Chapter Text
There’s a girl standing in the lobby of the shop.
That fact itself isn’t unusual- flower shops in general attract a mostly female teenage customer base, especially being located five minutes from the local university- but something about this girl catches Wednesday’s attention.
She’s new. At least, Wednesday’s never seen her in all the time she’s worked. Her memory is razor sharp, and she can remember most faces that come in, even if she couldn’t care less about the person. They just stick in her mind, engrained after a single look, and this girl, clothed in paint-splattered overalls and two-toned bright hair, is someone she wouldn’t forget.
It throws her off a little, having someone new in the shop, when the past two years have brought nothing but a regular rotation of dreary faces. She stares at the girl walking around, slowly taking in the flowers and other assorted plants aligned neatly on the walls. All of a sudden, the girl turns around, eyes searching and smile wide, and almost makes direct contact with Wednesday’s obvious stare.
She snaps away quickly, focusing back on the typewriter that sits just behind the customer service desk. She’s not one to shy away from confrontation, and she digests the fact that she was almost caught staring and decided to look away at the prospect of being caught. It’s only because it’s someone new, she thinks, and tries to focus back on her novel that’s being typed away under her fingers.
“Hello!”
Wednesday looks up to meet the girl’s unwavering stare, somehow having appeared right at the counter without making a single sound. If Wednesday didn’t train herself out of being scared throughout her childhood, she would’ve yelled and flinched at the sneaky approach. The girl’s smile is blinding and a part of her wishes to make a threat to make it stop.
You’ll have to learn to control yourself around customers, she can hear her uncle’s words ring, we can’t scare away business.
It always rubbed her the wrong way- her uncle’s work ethic. Why should she have to change to better suit them? There are plenty of other stores in the area to choose from that are decent enough, she knows. If they have a problem with her, they can leave.
Nevertheless, she bites her tongue, something she rarely does anyways despite her uncle’s words.
“Can I help you?” she drags out, every bit annoyed already. The girl hasn’t done anything besides smile and disrupt her morning by being new.
“I’m Enid Sinclair,” the girl says, and holds her hand out in a firm motion, asking to be shook. Wednesday keeps her eyes on the girl, Enid, for a second longer before focusing back on her typing, ignoring the hand being offered. After a few moments of silence, Enid drops it.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she bites, squinting just a little when Enid makes no move to leave. The girl is so bright, face and hair more colorful than the flowers she keeps. It’s almost nauseating.
“I heard you were hiring,” Enid says, still confident. “I’m here for the job.”
Wednesday’s fingers slip, and the typewriter prints a line of jumbled letters. Her head snaps up at the girl, watching her cheery smile drop to something more anxious when Wednesday does nothing but stare angrily. She looks back at the paper, scanning the line she just messed up,
brufjaie, it reads.
“Where did you hear that?” she grits out with clenched teeth. Her hands are held in fists, irritated at the sight of the girl and irritated at the smeared ink on her page.
“A boy named Eugene-”
“Wait here,” she interrupts before standing abruptly and walking out the front door.
“Eugene!” she growls, a hushed thing that shoots from between her lips. The boy, Eugene, probably the only person that could almost be considered her friend, stands outside the back of the shop. It’s Monday morning, delivery day, and Eugene offered to be the one to drop her orders off since she can't leave the store during the day. He’s dragging a big box of new flower stems towards the door, and when she gets close enough, he drops it to look at her with a smile.
“Good morning, Wednes-”
“You told someone I was hiring?” She ignores his fake greetings, plastered with more joy than the smile Enid held on her face. There’s sweat building on his forehead that she immediately tracks, and can read the sign like an open book. He did something she wouldn’t like, and now he’s fearful of the consequences.
Good, she internally grins, proud of her ability to be intimidating, but it doesn’t solve the issue at hand.
“I, well…”
“Well?”
“I may have told someone you were hiring.”
“Eugene,” she takes a breath. “I’m not hiring.”
“Yes, but-”
“There are no ‘buts’.”
“Ok, look,” he starts, and she’s immediately feeling her nostrils flare with an undesirable anger. “I met this girl in my class, we got to talking and she mentioned really needing a job.”
“So you offered my job without talking to me?”
“You would just say no!”
“Of course I would say no. I’m not hiring.”
“Wednesday, please,” he tries and his face is morphing into something akin to begging. She will not fall for one of his psychological traps. “She’s really nice and when I talked to her, she seemed desperate. I know ever since-”
“Watch your words,” she threatens, grinding her teeth together.
“Sorry- I just know running a business on your own isn’t easy. Can’t you just consider it?”
“No.”
It’s silent for a few moments, the only sounds coming from leaves rustling in the autumn winds above. They're in a stalemate, having an uncomfortable conversation through eye contact.
“It would give you more time to write,” he says, speaking slowly and quietly after a while, as if Wednesday would bite. She would. “You could avoid dealing with customers.”
Her face is as neutral as it can be, but she feels a twitch in her eyebrow at his words, uncontrolled, and Eugene starts smiling.
He’s reading my tells.
She clocks this moment as the exact one where she begins to crack, where she becomes doomed. How she got so close to someone to let herself be seen in these moments brings an infuriating pain to her head. Her hands reach up to rub her temples.
“You could focus on things you like, working in the back, headphones in…”
He’s listing reasons, good reasons at that, and she can’t deny the logic he’s presenting.
“You could-”
“Enough,” she interrupts. Her mind is fighting, rolling the ideas over and over, planning each one from start to inevitable end. She takes one look at Eugene, his half-nervous smile and sweaty face, and sighs. “I could use more time to write, I suppose.”
He breathes out, a short sigh followed by a mumble of relief. “Thank goodness, I thought I was going to have to apologize to her in class.”
Wednesday almost rolls her eyes.
“Thanks, Wednesday.”
“I’m only doing this for my novel. I’ll never get it published at the rate I’m writing at. Not for you.”
“No,” he says sarcastically and she bites her tongue. “Never.”
She turns to walk back into the store, leaving him to drop the rest of the boxes off.
Enid isn’t standing where she was, at the desk. Instead, she’s nowhere to be seen. There’s a small blossom of hope that the girl got bored and left, and won’t come back. Ever. But the rest of her knows that Eugene wouldn’t risk her wrath without a true reason, which means the girl is probably desperate for a job.
So despite her desire to sit down and continue typing, she walks around to find the girl. The shop isn’t large, and after checking the small bathroom in the corner, she lets herself feel a little confused. She makes her way to the desk, and suddenly, there’s noise coming from the back room.
The door behind the desk is slightly cracked, and Wednesday immediately rushes in.
Enid stands there, between the rows of plants she’s growing, running her hands along one of the shelves that wrap around the room. There are huge windows, supplies littered everywhere, and despite the apparent clutter (Wednesday knows where everything is), it’s normally very dull. It’s a greenhouse of solace.
Enid’s colorful outfit pops out like a sore thumb. It’s all wrong.
“What are you doing?” she almost yells. The girl drops her hand, spinning around to face the direction of the voice.
“There you are! You were gone a while, and I got scared you forgot about me, so I went to find you. This room is so cool-”
“You can’t be back here,” she ignores the girl’s words of explanation, clearly not understanding of the fact that she shouldn’t be back here.
“Oh, I didn’t-”
“Get out.”
Wednesday steps to the side, clearing a way for the girl. Enid walks out quickly, and Wednesday shuts the door with a slam, locking it behind her.
“I’m sorry,” Enid starts after Wednesday glares at her in a constricting silence.
“You don’t go back there,” she responds. “Ever.”
“Got it.” The girl shakes her head up and down, looking rightly apologetic. Wednesday feels a squirm in her chest that’s immediately squandered by the girl's next words. “Wait, so does that mean I’m hired?”
Right, the job.
“I shouldn’t hire you, after you snooped.”
“I didn’t mean to, I- I didn’t know!”
“Pity.”
“Please-” the girl takes a breath, stepping a little closer than Wednesday would like. “I’m sorry, I won’t do anything like that again.”
Wednesday’s met a lot of people through this job, most of them pitifully fake with ulterior motives behind every word. They buy depressing flowers as a way to mend broken relationships, instead of coming to the realization that mere flowers can’t fix something as complicated as fractured trust. Boyfriends crying over mistakes, mothers crying over familial turbulence. A seemingly simple fix for something that’s far too complex. It’s why she doesn’t have friends- it’s overly complicated. Plants are easier. She doesn’t expect them to fix anything, and they don't expect anything from her but a little water and time.
She’s met a lot of people, knows how to read them well, and Enid looks at her with something she doesn’t expect. Honesty. There’s another squirm in her stomach.
“I just really need this job,” Enid finishes, holding her hands behind her back.
Her lungs move slowly, drawing in what has to be her biggest breath ever, before blowing it in the opposite direction. Enid stands in front of her, all hopeful and pleading and she feels nauseous. She realizes she never had a choice in the matter. Not really, not after Eugene opened his big mouth.
“I won’t pay much.”
“Please, I- wait..,” Enid starts to yell, only to shut her own mouth with a quickness.
“You’ll have to work early shifts.”
“That’s fine. I can be a morning person.”
“You’ll have to move a lot of heavy pots.”
“I’m strong,” she smiles, flexing her muscles and Wednesday almost snorts.
“I’ll always do what’s best for me and the business. You’ll be an afterthought in everything.”
“You can’t scare me off. Do I have the job or not?” Enid asks, nervously chuckling a little.
“Be back here tomorrow for training,” she ends after a brief pause before moving to turn away and sit back at the front desk.
“Thank you! You won’t regret it” Enid shouts, before throwing her arms up and out as if she’s going to hug Wednesday. Hug.
She steps back on instinct, flashing the girl an incredulous look.
“Not a hugger,” Enid says, smiling with a flash of a small wink, “got it.”
She’s already regretting everything.
She, much to her own frustration, almost forgets about everything that happened the day before. She blames it on being so far out of her routine- like her brain almost wished to block it from memory.
She parks behind the shop at six thirty in the morning, an hour and a half before open. There’s a few things she needs to do- move some plants to bigger pots, arrange two bouquets scheduled to be picked up at open, and then do the unfortunate task of working on finances. The old laptop she bought at a thrift store once comes in handy for just that, despite loading at two pixels a minute.
The whole thing is mindless, just like any other day of the week, which is why when she rounds the corner and sees Enid standing there at the door, dressed in a yellow pair of overalls that have to be brighter than any sunflower she's seen, waiting for her with a cheery smile, she almost trips over her own feet.
“Careful!” Enid says from her slumped position against the door. She looks far too comfortable standing there, like she’s been here every morning for years. “Can’t fall before work starts.”
She curses the world for the red that rushes to her cheeks. Ignoring the comment, she reaches for the set of keys in her pocket, moving closer to the door. Enid steps back, watching her, until Wednesday dares to make eye contact.
