Vinegar 6, Pistachio 3: Homecoming
Title: Homecoming
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Vinegar 6 (do not operate machinery), pistachio 3 (ceremony), malt (PFAH: Summer, Ivy, Aaron, Danny : I don't think the microwave works like that), caramel.
Word Count: 1230
Rating: PG.
Summary: How many people have to hide in the kitchen before the party moves to the kitchen?
Notes: More pointless silliness but I do not even care. Pistacho used loosely because I seriously doubt my characters are ever solemn. Liza Picard is a real and entertaining historian, and the girl Summer is talking about midway through is Lina Medina, should you care to look her up.
"Summerchild? You in here?"
Summer didn't look up from her book, but called, "Yes," in reply. She never bothered trying to hide from Lars, because he always found her somehow. Probably because he'd known her for over twenty years.
Goodness. Twenty years. Had it been that long?
He was standing beside her now, hands on his hips. He probably wanted to stand in front of her except that Summer was sitting at the counter, perched on a stool, leaning her elbows on the tile as she read. "Summerchild," he said, reproachfully. "Why are you hiding in the kitchen?"
"It's too noisy out there," she said, and turned a page. She wasn't ordinarily very interested in history books, but Liza Picard wrote such good ones, all about the city and the workings of it, with all the detail other people left out. She didn't dwell too much on the way people worked, either, which Summer appreciated, since she'd never understood it and didn't want to try when she was reading.
"Well, yes," Lars said. "It's a party. Parties are noisy by definition."
"Which is why I'm in the kitchen," Summer said. She looked up from her book and gave him her best "of course" look.
Lars, quite sensibly, decided to take another tack. "The kids are asking for you."
That was not playing fair. It was Summer's turn to give him a reproachful look. "Since when do you care what the children are asking for?"
"Hey, now," Lars said. "Just because I don't want kids doesn't mean I don't like them. I like kids fine."
"You won't ever babysit," Summer pointed out, and folded her hands so she could prop her chin on them. "When I told you I wanted children you went all strange."
He laughed. "Define 'strange'-- anyway, that was because I still think you're five years old. Five-year-olds shouldn't be having children."
"Five-year-olds are not physiologically capable of having children," Summer said. "Unless they are medical anamolies. There was one girl in Peru, in the thirties--"
Lars held up a hand. "Summerchild, I really, really do not want to know."
"Oh," she said, and realized she'd been about to go on. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize," he said. It sounded automatic to Summer, but then he had been saying it for almost twenty years. "You really should come out and join the party, sweetheart. We missed you."
Summer shrugged. She'd been living in Washington DC for the past four years. She would think that her family was used to missing her by now. She was certainly used to missing them. Which, in a roundabout way, was why she was in the kitchen.
"I don't even know why you're having a party," she said, to distract from the rather lonesome way that made her feel.
Lars arched his eyebrows. "Why not have a party?" he asked, spreading his hands. "You're home, Andy got straight A's, Aaron got some kind of teaching award, Jake's been elected again... what's not to celebrate?"
"I didn't know Jake got elected again," Summer said, suspiciously. "In fact I thought he was in an appointed position."
"He was," Lars said, flapping his hand. "He switched. He's on the City Council now. We're all very proud of him. Come and celebrate."
"No," Summer said, and went back to her book. She'd be far more comfortable encountering her family and friends one at a time, on her own terms, than she would in the middle of a party.
Lars made a huffy noise through his nose. "Even if I said please?"
"No," she said, again. "I don't like parties."
He muttered something she couldn't hear, and Summer was about to ask that he speak up when Aaron came in, blinked at them, and said, "Oh, here you two are. What are you reading, Summer?"
"Restoration London, by Liza Picard," Summer answered, relieved to see her brother. Aaron would never make her go and be social if she didn't want to. "It's very interesting."
"Must be," Aaron said. "I may borrow it when you're done. Lars, are you harassing my baby sister?"
Lars straightened up and looked down his nose at Aaron, a considerable feat, Summer thought, since Aaron was taller than him. "I would never. I can't believe you would insinuate that."
Aaron rolled his eyes. "Is he harassing you, sunflower?"
"Yes," Summer said, and when Lars made another huffy noise, added in the interests of truth, "Only a little though. He wants me to come join the party."
"I wouldn't," Aaron said. "It's loud in there."
Summer turned and gave Lars her very best 'I told you so' look.
"Oh, shut up," Lars said. Summer wasn't sure who he was addressing.
"You shut up," Aaron said, apparently assuming it was him.
