Chapter 10Notes:
I've been sick as hell all week (you know it's bad when you go to the urgent care and the doctor says "ew" when they look at your ears), so I had to delay this chapter, but here you are.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Wednesday finally comes to, the first thing she recognizes is her mother's cold, calculated hand cupping the swell of her cheek. She knows it's her mother and no one else because the fingernail that gently glides down her flesh is pointed and meticulous as it drags across every freckle as if it's taking inventory of them. The second thing she recognizes is the velour of the family's chaise lounger brushing the back of her neck.
"Mother?" Wednesday groggily mumbles as her eyes flutter open. She quickly slams them shut again, the room spinning and the distorted sight of her mother dizzying her. "How long was I out?"
"Just a couple of minutes, dear," Morticia assures. "Lurch scooped you up and brought you to the family room. You haven't been carried since you last passed out from psychic exhaustion. You looked like a little doll in his arms. It reminded me of the simpler times; when you would fall asleep in the cemetery and your father would carry you inside and up to bed."
Wednesday inhales and makes another attempt to regain control of her eyes without feeling as if she's going to vomit. She's able to open her eyelids, one by one, finding her mother's worried face hovering just inches from her own. The rough upholstery of the familial couch makes her brain feel fuzzy. She runs her fingertips along the black fabric, counting the ridges until it feels like someone lit a fire under them. She makes it to twenty before she takes in another breath of relief.
"Where is Enid?" is the next question out of her mouth.
"Still with your father in the gazebo," Morticia says as she pulls her hand away from Wednesday's cheek. "I didn't want to alarm either of them. I almost expected something of the sort might happen."
"Because you seem to know everything before I do," Wednesday touts. "Isn't that right, Mother?"
Morticia looks apologetic. She sighs and takes a seat in the vacant place next to Wednesday, inviting herself into Wednesday's protected, invisible bubble. Wednesday goes rigid, like her entire being is rejecting the presence of her mother, and she makes no effort to completely engage with her. She fails to make eye contact, because it's impossible to assert dominance over someone like her mother, and also because her head is still spinning and just looking at Morticia is enough to make the bile rise in her throat.
"I don't want to argue when you're feeling poorly, Wednesday," Morticia says with a sigh. "I wasn't upset with you then, and I'm certainly not upset with you now. You don't need to be defensive."
"I was going to tell you in a more proper manner," Wednesday says, putting a hand to her head to ward off the ache. "Yesterday didn't seem appropriate to admit to such things. Enid was exhausted and I didn't want to put her in a constraining predicament so soon. You people make her nervous enough. I wasn't going to exacerbate it by announcing our courting on the first night home."
"That was mature of you." Morticia is a little less grim now; more interested and understanding. "You were considerate of her feelings, just like a good partner should be."
Wednesday gives a little indignant huff, folding her arms like a child. "Save the spiel. I don't need you to tell me how good and attentive of a partner I can be. Enid is an honest person; strong in her convictions, too. If I weren't adequate enough for her, she would tell me. She's had no issue telling me off in the past."
"I believe that," Morticia says, brushing back little hairs that stick to the sweat on Wednesday's forehead. Surprisingly, Wednesday doesn't dodge her touch. "How does your head feel?"
"Like someone pounded it with a hammer." She licks her dry lips, trying to accurately summarize the throbbing ache in her skull that's now traveling to her left eye. "I've felt much worse than this."
"You haven't been abusing your powers again, have you?" Morticia calmly asks, halfway expecting a harsh reaction, but Wednesday only lamely shrugs, incapacitated by the sudden loss of consciousness. "Wednesday, it's important that you don't abuse your psychic ability. I understand that it might have come in handy when you were searching for Enid, and it's admirable that you'd put yourself at risk for her, but you are both home now, and I don't want you to exert yourself. You need proper rest so you don't snuff out your own powers. Did you sleep at all last night?"
Wednesday would rather opt not to speak of anything that's happened in the past week or so; from being buried alive to sneaking into Enid's bed because she, admittedly or not, yearned for the comfort Enid's warmth can provide her with. She would rather move on from it all and focus on stabilizing Enid and rooting her into the ground of the Addams family soil. Her mother's prying isn't helping the situation at all, and it only worsens her migraine.
"I slept well," she decides to say, because at least that is the truth. She did sleep well; exceptionally well, even. It was decidedly the most refreshing slumber she's had since her last morgue nap. "I feel fine otherwise."