“Good morning,” Enid says, quiet and low at their close proximity, and Wednesday berates her past self for letting Eugene talk her into this.
“I’d prefer to have a bad morning,” she retorts, before walking into the shop. The sun hasn’t risen yet and it’s dark inside. How did Enid even know when to get here? She doesn't remember telling the girl.
“You know, you seem too grumpy to be working at a flower shop,” Enid says with a mocking firmness in her voice.
Wednesday doesn't want to respond, doesn’t want to acknowledge the girl’s incessant chatter at a time too early in the morning for talking, but her mouth moves faster than her brain. Everything in her routine is tilted and she blames the girl standing in the center of the room, cast in shadows. “I don’t see how my attitude relates towards plants.”
“I don’t know,” Enid says as she walks towards the light switch once Wednesday points. “When I imagine a flower shop, I think of someone bright and cheery.”
“I’m neither bright nor cheery.”
“I know, that’s why I was kind of surprised to see you working here.”
The lights illuminate the store, casting a warm yellow over everything. She’s proud of the store; it’s her biggest accomplishment. Free flower stems fill bins at the windows, ready for anyone to make their own arrangements. Two shelves on the side walls, as well as a few assorted tables throughout, sit full with plants from her greenhouse. The walls are dark, furniture all black. It’s an extension of her mind.
“It’s kind of dark in here,” Enid notes. Wednesday looks at the hanging lights and then at the girl.
“It’s supposed to be like this. All the plants have personal lights,” and she clicks an extension cord on, casting some grow lights above the houseplants.
Enid walks around, and Wednesday watches her observe it all. When she reaches the flowers, she gently pushes a bin around, before opening her big mouth.
“You have a lot of dark flowers. What about some roses? Or daisies maybe?”
“I don’t sell colorful flowers,” she answers, a little annoyed at the observation. It’s quite obvious that she wouldn’t sell embarrassingly colorful flowers, with the dark walls and the minimal lighting.
“I can see that. Maybe we could change that.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not! You would attract a ton more customers-”
“This is my store,” she interrupts. “We stick with what I have.”
Enid doesn’t reply to that. Wednesday drops her bag behind the desk, shuffling out some papers. There’s an unfamiliar manilla folder perfectly placed next to her typewriter, one she doesn't remember putting there at close the day before.
It’s an application, or more importantly, an employee application form. The only other person who could’ve stepped into the shop without Wednesday is Eugene, with his spare set of keys for emergency only- emphasis on emergency only.
That isn't an emergency, Eugene.
She sighs and wonders how he’s managed to get her into this situation, how he’s somehow avoided her wrath enough to be brave enough to pull a stunt like this.
“What are you doing?” Enid says much too loudly for the silence of the store. And, also, she’s hovering right at Wednesday’s side, peering at the papers. She takes a deep breath.
“Fill these out,” she answers before shoving the folder into the girl’s arms. Enid takes a step back, sifting through the papers, before walking around to the front of the desk to write. She’s suddenly holding a pen that Wednesday never saw her carry.
“Paperwork! Exciting,” she says with a cheeriness no person should possess at the idea of doing paperwork at six thirty in the morning. Not even an insane one. The next few minutes are silent, as Enid writes and Wednesday slowly loads up her computer. It’s almost enough to let Wednesday breath, the ringing quietness, only being disturbed by the occasional car that drives by. She can feel herself burning out already and she’s only spoken a few words to the girl.
It’s over as quickly as it started.
“So, you own this business?” Enid asks.
“Yes,” she responds shortly, hoping to avoid a conversation.
“Are there any other employees?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you kind of young to be running a business?”
“Aren’t you supposedly desperate for a job? Fill out the form and stop asking questions.”
“Okay, sorry,” Enid says, eyes a little wide. Her focus jumps back to the papers and Wednesday watches as she finishes the page with a curvy signature. She hands the forms back, pushing them slowly towards Wednesday as if she would bite. She would. “All done.”
She takes them out of the girl’s hand, setting them back where they were found on the table. Enid leans over the desk, hands gripping the sides.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks with a smile. Wednesday looks away from the computer at the girl. Her hair is pulled back today, resting in two pigtails. She looks like a stereotypical plant store employee, bright, cheery, clothed in colors that match a field of wildflowers. The thought of hiring someone so cliché makes her eyebrow twitch.
“Working,” Wednesday replies with a pinch in her voice. “Budget for the new month.”
“Exciting,” Enid says, with a hint of sarcasm that Wednesday can appreciate. “So… are you going to train me?”
Wednesday pauses again, realizing she kind of hired the girl without knowing her level of work experience. “What experience do you have already?”
“I can check out customers, if you want to do stuff with the plants. I can work a cash register,” Enid says tentatively. Wednesday honestly ponders the idea for a moment, before a plan formulates.
“There’s two bouquet orders coming in to be picked up around nine. I need to make them as soon as I can,” she explains, a little less annoyed at the idea that she’s getting to immediately dive into plants. “You can stay out here. There’s a few cleaning supplies in the bathroom closet, so make yourself busy when there’s no customers.”
“Sounds good,” Enid says, not as loud as before. Wednesday’s thankful.
“Whatever you do, don’t water the plants and don’t make arrangements. Knock on the door if you need anything.”
“Got it, boss,” she replies with a smile and a fast wink.
Wednesday leaves the room quickly, fists clenched at her side.
Enid, true to her word, doesn’t bother her for the rest of the day. Enid, true to her word, is a good worker, from what she has seen.
Wednesday spends her time in the back, after finishing the bouquets, planting and moving and mixing soil, getting her hands dirty in a way that always seems to ground her. Enid spends her time in the front, chatting with customers in a way Wednesday never has.
She overhears some conversations:
“How has your morning been?”
“It’s been alright.”
“I think some lovely plants will turn ‘alright’ to ‘fantastic’!”
And:
“Have a great day, enjoy the flowers!”
“You’re too kind! I'll be back next week.”
Wednesday is, admittedly, pleasantly surprised at how well her plan works. She’s never cared about the customers before, outside of their money, but her uncle’s words about treating ‘customers with care, as though they are the flower’ always ring in her head. Enid seems to care, truly and honestly. It doesn't hurt that she's managed to sell more than one plant to most everyone that walks in by using only her words. It’s a little baffling, if she’s being honest, so unlike anyone she’s ever met.
She’s so pleased, in fact, that she puts on her headphones for a solid hour. Enid seems to be good at taking orders, only having a few questions about where things are located and how to ring up certain prices, so she feels a little confident in shutting out the world for a bit. She has a hard time wearing them while she works alone since being in the back, she can’t hear when the front door opens.
She’s in her own world, complete silence, soil beneath her fingers as she moves a delicate root system into a bigger pot, when someone taps her shoulder.
Her body kicks into gear, swinging around and grabbing the hand, ready to throw the person to the ground.
“It’s me!”
Enid stands there, wide-eyed and lips down, leaning back to try and escape Wednesday’s death grip. She lets go, dropping Enid’s hand. Her headphones slip down around her neck.
“Sorry, I didn’t know if you could hear me,” Enid says apologetically, rubbing her hands. “I knocked on the door but you didn’t answer.”
“Noise canceling,” she explains, pointing to the headphones. “What did you need?”
Wednesday stares at the girl, with the realization that she came into the back room again despite Wednesday’s warning. She bites her tongue, though, since technically Enid did follow directions and knock first.
“There’s a customer complaining about something, and I didn’t know what to do.”
Wednesday follows Enid out, coming face to face with a middle aged man, face looking very angry. Her face shapes into the perfect degree of neutrality, letting the man rage at her about some bouquet that needs to be returned. Something about a failed marriage- she doesn’t pay attention, it’s nothing short of pitiful. Customers like these are her least favorite, when nothing she says stops them from berating her. The only response is to fight back when she’d prefer to spend the afternoon in silence. She acknowledges, though, that they aren't all bad. Arguing with someone and being right is a close second to the quiet nature of the store.
She reminds him of the ‘no refund policy’, pointing to a sign sitting on the front of the desk. He huffs. Her head burns where Enid stares into it.
“I won’t be coming back here,” he barks, grabbing his wallet and storming out. “Ridiculous.”
“Have a bad day,” she yells at the man as he storms out. It’s quiet for a moment as she takes the thrown bouquet from where it sits on the desk and fixes some of the bent leaves.
“You know,” Enid says, hovering to her left. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer.”
“I wish everyone a bad day. It’s what I prefer.”
Enid laughs a little, but when Wednesday stares unblinking, she stops.
“You’re serious?” she asks with mouth open.
“I’m always serious. Now get back to work.”
The whole day goes by too smoothly. It’s bound to be ruined at a given moment, which is why Wednesday expects what happens.
People always disappoint her.
She’s in the back again, this time organizing a storage rack, when she catches wind of another conversation.
“I can make that for you!”
Her hands freeze, soil trickling down at the sudden stop. She’s thankful her headphones are already at her neck, because if they weren’t, she would have missed it. Actually, maybe it would have been better if she was unaware. She waits a few minutes, listening to Enid chat with a younger girl, probably around the same age, listening to her arrange flowers for the girl.
Once the door closes with a slam, she walks out of the back room.
“What was that?” she bites out. Enid turns, smile big on her face, not realizing what she’s done.
“Oh, I just finished helping-”
“I mean, what did you do with that girl?”
Enid’s face falls a little.
“I,” and she puts it together a little, Wednesday can see it on her face. “I just helped the girl put together some flowers. It was only a few.”
“I thought I was clear when I said only I do the arrangements.”
“I know,” Enid puts her hands behind her back, “I didn’t think it would matter.”
The silence in the room is stifling. Enid shifts her eyes to the ground, as if an adult is berating her for breaking a room. She breathes in slowly, trying to reel in her anger.
“I think that’s enough for today,” she decides, taking her gloves off.
“What?”
“I won’t repeat myself.”
“I don’t understand why-”
“This is my shop. You broke my rules.”
“So you’re going to fire me? Just like that?”
Wednesday wishes on every stupid star in the sky that she could fire the girl, but she can’t. Eugene deserves a stern talking to for this one.
“You aren’t fired,” she says slowly to avoid stumbling over her words, anger freely flowing. The words are dragged out. “You're done for today. I’ll send the rest of your schedule tonight.”
Enid’s shoulders sag, and something twists in her gut. She grabs her keys and her phone from behind the desk, shoving them into her many pockets on her overalls, too yellow for Wednesday to stare at for long.
“I’m sorry,” Enid simply says, voice quiet, and then walks out the front door.
Wednesday stands there in silence, remembering the girl’s fallen face. She’s never once regretted putting someone in their place, watching faces crumble, letting out her anger. This, though, makes her skin itch in all the worst ways.
