Chapter 7Notes:
Fine, fine. You win. You have convinced me to expand this story. It's likely going to be a long one. Buckle up.
There is a brief mention of a slur in this chapter, but other than that, business as usual.
Chapter Text
Sunlight bleeds through the edges of the motel's blackout curtains that hang over the window. At first, Wednesday thinks that she overcompensated for her lack of sleep over the past few days and slept right through the entire day, but when she untangles herself from Enid's grip, she lifts her head to look at the alarm clock with one tired eye. It's only half past nine, which is notably much later than she typically wakes up, but she has to give herself credit for not wasting away the day given how exhausted she's been.
As much as she's enjoyed her slumber next to Enid, Wednesday can't bear the thought of laying in this bedbug-infested bed for another minute when she could be on her way home with Enid. She carefully lifts the covers off of herself, making sure that Enid is still tucked in tight, and swings her legs off the side of the bed with every intention of getting up.
"Too early," Enid's sleep-filled voice mumbles. "Get back here."
"It's after nine," Wednesday says, methodically stretching so her neck pops the way she needed it to. "We are going to lose daylight if we don't get going. It's a seven-hour trip home. I would like to get there before dark so that I might have time to explain myself to my parents before bed, which I am aware is uncharacteristic of me, but I feel they deserve some kind of explanation as to what I've been up to since they saw me last. You won't have to defend yourself or tell your side of the story. No need to relive the trauma of the past week. They're likely more inclined to believe your innocent silence over my explanation, anyway."
"So many words," Enid mutters groggily, lazily wiping away her drool with the back of her hand. "Five more minutes?"
Enid demanding my pats the empty side of the bed where Wednesday was just laying, pouting at the vacancy. Wednesday eyes it distrustingly, more than willing to let her eyelids fall shut for another few hours if she lays her head back down on the pillow, and glances at Enid.
"Stop looking at me with those big eyes of yours," she tuts at Enid. "They're irresistible."
"I know," Enid teases. She puts in extra effort to round her eyes even more, giving Wednesday the sweetest puppy eyes. "Just five minutes? It's cold and I wanna cuddle some more before we have to get up."
"Fine," Wednesday readily agrees, because her bones are still tired and Enid is too convincing. "Just quit looking at me like that. It's doing something to my chest."
"I think that's called love," Enid says, being extremely coy for someone who's only just woken up in a shitty motel room. "You love me and think I'm cute."
"Don't flatter yourself," Wednesday grumbles.
Wednesday sinks back down into the pillows and lays on her back, blinking at the ceiling with worry that she might be doing this relationship thing all wrong. Enid quickly throws her leg over Wednesday's waist, agreeably cuddling into her shoulder as her arm snakes around her slim waist and draws her in nearer to her chest. Her warm nose buries itself in Wednesday's hair, taking in her earthy scent, lips sleepily yet expertly placing discreet kisses to the crown of the black hair.
Privately, Wednesday thinks she might enjoy the intimacy, and that's an exceptional high bar, because she hardly enjoys anything that life has to offer. For once, she's okay with being touched and cradled by another person, but if anyone were to speak of it, she would deny everything and reprise her role as a cold, unforgiving person with a chip on her shoulder. No one needs to know that she's willfully leaned into the embrace of another woman and accepted the featherweight kisses of someone not of her own blood. It's completely irrelevant to anything that might matter.
She has to wonder what her parents are going to say when she drags Enid over the threshold. She can't imagine that they'll be anything less than thrilled, but she's also never brought home someone who doesn't share the blood of an Addams. Lurch isn't family by biological standards, only by choice, but he's been the only exception the Addamses have made when it comes to inviting outsiders into their home. Ever since Uncle Fester's engagement disaster many years ago, Morticia and Gomez have both been wary of guests. But Wednesday would hardly call Enid a guest.
Enid's body sags into Wednesday's, a telltale sign that she's fallen back to sleep, but the hand that grips Wednesday's waist doesn't let up. It stays there, securing its demand even in her sleep, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh of Wednesday's hip with a pleasurable pressure that makes Wednesday almost let out an obscene noise.
Wednesday knows that they need to get out of bed and leave the motel soon, but she would be lying to herself if she said she's ready for that. The motel room still reeks of people and their inappropriate sexual encounters, and she might need a tetanus shot later, but when Enid here, spooning Wednesday and holding her with such an insistence to stay, she doesn't think it's so terrible. In fact, she could even say that she's quite comfortable for the time being.
They lay there for quite some time, more than five minutes, until Wednesday pulls herself out of her reverie when she feels a trickle of drool collect on her shoulder. She tilts her head down and cups the side of Enid's face, dragging her thumb along the prominent cheekbone until Enid stirs unhappily under her caress.
"Stooooop," Enid whines, eyes still screwed shut. She doesn't protest against the hand on her face, though. "Five more minutes."
"It's been much longer than that," Wednesday says gently, running her thumb over the bridge of Enid's nose. "It's almost ten, Enid. We need to leave soon, and judging by the roar in your stomach, you could benefit from lunch before we get back on the road."
"Don't wanna," Enid childishly pouts. "Wanna stay here and cuddle you."
"We will have plenty of time for that once we are settled down in my house," Wednesday promises as she rubs firm circles into Enid's back, hoping it's annoying enough to coax Enid out of bed. "I have my own bedroom, and we also have numerous guest bedrooms. It's much better than this place. We may have creatures living in the walls, but we don't have bedbugs."
Enid hesitates. "But…your parents. What if they find out that we…you know?"
Understanding the implication, Wednesday gives Enid a hard look of certainty.
"They are going to know, because I am going to tell them myself," she tells Enid. "Maybe not immediately upon our arrival. But they are bound to find out. My mother has a nose for romance in the way you do for gossip. She will smell it on us both. I would rather the confession come about organically than pried out of me with threats and emotional torture."
Enid can't hide the expression of panic on her face, leading to Wednesday gently shushing her and continuing to stroke along the trembling outline of her jaw with supple fingers.
"You are overthinking it," Wednesday tells her. "As much as I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than have an honest conversation with my mother, I have to be transparent about this one thing before she sniffs it out herself and makes a production of it. I need to beat her at her own game."
"That sounds more like you," Enid softly giggles, although she's still quite unsure about it. "Are you sure they won't be mad?"
"Mad?" Wednesday asks, quirking up a brow at her. "Have you never seen my parents swallow each other's face in the presence of children? They have no humility or shame. They will not be upset that I've merely followed in their footsteps. In fact, they might even throw a party to celebrate the fact that I'm unlikely to die alone."
"But I'm a girl," Enid blurts out.
"Your fears are archaic, Enid," Wednesday says, dropping her hand from her face. "An Addams does not put constraints and restrictions on love. My parents would rather die than uphold an opinion that would boundaries on someone's ability to love another. We may seem wayward to the normies of the world, but all Addams children are raised with the right to be who they are than to conform to society's backwards standards."
"If you're sure.."
"If I weren't, I would be honest about it," Wednesday says with conviction, raking her fingers through the hair that hangs over Enid's eyes. "You are fretting over nothing. I understand that this is uncharacteristic of me, but my mother is going to sniff this out quicker than you can sniff out a raw steak. I'm not going to give her the privilege of telling me 'I told you so.' It's inappropriate."
"Okay," Enid agrees, because stopping a moving train would be easier than arguing with stubborn Wednesday Addams. "But do we really have to get up now?"
"Yes, we do," Wednesday says, making her point by slithering out of Enid's embrace and getting out of bed. "I'll go wake Uncle Fester while you pull yourself out of bed and prepare yourself for the long ride home."
"But you didn't give me my good-morning kiss," Enid whines pitifully, reaching a hand out to Wednesday, who hovers precariously by the door with her heart thumping out of her chest. "Girlfriends do that."
