[Fic] "Oranges and Lemons" -- original
So back in March I mentioned the Mosedale creative writing contest that the Star Island Protective League runs in the Loon (our annual newsletter/directory), and later mentioned that I'd written and submitted something for the 2017 contest.
The Loon has now been published -- my parents received their copy today -- and I may have won? \o/ There is a $50 prize associated with the contest, but really, I am just happy I got a thing printed and people seem to have liked it. :)
Anyway, now that the Loon is out, I am going to post the story here as well.
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Summary: "Don't buy tiny fruit trees," Nic said obediently. (750 words)
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Oranges and Lemons
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As Nicole walked into the kitchen, a bright red envelope in her hands, Cynthia twisted around in her chair and said, "Tell me I can't buy a pair of miniature clementine trees to keep in pots on the back porch."
"Don't buy tiny fruit trees," Nic said obediently. "Have you seen where I put the-- never mind, found it." She plucked the letter opener from the onion basket and extracted the glittery card. "Your Aunt Mina says happy belated birthday, and... ha, payday! Hundred bucks, treat yourself to something that makes you smile. Looks like you get your trees after all."
She grinned at Cynthia, expecting an answering smile.
Instead, Cynthia draped her arms over the curved back of her chair, tilted her head to stare at the ceiling, and groaned. "Dammit, don't make me be the one with impulse control. I suck at being the one with impulse control. Also, my birthday, my card. Gimme."
She wiggled her fingers until Nic dropped both a kiss and the card onto her face.
Cynthia made an aggrieved noise, but levered herself back upright and laid the card on the breakfast table beside her laptop, which was displaying, not the manuscript for her latest book, but a webpage featuring ordering information for an admittedly very cute potted orange tree, with several other tabs labeled fig, olive, lemon, plum, and so on.
"Ooh, figs?" Nic stole her wife's mouse to investigate.
"You don't even like figs," Cynthia grumbled, shoving Nic's hair out of her face.
"Yeah, but you do. Besides, I liked them fine with that fancy Spanish ham we got at the tapas place that one time."
"Neither of us knows how to make that," Cynthia pointed out.
"That's what Google is for," Nic said serenely. "And hey, we could make fig jam and hand it out as Christmas presents. Everybody likes homemade stuff, plus we could decorate each bottle with some actual fig leaves and write hilariously inappropriate puns on the labels."
Cynthia yanked her mouse back and closed the entire browser window. "Jam-making involves far more time and aggravation than you actually want to deal with, even in service of terrible jokes. Just say no to tiny fruit trees, okay? Work with me here. I need you to reinforce my virtue, not enable me into more questionable life choices that we can't afford."
Ah. It was one of those days. Nic dropped into her own chair and planted her elbow on the table to give herself a headrest. "Book still stalled out?" she said, tone carefully neutral.
Cynthia let her head thunk down in front of her laptop. "I'm gonna blow all my deadlines, my readers will drift away, I'll stop getting any royalties, you'll burn yourself out on overtime trying to close the gap, we'll have to sell the house and go live in a trailer park, and it'll all be my fault for thinking I could do this full-time instead of working a real job. Even Aunt Mina thinks so -- why else would she send so much money just because of a stupid birthday!"
Nic scuffed her fingers through the soft, curly hair at the base of Cynthia's skull. "Hey. Listen. You're going to finish the book. If it's late, whatever. You're good. Your readers know that, you've got them hooked. They'll wait for you. If it doesn't sell as well as some of the others, that's okay. We're not dancing from paycheck to paycheck anymore, or I wouldn't have cheered you on when you jumped ship from corporate life. Even if we end up in a trailer park, I'll still love you, and I promise I am way too selfish to burn myself out on overtime. Do you believe me?"
"No," Cynthia said into the table.
Nic sighed. Definitely one of those days. "Okay. Can you believe that I believe that?"
"Maybe."
"I'll take it. Now shove over. If you're not writing, I'm going to order us a pair of tiny orange trees, because I love you, you deserve nice things, and I want to be honest when I tell your Aunt Mina we spent your birthday money on something that made you smile. I'm pretty sure she can smell lies."
Cynthia managed a gulp of waterlogged laughter before she subsided back into her posture of despair.
Nic edged her chair sideways until her knee brushed warm against Cynthia's thigh. Then she reopened the browser and started googling trees.