She walks to the back and tries to plant something, letting the soil run through her fingers. It doesn’t ground her like it should. She remembers Enid’s face for the rest of the day.
The next morning, she half expects Enid to be waiting at the door again. She half expects to be greeted with colorful clothes and half expects a headache to form an hour into the day.
There is no Enid, though, and no colors and no headache.
She instantly remembers that the girl isn’t working today, and berates herself for assuming so. She’s never needed help before and she shouldn’t expect it, nor should she be looking forward to it. Pathetic.
True to her word, she sent Enid her schedule the night before to the phone number listed on the employment form:
Wednesday (5:32 pm)
Is this Enid?
Enid (5:34 pm)
yea, who’s this?
Wednesday (5:37 pm)
It’s Wednesday. Here is your schedule for the week in accordance with your availability on the form:
Tuesday 8:00-1:00
Thursday 8:00-3:00
Friday 8:00-12:00
Saturday 8:00-3:00
Enid (5:38) oh, wednesday
looks good to me
Wednesday (5:39)
See you then.
Enid didn’t reply. Wednesday ignores the squirm in her gut.
The day moves by slowly. Dealing with customers drains her faster than she likes, despite the fact she doesn’t bite her tongue for any of them. The plants seem brittle today, looking thin and drooping.
It fills her with an unscratchable itch. The store seems to be fighting her today: a light bulb went out above the desk, flickering for an hour as it died, she discovered one of her favorite plants had root rot despite her watchful eye, a shipment of new pots came in with half of them broken. She closes ten minutes before the proper time out of sheer spite and spends the night brewing.
The door opens exactly at eight the next morning. Not a second off, and Wednesday would know. She’s great at keeping time.
Enid walks in, coffee in hand.
“Hello,” she greets, a nervous twitch to her eyes. Wednesday remembers her face as she left the other day. God, when did she care so much? Her brother would laugh at her. When she realizes she didn’t respond, face stuck on the coffee between her hands, she snaps her eyes up to Enid’s.
“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if I could bring in coffee or not. I can leave it on the desk," Enid apologizes, thinking the glare was at the existence of the coffee.
“Just don’t spill it near the plants.”
“Right,” Enid says as she sets down her bag. The tension in the air is palpable and Wednesday immediately hates it. She normally loves the ache of unresolved arguments, but in her own store, in a place she takes solace in, it goes unappreciated.
“Sinclair-” she goes to say, before the girl interrupts.
“I’m sorry about the other day. I know I didn’t follow your rules, I just start talking sometimes and the words fly out before I can think about them, and then my hands follow- I’ll be a better worker.”
“I’ll admit I was a little harsh with my own words. I have a strict routine at work, and I was thrown off a bit. It was your first day, and you were…” she thinks of her free time spent in the back room, thinks of the customers appreciating the service, “... adequate.”
“Okay. I’m sorry still,” Enid says, but still flashes a big smile.
“Stop apologizing. It’s pathetic.”
“I’m s-” she stumbles. “Okay.”
“Turn on the open sign,” she commands. “Get to work.”
The day is much better than the two that came before. Enid moves around the store as if she worked for years. She was right when she mentioned she was a fast learner on the application. Wednesday successfully propagates the plant that she assumed to be hopeless yesterday, reorders the pots that broke.
Enid even offers to climb on the ladder, screwing in a new light bulb that she had sitting in the supply closet. Wednesday watches her climb up on the ladder, unscrewing the LED overhang from the top. Her shirt slides up, just a little, as her arms stretch, and Wednesday catches a glimpse of fairly formed abs under smooth skin. Her eyes tear away the second they make contact, cursing the world for putting her in this situation.
Guess she wasn’t lying when she mentioned being strong.
After that, every other task was routine. When Wednesday works in the front, watering and checking all the plants on display, for some reason, she even tolerates a few questions from Enid.
“So,” Enid says, having been standing in silence with Wednesday for a few minutes, watching her work. She claimed it was so that she could learn faster, and Wednesday allowed it. “How old are you?”
She could ignore the question. Her eyebrow twitches, one of her godforsaken tells she can’t control, when she thinks of that outcome, and she answers.
“Twenty.”
“Me too! When’s your birthday?”
“October thirteenth.”
“Oh cool. That’s in, like, a month!”
“Astute observation.”
“Mine’s in May, so I still have a while.”
Wednesday hums, moving to another side of the store. The conversation should repulse her.
(It doesn’t.)
“What’s with the typewriter? I noticed you writing something when I came in the other day.”
“I’m writing a novel. I’m getting close to finishing. When things slow around here, I use the free time to work.”
“Wow,” Enid says, a little awestruck. Wednesday can’t look her in the eyes. “That’s so cool! A real author! Is that what you want to do when you're older?”
“I’ll have the shop, but it’s a good way to spend my time as a hobby.”
Enid hums, watching Wednesday wrap some single dark roses in plastic. “How long have you owned this place?”
Wednesday hesitates. The conversation is teetering on somewhere she doesn't want to go, but Enid is quiet and still in her movements and she doesn’t want to break the delicacy. “A few years.”
“That’s cool. And you’re the only one who’s worked here?”
She stumbles a bit, freezing in her work. Enid’s eyes widen in her peripheral.
“Sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
She’s uncomfortable in the ways Enid can already read her. It’s unnatural, she thinks. The conversation is dropped after that, Wednesday letting it die, and so is the delicate air. Enid moves to do something at the desk. The silence feels wrong, for once in her life, so she does the unthinkable. She asks a question of her own and the floodgates open. She hates herself for it:
“You’re enrolled at the college down the road, right?”
“Yep! Nevermore. I’m not the best at school, but it’s manageable.”
“So, you’re not from here then?”
“No,” Enid says, a little quieter than before. Wednesday doesn’t catch the twist at the end of her words. “I lived in California.”
“California to Maine. That’s quite far to travel just for school, Sinclair.”
“Yeah…” Enid trails off and Wednesday’s immediately curious at the drop in tone. She doesn’t pry, though. If she did, she would have to allow Enid to pry back, and that makes her lightheaded. She drops the conversation, and even Enid doesn’t pick it back up. Her face is frowning now, eyebrows twisted.
Her gut squirms just a little. The feeling, one unfamiliar, makes her do something completely and utterly irrational.
“I have some new plants in the back. I'd like to move them up here,” she says flatly and then drags the next words. “Help me rearrange?”
Enid’s face changes quickly. Her smile is blinding, more so than the pink jumpsuit she wears.
The following week establishes a new routine. One even Wednesday can’t come to hate.
On the days Enid works, she spends most of her time in the back. It’s never thrived more with the extreme hands-on care. Enid works with the customers. The store is rearranging for fall, new plants moving to the front and old ones moving to the back, either to be put on sale or thrown out.
She hates throwing them out, so much hard work wasted in a single moment, usually taking them to her own apartment to keep them alive:
“Here,” she says, holding out a large vining house plant she’s particularly proud of. Enid blinks at her.
“For me?”
“They have to be exchanged out for the new collection. I was going to turn it to fertilizer, but I hate seeing my work go to waste.”
“It’s so pretty, don’t kill it! I’ll take it, although I’m not great at keeping plants alive.”
“I can take it back if you want-”
“No! I love it. Thank you, Wednesday.”
Enid helps her ‘modernize the store’, as Enid would say, though Wednesday hates that phrase, only adding her own input when it seems appropriate. She should berate the girl for stating her opinion at all, but she can’t deny that some of them are smart:
“Your computer is probably the most technologically un-advanced thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It works perfectly fine for me. A testament to simpler times.”
“You sound like a boomer. I have an old laptop,” Enid says. Wednesday raises her hand to interrupt, but Enid beats her to it. “Not as old as yours- it actually works. We can just leave it here and you can move all the files over.”
Enid brings the computer the next day. It only takes her thirty minutes in the morning to get any paperwork done, rather than a whole hour. Some of the girl’s ideas aren’t just for fixing old things, either:
“Don’t you ever think it’s too quiet in here?”
“Of course not. It’s the perfect level of volume.”
“It’s dead silent,” Enid deadpans, deflating at the shoulders.
“Your point?”
“Music could be a fun addition!” Enid squirms excitedly. To Wednesday, she looks like a little kid waiting for Santa to come.
“I listen to music with my headphones. No need to change the store.”
Enid brings in a small speaker the next day. Wednesday almost throws it onto the road when she hears a pop song playing, an ear-bleeding pop song at that, while she works in the back. Enid lets her pick songs to stop her from destroying it, and even lets her make a playlist to shuffle at work. She relents. When it’s just the two of them, she keeps her headphones off.
Enid even sneaks a few songs of her own into the playlist, titled ‘ flower gals <3 ’. Wednesday ignores them. Enid seems more lively at work as it plays. Enid thinks of her, too:
“It would be useful if you had a door chime on the front door.”
“How so?”
“When you’re working alone in the back, you could hear when someone comes in. So you're not constantly paying attention to the door. Then you can use your headphones!”
Eugene installs a door chime within the week. Enid starts bringing her lunch when she goes on break. The first day she does it, Wednesday is particularly tired, having a large shipment come in with little time to prepare for it all. Her arms ache from moving everything.
She’s sitting at the desk, taking a minute to rest with the lull in customers, reading over her last novel page, when a sandwich is pushed into her hands.
“Eat,” Enid says. Wednesday cradles the food for a moment, looking up to see Enid standing over the desk. “I notice when it gets really busy, you forget to eat. You give me a break- you need one too!”
“Nonsense,” she says, but doesn’t refuse the food. Her stomach growls at the sight and she realizes the girl is right. She fights red from rushing to her face. When she eats it all, silent the entire time with pitifully large bites, Enid gives her an all-too-wide smile. “So, you liked it?”
“It was…” she contemplates, “... refreshing.”
Enid brings her food every day she works. Wednesday starts slipping extra money into her paycheck when she refuses to be reimbursed. She always feels more fulfilled at the end of the day, a little more energy to work on her novel before bed.
It’s nice, their routine. Wednesday can’t deny it to herself, but when Eugene smugly asks her how it’s going, she fully denies it to him.
The routine is so quickly established that the second it falls out of place, her heart skips a little.
Enid is late to her Friday shift. Normally, she’s impeccably on time, walking in the exact second it turns to eight.
She doesn’t show at eight, though. Or nine. Or ten.
Wednesday almost sends her a text as eleven approaches. Not because she’s worried, but because Enid told her she would help move some shelves in the back. It was the first task on her to-do list, and she’d rather not fall behind. It just seems out of character, is all. And Enid has a lot of character to deal with.
Ten minutes to eleven, she hears the door open and close. Her focus is on her typewriter. She doesn’t really register it, assuming to be another browsing customer, when there’s suddenly a presence looming over her desk.
