Ficpost: "Mary Anne and the Deep Thaw" Mary Anne/Kristy
Title: "Mary Anne and the Deep Thaw"
Fandom: Baby-Sitters Club
Pairing/Featured Characters: Mary Anne/Kristy, Mary Anne + Richard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own more BSC books than your average second grader, but Scholastic and Ann own the characters.
Spoilers/Timeline: Set in high school, no specific references to anything past about book 30.
Notes: A first kiss for likeadeuce.
Summary: Some nights, you do all your growing up.
Wordcount: 1381
Mary Anne and the Deep Thaw
It was snowing. It was snowing and I wasn't wearing a scarf and I was freezing and I couldn't believe it. It was snowing, and I was about to be kissed, and I was so freezing cold that all I wanted to do was get into my house, but I was about to be kissed so I couldn't go anywhere until Kristy kissed me.
Kristy was standing on my doorstep, her hands in the pockets of her huge puffy winter coat, and she wanted to kiss me. And I wasn't sure, because I was cold and confused, but if the fluttering in my tummy was an indication, I really wanted her to kiss me, too. Kristy. "Well," I said. "I should go in."
"Yeah," said Kristy. "Yeah." She shrugged her shoulders towards her horrible beat-up old car. "Betsy's engine'll get cold. I'd better go."
"Yeah, well... I had a really nice time tonight." (Tonight. On our date. Which was our first. Well, not our first time going to the movies, obviously, or for pizza, and not even the first time we'd been on a date together, since we double-dated a lot when we were straight. Still, it was our first date.)
"Me too." She smiled. "Call me before you go to bed?"
I nodded, relieved. So that wouldn't change. When we were little, we were next-door neighbors, and we always signaled each other goodnight from our windows. Now we've both moved away, but my evenings still don't feel complete without talking to Kristy, even if all we say is hi-bye-goodnight. (You see? It's things like this that make me think I wouldn't object to being kissed by Kristy. At all.) "Sure."
"Okay then. Goodnight?"
"Goo -- no." Kristy looked, startled, and I couldn't blame her. Me saying no doesn't happen very often. I'm actually, well, a bit of a pushover. I can't count the number of times I've been told to be more assertive. Well, this was my big chance. "I think we should, um, you know. Kiss goodnight."
"Oh. Well, okay." Kristy took her hands out of her pockets and put them around my waist, which felt nice, and was much warmer than frozen impatience. She was so close I could feel her breath on my cheek. "You're sure?"
I nodded again, and Kristy moved even closer and then very, very gently, she kissed me.
Well. If you've ever been kissed, I guess you know what it's like, and anyhow, you've never been kissed by Kristy and couldn't possibly understand what it's like. It wasn't like it was my first kiss -- I had a steady boyfriend in middle school, after all, and we kissed and it was very nice -- but kissing Kristy was like, well, like settling into a really comfortable pair of pajamas, or petting a kitten, or baking cookies, or watching a sad movie for the thousandth time. It was the first time we kissed, but it felt so familiar and right that I could remember a hundred other moments just like it, soft and a little sad, when our words couldn't hold us anymore and we needed touch to remind us of who we were.
Sorry. I guess if you have someone like that, you understand why Kristy makes me a little sentimental. (Not that other things don't get me going too; it's just that Kristy is the worst.)
"Goodnight," she said again, much more cheerfully. (I wasn't sure how she could still form words.) "And you should definitely call me."
I think I said, "Goodnight," but I was too dazed to do much else. I turned my key, opened the door, and saw... my father.
"Good evening," he said stiffly.
"Um, hi." He didn't smile, and I felt my heart sink into my feet. "Is Sharon in bed?" Sharon's my stepmother. If I had to choose one of my (step)parents to talk to about Kristy, it would be Sharon. I love my dad, but Sharon's a girl. Sometimes you really need to talk to another female about these things. She's also, well, a lot less traditional than my father is, and this was a very non-traditional thing that we were about to discuss.
"Yes. It's late, you know."
"It's not midnight though," I said. On weekends, that's my curfew.
"Let's go sit in the kitchen," said my dad. "Did you eat?"
"Yeah. We, um, went to Pizza Express."
"Oh good. Well. We should go... sit down."
My dad was way too formal. It was like he'd regressed ten years and was about to tell me I couldn't cross the street by myself anymore if I weren't more careful about talking to strangers, or five years and was about to tell me that if I wore my hair down, the boys wouldn't think I was a very nice girl. But the scary thing was, I actually had no idea what my dad was going to tell me now.
We sat, staring at our hands, which were folded on the table, each waiting for the other to say something. Personally, I felt like I was going to throw up.
"Would you like to begin?"