Hand on the doorknob, Wednesday lingers there, contemplating. She's new to this romance thing, and she trusts Enid's judgment because Enid has been at this a lot longer than she has, but she hasn't yet brushed her teeth, and it feels inappropriate to kiss Enid before that's done.
"After I brush my teeth. And you, too," she says to Enid. "Cavities can spread through kissing. I may be one with the gritty and disgusting, but dental hygiene is one thing I refuse to skimp on."
"If we're gonna be together, you gotta learn to be fine with being a little gross around me," Enid giggles. Wednesday doesn't budge, though, so Enid sighs and compromises. "Fine. Not on the mouth. On my forehead? My cheek?"
"Doable," Wednesday replies, returning to the bed and leaning down to press a kiss to Enid's cheek, where she had been lovingly stroking just minutes ago. "Now, let me go wake Uncle Fester so we can get out of this hellhole."
"Fine," Enid sighs, flopping down onto the pillows. "But you owe me a proper kiss later."
"We have plenty of time for me to repay you," Wednesday says as she's putting on her shoes. "I cannot promise you much, but I can promise you that. Unless I happen to spontaneously combust before I get back."
Enid giggles as Wednesday leaves the motel room, holding her to her promise.
—
Within the hour, Enid and Wednesday are standing outside of the motel while Uncle Fester returns the room keys to the motel attendant, who has now gone from a foxy lady to a scrawny teenaged boy. Enid is wearing the last clean outfit from Wednesday's suitcase; uncomfortably snug black pants and a black cotton sweatshirt with the tags ripped off. She managed to squeeze into Wednesday's spare pair of shoes, although her toes are getting pinched and she knows she'll have some regret later.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Enid asks Wednesday for the umpteenth time.
"Enid, for the last time, I am positive," Wednesday replies as she puts her suitcase in the sidecar. "My parents won't have much objection to the situation. They are completely aware that I've been traveling the Canadian border in search for you. They won't be a sliver of surprised when I arrive home with you in tow. In fact, they are likely making up the guest bedroom for you as we speak."
"Your mom is a nice lady," Enid says, wistfully thinking of Morticia Addams and her knack for maternal skills. "I don't know too much about your dad, though."
"He is my mother in masculine form," Wednesday bitterly mutters. "A hopeless romantic who survives off lust and sexual desire. The only reason they've only reproduced twice is the fact that my mother struggles with infertility, even with the element of magic on her side. She could hardly have me and Pugsley. We were created with the assistance of spells and rituals. Any future pregnancies would have been a miracle full of complications and risks."
Enid's eyes soften sympathetically. "That's so sad."
"I know," Wednesday says. "Imagine your dreams of becoming a mother come true after years of tumultuous agony and you end up with Pugsley."
"You're awful," Enid laughs, even if doing so seems malapropos given the context. "I'm glad you exist, though. I can't imagine my life without you in it."
Wednesday's chest does that tightening thing again. It almost feels like heartburn but also like someone has her heart in their fist. Perhaps that someone is Enid. Perhaps this is what love feels like.
"If you play your cards right, you won't have to imagine it."
Before Enid can question the implication behind that statement, Uncle Fester is hurrying back to the motorbike. He beams brightly at Enid.
"Need help getting in, kid?" he asks her.
"I think I've got it," Enid says, stepping into the sidecar.
Wednesday hovers protectively, prepared for the worst. She waits for Enid to get settled in before she's satisfied that she won't be flying out of the sidecar, and then she perches herself behind Uncle Fester. One of the less desirable stipulations is that she has to keep her arms around him while the motorbike is moving. She hasn't been having a good time these last few days, having to touch too much, but if this is the only way to get Enid home, she will absolutely accept the challenges and inconveniences.
The engine roars to life, startling Enid. Wednesday gives her a calculated yet comforting look before leaning into Uncle Fester's ear.
"We'll stop for lunch before we make our way home," she tells him. "Werewolves need to eat copious amounts to maintain strength. Protein is crucial for her. I won't let her starve."
"Look at you," Fester teases. "Already putting her ahead of yourself. You know, your mom and dad—"
"Not another word," she hisses, wrapping her arms around his middle. "I understand that you have a love for all things nostalgic and saccharine sweet. But for now, you have one task, and that is to drive Enid and I out of here."
Fester knows better than to argue with his niece, so he revs the engine and drives them out of the motel parking lot, leaving the red flickering lights buzzing in the distance.
Wednesday turns her head to subtly look at Enid. Enid's expression is completely unreadable but she seems to be relaxed despite the shock in her eyes, and for Wednesday, she considers it to be a victory that she's going to have to take, because there is very little in this world that she can say she's won, and she wants more than anything to win this battle.
—
They're sitting in a vacant, quiet diner that's nestled in the ruins of a strange lot off a main Vermont highway. The place could use a remodel and some some of the fixtures need upgrading, but Wednesday's coffee is as black as she needs it to be right now and Enid's steak is cooked to perfection, and that's really all that matters in the grand scheme of things.
Uncle Fester and Enid are talking to each other across the table, both having taken a window seat in the booth that the nice waitress sat them at. Wednesday is sat on Enid's opposite side, shoulder to shoulder with her, protectively keeping her wedged between herself and the window in case she has any bright ideas about escaping again. Neither one might be so lucky next time.
"When Wednesday first met Pugsley, you could just smell the sibling rivalry in the air. They've been at it since before Pugsley was even born," Uncle Fester tells Enid. "When Morticia first told her that she was going to have a little brother, Wednesday patted her stomach and told her that she didn't want a baby brother, and to leave him at the hospital."
Tuning into the conversation, Wednesday grumbles. "I wasn't wrong."
Enid giggles. "But you love him now that he's here."
"Only when he lets me waterboard him," Wednesday says. "It's our favorite pastime."
"That reminds me of the first time you ever waterboarded him," Uncle Fester sighs wistfully, biting into a bread roll. He looks to Enid, who's all too invested in this. "He was three months old. Morticia was searching all over the house for him. She was almost in hysterics, thinking he had been kidnapped, but then she found him and Wednesday in the bathroom. She was holding him under the dripping faucet."
"We were playing baptism," Wednesday mutters as she sips her coffee.
Enid tilts her head. "You aren't a Catholic or Christian."
"I know," Wednesday replies. "That's why it's called pretend."
Uncle Fester slides a small rectangular slip of paper across the table for Enid to grab. Wednesday hardly thinks anything of it, still too exhausted to commit herself to the conversation, but then Enid makes a cooing sound.
"Wednesday, you were so cute!" she squeals.
Coming back to herself, Wednesday leans over Enid's shoulder to get a look at whatever has Enid so excited. A wallet-sized picture of herself, taken the day Pugsley was brought home from the hospital, looks back at her. In black and white, she's there, only three years old, cradling newborn Pugsley in her arms, with the assistance of her father, whose shown only by his strong hand supporting the baby. She's scowling into the camera, and Pugsley's head is awkwardly bent at the neck and his mouth is opened in a big wail that Wednesday can still hear if she's quiet enough.
"He started crying, and to this day, he hasn't stopped," Wednesday says. "I was hardly cute."
Uncle Fester plucks the photo from Enid and slides it back into his wallet.
"I always look at it when I know I'm about to hit the slammer again," he tells Enid. "Reminds me of the good times."
"Do you have any more stories about little Wednesday?" Enid asks hopefully, shoveling steak into her mouth.
"More than plenty," Uncle Fester says. "She potty trained herself when she was two. One day she walked right into the living room and handed her father a full diaper. She signed 'all done' at him and walked away like nothing happened. Never had to change a diaper again. Well, until Pugsley came around."