“Can I-” help you, is what she was going to ask, before realizing it’s Enid standing there.
There’s no coffee in her hands, her clothes are crumpled and duller than normal, her hair seems unbrushed. But what catches Wednesday’s attention the fastest is the dark circles sitting under her eyes.
“Sinclair,” she breathes out, hands pausing on the typewriter. Enid flashes her a nervous glance with a smile.
“I’m sorry-”
“I told you to stop apologizing.”
“Right, well… I’m here now.”
“You’re approximately three hours late. Is there a reason?”
Enid lets out a drawn sigh before dropping her bag around the front desk. “I had an exam yesterday so I pushed off a ton of my work until after. I just stayed up late.”
“You had poor time management,” she observes. Enid squares her shoulders at that.
“No, well-” Her head falls. “Maybe. Sometimes it just gets to be too much, I can’t help it.”
Wednesday hums, not really fully understanding what that means, but she chooses not to berate her for being late. It's not like Wednesday can't handle working alone anyways. She watches Enid, from the corner of her eye, pretending to be focused on her novel behind the desk. The girl moves sluggishly, putting in half an effort to the work. There’s a glaze over her eyes and Wednesday’s skin itches.
Her mouth moves before she can fully think of what to say. “You can leave early.”
“What?” Enid looks up from where she cleans out a bin. “I just got here.”
“You’re clearly not in the right headspace to be here,” she states, and then, just to ensure they’re on the same page, “It doesn’t seem like any work you do will be productive.”
Because I'm only thinking about the work.
“Okay, I guess,” Enid says, voice a little lifted at the end.
“Go take a nap,” she finishes, letting her mouth slip up again.
“Wednesday Addams telling me to take care of myself. It’s almost as if you care about me.”
“I tolerate you at best, Sinclair.”
“Whatever. You’ll admit it one day.”
Enid gathers her bag, heading for the door. Right before she crosses the door frame threshold, her heart speaks before her head, a sickening thing that’s happening more and more often. A should-be simple command, but with layers underneath that she’d rather not flip through:
“Next time you have an exam, tell me.”
“Got it,” Enid replies with a smile and a signature wink that Wednesday doesn’t think she’ll ever be prepared for.
Enid is at work the next day an hour early. Her disheveled look from yesterday is completely gone, leaving nothing but bright clothes and big smiles. Wednesday should hate it.
(She doesn’t.)
“You’re not supposed to be here for another hour,” she says as Enid steps through the front door.
“I know, I won’t clock in,” Enid explains, before slowly walking to the desk where Wednesday sits, cleaning through the cash register. There are two cups in her hands instead of one. “I went to get coffee after my morning run and I got you a tea!”
“How do you know I like tea?”
“I saw a box in the storage room the day I changed the light bulb. I think you’ll like this one.”
“What is it?” Her voice betrays her skepticism. The drink could be poisoned with anything, she initially concludes, before looking at the gleam in Enid’s eyes, and then realizing that this girl’s poison would just be dumping in pounds of sugar. Equally as dangerous in her opinion.
“Just try it,” Enid commands as she sets it down. Wednesday eyes it, wraps her hand around the warm cup. It’s comforting, she admits, especially as the weather cools with fall winds sweeping in. She glares at Enid, lifting the rim up to sip without moving her eyes. Enid just smiles back.
The temperature is perfect, the texture smooth but not thick. It’s probably one of the better teas she’s had in a few years, and it’s not sweet in the slightest.
“It’s adequate.”
“That’s Wednesday code for amazing. I can almost see a smile!”
“I can assure you, I’m not smiling,” she says, as deadpan as ever, ensuring not a single part of her mouth tilted upward.
“Whatever you say,” Enid shrugs, smile not slipping from her face. “I made sure it was the dirtiest, most unsweetened one on the menu. I didn’t think you’d like anything else.”
“I’m surprised you’re capable of ordering something so simple. Based on the smell alone, your coffee contains triple the amount of sugar recommended for a person in a day.”
“Don’t hate what you haven’t tried,” Enid swirls her cup before holding it forward. Wednesday takes it delicately, scrunching her nose at the rush of sweetness in her nose. Enid’s eyes are challenging her, a mischievous look, and Wednesday’s never been one to back down from a challenge.
She takes a sip, and-
“That’s worse than poison,” she coughs as the few drops she swallowed swirl on her tongue. “And I’ve tried a fair share of the deadliest ones.”
“Dramatic, much?” Enid says, but she’s laughing. Wednesday feels herself bristling.
“Keep drinking that every day and you'll cut your lifespan by five years.”
“Eh, like I always say,” she brushes off Wednesday’s comment while moving towards the supply closet. “You only live once.”
Wednesday ignores it, letting the silence settle. The tea sits next to her typewriter, steam rising in a delicate swirl. Something trickles in her chest as she drinks it.
She knows it’s more than just warmth from the drink.
Wednesday is unboxing a new package of flowers, fresh new dark tulips, when the door chimes.
She almost ignores it to finish her work, when a voice yells from the front, on1`e she’s unfortunately very familiar with.
“Wednesday?”
Enid’s here, on a Friday no less, a few hours after her shift ended, and shouting for Wednesday. She sets the flowers down carefully, dirt and water smudging the sides of her black jacket, and walks out the back door.
She’s right- it’s Enid standing there, but there’s another two people at her sides. She can’t stop her eyebrow from twitching.
“Sinclair, your shift ended.”
Enid laughs as the other two girls scope the front window. “I know, I just brought two of my friends to check it out.”
Wednesday nods, taking off the gloves she wears. Enid points across the room to a girl with very long dark hair.
“That’s Yoko, my roommate,” she explains and the girl spins at the mention of her name. Enid moves her finger to the other. “And that’s her girlfriend, Divina.”
They walk over, a little too close for comfort, so she takes a step back. Enid gives her a weird look, one she can’t decipher.
“Wednesday, right?” Yoko holds her hand out. “So you’re the scary goth employer. I’ve heard lots about you.”
“All bad things, I hope.” She ignores the hand. Enid pushes it down for her since Yoko clearly isn’t getting the hint. Yoko quickly looks at Enid, who flashes a sympathetic smile. The whole interaction irritates her.
“You’re coming Friday, right?” Yoko continues, bouncing back quickly from the awkward silence.
“Pardon?” She can’t help the slip of her mouth. Enid moves a little closer to her, blocking the other two girls from her immediate line of sight.
“Wednesday,” Enid starts with the same voice she used to convince her to get the door chime, and the laptop, and the stupid speaker.
“No.”
“Let me explain-”
“No.”
“Yoko and I are having a party at our apartment tonight-”
“No.”
“-and you should come!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, we never hang out outside of work.”
“We aren’t friends,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. Enid doesn’t argue back, leaning back a little. Her face is pinched with more confusion than anger, and her stomach lurches. Her skin feels itchy.
“Right,” Enid says, stepping to the side. Yoko and Divina stare with mouths open. She couldn’t give a single drop of blood about them, but Enid’s face is all too reminiscent of that first week. “Sorry, I don’t know why-”
“What time?” she interrupts. Enid blinks at her, mouth open but no words coming.
Divina steps in. “It starts at eight,” she says.
“You're coming?” Enid says finally, all too hopeful, but her face isn’t skewed anymore and Wednesday feels like she can breathe again.
“I might need a bullet to the head,” she trails off, motivation to argue diminishing, “but I’ll be there.”
And Enid is smiling again. Her chest lurches. She needs to go plant something, feel the soil in her hands.
“Can’t wait!” she says, before turning to walk out. “See you then, Weds!”
“Don’t call me that,” she yells after the group, running and giggling out of the store, door slamming behind them. Wednesday watches them cross the street, talking and jumping around like a bunch of hyper children. The second they leave her view, she rushes to the back and dives into the dirt.
How has she managed to get twisted in this?
It’s a few minutes until eight.
She double checks the address Enid texted her. When she called Eugene earlier in the afternoon, updating him on an upcoming shipment he needs to deliver, he asked if she had plans for the night. Normally, she’d respond with ‘working on my novel’ or ‘reading’ or ‘cleaning’. When she reluctantly dragged the words ‘I’m going to a party’ out of her mouth, Eugene lost his mind:
“A party? Wednesday Addams at a party?”
“Mention it again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“Who’s party?” he asked, swiftly ignoring her threat. She would rather not answer, because she can already predict his smug tone at the fact it’s Enid, but she doesn't have a choice. She won’t lie.
“Sinclair.”
“Wo-”
“Not another word.”
The building number reads 1482, and so does the address on her phone. Meaning she found it. She stands for a few minutes, staring at the outside, wondering how she ended up in this position. People are moving in and out of the front doors and she tries her best to ignore them. Her headphones are helping to muffle it all before she carves her own eyes out.
Suddenly, someone’s tapping her shoulder, and she moves her own hand quickly, preparing to throw them over her shoulder. Her eyes come into contact with familiar blue ones. Enid stands there, eyes wide. She relaxes, dropping her arm, and then moving to take her headphones off.
“Sorry!” Enid says, holding her hands out. “I saw your headphones- I don’t really know why I did that after last time.”
“It’s fine,” she replies. It shouldn’t be.
(But it is.)
“You’re here,” Enid observes. She starts moving to the door, and Wednesday realizes there’s a grocery bag tucked under arm. For the party, no doubt. She trails behind and answers.
“I said I would,” she explains. “Unfortunately, I stay true to my word.”
“You’re here early, too! Seems like you’re excited,” the girl smugly smiles.
“You could not be more wrong. I had to come scope out the area.”
“For what, exactly?” Enid asks, holding the door open for Wednesday.
“Escape routes, potential killers, robbers-”
“And why do you need to know that to come to a party?”
Wednesday crosses her arms over her chest. “College kids are unpredictable. You can never be fully prepared."
Enid shrugs and chuckles, moving towards an elevator. “True.”
They continue walking in silence. Wednesday takes in the building; it isn’t the nicest she’s been in, but its population is very clearly dominated with young students who barely have enough money to eat throughout the week. Her mind trails to how much she’s paying Enid. Her skin itches.
They end up walking through a hallway, and Wednesday is initially confused on their direction, until she hears music beating through the walls from a single room.
Right.
Her headphones sit on her neck as a comfort. Enid shuffles the bags, pulling out her keys to unlock the door.
The second the door opens, Wednesday regrets everything.
Despite the party just starting, there’s a good crowd in the living room. The lights are mostly off, except for one in the kitchen, and a strobe light ball sits near the tv. It looks like a stereotypical college party she’s seen in the few non-horror movies she’s watched. People are drinking, dancing, yelling- things Wednesday doesn’t do. Enid is immediately swept away with people talking to her, cheering at the snacks she holds in her arms, and she feels out of place.