"You slept in Enid's bed," Morticia corrects.
"Perhaps I did," Wednesday quickly replies like she's trying to rectify a mistake. "It's not a crime for us to share the same bed. And if it were, I take my guilt in pride."
"I'm not negatively commenting on it," Morticia assures. "I understand the yearn and ache. It's only human nature to want those things with someone you love. The bond is indescribable and the hunger is insatiable."
"Spare me." Wednesday's face scrunches up. "This is not about you or Father or the copious amounts of sexual intercourse you two have every day."
"It's not every day at our age," Morticia comments, her mouth curling into a smile. "I don't want to give him a heart attack."
"Mother."
Wednesday turns her head at the sound of the backdoor opening and closing. She moves closer to the edge of the couch, leaning forward to take a peek around a wall that leads to the dining room. Enid and Gomez enter the room, the stench of cigar smoke clouding them in an almost visibly haze. Enid seems far more relaxed now, comfortably wedged under Gomez's arm as he guides her inside.
"She's a natural!" Gomez announces. "She didn't even cough once! Lungs of steel on this one!"
Enid proudly grins. "It really wasn't that bad. At first I didn't really like the taste, but it got better. My mom would kill me if she knew. But she would also kill me for other things, so maybe her judgement just sucks."
Wednesday's tongue is numb and the walls are closing in again. She wants to tell Enid how proud she is and congratulate her on smoking her first cigar, but she's clamming up and starting to sweat, and her hands are shaking with either rage or the fear similar to that of a black cat being cornered on Halloween night.
Suddenly the smile vanishes from Enid's face and becomes a frown of concern. She draws nearer to Wednesday, her fingertips separated to leave just enough space for her claws, which stay tucked away but always sit on the edge.
"Something is wrong," Enid outwardly observes, nervously glancing between Wednesday and Morticia. "What happened?"
Gomez's dark eyes survey the room. Nothing is broken or misplaced, so nothing too terrible could have happened while he was encouraging Enid to develop bad coping mechanisms, but he too looks disturbed.
"Wednesday, darling…" Morticia trails off, brushing a black plait with her palm.
Wednesday springs her feet, her knees still trembling. She looks between her parents, acknowledging the concerned expressions on their faces. Her mother hovers closely, holding out a protective hand in anticipation of her falling again, but remains seated at the edge. Her father looks on with sympathy, a certain kind of dark glimmer in his eye.
"Mother, Father," Wednesday addresses as she sucks in a sharp breath. "There is something I would like to say."
"Go on," her father encourages. "I've always encouraged you to tell the truth, unless a crime was committed. Then you lie until I turn up to reconcile."
Enid gnaws at her own lip, barely avoiding tearing it to shreds with her sharp teeth. Wednesday's heart hammers wildly in her chest, the same way it does when Enid's flesh grazes hers, but this time, she's not in the privacy of her or Enid's bedroom, and Enid's arms aren't cocooning around her, and she's exposed to the harsh elements that are her parents' gazes. She's suffering from stage fright, which really never happens for her, but it's real and she has to shake some life back into herself with a shiver that travels up her spine.
"Enid and I have been courting," she announces. "It began in the motel room, after I'd found her. There are intricacies about being an alpha that complicate mates and romance for her, and while I'd rather chew off my own arm than explain myself to you, I have to admit that Enid and I are bonded in an indescribable manner that cannot be compromised by opinions or criticism. I snuck into her bed last night because I yearned for her touch, and we spent the night together just as we did in the motel room. It wasn't sexual, but even if it had been, that is absolutely none of your business or concern. I only ask that you two don't make a grand deal out of this and turn it into a mockery of a production."
Silence blankets the room. It's so quiet even a pin could be heard hitting the floor. And then, the sound of Enid collapsing into a pink heap on the ground has heads turning.
"Oh Lurch," Morticia politely summons, ringing a silver bell.
—
Enid doesn't have as much resilience as Wednesday does when it comes to fainting, so when Enid is still laying on the couch after ten minutes without so much as a twitch to let Wednesday know that she's still alive, Wednesday silently vacates the family room and fetches a glass of cold water from the kitchen sink. When she returns to the couch, her mother is hovering over Enid and tapping her cheek with her palm to summon life back into her, and her father is stroking the golden hair between his fingers with a paternal attentiveness that leaves a festering hole of nostalgia in Wednesday's chest.