From behind him, Ivy said, "Your kids are having a terrible effect on your vocabulary, Aaron. Move."
"Don't wanna," he said, but stepped sideways anyway. Ivy came in, a paper bag in one hand and a plastic cup full of punch in the other.
"Any kids in here?" she asked, peering from side to side. Finding none, she sighed, produced a bottle from the paper bag, and poured a healthy dollop of the clear liquid inside into her cup. "Thank God. I've been dying for a drink all day."
Summer, resigned to talking to people, closed her book and turned to look at her sister. "Are your children being problematic?" she asked, feeling as if some expression of concern was called for.
"Problematic is putting it lightly," Ivy said. "Children."
Aaron nodded. "Word."
Summer didn't say anything, but thought wistfully of the day when she too would be able to nod knowingly. Although she probably wouldn't have more than one. She'd decided a long time ago that she probably wouldn't be able to handle more than one, at least not at first. Maybe after she got used to it and understood what she was doing. She only hoped her husband would be naturally good at parenting, because she was dreadfully afraid that she'd mess it all up on her own.
Ivy sipped her adulterated punch, then leaned back against the counter and sighed. "Aah. Much better. I think I'll hide in here and let Gina wrangle the tiny ones for a while. If that's okay with you, Summer."
"It's fine," Summer said.
"A better question," Aaron murmured, "would be is it okay with Gina."
"I don't care," Ivy said, heartlessly. "I've been dealing with them all day while she was out. It's her turn. Anyway, you can't talk, you've left your kids with Clara."
He shrugged. "Strictly speaking I've left them with Danny, but..."
The door burst open, Danny flew inwards, and said, desperately, "Hide me."
So much for that, Summer thought.
"Oh, boy," Aaron said, and headed for the door.
Danny ducked behind Lars when Aaron opened the door, still talking. "They are doing something with the microwave and a bunch of Peeps and I don't even know what and oh my God hide me."
"Ah," Ivy said. "I see Andy has decided to demonstrate the reason Peeps are banned at casa de Hirschfeld-Kendall-Caravecchio. Well, it's not my microwave." She took another drink.
Lars, trying to calm Danny, gave Summer a wry look. "Welcome home," he said. "I no longer blame you for hiding."
She smiled back at him. "It's nice to be back," she said, and surprised herself by meaning it.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Vinegar 6 (do not operate machinery), pistachio 3 (ceremony), malt (PFAH: Summer, Ivy, Aaron, Danny : I don't think the microwave works like that), caramel.
Word Count: 1230
Rating: PG.
Summary: How many people have to hide in the kitchen before the party moves to the kitchen?
Notes: More pointless silliness but I do not even care. Pistacho used loosely because I seriously doubt my characters are ever solemn. Liza Picard is a real and entertaining historian, and the girl Summer is talking about midway through is Lina Medina, should you care to look her up.
"Summerchild? You in here?"
Summer didn't look up from her book, but called, "Yes," in reply. She never bothered trying to hide from Lars, because he always found her somehow. Probably because he'd known her for over twenty years.
Goodness. Twenty years. Had it been that long?
He was standing beside her now, hands on his hips. He probably wanted to stand in front of her except that Summer was sitting at the counter, perched on a stool, leaning her elbows on the tile as she read. "Summerchild," he said, reproachfully. "Why are you hiding in the kitchen?"
"It's too noisy out there," she said, and turned a page. She wasn't ordinarily very interested in history books, but Liza Picard wrote such good ones, all about the city and the workings of it, with all the detail other people left out. She didn't dwell too much on the way people worked, either, which Summer appreciated, since she'd never understood it and didn't want to try when she was reading.
"Well, yes," Lars said. "It's a party. Parties are noisy by definition."
"Which is why I'm in the kitchen," Summer said. She looked up from her book and gave him her best "of course" look.
Lars, quite sensibly, decided to take another tack. "The kids are asking for you."
That was not playing fair. It was Summer's turn to give him a reproachful look. "Since when do you care what the children are asking for?"
"Hey, now," Lars said. "Just because I don't want kids doesn't mean I don't like them. I like kids fine."
"You won't ever babysit," Summer pointed out, and folded her hands so she could prop her chin on them. "When I told you I wanted children you went all strange."
He laughed. "Define 'strange'-- anyway, that was because I still think you're five years old. Five-year-olds shouldn't be having children."
"Five-year-olds are not physiologically capable of having children," Summer said. "Unless they are medical anamolies. There was one girl in Peru, in the thirties--"
Lars held up a hand. "Summerchild, I really, really do not want to know."