Her arms wrap over her chest as she stands near the doorway, unsure of where to go. She doesn’t care to talk to anyone else. She doesn’t care to drink. She doesn’t really know why she came in the first place.
“Hey, Wednesday,” Yoko says, appearing on her right. Her words are a little slurred and Wednesday guesses she’s buzzed.
“Yoko,” she responds to inform the girl she’s aware of her presence.
“You remembered my name!”
“Unfortunately.”
“I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I said as much.”
“You know, Enid’s really happy you came. She kept telling me that she was gonna invite you all week, and then never did until I forced her earlier.”
“Interesting,” is all she can say to that.
“I just wanted to say thanks for coming. For Enid.”
“I didn’t come for her,” she retorts back. Yoko shrugs with a smug smile.
“Whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Get a drink to loosen up or something. You look like you’re being held at gunpoint against the wall.”
Wednesday just glares at her until she leaves, becoming more interested in the people dancing in the living room than standing with a girl who would love nothing more than to disappear. She sighs, dropping her arms, and peels herself off the wall.
If she has to be here, she might as well find Enid.
Her head pounds. The music is a little quieter, since the room she’s sitting in is sealed with the shut door, but the bass rings through the floor. It’s not silent, but it’s muffled.
Speaking of the room, she looks around. It’s very colorful, almost as much as the flashing lights just outside the door. One look at the open closet door, and she knows it’s Enid’s. The clothes are arranged in a rainbow fashion, going from red to purple, and she has to look away.
It’s not helping her headache at all.
Her headphones sit heavy on her shoulders, and she picks them up. She doesn’t even play music, just sets them on to engulf her ears in silence. It’s a necessary solace. She should just leave- Enid being swept away with the tens of other kids here between talking to Wednesday. There isn’t a reason she can think of to stay.
And yet, she doesn’t move to leave. She sits on the bed, staring at the decor on the wall for a solid amount of time, before the door swings open. The sound and the lights rush in for a moment until the door shuts again. Enid stands there, letting out a sigh. They make eye contact and Enid blinks away the stunned look on her face.
“Wednesday,” Enid asks. “You okay?”
“As happy as a lark,” she sarcastically replies, arms crossing over her chest.
“I was wondering where you slipped off too. I thought you left.”
Enid, probably not completely of sober mind and surrounded by tons of friends, came to find her. Her curiosity peaks and she has to ask.
“Why’d you invite me?”
“I mean,” Enid replies, “we’re friends.”
“You have plenty of other friends here. I’m not one for parties and I think you know that.”
Enid shuffles farther into the room, leaning against her tall dresser. She lets out a long sigh.
“Believe it or not, most of those people aren’t my friends. Not real ones anyway,” she says. “Yoko knows more of them than me.”
Wednesday hums in response, watching Enid pick at her nails. She catches sight of the vining plant she gave Enid a few weeks ago, hanging near her window- the proper distance to the light. Her chest swells with a little pride that the girl listened to her advice.
“Why are you in my bedroom?”
Wednesday feels a little satisfaction at guessing the owner of the room correctly. She says as much.
“I knew it was your room,” she mediates, watching Enid let out a sickening smile. “The closet is too colorful to be any sane person.”
“Right, right. At least I don’t have a closet full of black and white. You work at a flower shop and you don’t own a single colorful thing.”
“To each their own, I suppose,” Wednesday responds. “But my palate is clearly superior.”
Enid laughs and her skin itches. She craves the soil in the plant store. It’s quiet for a few moments as Enid walks around straightening up some loose items on her dresser and desk. Everything in the room is so very Enid: the large collection of printed photos pasted against the wall, the pile of stuffed animals in the corner, the stacks and stacks of papers spread across the desk. It should make Wednesday sick.
(It doesn’t.)
“I needed to get away from the crowd. People constantly pushing into me makes me want to stab needles into my own eyes.”
“And yet, I’m insane for owning clothes other than black and white.”
Wednesday just blinks at her as she makes her way to the bed, sitting beside her. There’s a gap of space between them. Wednesday hates herself for noticing.
The air is heavy. The walls rumble with music. She avoids making eye contact with the girl despite the stare she feels on her head.
“Why’d you decide to come?” Enid asks, breaking the silence. “I know you didn’t want to.”
“Despite what I said earlier, I would consider you… my friend.” The words feel foreign, but she doesn’t regret them. Her heart over-spoke again.
“I’m glad,” Enid says back as she lays against the bed.
It's quiet again. Enid picks at the sheets, Wednesday takes deep breaths.
“You don’t have to stay for me, you know.”
Wednesday chooses to ignore the escape route being offered. There isn’t a reason she should be sitting here still. She has work the next morning. Enid lays back in her bed, inches from Wednesday’s arm.
“We can just lay here, for a bit,” Enid continues, gentle and quiet, and she can feel her heartbeat in her throat. “Just until the party ends. If you want.”
“Okay.”
Wednesday copies Enid’s position, back flat on the bed. Her headphones slip off her head, but she doesn’t care to put them back on. They weren't doing much anyways to block the sound anyways. Enid hums the song playing outside the room, a low thing in the back of her throat.
Her headache dissolves as they lay.
The week after the party is peaceful.
She spends two days in almost complete silence, recovering from the cluster of college kids. If she focuses a little too hard, she can still hear the chattering and the music blasting.
Enid understands, she thinks, because as they work side by side on Saturday, she barely makes conversation. Wednesday is nothing but grateful, getting to keep her headphones on.
The fall rotation of flowers is completed, leaving her very satisfied and almost excited for the rest of the month. October is one of her preferred months, at least in the top three, for a few different reasons. One, it’s halloween. Two, the weather cools a significant amount in preparation for winter months. Three, the days shorten and the nights lengthen.
One thing she doesn’t like about the month is her birthday. She’s never really thought it to be special outside of getting gifts from her parents, and even then, she never really asked for much. It used to be a time that she’d spend with her uncle and her brother. Now, she works through it.
Her birthday falls on a Thursday this week, and she almost forgets about it. Her routine with Enid keeps her quite busy, and she almost forgets.
Almost.
She goes into work Thursday, six in the morning as always, to find the place covered in decorations. Covered is probably an understatement. Black streamers hang from every light, balloons are spilled on the floor, and when she steps into the backroom-
“Surprise!”
Enid and Eugene stand there, cake in hand. Wednesday freezes in the doorway, staring with wide eyes. They run through some rendition of 'happy birthday' that makes her blink and then Enid holds out the cake for her to blow.
She should ignore it, yell at them for being in the back room, tell them to get out. Instead, she blows it out, staring directly into Enid's cheery smile.
"Happy birthday, Wednesday!"
"You're twenty one," Eugene says. "Now you can legally do lots of things! Rent cars, get hotels, drink... probably some other stuff!"
"Interesting perspective," she tells him as Enid hands over a knife.
"Can we eat it now?"
"You want to eat a cake at six in the morning?" she asks, a little taken aback at Enid's excitement. Then again, the girl does drink a cup of sugar every morning before work.
"I had to wake up extra early, now I'm starving," Enid answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head.
They leave the back room at Wednesday's insistence and she cuts the cake at the front desk. She doesn't plan on eating a piece, only watching them eat, but she notices the flavor happens to be her favorite.
"Dark chocolate?" She looks at Enid, who nods.
"Yep! Very much unsweetened."
"And you still want a piece?"
"Don't worry, I'll go get a coffee later to get my fill."
"I wasn't worried," she deadpans.
They eat together for a half hour. Eugene leaves first, saying he has to run home to get ready for an early class. Enid stays until seven, when she says:
"I have to run home and change. I'm still wearing my pajamas. Plus, I need to get a coffee. You can take some time to relax before too!"
She leaves no time for Wednesday to respond, and she's out the door before Wednesday says a single word. An hour passes; she works in the back first, rather than at the computer. Enid will be in the front today and for an unknown reason, she wants to spend time up there too. She's grounded in the plants when Enid walks back in, eight in the morning, sharp as ever.
"I'm back!" she yells from the front. "I thought you would take down all the decorations."
Wednesday walks out from the back. She responds properly. "It matches with the decor. A change can be interesting. And it is my birthday."
"Wow! Wednesday-I-like-routine-Addams saying a change is interesting! You must be a year older."
"I'll rip them down now." She moves to pull a streamer above the desk.
"I'm kidding! I put a lot of work in, they better stay up for the day."
Wednesday sits down, opening the computer. She goes to start typing when Enid pokes her shoulder.
"Can I help you?" she asks before realizing Enid's smile looks nervous. The blonde holds out a gift bag- a black gift bag.
"Happy birthday," Enid says, considerably quieter than before. Wednesday is taken aback, not expecting anything more than the surprise earlier. She doesn't show it. "Go on, open it!"
At Enid's prompt, she pulls out the paper. There's two things inside: a black sweater-vest embroidered with a black and white flower and a glass flower vase shaped like a skull.
"The flower shirt is a little pointed, given the shop, but I had to make it!"
"You made this?" she asks, voice quieter than intended, hands running the fabric. Enid seems to be stunned at that, because her face rushes red.
"Embroidery is one of my hobbies. I thought it would match your whole vibe. If you don't like it-"
"No," she lets out faster than intended. "It's... adequate."
"So you love it!" Enid yells, pumping her fists. Wednesday bites her tongue from saying something she doesn't truly mean. The sweater-vest is very fitting and the material is soft. "Another birthday success for Enid."
"You like birthdays?"
"Of course," she leans in close. "I like my friends more than my own, though. I just love celebrating people!"
"Interesting," is all Wednesday can respond with. She slips the items back into the bag as gently as possible. "We really should get back to work."
"Right, right," Enid shakes her head. "Just... happy birthday."
Wednesday nods as Enid smiles and winks. Her hands crave the dirt. She wishes she didn't finish in the back so early.
She has an itch. Not a surface level itch, not from a scar on her arm from planting, but something deep inside. Ever since her birthday. Ever since Enid’s gift.
She’s never felt this way before. It’s so deep, in fact, she doesn’t know how to go about scratching it. It’s midweek, an unfortunately bright and sunny Thursday, when Enid comes in with a frown. Wednesday clocks it the second she walks out from the back room, new flower bouquet in hand to fill an order for pick up later in the day.
Her heart thumps for a second, but settles as quickly as it came. It’s not a deep sadness, not one she’s seen in Enid’s eyes before, but it’s akin to disappointment. The sigh from her mouth solidifies the fact. She almost ignores it, almost lets it dissolve in the air, when the girl sighs again.
“What’s wrong?” she asks dryly. Enid leans over the desk, releasing a long groan.
“I normally get a coffee before work, but the place I go to was out of what I like.”
“The coffee shop was out of coffee?”
“No, I mean, they had coffee, but not anything I like.”