"Move," Wednesday softly demands as she wedges her way between her parents. "I've got this."
Morticia and Gomez immediately part ways, understanding that nothing is to get in the way of their daughter and her demands. Wednesday tips the glass over and splashes water onto Enid's face, causing Enid to immediately jerk awake with a choking gasp. Morticia helps Enid sit up against the arm of the couch, brushing her wet hair behind her ears as Gomez plucks his handkerchief from his blazer and starts dabbing Enid's face.
"There," Morticia coos as the color returns to Enid's cheeks. "You're back with us now, darling. How do you feel?"
"Ugh," Enid groans, putting a hand to her head. "My head is killing me! What happened?"
Gomez brushes his hand over Enid's shoulder, noticing immediately how easily she leans into the touch. He beams down at her with pride, and Wednesday carefully observes in case Enid shows any sign of discomfort. Fortunately, Enid seems to welcome the company of the Addamses, absorbing the way they tend to her as if she were born and bred of their lineage. Gomez soaks up the rest of the water while Morticia gets Enid settled down against dry couch cushions.
"Wednesday informed us that you two have been courting," Morticia calmly says. She chuckles wryly, although her demeanor is warm. "It's hardly a terrible thing. You didn't need to faint on us."
Blue eyes blink rapidly at Morticia, who runs a thumb over the pink in Enid's cheeks. Wednesday hovers protectively, although she's of the opinion that her parents wouldn't do or say anything to hurt Enid. An Addams does not harm another Addams—unless it's considered foreplay, and then it's considered an exception.
"It's only been a couple days," Enid sputters. "I only have good intentions with your daughter, and I can't get her pregnant or the other way around, so you don't have to worry about being a young abuelita. Please don't kill me."
"Being a young abuelita is the least of my worries," Morticia chuckles. "Our daughter would rather sew her knees together than give us a grandchild even as a responsible adult."
Wednesday folds her arms and scowls petulantly. "What a tragedy for your teenaged daughter to assume responsibility over her reproductive organs. Every parent's nightmare. The horror of it all. You are both underprivileged to sleep at night knowing that you will never have to raise a reproduction of myself that I irresponsibly created and kept to burden you with." She scowls in the way that always drives Enid insane. "You are ungrateful."
Gomez gestures to his wife. "Our little landmine has a point. I'm too young to be an abuelo." He runs a hand through his hair. "This luscious mane is not the hair of an abuelo."
Enid smiles, relief filling her. Morticia is stroking a hand up and down her back like any good mother should and would.
"Don't mind either of them, Enid," Morticia tuts, playfully shaking her head at Wednesday and Gomez. "Wednesday doesn't sway for just anyone. Her judgement of character is quite harsh. She has quite the stone wall built around her character. So if she's willing to chisel away at her exterior to allow a sliver of another into her heart, we will accept it just as well as we accepted her living the rest of her life alone and surrounded by cats and books."
"The two are not mutually exclusive, Mother," Wednesday mutters plaintively. "I still yearn for no less than three cats and a library built into my home. I won't settle for anything else."
"You already have a dog," Gomez says, gesturing to Enid as Lurch brings him a glass of bourbon on a tray. "Perhaps you can teach her some tricks."
Wednesday glares a hole into her father's forehead. "How dare you make fun of my partner and degrade her in such a way."
"Wednesday, it's literally fine. He was just kidding—"
"Father, have you ever thought that perhaps I'd like to degrade her in other ways?" Wednesday continues to furiously babble. "I would never force her to roll over and play dead like a mutt. There are more suitable options than that."
Morticia protectively draws quivering Enid to her chest. She sighs, resting her chin on a mountain of golden hair, and looks over at her husband and eldest child with a scorned look in her eye.
"Your squabbling is upsetting Enid," she scolds. "Wednesday, why don't you take Enid upstairs so she can change into something dry?"
She knows she should focus on tending to Enid's needs and help her out of her wet clothes, but Wednesday is still in an argumentative mood, mostly due in part to the fact that she thinks that there is still far too much left unsaid. Her blood is pulsating too fast in her veins to forfeit now, and even if her father was merely joking, there is a persistent need to defend Enid's honor brandishing in her chest. It feels similar to what she can only assume a massive heart attack feels like just before the collapse.