"No." My dad frowned, but it was true. There really are some things that I don't want to tell my father, especially at quarter to twelve at night when I'd much rather be sitting in my bedroom, hugging a cat and reliving what was possibly the most wonderful moment of my life. Instead I was stuck downstairs with Dad, who was wearing the Stare of Doom, and Tigger was nowhere to be seen.
"Fine. Did you or did you not recently kiss Kristy Thomas on our doorstep?"
Did I mention my dad's a lawyer, and scary? "Yes..."
"And did this occur at the end of a social occasion frequently culiminating in kissing?"
"Dad..."
"I'm sorry." My dad has worn glasses almost as long as I can remember, except for two months a few years ago when he was trying to impress Sharon. He removed them, now, and I could see clearly all the lines on his forehead. I hoped I hadn't caused too many of them.
"It's... yes. We were on a date."
"Of course." He put his glasses back on. It's not like my dad to act nervous. Usually he knows exactly what he's doing. "Were you... did you plan to tell me and Sharon?"
"Eventually?"
"You know that... the rules are different. A... a girlfriend is not like a friend." I opened my mouth to ask a question, but Dad continued. "Slumber parties, for example. And..."
"Dad, slow down."
"Pardon?"
"Dad, it was... it was our first date. I don't know what's going to happen. I didn't exactly think about this, you know! I mean, I know I should have, that it was... that's it's rash to rush into a relationship, but I really didn't think. I didn't think of telling you until I knew whether it was serious or, well, a colossal mistake."
"And the verdict?"
I felt tears beginning in my throat. "It's pretty serious, Daddy."
He nodded. "I thought so. I... thought it might be. I'm... I'm sorry I frightened you. It's just a little unsettling to see my little girl... to see you growing up. But I... I am so very proud of you."
I started bawling (of course), and my dad and I both stood up and were hugging without my knowing how it happened. Between my sobs, I managed a few more apologies for not telling him sooner, and he finally patted me awkwardly and sent me up to bed. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Before I went to bed, though, I had a phone call to make.
"Kristy."
"Mary Anne! Are you okay? You sound like you've been crying, and I thought you would've called half an hour ago."
I took a deep breath. "My dad saw us."
"Uh oh. What happened? Is it okay? Will I ever see you again?"
"Well, let's put it like this. I think, as of tonight, I have the best dad and the best girlfriend in the whole world."
"Really?"
"Really."
Fandom: Baby-Sitters Club
Pairing/Featured Characters: Mary Anne/Kristy, Mary Anne + Richard
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own more BSC books than your average second grader, but Scholastic and Ann own the characters.
Spoilers/Timeline: Set in high school, no specific references to anything past about book 30.
Notes: A first kiss for likeadeuce.
Summary: Some nights, you do all your growing up.
Wordcount: 1381
Mary Anne and the Deep Thaw
It was snowing. It was snowing and I wasn't wearing a scarf and I was freezing and I couldn't believe it. It was snowing, and I was about to be kissed, and I was so freezing cold that all I wanted to do was get into my house, but I was about to be kissed so I couldn't go anywhere until Kristy kissed me.
Kristy was standing on my doorstep, her hands in the pockets of her huge puffy winter coat, and she wanted to kiss me. And I wasn't sure, because I was cold and confused, but if the fluttering in my tummy was an indication, I really wanted her to kiss me, too. Kristy. "Well," I said. "I should go in."
"Yeah," said Kristy. "Yeah." She shrugged her shoulders towards her horrible beat-up old car. "Betsy's engine'll get cold. I'd better go."
"Yeah, well... I had a really nice time tonight." (Tonight. On our date. Which was our first. Well, not our first time going to the movies, obviously, or for pizza, and not even the first time we'd been on a date together, since we double-dated a lot when we were straight. Still, it was our first date.)
"Me too." She smiled. "Call me before you go to bed?"
I nodded, relieved. So that wouldn't change. When we were little, we were next-door neighbors, and we always signaled each other goodnight from our windows. Now we've both moved away, but my evenings still don't feel complete without talking to Kristy, even if all we say is hi-bye-goodnight. (You see? It's things like this that make me think I wouldn't object to being kissed by Kristy. At all.) "Sure."
"Okay then. Goodnight?"
"Goo -- no." Kristy looked, startled, and I couldn't blame her. Me saying no doesn't happen very often. I'm actually, well, a bit of a pushover. I can't count the number of times I've been told to be more assertive. Well, this was my big chance. "I think we should, um, you know. Kiss goodnight."
"Oh. Well, okay." Kristy took her hands out of her pockets and put them around my waist, which felt nice, and was much warmer than frozen impatience. She was so close I could feel her breath on my cheek. "You're sure?"