“Not the copious amounts of sugar and syrup you put in, then.”
“Shut up,” she whines. “I’m not about to drink black coffee. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay awake for the whole day.”
Enid stops talking about it, moving to clean the floors, but Wednesday remembers. The next morning, she wakes up a little earlier, leaves a little earlier, and drives a different route.
Her car lands at a coffee shop, different to the one Enid frequents. She goes in, feeling a little anxious about ordering something that she wouldn’t dare consume. The place is pretty empty, though, and she allows herself to ask questions. They, her and the cashier, decide what to order with a few descriptive words she gives, and she waits for it to come out, when-
“Wednesday?” Eugene stands there, wallet in hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Eugene,” she replies, startled to see him here so early. “Why are you here?"
"Getting a coffee before class. I didn't know you liked this place."
"Oh," is all she says because her name is being called. She picks up the coffees, one for herself and one for Enid, and returns to Eugene. His face is slipping into a smug smile.
"What are you looking at?" she snaps.
"What did you order?" He raises his eyebrow. She purses her lips, knowing where the conversation is going.
"A quad over ice."
"And the other cup?"
Silence, and then, "It was nice seeing you."
She walks past him towards the door when he starts laughing. "Wednesday Addams ordering coffee for someone?"
"Shut it, Eugene," she commands and he just laughs. She can still hear his howls even after she leaves the building, door shut. Her face rushes red and she fights it down.
She arrives at work on time and waits for Enid to walk in at eight. She busies herself in the back, planting some new winter seeds for the greenhouse. The door chimes in at eight exactly and she drops the small shovel she holds.
Enid's at the desk already by the time she walks out, looking as tired as the day before.
"Good morning, Sinclair."
"Morning, Wednesday," she says, voice still deflated.
"No coffee?"
"Nope, they were out again. I'm going to have to get something else on my break."
Wednesday feels her heart beat and she slips into the back, retrieving the coffee from where it sits on a shelf. Suddenly, it feels like a bad idea. Why is she doing this? But her feet are moving for her, walking her back up to Enid. She taps the girl's shoulder.
"What-" Enid spins before seeing the coffee. Wednesday shoves it forward.
"Here," she simply states, not trusting herself to say anything more.
"You got me a coffee?"
Her face is turning red, she can feel it. "I wanted a coffee this morning. I predicted you would have no luck again."
Enid's tired face is slowly morphing into an oh-so gentle smile, one she should hate. At this point, she should hate so much about everything.
(And yet, she doesn't.)
"Wednesday, thank you," she breathes out. She's already drinking it. Wednesday swears she can see life return in the girl's eyes. "This is so good! What is it?"
"I..." she trails, mumbling the last part, "am unsure. It was complicated. The person who made it followed some vague directions I gave."
"Like what?"
"I don't remember." She does. If she repeats them, though, she would have to fire Enid.
"Where'd you go?"
"The place on 43rd."
"I guess I'll have to go every week and figure it out!"
Wednesday hums and goes to finish in the back. Enid's hand grabs her shoulder. "Thank you. I really needed this."
She runs away before Enid can say more.
The day is already dreadful. The air is sticky and thick, the clouds are almost black and low in the sky, the sky flashes with bolts of lightning.
How dreadful, she thinks. How lovely.
As soon as her foot steps through the door, the sky opens up and the downpour begins. Much like the plants, she appreciates a refreshing rain. Days like this also bring in the least amount of customers, giving her an overwhelming amount of free time. With Enid’s help, she finished the weeks to-dos two days before the end of the week, giving her ample time to work on her novel.
Her mind quickly sucks in, gentle classical music numbing the pattering of the rain on the roof, and her hands fly across the typewriter. She almost forgets she’s sitting in the shop until the door chimes open, and-
“Are you kidding me?”
Enid stands a foot in the doorway, hair plastered to her forehead, clothes all but drenched, water pooling at her feet. She drops her bag right into the puddle, uncaring as it was already soaked.
“Good morning,” she greets, feeling a smile almost form. She bites the inside of her cheek to stop it.
“The one day I leave a raincoat at home,” Enid huffs, squeezing the bottom of her shirt out. “Does the world know how long it takes for a pair of overalls to dry?!”
“I highly doubt the weather patterns pay mind to your eye-bleeding outfits.”
Enid glares at her, looking as though someone dragged her through the mud. She feels a laugh bubble in her chest, and her methods to control it are no longer working. It escapes, only for a few seconds.
“I’m here drenched and you’re laughing?” She furrows her eyebrows further at Wednesday, who feels more laughter filling in her chest, before both of them start breaking down.
The rain is loud on the roof, the music drifts in the background, and their laughter fills the room. She stands from her seat, moving to the back without another word from Enid. The whole walk she fights her own smile.
How pitiful.
She finds a stack of towels, internally praising herself for always being prepared, and picks the cleanest looking one.
(She ignores the fact that it’s a dark purple, unmatching with the rest that are black and white.)
Enid is still standing in the doorway, mumbling curses under her breath. She hands over the towel, trying not to laugh again.
"Thank you," Enid grumbles angrily. She dries herself and Wednesday returns to her typewriter. "My overalls are not going to dry. I'm going to be wet for hours," she whines.
Wednesday thinks of a solution, arriving in her mind quickly. "I have an old pair of coveralls in the back. I used them for gardening when I started."
"Can I wear them?"
"They're quite dirty, but-"
"I don't care. I don't want to be wet. I'm always freezing in here."
"I keep it quite warm for the plants," she responds confused. Enid shrugs.
Wednesday finds them crumpled in a bin in the back. She hasn't seen them in a year and a rush of nostalgia fills her as she rubs her hands over the fabric. Enid waits outside the door, hands extended. Once Wednesday hands them over, she walks to the bathroom to change.
She comes out a few minutes later, looking significantly less wet and subsequently happier, and Wednesday takes in the image. The coveralls are black, for good reason, and Wednesday's never seen her wear something so dull.
"Much better," she says with a smile. Wednesday looks away and starts writing her novel once again. Enid pulls out a mop and starts sweeping up the puddles of water near the front. Wednesday turns the music up, just a little to be heard over the rain.
It’s peace she hasn’t felt in weeks. Years even, if she’s being honest with herself.
It was bound to fall apart.
She’s never one for peace, despite her craving for it, never one for joy, even though she doesn’t feel it. So the second things change, her body fails her.
Her alarm is ringing at five thirty, and yet, it sounds muffled. Her eyes burn, her throat is dry yet closed, her whole body feels like it's on fire. She’s undoubtedly sick.
Work, she thinks, I have to open the shop.
Her hands fumble for her alarm, slapping it once, twice, before finally silencing it. Her head rings. She hasn’t been sick in years- not since the incident. The memory is pushed from her mind. A little immune battle won’t stop her from working.
She stands up, pushing her hands against the bed to stabilize herself. The air immediately blows over her, chilling her bones. Normally she prefers being cold, but this feels a bit extreme. She takes two steps forward, reaching for her favorite black hoodie in a drawer.
She fumbles it on, yanking it over her head with a lack of grace. Her vision tunnels. She takes two more steps before falling back asleep.
Someone’s poking her face.
“Wednesday!?”
Her eyelids feel stuck shut, glued to the surface along her eyelashes. The person standing over her is poking again. Her eyebrows twitch and she lets out a groan.
“Wednesday? Can you hear me?”
Where is she? Who is here? She scrambles back in her memory; she was getting ready for work, in her own apartment, and-
“Wednesday?”
“Stop talking,” she groans out, moving her hand to her forehead. It’s pounding with an ache that’s making everything worse.
“Oh my god,” the person says, and Wednesday fights to open her eyes. Enid stands over her, hands hovering in the air. Her hair is pulled back but she looks more disheveled, face red and clothes wrinkled, than Wednesday feels. “I thought you were dead.”
She tries sitting up before the headache comes back in full force. Enid’s close, hovering her arms over her back without touching.
“Like, I actually thought you died. You weren’t moving at all.”
“I was asleep,” she responds with an eye-roll, trying to shut out Enid’s loud talking that’s too close to her ear.
“Your chest literally wasn't moving,” Enid continues, voice shaking, face leaning in for Wednesday to see. It’s tear stained, and her heartbeat stumbles.
“I trained myself to be still as a child. I'm alive."
“Of course,” Enid says, letting out a wet chuckle.
Her mind is slowly coming too, remembering the day, the time, her list of to-do tasks. Enid sits on the floor in front of her. She fell asleep on the floor?
“What-” she goes to ask, before Enid’s mouth opens.
“I got to work on time and you weren’t there.”
“How did you end up here?” She looks around, taking in the light drifting in through the windows. If she were to guess, it was probably around nine.
The shop isn’t open.
“Well, I didn’t think you were the type of person to be late, ever, at least without texting me, so I panicked a little. I called Eugene and he told me where you live.”
“The door?” She spots the front door open from the bedroom, cracked just a little. Enid’s face flushes a little red.
“I may have broken it…” she says quietly, “... to get in. I can pay to fix it.”
“Impressive. No need, though.”
She moves to stand up, hands pushing up off the ground. Her sweatshirt is barely pulled down her chest. The whole thing is utterly embarrassing, especially when she teters back and Enid grabs her arm.
She should pull away.
(She doesn’t.)
“Woah! Take it easy,” Enid says, letting go after Wednesday moves her feet. “What are you doing?”
Wednesday moves towards the bathroom. “Getting ready for work.”
“You’re not going. The store can be closed, I can water the plants later if you need.”
“Obviously, I’m going.”
“Not while you're sick.”
“I’m not sick,” she argues, turning on her heels to see Enid crossing her arms.
“Oh yeah?” Enid says, stomping over to where she stands. Her hand touches her forehead, just for a moment, before Wednesday can step away. The girl's hand feels ice cold. “Then why is your head burning up?”
Despite her disbelief, she moves away into the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror supports the idea of her being sick: face red and sweaty, dark spots under her eyes. Her hand touches her own forehead, making her grit her teeth in anger.
“I haven’t been sick for years. I refuse to believe it,” she mumbles to herself. Enid enters the bathroom to look at her, and it suddenly registers in her head that Enid is in her space. She doesn’t let anyone here. The same way she lets no one in the back room.
“Well, believe it. You were passed out on the ground.”
Her eyebrow twitches. Everything about the day is more foul than what she’d wish on her worst enemy. Enid flashes her a smile.
“Not excited about a vacation day?”
“I’ve never taken a day off. I’d prefer to work for eternity than feel like this. A coma would be better, even.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You just need some food and a good sleep.”
“I need a bullet to the head.” Wednesday huffs, shutting the bathroom light off, walking out. Her head pounds when the light in her bedroom hits her eyes. Enid trails behind her. She walks out of the bedroom, heading for the refrigerator.