"Come along, Enid," she eventually says, her mouth betraying her. "Anything more to say and it would be a broken record."
Enid happily springs to her feet with the help of Morticia, who cautiously lets go of her like a mother would their small child who's recently learned to walk, and when Enid doesn't bolt for the staircase like Wednesday wishes she would, Wednesday plants a firm palm on the small of her back and quickly ushers her to the stairs with the linger of her parents' whispers swirling around in her brain.
"That wasn't awkward at all," Enid tells Wednesday as they're climbing the stairs.
Wednesday's eyebrow immediately quirks up. "You wouldn't call that awkward?"
"I was totally being sarcastic," Enid replies with a nervous scoff. "Did you really have to pour water all over me? I know my clothes aren't the most expensive like yours, but this sweater was dry clean only."
"I will purchase you a new one when we go into town this afternoon," Wednesday promises as they mosey down the hallway to Enid's bedroom. "You can choose whatever you like. I stashed my father's Centurion Amex in my satchel. Sometimes Thing needs a bit of retail therapy to pull him out of a funk. He learned that from you. He wasn't so…materialistic before he met you."
Enid grins. "Well, he's a severed hand that can't do a whole lot for himself without getting caught, and you don't like to leave your hermit shell to help him out, so that tracks. He loves shopping sprees. I just make sure I'm looking away when I know he's stealing. I'm too pretty for jail. This is not the face of a jailbird. I can't go to prison and become somebody's bitch."
Wednesday almost pushes Enid into her bedroom and closes the door behind them, desperate to escape the ghost of her parents joyful comments ringing in her ears. She's trying to put all of her undivided attention on Enid right now and provide her with everything she needs, even on her Father's dime, and she doesn't need the sound of her mother's excited doting or her father's boisterous laughter that sounds like 'I told you so' prattling in her head.
"Enid, you will never have to be anyone's bitch in prison," Wednesday promises as Enid is tugging her soaked sweater off her head. "My father is a lawyer with ample funds in both his bank account and assets. He's formidable. If he can convince the police to let me walk free to terrorize again and again after I illegally exhumed an entire cemetery, he can surely convince them to let you walk free after stealing lipgloss."
"Okay, I totally get that being part of the Addams family means that I have to be comfortable with petty crimes and misdemeanors, but I don't like to steal," Enid says, rummaging through her suitcase for something warm to wear. "I can get down with all the seances and the creepy dolls and the coffins, but I can't steal, even if I'm broke. I mean, if I see someone stealing food or diapers, I'm not gonna say anything, but I just can't steal. One time I accidentally stole an Airhead from Party City because I forgot it was in my hand, and my mom whooped my ass from the entrance all the way to the parking lot. And then when I was done crying about getting whooped, she made me go back inside and put it back. It was literally ten cents, but she wouldn't let me have it on principle alone when she realized I'd stolen it. Have you ever had to ride in a car seat after an ass whooping over ten cents? Totally not fun."
Esther Sinclair and her poor parenting skills are hardly ever mentioned by Enid, who likely would rather bury the trauma of having a mother like her, but when—as Enid would say—lore is dropped about her, Wednesday's eyebrows naturally furrow with anger easy as breathing. She often dreams pleasantly of wrapping her hands around that wolf's throat and crushing her larynx for everything—from the hitting to the berating—that she inflicted upon Enid.
"You won't need to worry about money," Wednesday assures, pulling herself out of a murderous daze. She's trying to look anywhere but at the way Enid's muscles easily flex as she's reaching up into the closet in just a bubblegum pink bra. She takes deep interest in a spiderweb woven around the bedside lampshade. "We have ample supply of it here. Stashed in the mattresses, too. None of us go without. The only proper judgement that could be passed on me and my brother is that we grew up with a literal silver spoon in our mouths."
"So now you're my sugar mommy?" Enid comments, poking her head out of the closet.
Tilting her head, Wednesday frowns. "I don't understand."
Enid blinks dumbly for a minute before shaking her head. "Never mind. But I don't want you spending money on me. You've done a lot already, just by giving me a place to stay and bringing all my stuff here when it was an inconvenience to you and your family. I couldn't ask for anything more than that."
