“Some more what?”
“Of you, silly. Then I will go make you some breakfast, pack your lunch, and send you out there to conquer those punks,” she said touching him intimately.
“Friday,” he mumbled, giving in to her soft touch. “There is a new exhibit at the museum. Maybe I can take you to dinner afterwards?”
“Like a date?” She said to him, while rubbing her smooth leg over his.
“Yes, a date,” he said, moaning a little as Pip whispered it real sweet like in his ear, sending tingles all the way down to his toes.
Michael had no words as he lay back, enjoying the pleasure of Pip.
Persephone, an odd little the bringer of Spring.
PIP STOOD AT THE STOVE, drinking tea, waiting for Zelda or Michael to join her for breakfast. She had whipped up pancakes and sausages but opted not to cook eggs.
“Good morning,” Zelda said, coming around the corner.
“Morning. What is on the map for today?”
“I thought you wanted to go shopping.”
“I do...,” she started, but Michael entered the kitchen. The morning ritual he always performed started with a kiss to his sister’s forehead, and today he added a light kiss to Pip’s lips. He ate quickly, with not much to say, rising to grab his keys to the truck.
“I’m running late and am going to take the truck. Use my car today, Zelda,” he told his sister.
Pip watched him closely, handing him his lunch box, already prepared. “Take no prisoners,” she said, patting him on the chest.
He nodded as he headed out the door, feeling taller than he ever had in his life. Today he was walking into the office feeling like a new man. He only hoped the new man didn’t get him demoted to engineering playgrounds.
“PIP, WHY DON’T YOU have a seat and join me for breakfast,” Zelda said, enjoying the pancakes.
“Bestie, I don’t think I can sit down,” she said with her eyebrow arched. “I may have to run a tub of hot water to be able to get my legs moving so I can go shopping today.”
“Well, okay then,” Zelda said. “I take it all went well.”
“No, I am so angry at you, Zelda!”
“What did I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do. You didn’t tell me that an orgasm could have multiple layers. Hell, I also need you to tell me where the linens are. I was squirting like a broken lawn sprinkler,” Pip said, laughing, her arm up like a Chinese Kung-Fu fighter in the snake fighting position, making a pst...pst...pssff sound. “I am going to need to change the pillowcases, too!”
“You are so nasty. I don’t need to know that! Or any of that shit,” Zelda said, getting up to pour herself a cup of coffee.
“Zelda, it was so good, I almost started licking that man. Heck, I did lick him,” she said, grinning. “Michael is taking me to the museum and then out to dinner on Friday. I have a date!”
Pip started to squeal and dance around in the floor until a pain in her lower back hit her, making her grab hold of the table.
“Seriously? My brother is taking you to dinner. He doesn’t eat out,” Zelda chided.
“The hell you say,” Pip said, wiggling her handful of butt.
“I am so through with you. Go soak your sore cooch so we can go shopping.”
“Great! I need something sexy to wear for my date Friday night. Holy crap! I have a date with a real nice man,” Pip said, throwing herself at Zelda. “My life has changed so much since meeting you. Whatever you are going through, I swear on my Pippi that I will offer you a light to guide you through this darkness.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a sweet honest spirit like you, but I am grateful,” Zelda said, hugging Pip back. “Now, go soak that thing so we can get this fun party started.”
Zelda watched Pip lumber away and she looked about the kitchen. This house had been her home for so long, but didn’t hold all good memories. I am going to heal. I have to. I am getting married to Scott.
ACROSS THE COURSE OF the day, Zelda and Pip shopped and had a nice lunch as girlfriends would do, laughing and enjoying the outing. Amazingly, in all the years she’d been friends with Jinny and Margo, never did she enjoy a girl’s day out as much as she did with Pip.
When they returned to the house, Pip took her bags to Zelda’s guest room but noticed she had one bag of her besties’ bags in her hand. After knocking on Zelda’s bedroom door, she entered to be hit with an odd smell.
