No Small Parts : Cheeseburger
Cheeseburger #2. n00b
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 959
The drama begins. And it turns out Merry is a lot nicer than I was expecting her to be.
Yay! I'm writing! I promise I will work on catching up on reading now.
“And how’s the little pumpkin this morning?” Fran’s cooed as Gilda pulled out the chair beside hers. The question was aimed more at Gilda’s belly than at the woman herself.
Gilda raised a brow as her plate hit the table and she settled into her seat. “Pumpkin?” she repeated.
“You know, the pumpkin patch,” said Fran, trying not to stare at Gilda’s plate. How a person managed to eat for two on a diet of dry toast and orange juice she still didn’t understand. She drove her own fork into her stack of syrup-drenched pancakes. “All the itty bitty little bundles all strung along and growing on their vines.” Gilda just gave her a blank look, and neither of the other ladies at the table said a word. “Where did your mother tell you babies come from?”
“The womb,” said Gilda. She took one small bite from a corner of her toast.
“No, no,” said Fran, waving a fork loaded in pancake. “When you were little.”
Gilda gave her a sour look that she wasn’t sure if she should attribute to the pancakes or the pumpkins, so she hastily ate what was on her fork and put it back down alongside her plate just in case. “My parents didn’t think much of lying to their children.”
Fran’s jaw dropped. “That’s no fun! Merry, you know about the pumpkin patch, don’t you?”
All eyes turned to the seat across from Gilda’s where Merry was quietly sipping her coffee. “I’ve heard it.” Merry shrugged. “My mother was fond of attributing it to the fairies depositing them on doorsteps though.”
“Ah,” said Fran, tipping her fork Merry’s way. Having decided it was the pumpkins that were raising Gilda’s ire, she had loaded it once again with pancake. “But where do you suppose the fairies got them from, hmm?”
“My mother still likes to claim fairies put babies in your belly,” said Sylvia. She had her head propped lazily on one hand while she slowly stirred another cream into her drink with the other. “That way she can pretend sex doesn’t exist.”
Merry sniffed and Gilda rolled her eyes. “And deception did wonders for keeping your virtue, I’m sure,” said Gilda.
“I’m not the one toting around the bundle of joy, am I?” Fran wasn’t sure if that was meant to be an insult or not; it came out in the same sleepy drawl as everything Sylvia had to say offstage.
“Ah, yes,” said Gilda, not phased in the least. “Well, I suppose we’d better attribute this little miracle to wine then.” She raised her orange juice in a mock toast and took a gulp.
“Aww,” said Fran. “It’s not a pumpkin, it’s a grape!” Caught between a laugh and a mouthful of juice, Gilda sputtered and quickly set her glass back down and Fran blushed. She occupied herself with making a dent in her pancakes and the whole table was quiet for a few minutes, until she opened her mouth again. “So, what do you think it is?”
“Red or white?” said Merry with a smirk.
“Huh?” Fran stared at her over her fork for a moment. “Oh. Cute. Boy or girl.”
“I don’t think it’s either,” Gilda said sharply.
“Well, of course it is,” said Fran, ignoring her tone completely, even as the other two exchanged looks. “I mean it has to be one or the other. Babies usually are. Unless-”
“I mean I don’t think about it. ‘It’ is good enough.”
“You don’t? Oh but the little outfits you could make for her - or him, I mean baby boys wear some adorable things too - and little fuzzy blankets and hats and booties. This is one lucky pumpkin to have such a talented mom and- Gilda?”
Gilda was sitting completely stiff in her chair, staring blankly at the toast that lay on her plate with only a few bites out of one side. “I’m… not feeling very hungry anymore.” She shoved her chair back, still not looking at anyone. “Morning sickness,” she added, with a wave of her hand that could have meant anything really.
“Gilda?” Fran reached for her, but Gilda turned and headed for the front door of the diner.
“I’ll see you all upstairs…” she called over her shoulder. “…later.”
Merry leaned across the table with a venomous look at Fran. “What did you do that for?”
“What? It’s true. I mean maybe the kid will miss out on the pumpkin patch and fairies, and you know, probably the elves won’t bring them candies on their birthday, but I’m sure she’ll be a good mother otherwise, and when she dresses that kid up-“
“She’s not keeping it.”
“Why, they’ll be the envy of- wait, what?”
Merry looked her in the eye and said very slowly, “She’s not keeping the baby.”
“Oh.” It barely came out a whisper, as Fran was suddenly finding it hard to form a coherent thought at all.
“You can hardly blame her,” Sylvia drawled. “After all, look where it came from.”
“Oh, all the saints and their grandchildren, why didn’t one of you stop me?”
“I thought you knew,” said Merry.
“I didn’t care,” said Sylvia, and Merry smacked her on the arm.
“I have to go find her and tell her I’m sorry,” said Fran, getting up from her seat. “Oh, she must hate me right now! You know, I never would have said it if I knew-“
Merry reached across the table and caught her by the sleeve. “Sit down. I’m sure she knows that, and I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”
“But-”
“Just give her some space.”
Fran sank back into her seat with a sigh and a nod and took a half-hearted stab at the remainder of her pancakes.