For a split second, Wednesday's eyes catch sight of Enid's perfect alabaster skin decorated with tiny birthmarks, and she unintentionally salivates. She's seen Enid change clothes before, because years of swim and dance lessons trained Enid to be comfortable with stripping to her birthday suit in front of other girls, but Wednesday locates herself on the opposite end of the nudity spectrum and always finds herself fascinated by how simply and elegantly Enid moves. More importantly, she's fascinated by Enid's skin and the way her muscles flex with every stretch and breath. She could stare at it for hours if Enid would just hold still.
"I was gonna make a joke that you're gonna catch flies with your mouth open like that," Enid says, startling Wednesday when her foot stomps the floor. "But I see we have spiders instead."
Wednesday blinks once, twice, then three times before coming to. Enid is now dressed in a faded, well-loved sweatshirt from the University of Oregon. It hangs off one shoulder, giving Wednesday an opportunity to admire the small birthmark there.
"Don't kill the house spiders," Wednesday tells Enid, because it's all she can do without feeling like she's going to puke. "They're family. They bring good luck."
"Got it," Enid replies, grimacing at the crushed legs under her shoe. "Sorry, Auntie Arachnid."
"We're going into town soon," Wednesday reminds. "I should wake Thing. And ensure that my father's charge card is still accounted for."
"So if you're not my sugar mommy, why the insistence on bringing a credit card with no credit limit?" Enid raises an eyebrow. "I told you I don't want you to spend money on me. I still have, like, a few hundred in my student account to hold me over. I'm not gonna die from lack of fancy sweater."
"Perhaps I'm just atoning for my past mistakes and the fact that I ruined your perfectly good sweater when I was attempting to rouse you," Wednesday says with a halfhearted shrug, walking to the door. She looks back at Enid. "And I'm not spending money on you. My father is."
Enid flails. "Even worse!"
"Enough, Enid," Wednesday insists in that timbre that she knows awakens something in Enid. "He's always wanted at least one grateful child. Now he has one. You."
Notes:
Imagine getting your ass whooped at a Party City.
Also Wednesday being a spoiled little shit but not realizing that she's a spoiled little shit is my Roman Empire.
Chapter 11Notes:
I've been hunched over my phone (yes, I write everything on my phone) for hours typing this up and now my neck is sore, but I can finally hear again after a terrible ear infection and that's all that matters.
This chapter is kinda filler but does have some key points and lore you might need for later.
Today's chapter includes but is not limited to: wife-and-wife arguments, Freudian slips, and a poodle
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Maybe Uncle Fester had always been right about nostalgia being the gateway to the soul. Wednesday doesn't want to indulge in it, but she reaches a certain level of peace when she's sitting in the corner of Enid's new bedroom while Enid finishes tying her bright pink shoes. The environment is different than that of Nevermore—more homey and less stifled and much quieter—but it feels just the same as the mornings that Enid and Wednesday shared in Vermont. Enid would change her clothes, leaving little to the imagination, while Wednesday perched herself somewhere and patiently waited, already dressed for the day. Wednesday supposes that the tingly feeling in her stomach is the same one that Uncle Fester often describes when he's having one of his many nostalgia attacks.
"Ready!" Enid announces as she stands up and grabs a pink wallet from her nightstand. "And I'm bringing my student card. I'm not gonna let you or your parents spoil me."
"It's not considered being spoiled if you need something," Wednesday tries to reason, because really, she would rather die right here than let Enid go without. "My family is woeful to supply you with whatever your heart desires. Purchasing trinkets and such is a hallmark of an Addams's love for each other."
"Isn't that just buying love?" Enid asks nervously.
Wednesday stands up and brushes off her clothes. "Enid, if you think that my love and affection for you is stamped with a price tag, you are incredibly mistaken. We do not buy love in this family; gifts and trinkets and frivolous spending are simply part of being an Addams. My father often brings my mother new flowers for her to kill in her garden. He gifted her a flytrap, and it's her beloved pet. Uncle Fester always brings me and Pugsley something back from his escapades. He gave me dynamite caps when I was young, just because he wanted to, not because he felt he had to. It's not an obligation. It's a choice, but a choice that we all accept because we can afford it for many lifetimes over. There are no ill intentions behind our actions. My father doesn't shower my mother with things to keep her, and vice versa."
Enid still seems unsure about the entire thing. She looks down at the wallet in her hand, staring with intense thought behind her eyes. She quickly pockets it anyway, which prompts Wednesday to sigh disdainfully to herself before slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, deciding that right now is not the time to argue with Enid over monetary values.