Wednesday feels her face warm. "Uncle Fester. Inappropriate conversation material for mealtimes."
Enid turns a little to get a proper look at Wednesday. "You know sign language?"
"Yes, in addition to a myriad of verbal languages," Wednesday replies, hoping to steer the topic of discussion away from herself and the most embarrassing pieces of her childhood that she's tried so hard to forget. "My parents taught me simple phrases and greeting when I was a baby. It was helpful to them when I wouldn't use my voice to speak. Sometimes speaking was exhausting for me, and I would shut down. I was speaking in full sentences before I was two, but some days were less chatty than others. I like having options."
"How come you never told me?" Enid asks softly. "I know sign, too. My grandpa is hearing impaired and taught me so he could understand me."
"I rarely sign anymore," Wednesday quickly says. "Thing and I communicate through sign language or morse code, but beyond that, I don't sign. When my parents enrolled me in school, I conformed. If someone is able to use their voice, that is the expectation. My signing didn't go over well with my kindergarten teacher. She tried to convince my parents that I had some kind of mental retardation."
Enid's sits back, conflicted. She looks at Wednesday, who's glaring at her reflection in her coffee, and nudges her.
"We don't say that anymore," Enid gently reprimands. "It's a slur."
"Well, that's what my teacher said." Wednesday stirs her coffee, swirling her reflection. "My father sent a strongly-worded letter to the superintendent about her choice of words. But not before I put a thumbtack in her chair."
Uncle Fester chuckles. "That's my girl."
Enid's hand sneaks under the table and squeezes Wednesday's knee. Wednesday gasps the slightest bit, lifting her head. She gives Enid her full attention, recognizing her expression as prideful, the same way she looked when they won the Poe Cup. Enid lets her smile do the talking, wordlessly telling Wednesday how proud she is of her. It's almost sickening.
"I need to use the restroom before we leave," Enid announces once she's taken her last sip of her water. "We're still far from New Jersey, right?"
"Six hours," Wednesday replies as she scoots out of the booth so Enid can get out. "We're making good time. When we arrive home, it will be dinner time, and then you can have a proper bath and retire to bed without the fear of waking up covered in bites."
Enid grins. "I can't wait! But right now, gotta pee!"
She dashes to the restrooms, and Wednesday briefly considers following her, but then she realizes that she's being a bit irrational and overbearing, so she sits back down in her seat and folds her arms like a petulant child.
"Would you like to show her the very first photo ever taken of me? The one of me covered in amniotic goo, screaming to the heavens, naked as can be, my skin the color of a fresh contusion, and my head completely misshapen and squished from the forceps?" she huffs.
Fester shrugs innocently. "Sure, but I'll have to ask Morticia where it is." Wednesday mutters to herself. "Hey, it's not that bad. That girl loves you no matter what. A little placenta won't deter her."
"Quit being facetious—" Wednesday stops herself, eyes narrowing. "Were you listening on the other side of the motel room wall? How could you make such an assumption?"
"Of course not," Fester says, waving her off. "I was listening to my meditation tapes. It's good for the soul. That and it's a hobby I picked up in prison. Really takes your mind off the violence that goes on in there."
Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "I repeat, how could you make such an assumption?"
"You don't like when I compare you to your parents and their puppy love," Fester warily replies.
"I don't."
"Then I'm not going to elaborate." He sighs and looks over his shoulder, returning his focus to Wednesday when the coast is clear. "Trust me on this. She loves you, and you love her. And your parents are going to be over the moon when you bring her home. They might even draw a Venn diagram to compare you and her to them."
"Which is what I'm afraid of," Wednesday outwardly admits. "They're going to scare her away."
"Doubtful," Fester reassures, shaking his head. "Everything will be fine, kid. You'll take her home and she'll become a permanent fixture in the Addams household. Besides the whole alpha thing—which, by the way, is fantastic—there is very little to discuss. I know my brother. He only wants the best for you. If you and Enid are meant to be, neither of your parents will deny you that."
Wednesday sips her cold coffee, sighing plaintively to herself. "You'd better hope you're right."
Just as Enid returns, Fester gives Wednesday an encouraging wink.
Chapter 8Notes:
This is where writing gets complicated. I always have a hard time characterizing this version of the Addams family, because of the strain between Wednesday and her mother. I'm most familiar with the original series from the '60s, where Wednesday is actually a chipper but macabre child who showers her mother with love despite their oddities, so just bear with me as I untangle this web.
I truly don't know how to properly write her parents in this series. Their relationship is more complicated than I'd like it to be, but it does add to the drama. I love mama drama.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Night begins to fall when the motorbike is welcomed by a large gate the color of a midnight sky. The doors split open down the middle, and the sound the springs make as they squeal open has Enid wincing. Fester drives them down a long, incredibly bumpy, unpaved driveway. Wednesday peers over Uncle Fester's shoulder, taking in Enid's facial expression as it goes from concerned to absolutely enamored once Fester has driven to the end of the driveway and haphazardly parks the motorbike in front of a three-story house that looks like something Enid once saw in a Halloween picture book as a kid.
"I smell roadkill cooking!" Uncle Fester says as he kills the engine. He takes a deep inhale, grinning hungrily as he removes his gloves. "Just in time for dinner, kids!"
Finally able to drop her arms from around Fester, Wednesday tilts her chin up and takes note of the light on in Pugsley's second-story bedroom. It's obscured by his silhouette lingering between the curtains, like he's been there all day in anticipation of his sister's return home. His tall, stalky shadow disappears from the amber glow just as quickly as Wednesday noticed it there, and before Wednesday can properly slide off the motorbike and stand on two legs, the front door is groaning open and footsteps are barreling towards her. She hardly has time to see who it is before Pugsley is shouting in relief.
Wednesday is wincing and bracing herself for the impact of the unwanted embrace, but it never comes, and when she opens her eyes, Pugsley is instead wrapping his arms around Enid and lifting her four inches off her feet.
"Enid!" he cries out. "I missed you! And you're human again!"
"Oh!" Enid exclaims, peering down at Wednesday from over Pugsley's shoulder as he's lowering her down. "I didn't know you were so strong."
Pugsley smiles, a stark contrast to his sister, who's still indifferent to their surroundings.
"I can lift Wednesday, too!" Pugsley says. "But I can't show you, because she might choke me like the last time."
Wednesday's face is completely unreadable and stoic. It's been a long week and for once, snappy remarks and snarky comments have eluded her otherwise formidable character. Her expression shifts ever so slightly when the front door swings open and her parents, grasping onto one another in utter disbelief, emerge from the shadows.
"Wednesday, Enid," Morticia breathlessly greets as she shimmies down the porch steps in her form-fitting dress.
Gomez inhales and closes his eyes like he's reveling in a memory. When he opens his eyes, he grins widely and dramatically gestures to Enid and Wednesday, who subconsciously draw nearer to each other as Morticia approaches with her arms out as if intending to wrap someone in them.
"Finally, our little storm cloud has returned home!" Gomez cries out in triumph, following his wife's tender lead.
Sidestepping away from her mother, Wednesday watches Morticia's expression shift from dejected to relieved. Morticia's features smooth out as she drags a hovering hand over Wednesday's left plait and gently situates the hair so it sits aligned with the other plait. Wednesday doesn't flinch or tug away from her, and she notices a spark ignite in her mother's eye.
"Enid," Morticia says, turning her attention to the wavering girl standing a foot away with her head craned to the sky. "You're alive."
Enid nods solemnly, wordless. Perhaps she's flabbergasted by the sight of the house alone, or maybe it's the shock of the gray, cloudy backdrop that makes the property look like something out of a psychological thriller. Either way, Wednesday considers her silence to be a compliment.
"Mrs. Addams," Enid quietly replies in wary greeting, unsure of herself. "Nice house."
