Love Fest Drabble #3
This drabble was requested by nialyind. Have a drabble about Phily and Meadow, and a Valentine's day card that can be viewed here.
Philomena Bradford hated Valentine’s Day.
No, her mother had taught her that “hate” was too strong a word to be used without serious consideration.
Philomena Bradford detested Valentine’s Day.
Yes, that was better.
Her distaste for the holiday began in her youth, when Orlando Centowski had marched up to her and announced in a voice loud enough for the entire schoolroom to hear that she was his Valentine, and practically demanded that she kiss him. Alex had gotten involved, and Orlando had gone home sporting a black eye and a swollen jaw, and Alex had gotten a week’s worth of detention and a letter home. That was the first and last time that a Simsfield schoolmate had tried to be Phily’s Valentine.
As she grew older and went off to finishing school, things did not improve. Despite her promises to her mother that she be social and try to find a good man to be her husband, it was her friend Meadow that garnered all the male attention. Meadow was beautiful, bubbly and golden like a sunset, and it was rare day when she did not receive some sort of token from one of her admirers. Phily had always felt a twinge when a gift arrived for Meadow; it wasn’t until she and Meadow had confessed their feelings for each other in SimParis that she understood why. Her jealousy now seemed so frivolous, as Meadow could have cared less about the flowers and books of poetry. That thought could still make Phily smile.
Even now, Valentine’s Day was a tough pill to swallow. On the way to her school where she taught music, Phily watched the wagons with their brightly painted logos on the side from the many florists in Portsimouth, off to take fragrant bouquets to ladies lucky enough to have a suitor willing to splurge on such excesses. The jewelry store window displays were decked out with paper cupids, reminding passersby that a fine necklace or bracelet was the perfect way to show your love for your lady. Even the dressmakers were showing off the latest evening wear for that romantic dinner with your sweetheart.
Had Phily fallen in love with anyone but Meadow, she probably would have been partaking in any of those rituals herself. When they had been younger, they had gone out on occasion for Valentine’s Day, playing the roles of two young ladies without beaus keeping each other company. And Victor, bless his sweet heart, would get flowers for all three of the ladies in his life. But she was older now, and going out on Valentine’s Day made Phily feel like an old maid, even though in her heart of hearts she wasn’t. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t act like she was part of a normal couple, simply because of the social stigma attached to her lifestyle.
That Valentine’s Day was starting out to be no better than any of the others. The girls in her class were acting perfectly silly over the cards they’d received from their friends and sweethearts. They’d scoffed at her attempts to teach them Mozart’s Requiem and begged for something more romantic that they could sing and attract new suitors. Phily, her mood soured by the date and all its implications, had not relented. She knew the students would grumble about “Cranky old Miss Bradford,” but she didn’t care. It was childish, really, but if she was going to have a miserable day, she wasn’t going to indulge those around her.
At the end of the day, she’d gone home to Meadow’s bustling about with Jane, getting ready for an evening out with her husband Victor. Henri had agreed to watch baby Asher for them, leaving the happily married couple free for the first time since their son was born.
Phily crept into her room, not wanting her poor temperament to spoil her daughter’s happiness. She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the quilt on either side of her. It just wasn’t fair. Poor Henri had been forced to act like she cared for a man she hated, but Phily had to hide her love behind friendship or face the consequences. And Valentine’s Day never failed to remind her of these harsh realities.
In the heat of her self-pity, she didn’t hear the door open. Consequently, she jumped slightly when Meadow’s arm slipped around her shoulder.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, pressing a card with a single red rose tied to it with white ribbon into Phily's hands.
Phily chuckled darkly. “You know I detest Valentine’s Day.”
“I was hoping to change your mind,” Meadow replied, kissing Phily’s temple. “Open it.”
Phily untied the ribbon, and set the rose aside. She opened the envelope, and pulled out the card. Her features softened as she ran her fingers over the tops of the heads of the little chicks, and she smiled as she read the poem inside.
“They reminded me of us,” Meadow said. “Just trying to make their way in the world.”
“Thank you,” Phily said, taking Meadow’s hand and squeezing it. “Now I feel horrible for not getting you anything.”
“I don’t need anything. I have you. I just wanted to give you something to make you smile, since I know it’s not your favorite holiday.”
“I just wish it could be different, sometimes.”
“So do I. But I love you. That doesn’t change whether or not I get to say it to anyone but you.”