Enid takes a seat at the table as she fills a cup with water and retrieves a half-empty box of crackers. She stands in front of the refrigerator glaring at Enid, as if to say 'see what I'm doing.' The blonde looks unimpressed.
“That’s it,” Enid asks with a slight laugh.
“What?” Wednesday says, taking a sip of water.
“You’re just going to drink water?”
“I don’t see the problem.” She eats a cracker. Enid’s face turns disappointed.
Enid moves into the kitchen, pushing her away from the refrigerator. “You need real food. What do you have?”
Wednesday swallows. She knows it’s bare- grocery day is tomorrow. Enid scans over the contents before shutting the door, letting out a sigh.
“I’ll go get something,” she offers.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why? You can take a nap and I’ll get you good food. You should be letting me help you after the literal heart attack you gave me this morning.”
“I’ll survive,” she deadpans. Enid walks to the table, where her phone and keys sit.
“Go lay down. I’m running to the store.”
“I don’t need to be coddled,” she sternly says, but it seems to go unheard. Where has her influence gone? First Eugene and now Enid. The girl picks up her things and shoves them in her pocket, retying her hair in the process.
“I’ll be back!” Enid shouts, ignoring her warning, heading out the door. Wednesday feels a prickling under her skin.
“I’m not letting you back in here."
“Lock the door and I’ll just break in again!” Enid winks and smiles, pointing with her whole arm as she trails out the hallway and out of view.
The door slams. Wednesday sits in a turbulent silence. She should lock the door, get dressed, and go to work. She’s never missed a day of work in her two years of owning it. She swallows, feeling her throat ache, and touches her forehead. It feels sweaty and hot and disgusting. After a moment of thought, Enid’s determined and tear stained face in the forefront of her mind, she stumbles to her bedroom.
Her head hits the pillow, body devoid of any blankets, and sleep takes her.
Something smells good.
Her head pounds and her body aches but a smell from the kitchen drags her from the depths of sleep. Enid probably made it back with food, she thinks, and feels her stomach rumble.
How embarrassing.
She goes to stand up and is immediately met with a bout of chills. The blanket at the end of her bed calls to her, and she wraps it around. Her bedroom door is shut, and once she opens it, the smell hits full force. Her mouth waters.
“You’re awake!” Enid says in a hushed but excited voice. She must see the squint in Wednesday’s eyes as her headache splits.
“I think I’m dying, and not in the good way,” she complains. Her bangs are splayed over her eyes and she knows she must look pathetic. “My body is betraying me. I feel both hot and cold and feeble all at once.”
“Don’t be dramatic- you’re sick. I get sick a lot, so trust me, I know how it feels. I picked up soup to eat. I was going to get groceries to make something, but I remembered that I actually can’t cook anything for the life of me.”
Wednesday nods and Enid smiles as if she showered her with praise.
“It’s on the table if you want it.” Two bowls sit at the table, spoons sitting beside it. She thinks of how Enid dug through her cabinets to find everything while she dozed. Wednesday, dragging the blanket with her, shuffles over and sits. Enid joins her after a few minutes of cleaning.
They eat in silence. Each bite warms her a little more and she can’t deny that she feels immensely better once she finishes.
“So,” Enid asks, “how do you feel?”
“I still wish to be knocked out.” Enid rolls her eyes. “But, admittedly, I do feel slightly better.”
“Wow! I was right then, wasn’t I?”
Wednesday doesn’t wish to respond, but one look at the girl’s prideful face makes her speak. “I suppose so.”
Enid laughs at her before taking their empty bowls to the sink. She brings back a bottle of pills, handing them over. Wednesday reads the label. “I guessed you didn’t have any medicine, so I also picked some up. You can take it now but it’ll probably make you sleep.”
Wednesday stands up and moves towards the couch, before pausing to face Enid. “I…”
She trails off. Enid smiles expectantly. She wishes she had soil right now.
“I am indebted to you for doing all of this. I'm going to sleep now.”
“There’s no debt, you don’t owe me anything. I like helping my friends,” she says with a warmness in her tone that Wednesday doesn’t recognize. “And okay, get a good rest.”
Wednesday watches her wash the dishes, not saying anything else and not moving out the door. “Are you going to leave?”
“No, I mean, I normally have work today so I thought I’d just stay here until you woke up. To check on you. I, uh- I can leave if you want-”
“I don’t need you to stay,” she inserts her voice, "but if it makes you feel better, I won’t stop you.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Okay.”
And she walks to her room, taking the medicine as intended, and lays down. Sleep hits quickly.
Between the fever and the medicine, reality distorts. She’s half asleep and half awake when someone lays a blanket over her. She’s not fully in her right mind when she imagines a hand pressing to her forehead. She can’t tell what’s real and what’s not, but eventually she relaxes into a deep sleep.
When she awakens a few hours later, Enid is doing homework in the living room, greeting her with a smile that should make her sickness worse.
(It doesn’t.)
Somehow, between the time Enid broke in and now, it became normal for Enid to come into Wednesday’s apartment.
It started with an offer, presented by Wednesday, a moment she’s not particularly proud of, after Enid told her of an upcoming exam:
“You could come to my apartment to study,” she says. “It’s always quiet; I get a lot done. I can’t imagine you get much done with Yoko’s loud mouth.”
“Wednesday Addams asking to hang out?”
“Never,” she retorts. “I’m merely offering a place to help your productivity.”
“Of course,” Enid says with a wink. Her pulse stutters.
So Enid comes over. It’s different, the atmosphere, now that Wednesday isn’t sick. She realizes how out of control she was when she was delirious with fever. She’s aware of every place Enid sits, every place she explores. On the days that she comes over after work, she smells of flowers and dirt and a part of Wednesday breathes it in.
It’s comforting in a way that reminds her of what’s grounding. She vaguely wonders if she smells the same.
The second time Enid comes over, she digs into Wednesday’s things. She’s working on her novel, light drizzle in the background, and Enid said she has to work on a project. Instead, though, after ten minutes of working, she decides to scour the decorations.
“Looking for something in specific?” she asks, focusing on the typewriter in front of her. She can hear Enid shuffle into the living room behind her.
“No,” Enid replies simply. “Just learning more about you.”
Her hands pause. “For example?”
Enid lets out a long hum, so long that Wednesday turns to look her in the eyes.
“Like,” she starts, “how cute you were as a baby!”
“Excuse me?” She stands, walking over to the photo Enid is looking at. Her decor on the wall is bare as it is, but in a small corner of her living room, she has a few photos. Eugene called her sentimental once. It took a year for her to put it back up after ripping it down. “I am not cute.”
There are photos of her family, some of the deadliest flowers, things she’s collected from random vintage markets she frequents. It’s all in black and white, obviously, and it keeps the space clean while adding a little substance. Her style isn’t bleak, even if it’s monochrome.
Enid points to an old photograph, one taken before her brother was born. “You’re so little!”
Wednesday doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s never done this, talked about herself in this way with others. To her favor, Enid continues talking. “Are those your parents?”
“Yes,” she chimes in. “I was only a few years old in that. My father, the sentimental being that he is, liked to carry around a camera.”
“That’s so cool, I don’t have any of my baby pictures.”
“Your parents never took any?”
Enid takes a few seconds to respond, much to her peaking curiosity. “No, they did. I just don’t see any of them.”
Now she definitely doesn’t know what to say. God, she hates when she doesn’t know how to act around the girl. It’s an infuriating challenge. Enid walks away from the picture wall, moving towards the couch. She heads back to her typewriter, desperate to do anything with her hands.
The silence isn’t as comforting as it was before. She wants to learn more. Why doesn’t she just ask? When has she ever held back her mind?
“Do you have a camera?” Enid is speaking all of a sudden, a gleam in her eye.
“In my bedroom, on my desk. Why?”
“Hold your questions-” Enid shoots up from where she stands, rushing into her room. The change is dizzying, but she follows the girl’s instructions and doesn’t ask anything else.
She runs back out, camera in hand, smile on her face. Wednesday can’t help her own face morphing into confusion, despite her willingness to say neutral. Enid comes up to her, standing taller since Wednesday is sitting. The camera raises in the air, pointing down on them, and in an instant, Enid yells-
“Smile!” and snaps the photo. The flash blinds her, and she moves her head back.
“What-” she goes to ask, before Enid spins to look at her, pushing the camera into her hands.
“Now whenever you get this developed, you can put it on your wall. It very desperately needs a little color.”
“It would hardly match,” she argues, as if that is the reason for not putting it on the wall.
“A picture of me is just what it needs, don’t you think?” Enid ignores her comment, something she does often, and winks at her.
Neither of them comment on how Wednesday neither accepts or denies the statement.
Enid comes over the next week. She brings a bouquet of colorful flowers, ones not from Wednesday’s shop.
“You’re a traitor,” she says when she recognizes the branding from another store, halfway across town.
“I had to,” Enid begs sheepishly. “I would’ve bought some colorful ones from work, but we don’t sell any.”
“For good measure.”
“I thought you needed a little color for your kitchen. Now when I come over, my eyes won’t dry out from staring at black and white.”
“You don’t have to come over,” she argues back.
“I know,” Enid says as she fills up the skeleton vase with water, putting them in. Wednesday rolls her eyes, but lets her do it nonetheless. The colors aren’t horrible, she admits. It’s a darker purple, a toned blue, and a gentle pick.
After that, Enid starts bringing flowers every two weeks when the older bouquet dies.
Enid comes over after work one Saturday, crying about the fact that she is so hungry that her stomach is eating itself.
“What do you want?”
“Food,” Enid cries into the couch.
(She does a double take, thinking the girl is actually crying for a moment. She wasn’t, much to her relief, just exaggerating.)
“I’m asking what you want. I can take a break from writing to make something.”
Enid looks up, face full of hope. “You’d make something… for me?”
“Not for you.” She fights the blush from running to her cheeks. It’s a winning battle, and she’s thankful. “Your pitiful crying is distracting me from writing."
“Oh my god, thank you,” Enid says as she leaves the girl on the couch, walking towards the kitchen. “I haven’t had a real meal in weeks. College sucks.”
Wednesday hums. Enid does her homework while she cooks. There’s quiet music coming from the girl’s phone, but it’s gentle enough for her to allow it. She knows cooking is not one of her best talents, and when Enid showers her with praise after taking a single bite, she decides she wants to get better.
Not for Enid, of course. For herself.
Enid comes over after her classes one day, on a day she doesn’t work. Wednesday walks into her apartment and Enid is just sitting on her couch.
“How did you get in here?” Her voice stumbles a little, she didn’t anticipate the girl coming over today. Her curiosity declines- even though she wonders how the girl broke in once again, especially since she just replaced all the locks- because Enid’s face is stuck with dried tears.