Morticia expresses her gratitude by embracing Enid, wrapping the shaky werewolf in her arms and pressing her head to shoulder. Wednesday hardly gets a good look at the way Enid's eyes widen, but she definitely hears the gasp of surprise as Enid is buried in the black fabric of Morticia's dress. Morticia holds Enid for much longer than what could be considered a welcome-home hug but a bit less than what could be considered too inappropriate. She holds her just long enough to leave Enid red in the face when they pull away.
"We were worried," Morticia says, brushing away blonde baby hairs from Enid's face. "We aren't exactly experts in all things werewolf. We had our fears. About you, about Wednesday. The past few days have been agony for us. Of course, we knew that Wednesday's brash character would get her out of only some sticky situations, and get her into some others. We have sat here and hoped to hear something positive soon."
Enid nods in understanding. "She…she changed me back. Yesterday."
The warmth in Morticia's face mildly assuages the tightness that has been festering in Wednesday's chest. Morticia lifts a maternal hand to cup Enid's cheek, running her thumb along her cheekbone. Enid visibly leans into the caress, easily accepting the affection. Wednesday can't blame her for it, even if she herself isn't the type to run towards her mother at any given chance.
Uncle Fester claps his hands together once. "We can recap this escapade inside. Maybe after dinner. I smell roadkill cooking!"
Gomez nods fondly. "Ah, yes. Lurch is cooking up possum stew."
Enid's attempt at concealing her utter disgust doesn't go unnoticed by Wednesday, who quickly intervenes to save Enid some humility and peer pressure to taste whatever Lurch likely hit with the car earlier.
"Enid needs proper protein," she says to her father. "She has also starved in the wilderness for four days. I don't think our typical cuisine is suitable for her nutritional needs. I will fetch a raw steak out of the freezer for her. The blood is excellent for her coat."
"Of course," Gomez agrees, beaming at Morticia. "Look at our scorpion, being so attentive. Doesn't it remind you of us?"
The tightness that had subsided quickly returns in Wednesday's chest. She meant it when she told Enid that she was going to come clean about their relationship, but that was before she was looking her parents in their adoring eyes. Sometimes the idea of things is much simpler than actually doing it.
"It's certainly beautiful," Morticia agrees, her smile pleasantly warm as she, again, brushes hair from Enid's pink cheeks. "Wednesday, bring Enid inside so she can get settled in. Lurch is still working on dinner. We have time before it's ready."
Lurch, dressed in a black apron, emerges from the entryway and wordlessly retrieves Wednesday's suitcase from the sidecar. He grunts at her in his own form of greeting, nods at Enid, who blinks up at him with the kindest eyes, and stalks back into the house.
The silence that sits between Wednesday and her mother is heavy. They stare at each other for a moment or two, and then Pugsley severs the uncomfortable quiet.
"Come on, Enid," he says, pulling at her arm. "I wanna show you my dynamite cap collection. And my taxidermy! I've been working on them for days!"
"Pugsley," Wednesday warns. "Let Enid get settled before you start traumatizing her with your oddities. At least wait until after dinner before inflicting irreversible pain on her."
"Fine," he agrees with a whine.
Gomez puts a hand on Enid's shoulder, grinning at her despite the fact that she is clearly apprehensive. "Come inside, pequeña lobo. There's lots to see." His smile slowly fades into a concerned frown as he carefully squeezes her shoulder. "You are very tense. You must have been through a great ordeal."
"Something like that," Enid nervously mumbles.
"Well, you won't need to worry anymore," Gomez promises her, much to Wednesday's sudden relief that she won't need to plead a case to her parents. "We have ample guest bedrooms for you to take as much rest as you need, food to satiate the hunger your inner beast needs to survive, and space in the garden for you to wreak havoc on full moons."
Enid is quiet for a moment, likely only dumbfounded by such kindness, and she nods silently.
"Thank you."
The words are so soft spoken, they almost fall on deaf ears, but Gomez smiles brightly at Enid. Morticia gazes at the young wolf with a particular fondness that makes even Wednesday feel safe for once in her life.
"Let's go inside now," Morticia says, already ushering Enid up the steps. "It's time for dinner."
Wednesday observes as her family file into the house one by one, Enid tucked protectively against Morticia, and all too suddenly, she feels a sense of completion overcome her. It's strange and new, but she doesn't reject it.
—
Within half an hour, the entire family is sitting around a rectangular dining table. The backdrop of the evening darkness is comforting to Wednesday as she takes her unofficial assigned seat opposite Pugsley, who's sat next to Uncle Fester and already sopping up some questionable gravy with a bread roll. The seat next to her is typically always empty, leaving room for a guest whenever her parents have invited someone over, but today, it's taken by Enid, who sits rigidly and admires the overwhelmingly gothic decor sprawled throughout the house.
The main course of the evening is possum topped with some kind of grayish gravy. Lurch sets down bowls of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes, which seem incredibly normal in contrast to the dead rodent laying belly-up on a silver platter, and then places a plate of raw, tenderized steak in front of Enid. Wednesday can't tell if the look that washes over Enid's features is that of relief or gratitude, but she accepts it either way.
Enid leans into Wednesday's ear. "So…do you, like, say grace or anything? Or do you just start eating? I don't wanna be rude."
"You may eat whenever you like," Wednesday says, eyeing Pugsley, who's slurping up the gravy. "Clearly my parents don't care about manners."
Morticia enters the room with Gomez on her arm, a glass of red wine in her hand. She sets it down on one end of the table as Gomez pulls her chair out for her, and then she elegantly sits down and brushes invisible lint off her black dress. Gomez pats Enid's head as he's making his way to his seat at the opposite end of the table.
"Enid," Morticia sweetly addresses, picking up the bottle of wine out of the ice bucket. "Would you like a glass?"
Enid blinks a few times. "Of wine? Alcohol?"
"Yes," Morticia replies. "Wednesday doesn't too much care for this one. I don't want to waste it."
"I'm 17."
"There are children your age around the world fighting wars and signing a marriage certificate and birthing children," Morticia says. "Would you like a glass?"
Wednesday doesn't know what she was expecting, but she's surprised that Enid gives in.
"Yes please."
Morticia happily pours Enid a glass and politely sits back down with her own in her hand. Enid stares at the purplish drink for the longest time, until Gomez and Morticia are discussing their day's activities like any another family would—except theirs involves a lot more violence—and then she takes a very tentative sip. Her face immediately contorts and her lips pucker.
"Enid," Wednesday whispers. "Are you allergic?"
"No," Enid coughs slightly, keeping her voice as quiet as Wednesday's. "It's just sour. I totally wasn't expecting to be peer-pressured into drinking by your mom."
"You do not have to drink it to please anyone," Wednesday quickly assures. "Let it go to waste. It's not as if we don't have the money for more."
"It's fine." Enid takes another sip, and this time it goes down without her scrunching up her face. "I've just never drank before. Well, one time Yoko let me taste her beer. But that doesn't count. I didn't finish it, and also Yoko is my best friend, so I felt safe enough to try it."
Wednesday hesitates. "Do you not feel safe right now?"
"That's not what I meant." Enid looks apologetic as she puts her lips around the glass. "I just meant that this is all new for me and I don't want to mess up. I really thought your mom was testing me by offering me wine. To see if I'm willing to break rules and do things I'm not supposed to do. She's a mom. Not like Yoko."
"There are no rules," Morticia interjects as she cuts into her roadkill. "No tests, either."
Enid blushes furiously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's perfectly fine," Morticia reassures, her tone oozing maternal warmth. "I understand, from the very minimal information that Wednesday has provided us with, that your family is far different than ours. Your parents' parenting style is…interesting, so she said."