“Whatever that is smells like an old person’s bathroom. I can also smell the mold,” Pip said.
“It’s the boxes of my dairies I got from my Grandmother’s shed. One of the boxes got wet in the rain. More than likely, that’s what you are smelling,” Zelda replied.
“I smell it, yes, but I am sensing something else attached to these boxes,” Pip said, taking a seat on the couch.
“A whole lot of bad memories from my childhood. As a child, I wrote down everything which happened to me each day in those journals and notebooks. After our parents died in a car accident, Michael had the memories inside of those books, I guess, locked away in my head,” she said.
“Opening these journals will refresh all those memories, both good and bad, Zelda. You are very lucky to not be able to recall them,” Pip said softly.
“Pip, I need to know. There is no way I can go forward in my life with all these dark memories haunting me like the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
“If you didn’t know about the diaries, would you still feel the same way?”
“That I can’t answer,” Zelda said to her.
“Then answer this for me,” Pip said. “You have two choices; one is to open that box and read every nasty problem you faced in your childhood, which is going to taint everything you touch. Or you can set those boxes on fire and go on about your life.”
“I didn’t hear a question in there, Pip.”
“My question is, Zelda, are you willing to throw away your future with Scott to relieve a childhood that you can’t do a damned thing about? Your life is now. What is in that box was then. Live in the now,” Pip told her.
“That is easy for you to say. You spend most of your time dressed as a child,” Zelda said snappily.
Pip sat forward on the couch, her fingers interwoven as she looked down at her colorfully painted toes. “It’s not easy at all, Zelda. As a child, I hid in the stories of Pippi Longstocking as an escape. Each time my mother’s boyfriend did something to me he shouldn’t have, he would bring me a new Pippi book. When I was 11, he brought me my Pip doll as a present,” she said.
She swallowed hard as her eyes began to tear.
“I was an awkward, ugly kind, with long gangly legs as well as being horribly shy. I barely spoke, but once I got that doll, I found my voice. For Valentine’s Day, that bastard gave me a small container of chocolates in a heart shaped box. My mom got the big one. Pippi got a voice that night and I began to tell my mother everything,” she said.
Tears rolled down her face.
“I carry that ugliness with me every Goddamn day because even now, I still feel like that stunted and gangly little awkward girl. I use Pip to spread the message to other kids to not be afraid to speak out when something that doesn’t feel right is being done to you. So don’t sit here and throw it in my face that you have an option to leave the ugliness of your childhood in the boxes and let it die. Opening those boxes is selfish and stupid. If you lose Scott, this is on you,” she said.
“Hold the Hell up! I am not throwing anything in your face,” Zelda said, sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping the sides.
“Yes, you are. There are millions of little girls being victimized every day. They grow up to become broken women uncertain of what they are doing, and being sexualized at such a young age often makes them become overly sexual in their adult lives. Your brother shielded your ugly memories and now you want to open them up. It is selfish. Now everyone around you has to sit and watch your pretty ass fall apart, going, ‘Oh poor Zelda,’” Pip said.
“I am not wanting to open the boxes to get sympathy,” she told Pip.
“Then why the frack are you trying to open them? To get answers to what? You Daddy diddled with you? Your Mom stepped out on your Daddy. The milkman is your real father? So what? You are trying to make pretty girl decisions but you are smart, Zelda. Make the smart girl decision.”
Zelda’s face crumpled. The tears she’d been holding on to since finding out so much in the last two days took hold. She no longer wanted to pretend to be strong. She no longer cared to have the perfect outward composure. She fell back on the bed and cried.
She cried for the old.
She cried for the new.
She cried for the loss of her innocence.
She cried for the truth.
She cried for the lies, but most of all, she cried for herself.
Pip moved from the couch and lay beside her on the bed, cradling Zelda in her arms. She rocked her back and forth, enveloping her in a warmth Zelda had never felt from another woman in a non-sexual way. All she really ever wanted was a mother’s love.