“And I love you, Meadow,” Phily replied, leaning in to kiss Meadow gently. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Philomena Bradford hated Valentine’s Day.
No, her mother had taught her that “hate” was too strong a word to be used without serious consideration.
Philomena Bradford detested Valentine’s Day.
Yes, that was better.
Her distaste for the holiday began in her youth, when Orlando Centowski had marched up to her and announced in a voice loud enough for the entire schoolroom to hear that she was his Valentine, and practically demanded that she kiss him. Alex had gotten involved, and Orlando had gone home sporting a black eye and a swollen jaw, and Alex had gotten a week’s worth of detention and a letter home. That was the first and last time that a Simsfield schoolmate had tried to be Phily’s Valentine.
As she grew older and went off to finishing school, things did not improve. Despite her promises to her mother that she be social and try to find a good man to be her husband, it was her friend Meadow that garnered all the male attention. Meadow was beautiful, bubbly and golden like a sunset, and it was rare day when she did not receive some sort of token from one of her admirers. Phily had always felt a twinge when a gift arrived for Meadow; it wasn’t until she and Meadow had confessed their feelings for each other in SimParis that she understood why. Her jealousy now seemed so frivolous, as Meadow could have cared less about the flowers and books of poetry. That thought could still make Phily smile.
Even now, Valentine’s Day was a tough pill to swallow. On the way to her school where she taught music, Phily watched the wagons with their brightly painted logos on the side from the many florists in Portsimouth, off to take fragrant bouquets to ladies lucky enough to have a suitor willing to splurge on such excesses. The jewelry store window displays were decked out with paper cupids, reminding passersby that a fine necklace or bracelet was the perfect way to show your love for your lady. Even the dressmakers were showing off the latest evening wear for that romantic dinner with your sweetheart.
Had Phily fallen in love with anyone but Meadow, she probably would have been partaking in any of those rituals herself. When they had been younger, they had gone out on occasion for Valentine’s Day, playing the roles of two young ladies without beaus keeping each other company. And Victor, bless his sweet heart, would get flowers for all three of the ladies in his life. But she was older now, and going out on Valentine’s Day made Phily feel like an old maid, even though in her heart of hearts she wasn’t. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t act like she was part of a normal couple, simply because of the social stigma attached to her lifestyle.
That Valentine’s Day was starting out to be no better than any of the others. The girls in her class were acting perfectly silly over the cards they’d received from their friends and sweethearts. They’d scoffed at her attempts to teach them Mozart’s Requiem and begged for something more romantic that they could sing and attract new suitors. Phily, her mood soured by the date and all its implications, had not relented. She knew the students would grumble about “Cranky old Miss Bradford,” but she didn’t care. It was childish, really, but if she was going to have a miserable day, she wasn’t going to indulge those around her.
At the end of the day, she’d gone home to Meadow’s bustling about with Jane, getting ready for an evening out with her husband Victor. Henri had agreed to watch baby Asher for them, leaving the happily married couple free for the first time since their son was born.
Phily crept into her room, not wanting her poor temperament to spoil her daughter’s happiness. She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the quilt on either side of her. It just wasn’t fair. Poor Henri had been forced to act like she cared for a man she hated, but Phily had to hide her love behind friendship or face the consequences. And Valentine’s Day never failed to remind her of these harsh realities.
In the heat of her self-pity, she didn’t hear the door open. Consequently, she jumped slightly when Meadow’s arm slipped around her shoulder.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, pressing a card with a single red rose tied to it with white ribbon into Phily's hands.
Phily chuckled darkly. “You know I detest Valentine’s Day.”
“I was hoping to change your mind,” Meadow replied, kissing Phily’s temple. “Open it.”
Phily untied the ribbon, and set the rose aside. She opened the envelope, and pulled out the card. Her features softened as she ran her fingers over the tops of the heads of the little chicks, and she smiled as she read the poem inside.
“They reminded me of us,” Meadow said. “Just trying to make their way in the world.”
“Thank you,” Phily said, taking Meadow’s hand and squeezing it. “Now I feel horrible for not getting you anything.”
“I don’t need anything. I have you. I just wanted to give you something to make you smile, since I know it’s not your favorite holiday.”
“I just wish it could be different, sometimes.”
“So do I. But I love you. That doesn’t change whether or not I get to say it to anyone but you.”
“And I love you, Meadow,” Phily replied, leaning in to kiss Meadow gently. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”