"She told you that my mom is a raging bitch?" Enid blurts out.
Pugsley laughs with his mouth full, Gomez smirks with amusement, Uncle Fester chuckles, and Morticia smiles. And Wednesday—well, Wednesday spears the meat of her stew with her fork and hopes to disappear from this conversation.
"Well, in much more words than that," Morticia says. "Gomez and I understand that your mother pressured you into attending a werewolf camp. Is that true?"
"Yeah, but I ended up going to one of the less abusive ones," Enid replies with a shrug. "It wasn't that bad. I only went because it was either that or having to hear my mom complain about me not wanting to find a werewolf mate all summer. I value my sanity."
Gomez chuckles. "Sometimes sanity is all you have. And sometimes you have everything but."
"It's just not a discussion that I enjoy having with her," Enid says solemnly, bowing her head as if she's ashamed. "She's never happy. Up until this whole alpha thing, she's been pushing me to find a mate, and I keep telling her I'm too young to worry about it."
Giving Enid a pitiful look, Morticia sighs. "You're right; you are too young to worry about finding a mate. It's a shame that your mother applies so much pressure on someone so young."
"Well, it hardly matters now," Enid says.
"Why is that?"
And uncomfortable silence falls upon the table. Wednesday shares a discomforted glance with her uncle from across the table, still stabbing the meat in her bowl, and he wiggles his eyebrows at her.
Enid is noticeably tense and in a state of unease under the strain of the conversation, but she tries to relax.
"I'm an alpha." Enid picks at her steak, attempting not to look Morticia in the face. "My mom can't pressure me anymore because she's clearly abandoned me like all pack members do to lone alphas. The only reason I'm not dead is because Wednesday changed me back. I wasn't meant to be changed back."
Gomez tilts his head, curious. "If you were not meant to be changed back, how was it possible?"
Both Enid and Wednesday lift their heads in unison. They share a glance before looking back at Gomez, uncannily staring with that same monotonous spark. Enid reasonably clams up, blinking rapidly as the fork in her hand begins to tremble.
"Father, there are intricacies that come along with being an alpha that we might never fully understand," Wednesday says, trying to be both succinct and discreet. "It's not important right now. What is important, is that Enid is human and safe now."
Morticia seems doubtful, gazing longingly at Enid, before she returns to her dinner. Uncle Fester is quiet about his facial expressions, trying to keep the amusement at bay. Wednesday scowls at her roadkill before shoveling a spoonful into her mouth despite the burning of her mother's scrutinizing stare scorching an imprint into her forehead.
Wednesday knows that she should tell the truth and rip it off like a bandaid, but she only wants to sleep off the residuals and deal with the explanation in the morning, so she elects not to say anything about what happened in the motel room or the fact that she and Enid are now joined by something much larger than friendship. She's too tired, and she decides that she's going to wait.
The rest of dinner goes smoothly and silently, with only the sound of forks against plates and glasses clinking to be heard. Enid gradually relaxes as the night goes on, likely thanks to the glass of wine that she ends up finishing, taking pleasure in being near Wednesday, who remains guarded and on edge until her stew is gone, and then Wednesday stands up when Lurch clears the table and leaves the family to the most horrid part of family dinner; casual conversation that is typically taken into the living room, but for now, everyone is so full of either wine or bourbon that the discussion stays in the dining room.
"Mother, Father, I'm going to show Enid to her room," Wednesday announces, politely pushing her chair in. "It's late and she has had a stressful week."
"Mija, shouldn't you let Enid decide if she is ready for bed?" Gomez asks as he plucks a cigar from the breast pocket of his blazer. "Perhaps she would like to join me in the gazebo for a smoke."
Enid blinks again, her jaw slightly dropping when a Cuban cigar is passed across the table to her. "Um…"
"Father, don't put her in a position to decline anything from you," Wednesday says.
"I won't be offended by her rejection," Gomez dismissively replies. "But I would like for her to decide."
Enid stands up, joining Wednesday in close proximity. "Thank you for offering, but I kind of am really tired after everything. We slept in a motel last night, and it wasn't very comfortable." She pauses, smiling. "Maybe tomorrow?"
"Of course," Gomez agrees, tucking the spare cigar into his pocket. "I'll save this one for you. It's Wednesday's favorite kind of cigar, and she has excellent taste."
Wednesday tugs Enid by the sleeve, prompting Enid to awkwardly wave at no one in particular.
"Goodnight," Wednesday tells the room. "Enid and I will see you in the morning."
Morticia nods. "Sleep well, Enid. Do wake us if you need anything. Our bedroom is the last door on the left."
Wednesday leads Enid away from the table, guiding her to the large staircase that faces the front door and splits at the top. They ascend the wooden steps leading to the right catwalk, wordlessly walking towards the end of the hallway that is lit by warm sconces and candlelight. Enid appreciates the various portraits and family photos that are situated between each candle, an orange flame flickering over their faces.
"This place is huge," Enid notes as she realizes that they've already passed four doors along the hallway. "What if I get lost?"
"You won't," Wednesday assures. "It's fairly simple. My parents' bedroom and bathroom are on the left wing, across the staircase, along with Uncle Fester's official-unofficial bedroom and bathroom. On this wing, there is my bedroom, Pugsley's bedroom, the bathroom I'm unfortunately forced to share with him, and two guest bedrooms that have a shared bathroom between them, but we hardly use them for anything except coats when we have family soirées."
"So many rooms," Enid marvels, running her hand along the textured wall. "Why so many?"
Wednesday stops at a door at the end of the hallway, looking at Enid with a certain softness. "My parents were supposed to have more children. It was never meant to be only me and Pugsley."
Enid winces. "Right. I forgot about that. I promise not to be insensitive around them."
"You don't need to worry about that," Wednesday says. "They have made peace with it. My mother decided that putting herself through agony to conceive a third time with her heightened risk of dying in childbirth was not something she was interested in. They tried for a well over year after Pugsley turned a year old and saw no results, even with magic, and they both decided, amicably, that we are complete as we are. Sometimes I find my mother staring longingly at a baby, but she's not fragile about it. You don't have to tiptoe around the subject."
"But still," Enid frets. "She's a nice lady and I don't wanna make her mad or upset."
"I could argue that she might like you more than she likes me," Wednesday replies. "Which is what I want. I have every intention of being honest with them tomorrow, after we've all had some sleep, and although I feel I am out of my depth, I'm sure that they'll have no qualms about this."
"I hope so," Enid sighs, wringing her hands. "I'm super grateful for this. You don't know how much I really appreciate everything you've done for me. I really don't know what I would do without you."
"The wine is making you emotional," Wednesday remarks, pushing the door open. "I'll show you to bed, and we can continue this tomorrow."
The room is cold and dark, lit up only by a lamp glowing ember yellow on the nightstand that sits beside a full-sized bed. Wednesday flicks on the overhead lighting, wincing painfully like a vampire stepping into direct sunlight.
"My bedroom is across the hall," Wednesday tells Enid, pulling the dark gray duvet down.
Enid surveys her new living quarters; dark, depressing walls, cobwebs stretched along every corner, floorboards that creak with every little move she makes, a door leading to the adjoined bathroom. It smells of dust and old books, much like Wednesday does. Her eyes zero in on something familiar and pink tucked away in the corner of the room, and she immediately lights up.
"Is that my suitcase?" she asks Wednesday, rushing to the pink thing sitting on the floor. She squeals with delight upon seeing the unicorn stickers and the hot pink puffball keychain dangling from the handle. "It is!"
Wednesday slinks over to the closet and opens it, and a horde of pink and glitter comically falls out into a heap on the ground.
"Thing helped me drag this home while Uncle Fester and I roamed the border for you," Wednesday says, indifferent. "He's sleeping off the effort in Pugsley's sock drawer."