“Pip,” she said.
“Yeah, Zelda?”
“You got just about all of that right with the exception of one thing. I think my neighbor, Mr. Bautista, is really my dad.”
Chapter 8 – You Don’t Want What I Want
The lemon cake sat on the counter as an unfriendly reminder that Michael hadn’t eaten Pip’s tasty sweet treat. Neither had Zelda for that matter and it sat there, beautifully decorated with little cream cheese roses, uncut. Pip cut herself a slice.
“You are eating the dessert before dinner?” Zelda asked.
“Technically, I made the cake yesterday, but I didn’t have any after dinner, so today, I am continuing my food conversation from last night,” Pip said with a wiggle of her fire-red eyebrows. She was, by all accounts, an attractive natural redhead with a shapely small figure, minus the new boobs which met you before her warm smile.
If Michael had to choose a wife, I would be okay with her as the aunt to my children.
She knew Pip wanted to bring up the subject of Michael since he’d come home so early yesterday, and it was now approaching the six o’clock hour. Zelda could hear his truck coming into the subdivision and knew when it pulled into the drive way. He was home however, she would wait to see his approach to dealing with his one-night stand, who was living in his home for more than just one night.
Instead of entering the back door as he normally did, her brother quietly entered through the front door, going first to his room. Pip’s focus remained on her cake. She also had heard him enter the front door, but she wouldn’t move.
“Zelda, if it was only for last night, I understand. It was good, so I will take what he gave me and stay out of his hair. I’m not here to make it awkward for anyone,” she said.
“Pip, hold your tongue and let him address the situation. Don’t give any answers to questions he hasn’t asked. Allow it to play itself out and he will most definitely tell you where he stands. Mike is good about that kind of thing,” she told her new best friend.
“He may be good at it, but I am not. Zelda, I am an empath. I feel everything,” she said, looking forlorn.
“Then you will be able to feel where he is coming from the moment he comes around that corner,” she said.
TODAY HAD BEEN A MUCH better day than yesterday, and taking Pip’s advice, Michael had made a stand, cautioning the partners on such an undertaking so late in the project. One or two members protested to not making the changes. Michael, unfazed by the tactics the members were taking to bully him, squared his shoulders.
“I grew up in this company and I have learned a great deal. My reputation is solid. If you no longer value my insights and judgements, then I shall clear my desk and hand the completion of the Laramie Project over to Wilson,” he told the partners.
Every head in the room jolted, and shoulders stiffened, and one old man in the corner began to choke. By the end of the day, Michael Fitzsimmons was the newest partner at Coleman & Houst Engineering Group. He even managed to negotiate a pay raise and for the company to foot the bill for a new certification course in tiny house builds. Pleased at the end results from Pip’s advice, he’d been late getting home because he stopped to pick her up a thoughtful gift.
In his room, he quickly disrobed and changed into comfortable lounge pants and a loose tee shirt. He went about his normal routine of hanging up his tie and adding his dirty clothes to the hamper and his shirt to the laundry bag of items to be dry cleaned. The laundry bag wasn’t there.
Wait a damn minute!
He went back to the hamper and all the clothes were gone. Looking around the room, he began to notice other little details as well. The furniture had been dusted. The bed was turned down as well as having different sheets and pillowcases. Quickly turning to go into his bathroom, he found fresh towels had been hung, new bars of soap were in the dispensers, and a fresh tube of toothpaste sat on the vanity.
What in the hell?
Going back to his closet, he opened the door to his shirt shelves to find the tee shirt he had on yesterday, washed and folded. They were also re-ordered and stacked by colors. Please tell me she didn’t wash my drawers, too.
He opened the chest to find his socks neatly paired, his underwear folded and turned to the right. These details popped out immediately at him because he folded his underwear and turned the bands to the left, simply making it easier for him as a lefty.
Pip!
That damned woman!
Somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen, he hadn’t made up his mind what exactly he wanted to say to her. By the time he reached the kitchen, he knew he wanted to start with the good news first, have dinner, give Pip her gift, and have a long, thoughtful conversation with her to find out more about the odd woman.
The smile on his face was wide when he entered the kitchen, seeing the table set and two lovely ladies patiently awaiting his arrival. Pip looked up first, meeting his smile with her own.
“Good evening, ladies. I’m sorry for being late,” he said.
“How was your day?” Pip asked, rising to take his lunch box.
“It was amazing. You will not believe this when I tell you, but Pip, I took your advice and...,” he stopped speaking when he looked at his sister’s red puffy eyes. “...Zelda have you been crying?”
“Yes,” she said, lowering her head.
Michael’s entire body language changed. The warm smile turned to a scowl, his body tensed as an angry face turned on Pip.
His voice was firm when he spoke. “Are you the cause of her crying?’
“I am,” she said with resolve in her voice.
“Did you convince her to open those fucking boxes and read those diaries?”
Pip’s body language changed as well as she squared her shoulders, putting her hands on her slender hips, meeting him in the middle of the floor.
“No, I didn’t. I cautioned her against opening the fracking boxes. I also told her that reading the diaries would be a selfish thing to do, leaving everyone around her to pick up the pieces of her broken spirit if she did. Your sister is a grown woman who is smart enough to realize that she has a good man that she is about to marry. A man who doesn’t want to be saddled with some sad sack who cries at the drop of the hat because she no longer gets to be the perfect little princess,” she said, matching his scowl.
“Then please explain to me what the hell happened,” he said with gruffer than he intended.
“She cried, Michael. For once is her perfect little life, she had to deal with something real. It’s called ‘emotions.’ To answer your question, what in the hell happened was I told her no one was going to put their lives on hold to come to her rescue. She needs to put on her big girl panties and deal with some shit,” Pip said.
“So you didn’t read the diaries, Zelda?” His voice was soft as a father caring for a child who had taken a tumble from the first attempt at riding a bike.
“No, I haven’t, Michael, and Pip didn’t make me cry. If anything, the cry was a good cleanse,” she said. “Please apologize to my friend for raising your voice at her.”
“I’m sorry, Pip,” he said, feeling like a big stinking pile of freshly cast poop.
“You’re dang tootin’ you’re sorry, as you should be. I am in this kitchen toiling over a hot stove to make you a beautiful salmon dinner that you better sit down and enjoy the hell out of, as well as the cake I baked yesterday,” she growled at him.
“Persephone, I said I was sorry,” Michael said softly, reaching for her, but pulling back his hand, taking a seat at the table.
Pip went to the stove and made him a plate. The anger simmered in her as she almost threw the dish of food on the table. “Don’t ‘Persephone’ me! Raising your voice like I’m your dang gone child. You don’t know me like that for real...you got it twisted, Mr. Fitzsimmons. I tell you what, you eat this damned dinner and I am going to go and pack.”
The tears were welling in her eyes she was so mad at him. How could a man who made love like a God be so quick to turn on a dime? He was an asshole like all the others. Good loving or not, she was not staying in this house another minute.
“Persephone,” he called after her.
“What?” she snapped at him.
She turned, her eyes brimming with tears, eyeing the elongated box he placed on the table.
“What’s that?” she asked, wiping away the tears.
“A little something I picked up for you today, which is why I was late. I took your advice and stood up to the management. I got a raise, and today I made partner, thanks to you,” he told her.
“Seriously?” She wanted to know, but it didn’t stop her anger at him raising his voice to her.
“Yes, ma’am. I am so sorry for raising my voice to you, but please, come see what I got,” he told her.
Her hands shook as she opened the box, not sure what to expect. The tears flowed more heavily as she clicked open the velvet lined case to find inside a platinum Waterford pen, engraved with an inscription which read, ‘To an eternal Spring, Persephone.’
A Saucy Sunday (The Zelda Diaries Book 4) Page 5