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End of Story
---------------------------------------------
...If I do get $50 out of this endeavor, I just might buy a tiny orange tree of my own, because reasons. *wry*
If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
The Loon has now been published -- my parents received their copy today -- and I may have won? \o/ There is a $50 prize associated with the contest, but really, I am just happy I got a thing printed and people seem to have liked it. :)
Anyway, now that the Loon is out, I am going to post the story here as well.
-----
Summary: "Don't buy tiny fruit trees," Nic said obediently. (750 words)
---------------------------------------------
Oranges and Lemons
---------------------------------------------
As Nicole walked into the kitchen, a bright red envelope in her hands, Cynthia twisted around in her chair and said, "Tell me I can't buy a pair of miniature clementine trees to keep in pots on the back porch."
"Don't buy tiny fruit trees," Nic said obediently. "Have you seen where I put the-- never mind, found it." She plucked the letter opener from the onion basket and extracted the glittery card. "Your Aunt Mina says happy belated birthday, and... ha, payday! Hundred bucks, treat yourself to something that makes you smile. Looks like you get your trees after all."
She grinned at Cynthia, expecting an answering smile.
Instead, Cynthia draped her arms over the curved back of her chair, tilted her head to stare at the ceiling, and groaned. "Dammit, don't make me be the one with impulse control. I suck at being the one with impulse control. Also, my birthday, my card. Gimme."
She wiggled her fingers until Nic dropped both a kiss and the card onto her face.
Cynthia made an aggrieved noise, but levered herself back upright and laid the card on the breakfast table beside her laptop, which was displaying, not the manuscript for her latest book, but a webpage featuring ordering information for an admittedly very cute potted orange tree, with several other tabs labeled fig, olive, lemon, plum, and so on.
"Ooh, figs?" Nic stole her wife's mouse to investigate.
"You don't even like figs," Cynthia grumbled, shoving Nic's hair out of her face.
"Yeah, but you do. Besides, I liked them fine with that fancy Spanish ham we got at the tapas place that one time."
"Neither of us knows how to make that," Cynthia pointed out.
"That's what Google is for," Nic said serenely. "And hey, we could make fig jam and hand it out as Christmas presents. Everybody likes homemade stuff, plus we could decorate each bottle with some actual fig leaves and write hilariously inappropriate puns on the labels."
Cynthia yanked her mouse back and closed the entire browser window. "Jam-making involves far more time and aggravation than you actually want to deal with, even in service of terrible jokes. Just say no to tiny fruit trees, okay? Work with me here. I need you to reinforce my virtue, not enable me into more questionable life choices that we can't afford."
Ah. It was one of those days. Nic dropped into her own chair and planted her elbow on the table to give herself a headrest. "Book still stalled out?" she said, tone carefully neutral.
Cynthia let her head thunk down in front of her laptop. "I'm gonna blow all my deadlines, my readers will drift away, I'll stop getting any royalties, you'll burn yourself out on overtime trying to close the gap, we'll have to sell the house and go live in a trailer park, and it'll all be my fault for thinking I could do this full-time instead of working a real job. Even Aunt Mina thinks so -- why else would she send so much money just because of a stupid birthday!"
Nic scuffed her fingers through the soft, curly hair at the base of Cynthia's skull. "Hey. Listen. You're going to finish the book. If it's late, whatever. You're good. Your readers know that, you've got them hooked. They'll wait for you. If it doesn't sell as well as some of the others, that's okay. We're not dancing from paycheck to paycheck anymore, or I wouldn't have cheered you on when you jumped ship from corporate life. Even if we end up in a trailer park, I'll still love you, and I promise I am way too selfish to burn myself out on overtime. Do you believe me?"
"No," Cynthia said into the table.
Nic sighed. Definitely one of those days. "Okay. Can you believe that I believe that?"
"Maybe."
"I'll take it. Now shove over. If you're not writing, I'm going to order us a pair of tiny orange trees, because I love you, you deserve nice things, and I want to be honest when I tell your Aunt Mina we spent your birthday money on something that made you smile. I'm pretty sure she can smell lies."
Cynthia managed a gulp of waterlogged laughter before she subsided back into her posture of despair.
Nic edged her chair sideways until her knee brushed warm against Cynthia's thigh. Then she reopened the browser and started googling trees.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
...If I do get $50 out of this endeavor, I just might buy a tiny orange tree of my own, because reasons. *wry*
If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)