Enid picks up a stuffed unicorn that fell out of the closet, hugging it to her chest like a little girl.
"I never thought I'd see any of this again!" she exclaims.
"Your mother demanded that Capri have all your belongings shipped back to California, at Nevermore's expense, because she paid for most of it and wanted something out of it if you weren't going to be returning home," Wednesday states evenly, eyebrows furrowing with unbridled rage. "By the time Capri arrived with boxes and tape, everything was long gone."
Before Wednesday can think another coherent thought, Enid's arms are wrapping around her waist and drawing her in for a strong embrace, the unicorn flinging to the floor again. She readily leans into it, absorbing all the love that Enid is providing, and when Enid pulls away just enough to plant a firm kiss to her lips, she leans into that just as quickly.
"I love you," Enid says.
Despite the fact that she can clearly hear her parents shuffling around below her feet, Wednesday is loud and clear when she reciprocates the sentiment.
"I love you, too, Enid."
Enid strokes her thumb along Wednesday's cheek, grinning madly. "Why did you bring all my stuff here? You're allergic to color."
"Because I hate your mother and wanted to inconvenience her," Wednesday says truthfully. "The thought of her neck pulsating with anger when Capri told her that your belongings had disappeared under mysterious circumstances did something to me."
"If you just wanted to piss off my mom, why bring it all the way here?" Enid presses. "You could've thrown it out."
Wednesday frowns. "Enid, I would never have done that. It might make me itch, but throwing it out wasn't an option." She pauses, shoulders sagging with exhaustion from both traveling and having to suffer through an intense dinner with her family. "That was never an option."
"But…what if you never found me?" Enid asks meekly, seemingly softer and more insecure now that she's able to be vulnerable. "What if I was hunted and killed?"
Placing a cold palm on Enid's warm cheek, Wednesday looks up at her with absolute conviction.
"That also was never an option, Enid."
Notes:
New characters unlocked! How do we feel?
Chapter 9Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A storm rolls in sometime in the middle of the night. Wednesday wakes to the sound of thunder clapping and rattling the windows. She sits up against her pillows and rubs the sleep from her eyes, squinting ahead at the silver reflection of her typewriter keys. With a suppressed yawn, she looks at her bedside analog alarm clock. It's only half past two, but it feels much later. The sky beyond her curtains is a spooky black, riddled with rainclouds and strikes of lightning.
She doesn't know what woke her up. Typically she sleeps well through the night, no matter the circumstances surrounding it, but there is a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her bladder is empty and her mouth isn't dry, and really, she could still sleep like a rock through either of the opposites, but something strange still resides within her chest. It's a persistent desire for something, and when she takes a good look around the room, she notices that her arms feel empty and her bed feels too cold.
Thunder rumbles as she quietly leaves her bed. She doesn't bother with her slippers, deciding that her socks are suitable enough as she discreetly slips out of her bedroom in her soft cotton pajama set. Lightning flickers across the wall as she's tiptoeing across the hallway to Enid's bedroom. The sconces are aglow, illuminating the stretch of walkway in yellow and casting her lithe shadow over the portraits of her family.
She lingers outside of Enid's bedroom for a conflicting minute, contemplating entering. She would hate to disturb Enid after she's been through such a tumultuous ordeal and is only trying to get some real rest, but she also fears that the empty feeling will persist into morning light if she doesn't at least sneak a satisfactory peek.
Deciding that it's worth a try, she turns the knob and opens the door. The hinges groan quietly as she pokes her head into the room. The first thing she notices is the familiar nightlight that Enid had plugged into their shared bathroom at Nevermore. It's plugged into an outlet next to the closet, providing enough light for Wednesday to see Enid curled up in her bed with a plush unicorn in her arms.
Wednesday hovers over the bed, watching the rise and fall of Enid's chest as she slumbers. Enid's nose twitches in her sleep, and she pulls her unicorn tighter to her chest. With the shifting, Wednesday takes note of the black shirt Enid borrowed from her, now wedged between the unicorn and Enid's chest. Enid's tossing and turning abruptly stops when her nose buries in the fabric, her shoulders going slack.
Against all better judgement, Wednesday lowers herself and perches on the edge of Enid's bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She sits there and observed for awhile. Enid's breathing is perfectly calm and even, her eyelashes fluttering like she's having a pleasant dream. Wednesday wonders what kind of dreams Enid has; are they nostalgic? Futuristic? Obscure? Are they fuzzy like vignettes or broad like comics? Are they long or short? Are they bright like rainbows or dark like storms?
Wednesday watches for five claps of thunder, ruminating about Enid and her dreams, before she feels Enid squirm under the covers. She shakes her head to dispel any overbearing thoughts she might have left, turning her full attention to Enid.
"Wednesday?" Enid sleepily mumbles over a sixth clap of thunder that startles her. "Is it you?"
"Yes," Wednesday readily replies, drawing a bit nearer to her like a curious black cat. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"You didn't," Enid yawns, rubbing her eye with her fist. "Thunder did. Raining?"
Wednesday looks out the window, watching the rain pelt the glass, before looking back at Enid, who's now sitting up in bed with her unicorn tucked safely in her arms. She's wearing her own pajamas now; a pink top that Wednesday recognizes to have matching pants.
"Cats and dogs," Wednesday observes, sleepily blinking at the window. "I only came to check on you. I know how much storms frighten you. You would always wake up in the middle of the night when it rained at Nevermore."
Enid looks at her, puzzled. "You knew about that?"
"Of course," she replies softly. "I assumed that you didn't want me to know about it. You were trying to be subtle about the way you hummed yourself back to sleep. I heard it, several times, but I made no effort to make it known."
If it weren't so dark in the room, Wednesday might be able to see the pink rising to Enid's face and neck, but fortunately, she can only make out the discomforted wiggle Enid does under the duvet. The wiggle indicates embarrassment, and Wednesday knows it all too well but doesn't mention it to Enid.
"Couldn't sleep?" Enid asks Wednesday. "Why're you up so late? Were you writing? Trying to sneak out?"
"Something woke me up," Wednesday honestly tells her, even if she originally wanted to say that she felt parched and went roaming the house for water. "Perhaps it was the thunder that startled me out of my sleep. The windows are quite fragile and shake with any little noise."
"But you love storms. They always put you to sleep," Enid sleepily murmurs, now rubbing her other eye.
Wednesday knows that Enid, even in her drowsy stupor, doesn't buy her lie. She's been trying to be better about lying when it comes to Enid, deciding that there should be no secrets that lay between them. When it comes to others, however, lying isn't completely off the table. Still, she's trying to work on it, because partners are, at the very least, honest with each other.
"When I was pulled from my slumber, I immediately felt this odd sense of emptiness fill my stomach, as ironic as that sounds," Wednesday admits, casting her gaze down to her lap for a second. She looks back up at Enid after a moment of fidgeting, finding her eyebrows furrowed. "It was a strange void inside of me. Persistent. Nagging. It led me here. I just…had to check on you before I could properly go back to sleep. I see I was fretting for nothing. You seemed to have been resting well."
A crack of lightning illuminates Enid but surprisingly doesn't make her jump. Her expression is unintelligible, somewhere between concerned and confused, but her presence feels warm and homey. She reaches across the bed, wiggling her fingers at Wednesday, who blinks vacantly at the gesture.
"I know the 'tism makes it a little difficult to understand implications, but I'm asking you to join me in bed," Enid blatantly says. She lowers her hands slowly, a look of dejection forming on her face. "Unless you don't want to. That's okay. It's your house and your body and I'm not trying to push your boundaries or break the rules and be kicked out—"
It's arguably too early for Enid's nonsensical rambling, so Wednesday leans in and brushes her cold nose over the tender flesh of Enid's jaw before planting a small, fleeting kiss to the bone. It's enough to shut Enid up for the moment and leave her blushing.