"Oh," she said, and realized she'd been about to go on. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize," he said. It sounded automatic to Summer, but then he had been saying it for almost twenty years. "You really should come out and join the party, sweetheart. We missed you."
Summer shrugged. She'd been living in Washington DC for the past four years. She would think that her family was used to missing her by now. She was certainly used to missing them. Which, in a roundabout way, was why she was in the kitchen.
"I don't even know why you're having a party," she said, to distract from the rather lonesome way that made her feel.
Lars arched his eyebrows. "Why not have a party?" he asked, spreading his hands. "You're home, Andy got straight A's, Aaron got some kind of teaching award, Jake's been elected again... what's not to celebrate?"
"I didn't know Jake got elected again," Summer said, suspiciously. "In fact I thought he was in an appointed position."
"He was," Lars said, flapping his hand. "He switched. He's on the City Council now. We're all very proud of him. Come and celebrate."
"No," Summer said, and went back to her book. She'd be far more comfortable encountering her family and friends one at a time, on her own terms, than she would in the middle of a party.
Lars made a huffy noise through his nose. "Even if I said please?"
"No," she said, again. "I don't like parties."
He muttered something she couldn't hear, and Summer was about to ask that he speak up when Aaron came in, blinked at them, and said, "Oh, here you two are. What are you reading, Summer?"
"Restoration London, by Liza Picard," Summer answered, relieved to see her brother. Aaron would never make her go and be social if she didn't want to. "It's very interesting."
"Must be," Aaron said. "I may borrow it when you're done. Lars, are you harassing my baby sister?"
Lars straightened up and looked down his nose at Aaron, a considerable feat, Summer thought, since Aaron was taller than him. "I would never. I can't believe you would insinuate that."
Aaron rolled his eyes. "Is he harassing you, sunflower?"
"Yes," Summer said, and when Lars made another huffy noise, added in the interests of truth, "Only a little though. He wants me to come join the party."
"I wouldn't," Aaron said. "It's loud in there."
Summer turned and gave Lars her very best 'I told you so' look.
"Oh, shut up," Lars said. Summer wasn't sure who he was addressing.
"You shut up," Aaron said, apparently assuming it was him.
From behind him, Ivy said, "Your kids are having a terrible effect on your vocabulary, Aaron. Move."
"Don't wanna," he said, but stepped sideways anyway. Ivy came in, a paper bag in one hand and a plastic cup full of punch in the other.
"Any kids in here?" she asked, peering from side to side. Finding none, she sighed, produced a bottle from the paper bag, and poured a healthy dollop of the clear liquid inside into her cup. "Thank God. I've been dying for a drink all day."
Summer, resigned to talking to people, closed her book and turned to look at her sister. "Are your children being problematic?" she asked, feeling as if some expression of concern was called for.
"Problematic is putting it lightly," Ivy said. "Children."
Aaron nodded. "Word."
Summer didn't say anything, but thought wistfully of the day when she too would be able to nod knowingly. Although she probably wouldn't have more than one. She'd decided a long time ago that she probably wouldn't be able to handle more than one, at least not at first. Maybe after she got used to it and understood what she was doing. She only hoped her husband would be naturally good at parenting, because she was dreadfully afraid that she'd mess it all up on her own.
Ivy sipped her adulterated punch, then leaned back against the counter and sighed. "Aah. Much better. I think I'll hide in here and let Gina wrangle the tiny ones for a while. If that's okay with you, Summer."
"It's fine," Summer said.
"A better question," Aaron murmured, "would be is it okay with Gina."
"I don't care," Ivy said, heartlessly. "I've been dealing with them all day while she was out. It's her turn. Anyway, you can't talk, you've left your kids with Clara."
He shrugged. "Strictly speaking I've left them with Danny, but..."
The door burst open, Danny flew inwards, and said, desperately, "Hide me."
So much for that, Summer thought.
"Oh, boy," Aaron said, and headed for the door.
Danny ducked behind Lars when Aaron opened the door, still talking. "They are doing something with the microwave and a bunch of Peeps and I don't even know what and oh my God hide me."
"Ah," Ivy said. "I see Andy has decided to demonstrate the reason Peeps are banned at casa de Hirschfeld-Kendall-Caravecchio. Well, it's not my microwave." She took another drink.
Lars, trying to calm Danny, gave Summer a wry look. "Welcome home," he said. "I no longer blame you for hiding."
She smiled back at him. "It's nice to be back," she said, and surprised herself by meaning it.