I nodded again, and Kristy moved even closer and then very, very gently, she kissed me.
Well. If you've ever been kissed, I guess you know what it's like, and anyhow, you've never been kissed by Kristy and couldn't possibly understand what it's like. It wasn't like it was my first kiss -- I had a steady boyfriend in middle school, after all, and we kissed and it was very nice -- but kissing Kristy was like, well, like settling into a really comfortable pair of pajamas, or petting a kitten, or baking cookies, or watching a sad movie for the thousandth time. It was the first time we kissed, but it felt so familiar and right that I could remember a hundred other moments just like it, soft and a little sad, when our words couldn't hold us anymore and we needed touch to remind us of who we were.
Sorry. I guess if you have someone like that, you understand why Kristy makes me a little sentimental. (Not that other things don't get me going too; it's just that Kristy is the worst.)
"Goodnight," she said again, much more cheerfully. (I wasn't sure how she could still form words.) "And you should definitely call me."
I think I said, "Goodnight," but I was too dazed to do much else. I turned my key, opened the door, and saw... my father.
"Good evening," he said stiffly.
"Um, hi." He didn't smile, and I felt my heart sink into my feet. "Is Sharon in bed?" Sharon's my stepmother. If I had to choose one of my (step)parents to talk to about Kristy, it would be Sharon. I love my dad, but Sharon's a girl. Sometimes you really need to talk to another female about these things. She's also, well, a lot less traditional than my father is, and this was a very non-traditional thing that we were about to discuss.
"Yes. It's late, you know."
"It's not midnight though," I said. On weekends, that's my curfew.
"Let's go sit in the kitchen," said my dad. "Did you eat?"
"Yeah. We, um, went to Pizza Express."
"Oh good. Well. We should go... sit down."
My dad was way too formal. It was like he'd regressed ten years and was about to tell me I couldn't cross the street by myself anymore if I weren't more careful about talking to strangers, or five years and was about to tell me that if I wore my hair down, the boys wouldn't think I was a very nice girl. But the scary thing was, I actually had no idea what my dad was going to tell me now.
We sat, staring at our hands, which were folded on the table, each waiting for the other to say something. Personally, I felt like I was going to throw up.
"Would you like to begin?"
"No." My dad frowned, but it was true. There really are some things that I don't want to tell my father, especially at quarter to twelve at night when I'd much rather be sitting in my bedroom, hugging a cat and reliving what was possibly the most wonderful moment of my life. Instead I was stuck downstairs with Dad, who was wearing the Stare of Doom, and Tigger was nowhere to be seen.
"Fine. Did you or did you not recently kiss Kristy Thomas on our doorstep?"
Did I mention my dad's a lawyer, and scary? "Yes..."
"And did this occur at the end of a social occasion frequently culiminating in kissing?"
"Dad..."
"I'm sorry." My dad has worn glasses almost as long as I can remember, except for two months a few years ago when he was trying to impress Sharon. He removed them, now, and I could see clearly all the lines on his forehead. I hoped I hadn't caused too many of them.
"It's... yes. We were on a date."
"Of course." He put his glasses back on. It's not like my dad to act nervous. Usually he knows exactly what he's doing. "Were you... did you plan to tell me and Sharon?"
"Eventually?"
"You know that... the rules are different. A... a girlfriend is not like a friend." I opened my mouth to ask a question, but Dad continued. "Slumber parties, for example. And..."
"Dad, slow down."
"Pardon?"
"Dad, it was... it was our first date. I don't know what's going to happen. I didn't exactly think about this, you know! I mean, I know I should have, that it was... that's it's rash to rush into a relationship, but I really didn't think. I didn't think of telling you until I knew whether it was serious or, well, a colossal mistake."
"And the verdict?"
I felt tears beginning in my throat. "It's pretty serious, Daddy."
He nodded. "I thought so. I... thought it might be. I'm... I'm sorry I frightened you. It's just a little unsettling to see my little girl... to see you growing up. But I... I am so very proud of you."
I started bawling (of course), and my dad and I both stood up and were hugging without my knowing how it happened. Between my sobs, I managed a few more apologies for not telling him sooner, and he finally patted me awkwardly and sent me up to bed. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Before I went to bed, though, I had a phone call to make.
"Kristy."
"Mary Anne! Are you okay? You sound like you've been crying, and I thought you would've called half an hour ago."
I took a deep breath. "My dad saw us."
"Uh oh. What happened? Is it okay? Will I ever see you again?"
"Well, let's put it like this. I think, as of tonight, I have the best dad and the best girlfriend in the whole world."
"Really?"
"Really."