“Wednesday, hi, sorry. I know I didn’t tell you I was coming but I need advice.”
She places her bag on the kitchen table, marching over to the couch. Her body doesn’t move to sit, instead, she stares down at Enid. Her heart skips.
“Ask.” she demands. Enid wipes her face. There are no tears falling, just the decay of old ones.
“I just got my last exam score for calc this afternoon. It’s not good.”
Wednesday doesn’t follow.
“There’s only two tests left for the class, including the final. I can’t fail the class, like- I can’t. I don’t know what to do, and Yoko wasn’t helping, so I just need your-”
“I could help you.” Heart over head, speaking again. It should be sickening.
(It isn’t.)
“W-what?” Enid looks at her, dazed. A second ago, she looked more distraught than her mother after she successfully ran away for a few days at six years old, and now she stares up at Wednesday like she created the sun. Or the moon, she prefers, if she has to endure the meaningful glance.
“I excelled in high school. I’m sure I could pick it up again.”
“You’re offering to tutor me?”
“Essentially, yes, but I’d need to review the material beforehand-”
Enid jumps up, an unexpected movement, and she almost flinches. “Wednesday, you’re literally saving my life.”
“Don’t make me take it back.”
“This is the second time you’ve saved me. How did I get so lucky?”
She doesn’t respond, feeling some weird mixture of an itch and a warm rush over her skin. It’s dizzying. She has to sit down on the couch to avoid losing her place in this reality, and Enid follows her down.
“I appreciate it,” Enid says gently, breaking the silence. “Can I hug you?”
“Don’t push it, Sinclair,” she deadpans. Enid doesn’t look upset at all, though, and holds her hand out for a fist bump.
She shouldn’t reciprocate.
(She does.)
Enid comes over during the school week and doesn’t leave one night. It starts raining the second she walks in and doesn’t stop, even as one, two, three hours pass. Wednesday checks the weather mindlessly when a strike of lightning shakes the building.
“Lightning scared me as a kid,” Enid says at the sound. “It kind of still does.”
“I spent a long time studying the nature of lightning as a kid. It’s quite unpredictable, but I never found it scary.”
“That’s so cute!”
“I could not agree less.” Enid laughs while she scoffs.
They both work side by side, together but in their own worlds. The rain emits a soothing white noise. Even Enid elected not to play music so they could listen. They do that for a few hours, letting time pass as the clock hand reaches ten at night, until the power turns off with the rumble of thunder. Enid yells when the lights shut off, plunging them into a thick darkness. The blinds had been shut, so any light from the outside is sealed off from illuminating the room.
“Wednesday?” the girl asks with a shaky voice.
“The power simply went out. The storm must be worse than I thought.” She stands from the table, walking to the big window in the living room. The curtains pull back to show a dark street. She hangs them fully open to present the whole view. “The grid looks to be out too.”
Enid appears behind her, looking over her shoulder at the rain outside. “I should probably go home, then.”
Wednesday spins around to face her at the sound of an anxious voice. “You intend to walk home in the rain?”
“I mean, it’s already ten-”
“There’s no power. That means there’s no street lights.”
“I’ll call Yoko to pick me up-”
“The rain is dangerous. It’s foolish to drive and expect nothing but positive results.” She watches Enid flip her phone screen on to her texts before turning it back off.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?"
They’re both thinking it- she can tell by the way Enid searches her face, looking to be saved. The words drag from her mouth, but she wouldn’t choose to say anything else.
“You’ll have to stay, then.”
Enid's smile grows quickly on her face, a blooming thing. “This will be so fun! A sleepover!”
Her skin itches for the dirt.
Wednesday fishes out a few candles she kept in a corner of the kitchen, more for ambiance than use, and lights them. Enid thanks her, and Wednesday, sitting back down at the table to write, watches her face reflect a gentle orange glow. The color reminds her of a bird of paradise, a plant she doesn’t sell but has always appreciated. It’s probably one of the only semi-colorful flowers she can stand to look at. She tries, and subtly fails, to focus back on her novel. The flicker of the light on pale is attention grabbing. After about a half hour, Enid shuts her laptop, almost startling Wednesday.
“I can’t do any more homework with the wifi out. Besides, I’m too tired to do something new.”
“I’m satisfied with where my novel is at for the night,” she says, not explaining how she hasn’t added more than two sentences after the power went out. “I have to be awake to go to the store early.”
Enid nods, and they clean up the table in silence, rain filling in the gaps.
“I can sleep on the couch,” Enid reasons once they finish.
“Don’t be foolish. You’ll be sleeping in my bed.”
Enid places her hands on her hips. Wednesday stares. “That’s very nice of you-”
“I’m not trying to be nice,” she interrupts.
“Of course not,” Enid rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her emotion. “It’s my fault I got stuck here anyways, I don’t want to take your bed from you.”
“The rain was a surprising turn. I don’t blame you. I will be sleeping on the couch.” Why is she stubborn about this? Enid should not get to run her space, and yet, she’s consciously aware of the girl's every mood when she's over.
“I’m not budging. I’ll walk home right now if you don’t let me.”
Wednesday thinks of what to say, before relenting. “It’s your hill to die on,” and with that, they walk to the bathroom, carrying the candles with them. Wednesday changes her clothes as Enid showers. She sits on the edge of her bed, ensuring her phone alarm is set for the next morning, when Enid calls out.
“Wednesday?”
“Yes?” she shouts back.
“I don’t have any clothes, unless I put back on my dirty outfit. Which I totally can-”
She’s rummaging through her clothes before Enid finishes speaking. Once she settles on an outfit, a black sweatshirt and sweatshorts, she knocks on the door.
“You can wear these,” she says, slipping the pile through the crack.
“Thanks!” Wednesday can hear Enid changing through the door, slipping out a few curses in what sounds to be an attempt to not slip and fall. She takes her place back on the bed, undoing her hair before re-braiding it. The door knob shakes, and Enid stumbles out of the door.
“Sorry, I couldn’t really see what I was doing in there and I kind of spilled water all over the floor.”
Enid, standing in her room in her clothes, a stark difference in style to what the girl normally wears, makes her veins rush with a hot feeling. She wishes she could plant something right now.
“How do I look?” she asks as she spins, once Wednesday doesn’t respond to her apology. She couldn’t care less about the state of her bathroom floor.
“Like a black dahlia,” Wednesday answers, heart over head once again. The black of the clothes contrasts so much with the pink and blue hair, and images of dark flowers blooming with colorful centers flash through her mind. The light from the candles isn’t helping.
“Don’t know what that looks like,” she says, “but I’ll take it as a compliment. So, thanks!”
“This is the only outfit you’ve worn that hasn’t made my eyes bleed.”
“Very funny,” Enid scoffs. “I can’t lie though, this sweatshirt is very comfortable.”
Wednesday hums, and Enid scoots closer to the door.
“Well, I should go to the couch,” she says. “I guess.”
Wednesday reaches back to grab a pillow and a black blanket sitting folded at the end of her bed. “Here,” she says as she hands them over.
“Thanks. Good night.”
“Good night, Sinclair.”
Enid walks out, carrying a candle with her. Wednesday can’t see the couch, even with her bedroom door open, but the glow of the flame casts a shadow on the wall. She’s lulled to sleep once Enid stops moving around, static from the rain a soothing sound.
“Wednesday.”
Her eyes blink open. Enid stands at the end of her bed, wrapped in her blanket. The candle is almost burnt out, leaving the girl to be cast in dark shadows. Her mind skips trying to awaken quickly. She sits up and reaches for her phone, time flashing back at her just over midnight. She’d only been sleeping for an hour.
“What.” she bites out, voice scratchy with sleep. Enid looks apologetic and she tries to control herself. “Is something wrong?”
“I,” Enid starts. “The storm is still going on and lightning keeps flashing through the window and I can’t sleep. I tried shutting the curtains but I couldn’t really see what I was doing, so there’s a slight chance that I broke your curtains and I didn’t want to wake you-”
“Lay down.”
“What?” Enid’s eyes widen.
“You woke me up to tell me about broken curtains. I have work in the morning.”
“Okay, well if you could just come shut them-”
“I’m not getting up.” The air is cold. Wednesday’s too tired to follow Enid’s complicated story. Her mind craves sleep. “Just lay down.”
Wednesday falls back against her pillow. Enid moves up next to her slowly, very obviously trying not to tug on the blankets. After a few minutes of slow bounces and tugs, they both lay still, facing the ceiling. The body next to her is already emitting heat, despite not touching.
All at once, Enid flips on her stomach laying face down.
"Stop moving," Wednesday commands, words barely coming out. Sleep is pulling her away.
"Sorry," Enid sheepishly says. "Just trying to get comfortable."
"Sleeping on your stomach is the worst way to lay. You're going to end up with back problems."
"It's comfy! Not everyone can lay with perfect posture like you."
Wednesday's tongue feels heavy, words feeling like rocks rolling in her mouth. She's about to fall asleep when Enid's leg twitches and pokes into hers. She finds words to say one last thing:
“Kick me and I’m throwing you off this bed.”
Enid scoffs into her pillow. “At least I didn’t train myself to be still while I sleep.”
“Perfectly acceptable.”
“Wednesday, it really isn’t-”
“Stop talking. Go to sleep.”
“Right. Sorry.”
It’s quiet for a few minutes. The girl’s breathing slows, so Wednesday thinks she finally fell asleep when:
“Wednesday?” Enid whispers.
Wednesday groans.
“Are you awake?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Sorry,” she says, but continues. Wednesday can feel Enid turning in the bed to face her. She keeps her eyes shut, but she feels a stare being burned into her side. “I’m really grateful to have a friend like you.”
“Go to bed.”
“I just wanted you to know,” Enid explains, voice heavy with sleep, before blowing out a big breath. “G’night. Love you.”
Wednesday thinks she’s actually asleep now. She really hopes that’s the case, because she can’t stop herself from mumbling back, "me too."
Her alarm rings.
The room is dark, but not as dark as last night, signaling it’s morning time- work time. She goes to roll over when a warm presence pushes against her. Her eyes widen, and she’s almost startled, before remembering Enid spent the night over.
The girl is moving, not much, little twitches and sighs breaking the stillness of the room. Wednesday wonders how she slept through the night. She looks out the window to find the rain has stopped.
Time ticks down. She needs to get up, to get ready for work, to leave. But Enid, pressing a heat into her side that combats the chill of the air, begs her to stay longer. She only lays for a few more seconds, soaking it in, before standing up. Her eyes travel to the girl, sleeping peacefully, as she walks to the bathroom.
The sight of the girl doesn’t disgust her, doesn’t scare her- it only fills her with a gnawing feeling that something is different. It feels all too normal, all too comfortable, all too similar to the way she feels with flowers in her hands.
She hates it.
(She doesn’t.)