same smiles, worn by two different people.
"Can someone explain why you labeled this little get together as a family meeting, though?" Charlie requested, crossing his arms.
"Why are you so traumatized about the family meeting thing?" Frances asked wondrously, turning to her brother with a glint of humor in her sea glass eyes.
"We don't have family meetings in this house," Charlie protested, whining like a little kid.
"I think you've predisposed him to some underlying trauma by not giving him family meetings as a kid," Frances said, looking pointedly at Lindy and Kurt.
Lindy couldn't help but to giggle, tucking her chin into her chest so Charlie wouldn't see the growing smile on her face. She cleared her throat, passing the bout of laughter off as a cough.
"Whatever you want to call it, we -- I mean, I -- really do have to talk to you guys," Kurt said earnestly. His leg was jiggling up and down, a dead giveaway of his nerves.
Charlie and Frances exchanged a look, a passing exchange of mutual thought that siblings were used to. Together they found seats in the living room, making themselves comfortable. If Kurt had something big to say, then they would listen. He would not have called for a meeting if it weren't majorly important to him, and this became clearly understood by both Charlie and Frances as they opened their ears and minds to what he was going to announce.
Kurt sighed carefully, prompting Lindy to reach out and grab his hand. She couldn't keep count of all the times she'd ever reached out to him, taking his own hand in hers, but she didn't regret knowing that it was probably a high number. It was years worth of physical comfort on both of their ends.