"Enid, please be quiet for just a moment," Wednesday tiredly says.
"So does that mean you'll join me?" Enid insecurely asks.
"Perhaps I'm not the only one here with autism," Wednesday remarks. "Scoot over."
Enid obeys, making space for Wednesday on her left side. She pulls the duvet down enough for Wednesday to slip in, and Wednesday does with a subtle eagerness. Wednesday lays her head on the pillow, staring up at the shadows that flicker on the ceiling like a creepy mobile, her shoulder brushing against Enid's. Her breathing leaves her in tiny heaves of effort as she attempts to control her racing heartbeat, the same way she did in the motel, only this time, familiarity blankets her. The room smells of centuries passed and Enid's soap that Wednesday had packed for her the day Capri attempted to ship everything back to the Sinclair pack. It smells like home.
"Wednesday?" Enid whispers. Her voice is feeble yet unwavering.
Wednesday swallows, not quite appreciating the way that sounded leaving Enid's mouth. "Yes?"
"Are you sure your parents won't be upset that we're…you know…a thing?" Enid asks in the still of the night, barely audible over the thunder booming overhead. "I mean, I know you don't have to do anything for me, but I appreciate you giving me a home after what I've been through, and I don't wanna do anything to jeopardize it."
Uncharacteristically turning onto her side and tucking her arm under her head for support, Wednesday faces Enid and hooks a firm finger under Enid's chin, lifting her head so they're eye-to-eye.
"Enid, I cannot promise many things in this life, but one thing you have my word on is the fact that my parents do not discriminate and they will shower us both in unwanted affection once the truth comes out," Wednesday reassures.
"You mean when you come out," Enid whispers, biting back a giggle.
"Very funny." Wednesday playfully rolls her eyes before settling back down, moving her hand so it's cupping Enid's angelic face. "My parents adore you more than you know. My father doesn't offer just anyone his precious cigars. It's a pastime reserved for me and him, and soon, Pugsley. It was more than a token of appreciation; it was symbolic."
Enid winces. "I shouldn't have said no."
"You didn't say no. You said maybe later," Wednesday reminds as her thumb caresses Enid's cheek. "And even if you did say no outright, he would not have been offended or viewed you any differently. He's a man of good conscience. He can accept a simple no. It's not as if offering a minor a cigar is appropriate in most cultures."
"I can't believe that you smoke cigars," Enid notes, but her tone is completely open-minded. "I mean, that totally tracks for you, but still."
"It takes the edge off of being alive."
Enid admires Wednesday for a minute, surveying her under the darkness that drowns them both. Wednesday's hand slips from her cheek, and Enid is quick to press her own palm to Wednesday's pallid skin. The flesh is cold, like a corpse, and Wednesday knows that anyone else wouldn't be so forgiving about her pallor, but this is Enid, and Enid doesn't judge.
"You're perfect," Enid murmurs as she leans in. "So perfect."
Their noses brush together, the cartilage pliable against each other as Enid presses a soft, appreciative kiss to Wednesday's equally cold lips. She keeps it quick and tries not to salivate, respecting Wednesday's persistent prioritization of her teeth, and settles for nestling her face in the crook of Wednesday's neck, where she can soak up her scent without the situation becoming tasteless and risqué.
Wednesday's body begins to sink into the mattress as she relaxes under the weight of Enid's body pressing into hers. Enid's leg swings over her waist, locking her in place so she's pinned beneath her, and her arm snakes around so she can properly hold Wednesday, but Wednesday is hardly complaining about it. In fact, the pressure that Enid is applying alleviates whatever stress she had been carrying on her shoulders. Warm puffs of breath tickle the sensitive skin of her neck, and at first, it makes her knees shake, but then she comes to terms with the fact that it's only Enid breathing, and if there's one thing Wednesday is grateful for, it's the fact that Enid is alive and well.
With a sigh of finality, Enid's entire being sags. Wednesday's breathing hitches, her toes curling, and then she cups the back of Enid's head and rakes her fingernails over her scalp, letting the golden hair melt through her fingers in waves. Enid's slumbering grip is still present on Wednesday's hip, but it's loose now, allowing Wednesday to shift the slightest bit under her. Enid hums in her sleep, probably dreaming again.
For the first time in her life, Wednesday feels wholly and irrevocably loved.
—
The next morning, the storm has already passed on and left only puddles and a gray sky in its wake, and it's the most perfect sleeping weather, which is why Wednesday vacates Enid's bed in the wee hours of murky morning sunlight and leaves her angelic partner to snooze for a bit longer. She replaces herself with Enid's stuffed unicorn that had fallen to the floor last night, manipulating Enid's arms so they wrap firmly around the plushie, and just as she begins to tiptoe away from the bed, Enid's eyelids flutter in protest before cracking completely open.
"Why're you leaving?" Enid's voice is raspy, and it does something to Wednesday that she can't accurately articulate without sounding manic. "Come back here."
Wednesday is prepared to cave in, but it's already almost eight, and she considers that to be sleeping the morning away. Enid's eyes are so blue this morning, so warm against the notion that blue eyes are always ice cold and unforgiving. Enid's are anything but frightening. Wednesday could stare at them for a millennium.
"Lurch is making breakfast," she tells Enid. "My parents are likely partaking in their early morning activities before it's served. It's a Saturday; we have a later breakfast than usual and then separate until lunchtime, which is usually a solo affair. Lunch isn't a big deal here. Pugsley typically eats Spaghetti-Os out of the can in hopes of getting botulism."
Enid yawns and wipes the sleep from her eyes. "Mm. Spaghetti-Os."
Wednesday makes a face. "You and Pugsley are odd creatures."
"I love you too," Enid giggles, waking more fully now. Her cheeks are pink with residual sleep. She's perfect in the gloomy light that saturates her in a gray hue.
"I wasn't implying that my affection for you has diminished due to the fact that you willfully eat concerning medical experiments out of a can," Wednesday replies.
"Only one of us has the 'tism, and it's not me," Enid teases. "I was joking."
"Of course you were." Wednesday pauses. "So was I."
They stare at each other for a moment, both reveling in the silence that overcomes them. It's like the world is narrowing around Wednesday and the walls are closing in on her. Every time she looks at Enid, she's met with an uncomfortable yet pleasant tightness that consumes her being. Briefly, she wonders if this is how her father feels when he looks at her mother.
"Wednesday?" Enid asks. "Wednesday?"
Wednesday pulls herself out of her ruminating. "Yes?"
"I think your soul just left your body for a moment," Enid comments in a laugh. "You kept staring."
"Don't be silly, Enid," Wednesday remarks as she creeps towards the door. "I don't have a soul."
—
Breakfast is a simple affair. It's one of the more normal activities the Addamses partake in. The food is of the average American family, with the exception of the dead crickets that Lurch sprinkles over Morticia's and Pugsley's oatmeal. When Lurch comes around to Enid and offers a handful of broken bug legs and wings, she purses her lips and gives him a tight smile.
"No thanks," she politely declines. "I'm allergic to wings and antennas."
Lurch nods at her, stuffing the crushed bug into his apron pocket. Gomez beams at Enid from across the table, chomping away on a piece of crunchy bacon.
"Not a fan of bugs?" he asks Enid.
"Oh, I love bugs," Enid replies, spooning oatmeal into her mouth. "Just…not in my food."
"Understandable. It's quite the acquired taste," Gomez says with a wink. "Have you ever tried lengua?"
Enid's brain buffers. "That means tongue in Spanish, doesn't it?"
"Look at you," Gomez chuckles as he pours himself a glass of bourbon. "Already learning our native tongue. Forgive the pun."