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 959
The drama begins. And it turns out Merry is a lot nicer than I was expecting her to be.
Yay! I'm writing! I promise I will work on catching up on reading now.
“And how’s the little pumpkin this morning?” Fran’s cooed as Gilda pulled out the chair beside hers. The question was aimed more at Gilda’s belly than at the woman herself.
Gilda raised a brow as her plate hit the table and she settled into her seat. “Pumpkin?” she repeated.
“You know, the pumpkin patch,” said Fran, trying not to stare at Gilda’s plate. How a person managed to eat for two on a diet of dry toast and orange juice she still didn’t understand. She drove her own fork into her stack of syrup-drenched pancakes. “All the itty bitty little bundles all strung along and growing on their vines.” Gilda just gave her a blank look, and neither of the other ladies at the table said a word. “Where did your mother tell you babies come from?”
“The womb,” said Gilda. She took one small bite from a corner of her toast.
“No, no,” said Fran, waving a fork loaded in pancake. “When you were little.”
Gilda gave her a sour look that she wasn’t sure if she should attribute to the pancakes or the pumpkins, so she hastily ate what was on her fork and put it back down alongside her plate just in case. “My parents didn’t think much of lying to their children.”
Fran’s jaw dropped. “That’s no fun! Merry, you know about the pumpkin patch, don’t you?”
All eyes turned to the seat across from Gilda’s where Merry was quietly sipping her coffee. “I’ve heard it.” Merry shrugged. “My mother was fond of attributing it to the fairies depositing them on doorsteps though.”
“Ah,” said Fran, tipping her fork Merry’s way. Having decided it was the pumpkins that were raising Gilda’s ire, she had loaded it once again with pancake. “But where do you suppose the fairies got them from, hmm?”
“My mother still likes to claim fairies put babies in your belly,” said Sylvia. She had her head propped lazily on one hand while she slowly stirred another cream into her drink with the other. “That way she can pretend sex doesn’t exist.”
Merry sniffed and Gilda rolled her eyes. “And deception did wonders for keeping your virtue, I’m sure,” said Gilda.
“I’m not the one toting around the bundle of joy, am I?” Fran wasn’t sure if that was meant to be an insult or not; it came out in the same sleepy drawl as everything Sylvia had to say offstage.
“Ah, yes,” said Gilda, not phased in the least. “Well, I suppose we’d better attribute this little miracle to wine then.” She raised her orange juice in a mock toast and took a gulp.
“Aww,” said Fran. “It’s not a pumpkin, it’s a grape!” Caught between a laugh and a mouthful of juice, Gilda sputtered and quickly set her glass back down and Fran blushed. She occupied herself with making a dent in her pancakes and the whole table was quiet for a few minutes, until she opened her mouth again. “So, what do you think it is?”
“Red or white?” said Merry with a smirk.
“Huh?” Fran stared at her over her fork for a moment. “Oh. Cute. Boy or girl.”
“I don’t think it’s either,” Gilda said sharply.
“Well, of course it is,” said Fran, ignoring her tone completely, even as the other two exchanged looks. “I mean it has to be one or the other. Babies usually are. Unless-”
“I mean I don’t think about it. ‘It’ is good enough.”
“You don’t? Oh but the little outfits you could make for her - or him, I mean baby boys wear some adorable things too - and little fuzzy blankets and hats and booties. This is one lucky pumpkin to have such a talented mom and- Gilda?”
Gilda was sitting completely stiff in her chair, staring blankly at the toast that lay on her plate with only a few bites out of one side. “I’m… not feeling very hungry anymore.” She shoved her chair back, still not looking at anyone. “Morning sickness,” she added, with a wave of her hand that could have meant anything really.
“Gilda?” Fran reached for her, but Gilda turned and headed for the front door of the diner.
“I’ll see you all upstairs…” she called over her shoulder. “…later.”
Merry leaned across the table with a venomous look at Fran. “What did you do that for?”
“What? It’s true. I mean maybe the kid will miss out on the pumpkin patch and fairies, and you know, probably the elves won’t bring them candies on their birthday, but I’m sure she’ll be a good mother otherwise, and when she dresses that kid up-“
“She’s not keeping it.”
“Why, they’ll be the envy of- wait, what?”
Merry looked her in the eye and said very slowly, “She’s not keeping the baby.”
“Oh.” It barely came out a whisper, as Fran was suddenly finding it hard to form a coherent thought at all.
“You can hardly blame her,” Sylvia drawled. “After all, look where it came from.”
“Oh, all the saints and their grandchildren, why didn’t one of you stop me?”
“I thought you knew,” said Merry.
“I didn’t care,” said Sylvia, and Merry smacked her on the arm.
“I have to go find her and tell her I’m sorry,” said Fran, getting up from her seat. “Oh, she must hate me right now! You know, I never would have said it if I knew-“
Merry reached across the table and caught her by the sleeve. “Sit down. I’m sure she knows that, and I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”
“But-”
“Just give her some space.”
Fran sank back into her seat with a sigh and a nod and took a half-hearted stab at the remainder of her pancakes.