Work Text:
Cheese Cake.
by Lopaka Tanu
Running her fingers over the pink box, Rose smiled fondly at the printed rosettes. In the thirty years since she purchased the first one, they hadn't changed a thing. Some might say it was a relic, or maybe lazy business practice. She liked to think it was a classic. Too many things changed these days. None of them were ever for the better, in her opinion.
"I can't believe it. Forty-three years I gave him."
Well, sometimes, there were exceptions.
Sighing, she tapped the box one last time. Grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, she stepped back and faced the rest of her kitchen. Looking over at the table, she stuttered to a halt.
Three familiar faces were staring back at her from the white chairs. She looked for a moment, then blinked. When she opened her eyes again, they were no longer familiar or looking at her.
A heavy weight settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, she took a deep breath. After clearing her throat, she was ready to plaster on a sympathetic smile. "All right, get your glasses ready." She held up the pitcher for them to see as she walked back to the table.
"Mother." Kirsten rolled her eyes to the ceiling, dabbing at them with a napkin. When they were clear again, she stood up from the table. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be serving us like that, especially not at your age."
"You just sit down right this instant. I'm never too old to be your mother, and don't you forget that." Holding the pitcher away from her daughter's reaching hands, she walked around back to her chair. Hers was the one closest to the door. It had always been that way. "Hold out your glasses and tell me when." The look she gave Kirsten prevented any protest.
Sighing, her daughter sat down. The chair thumped a little when she plopped into it. She didn't look at her mother as she held out her glass. "I feel so foolish."
"Oh, don't be that way." His own glass held out, Michael smiled prettily at her. When she looked over at him with a deadpan stare, he wiggled his eyebrows. "It could be worse, you could look it too." Then he glanced down at her clothes and opened his mouth. "Ow!" Clutching his head, he glared up at their fourth. "Why'd you do that for?"
"If you have to ask, the lesson wasn't learned." From her stool, Rebecca wielded the Sunday Tribune with a glare at him. "Maybe I didn't hit you hard enough. Care to try again?"
Rose bit her tongue. Then she winced from the sharp pain. This wasn't the first time they had gone at it. If she didn't have to put up with it, she would have done something about a while ago. No, it was best to just let them go until they burned it out of their system.
Putting a finger to his chest, Michael sat back in the chair. "Well excuse me for breathing." The other two women were clearly forgotten by now.
Rebecca snorted. "If that was all you did, maybe we could get some sleep around here on the weekends." Folding her arms, she stared haughtily down at him.
"Just what are you implying?" Matching her stance, he glared right back.
A quick look to her daughter had Rose clutching her pitcher. The red faced Kirsten was sucking down her lemonade. Far from being angry herself, she felt giddy and watched the whole thing with wide eyes. It was like being in one of the stage productions she was working on. Just to get a better view, she took a step back.
"Was that too subtle for you? Then let me spell it out for you. You're an S-L-U-T!" Putting a hand to her mouth, she pretended to be embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, my mistake. I forgot you're a musician! The only thing you know how to spell is..."
"Enough!" Slamming her now empty glass down on the table, Kirsten glared at the two of them. Glancing from one to the other, she stared them down until they looked away. "The two of you are like children! I just got served with divorce papers, I have no job, three kids still in college, a mortgage in foreclosure, my world is falling apart, and you're bickering about his sex life? What the hell is wrong with you?"
There was tense silence in the kitchen after that. No one moved, even to bat an eye.
Staring at them with wide eyes, she looked around as in an attempt to locate something that made sense. Putting her hands to her face, she cupped her cheeks, and stared vacantly at the table. "I can't believe this is what my life's come to. Sitting here with a smugly superior busy-body and a judgmental slut, I'm supposed to be the adult one?" Kirsten shook her head in disbelief.
The other two scowled at her, but said nothing. They sent glares at one another, and that was all.
Feeling light headed, Rose sucked in a breath. "Okey dokey. I think this calls for something more than lemonade." She set the pitcher down and started back for the fridge.
Raising her head from her hands, Kirsten frowned at her mother. "I don't feel like I should be drinking in my emotional condition." She checked the clock over the stove. "Besides, it's too early in the day, no matter how much I might want one."
"Oh, it's nothing like that, Kirsten." Having reached the fridge, Rose glanced over her shoulder at the three of them. They all seemed so young to her, but they were practically the age they had been the first time. Her throat constricted with grief and a painful longing. Breathing heavily, she faced the wooden paneling on the doors of the fridge.
It was time.
Pulling the fridge open, she smiled down at the pink box. "I think it's time I introduced you to one of the secrets of a great friendship in this kitchen." Reaching inside, she let her fingers trail lovingly over the edges. "Michael, if you'll get the plates, Rebecca can get the forks. Then, Kirsten, we'll see what we can do about those problems."
THE END..................................