"Sometimes when Wednesday gets frustrated, she talks to herself in Spanish, so I've picked up on a lot," Enid says, ignoring the blatant scowl on Wednesday's face. "And to answer your question, I haven't. I didn't even know that was a thing."
"It's a delicacy," says Gomez. "Wednesday isn't the biggest fan, but if seasoned to perfection, it's quite robust. Perhaps we'll have Lurch make that for dinner tonight."
Wednesday's eyes narrow. "Father, Enid is a guest, and I think you should allow her to select what we have for dinner. Don't be impolite."
"No, it's fine," Enid interjects with a watery smile. "It's your house. I don't wanna control anything. My mom said it's rude to try and control what people do in their house. I'm just a guest here. I need to respect your rules and culture."
"I think Wednesday is right," Morticia says, turning to Enid. "Darling, what would you like Lurch to prepare for dinner tonight?"
Enid visibly squirms under the hot lamp that is Morticia's stare.
"Uh…it's fine. I don't wanna inconvenience him," she says in earnest, glancing over at Wednesday, who's gone stoic. "I don't want to cause any trouble or for Lurch to go out of his way just for me."
"Nonsense," Morticia clicks her tongue. "His culinary skills are impeccable. Well, except for that one time he baked that poor woman into the cake at the bachelor party. But that was merely a freak accident. He didn't completely understand that she was an entertainer and the cake was part of the act."
"Mother," Wednesday suddenly snaps. "We don't talk about that. You will scare her."
"She doesn't seem all that scared," Morticia observes.
Enid gulps, trying to wedge herself between Wednesday and her mother so a brawl doesn't break out. "My dad used to make spaghetti and meatballs every Saturday night. It was my favorite as a kid."
"Oh, that's doable," Morticia says. "What kind of meat were the meatballs made of? Squirrel? Rat? Guinea pig?"
Enid blinks rapidly. "Beef."
"I'll send Lurch out to the market to get some," she replies, summoning Lurch with a wave of her hand. "Lurch, would you please make a trip to the market and fetch some ground beef? It doesn't have to be entirely beef, so long as it tastes as such. Enid would like spaghetti and meatballs for dinner this evening. Is that manageable for you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Addams," he grunts, checking his pocket watch. "I will leave for the market at noon, after lunch is prepared."
Wednesday shoots up out of her seat like a rocket, causing heads to swivel.
"Enid and I will accompany you, Lurch," she says. "I'm beginning to feel a little suffocated. Some humid air will do me some good."
Morticia frowns. "But you only just got back. We've missed you."
"I would like to show Enid around town," she reasons, acknowledging Enid's nervous presence with a nod of her head. "If she's going to be staying here, she should know her way around and familiarize herself."
"But Wednesday—"
Gomez clears his throat and looks fondly at his wife. "Cariño, allow our scorpion to take Enid into town. It's a Saturday. I'm going to go out to the gazebo for a smoke with Fester, Pugsley is going to terrorize the birds with his slingshot, and you're going to tend to your garden. Thing is still resting, but I'm sure he will be happy to join them in town. Extra protection. There is nothing to worry about."
Relaxing, Morticia nods. "Maybe you're right." She looks to Enid as Wednesday sinks into her seat. "Would you like Wednesday to show you around?"
"Sure!" Enid readily exclaims. "I've been to a lot of different states before, but never New Jersey."
"Where have you been before?" Morticia inquires.
"I'm from California, but I've been to Vermont—obviously—and West Virginia and Nevada and Oregon," she lists off. "The most fun was New York. I got to see the Empire State Building in person. My werewolf camp was in South Dakota. My grandparents live in Wisconsin now, but I've only been there twice. I traveled a lot as a kid because my family is all over the country. Packs tend to stay close together, but the Sinclair pack is very big and everyone has different lives to live. We all come from California on my mom's side and Oregon on my dad's side, but slowly, we've all moved on. I've learned that you can't confine yourself to one place just because of your bloodline." The smile quickly vanishes. "Blood doesn't mean anything anyway."
Morticia squeezes Enid's hand in such a maternal way. "Well, you're here with us now, and we are more than happy to have you here."
"She's right," Gomez concurs, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. He pushes his chair out and stands up, his presence loud and formidable like Wednesday's. "Enid, if you're done with breakfast, why don't you join me in the gazebo?"
Enid is tense but slowly relaxes when Wednesday's cold fingers brush her knee from under the table.
"Okay," she politely agrees, but Wednesday has a hunch it might have something to do with the fact that Pugsley is munching on dead crickets and Enid only wants to escape him. "I'm done."
"Perfect," Gomez says as he pulls a Cuban cigar from his pocket and offers it to Enid. "Yesterday, you said tomorrow."
Wednesday glares at him. "She also said maybe. Let's not pressure her into things."
"No, it's fine," Enid assures as she stands up, even though her knees quiver. "I literally had to eat decomposing roadkill in the woods. A cigar won't kill me."
Wednesday stares at her like she's grown another head, but Enid quickly smiles in a vain attempt at reassuring her before she joins Gomez, who is holding open a backdoor for her. They both disappear into the gray morning light, leaving Pugsley chomping a cricket to smithereens and Morticia idling by with that grim look on her face that's only reserved for death and nonconsensual dismemberment.
"Pugsley, why don't you take your breakfast into the parlor?" Morticia asks. "I need to talk to your sister."
"Sure," Pugsley replies, picking up his plate and licking cricket legs off his fingers. "I'm gonna go wake up Uncle Fester. He promised to help me terrorize the birds."
Once he's gone, Wednesday dares lift her head to look at her mother. Morticia doesn't say anything at first, but her expression is redoubtable and her body language screams harshly domineering yet delicately matriarchal.
"Admit it to me, Wednesday," Morticia demands quietly. "Admit to me what I already know."
"That I slipped into Enid's bed in the middle of the night?" she blurts. "It wasn't sexual, but even if it had been, you are not one to talk. The walls are thin."
Morticia sits back a bit, grasping the arms of her chair like they're a lifeline, and then she composes herself and leans back into Wednesday.
"No," she says.
Wednesday's hands are numb and her chest tightens as the blood leaves her body. "Oh."
"I know what it's like to be great friends with another person, Wednesday," Morticia says wistfully. "I still can feel the daunting yet warm presence of Larissa Weems. We didn't always get along very well, and we had our differences, but the point is that her soul was bound to mine just enough to stay with me. I'll never forget it. But the way she was bound to me is similar yet different than the way your father is bound to me. With your father, I can feel every bit of pain, every ounce of melancholy, every miserable plight that's ever been inflicted upon him. We are connected, for life."
"Save me your trip down memory lane," Wednesday harshly remarks. "What is the point of this conversation?"
"The point is that I know, and you do not need to be afraid to tell me or your father." Morticia sips her morning tonic. "We would never cast judgement upon you."
Wednesday calls her bluff, because she's already said too much.
"You know what?"
Morticia's smile is coy but endearing. Wednesday feels infuriated by it but lets her speak, mostly because her entire mouth is staticky.
"I might have been wrong about you and Enid. Initially, I compared your relationship with Enid to that of the one I had with Larissa," says Morticia. "But as I see it now, I was wrong. You are not me and Larissa. You are me and your father."
The last thing Wednesday recalls before a haze of darkness overcomes her is the image of Enid leaning against the pillar of the gazebo with a Cuban cigar in her mouth.
Notes:
Writing Morticia and her gothic brat of a daughter is so fun. I love how maternal Morticia is across all variations of her character. If there is one thing to keep consistent, it would be the Addams family being matriarchal. I'm the most childfree by choice person you'll ever meet, but one of the best compliments I've ever gotten is "you would be a great mother."