"Are you not taking your cellphone?" she asks Enid, pointing to the iPhone charging face-down on the nightstand. "You bring that thing everywhere. It's a sickness, an addiction. I can't imagine that you would leave it behind."
Enid chews her bottom lip for a moment. "I haven't even looked at it since I got it back. I plugged it in and left it there. Put it on silent and do not disturb, too.
"That's shocking. I should look up at the sky for flying pigs," Wednesday replies. "Why haven't you resumed your addiction to parasocial relationships?"
Shrugging, Enid picks some lint from under her nails. Wednesday understands that body language. Enid is trying to bury something deep down in hopes that she won't feel something unsavory bubble to the surface.
"I just…don't wanna look at it right now," she outwardly admits, but it's quiet, like she's spilling a secret. "It's like I'm afraid of what I might see or not see. Like, what am I gonna tell people if they're texting or calling to check on me? And what if nobody has bothered to text me since I've been missing? That'll be like being stabbed."
"I've actually been stabbed," Wednesday casually says. "I would argue that being emotionally neglected and forgotten by your loved ones is much more painful."
Enid winces. "Yeah, I know. Which is why I don't wanna know. I don't wanna look. I mean, I know Yoko is probably going insane. But what about my family back home? My parents? My mom wanted all my stuff back, probably to get rid of it herself like a symbolic ritual to wash her hands of my existence entirely. What if none of them have checked on me?"
Wednesday's dark eyes scan over Enid, taking in how rigid her posture is and how timidly she twiddles her thumbs. A deep ache settles in her chest, festering like a fresh wound. An overwhelming desire overcomes her, but it's completely unexplainable and odd. It feels like yearning for something that will never come to fruition, yet more like a rooted sense of dread that's lived inside her forever. She pities Enid, and she knows that Enid doesn't want that.
"I suppose it's understandable that you fear the loss of the family that birthed you," Wednesday says in a vain attempt at comfort. "However, if they could easily abandon their daughter over something completely uncontrollable, that is not any fault of yours, and you are better off without them."
"I know that you see the world in black and white, Wednesday, but it's really not all that simple for me," Enid sighs. "It's hard being an alpha. They're going to abandon me because of it. I'm so grateful for you and your family because you all love me so much, but I just can't get over the fact that my own parents reject me like I'm defective. It's hurtful."
Wednesday meekly nods. "I hope you know that I am not good at comforting people. Emotions…they make me feel strange inside, but not the good strange."
"You get the ick from feelings," Enid giggles, suddenly perking up. Wednesday swears she can see her metaphorical ears standing up. "I love that about you. You get the ick when you have to feel things. Which is probably why you couldn't sleep last night and you laid next to me like a corpse. You looked like you wanted to puke."
"I was not going to puke," Wednesday huffs. "You are just indescribably desirable and make my dead heart feel like it's beating again."
"You are weirdly romantic," Enid comments. "Like your dad."
A pout noticeably forms on Wednesday's face. "You better take that back."
"Not a chance." Enid leans in and kisses Wednesday's cheek, and it dimples. "Let's go get Thing from Pugsley's room. I've missed him so much. I haven't had any gossip sessions lately. I'm dying. Agnes filled me in about where he actually came from. He really is an Addams at heart. He wouldn't betray you that way."
"He missed you too," Wednesday says. She pauses, glancing at Enid's phone. "Leave that ugly thing here if you really cannot bear the thought. Perhaps tonight, when everything is quiet, I could…look at it. As much as I detest technology, I'm not going to allow you to agonize yourself into an early grave over the nagging idea that you've been abandoned."
"You'd really do that?" Enid quietly asks, face softening. "For me?"
"Enid, I would rip out my own fingernails and crawl my way to hell and back for you," Wednesday proclaims. "I think I can handle a smartphone. I may have dropped mine in the bath, but it's not complicated to navigate."
"You really are the most romantic person I've ever met," Enid says. "I know you don't want anyone to know that. But you are."
"Whatever you have to tell yourself," Wednesday mutters, face soured like she ate something bad. "Let's go. We have an eventful day ahead of us."
Enid happily squeals and skips out of the room and towards Pugsley's, Wednesday dutifully following behind her with a signature scowl and a heart that is slowly beginning to smolder like a snuffed out candle.
—
Wednesday pretends that she isn't absolutely jealous when Enid and Thing are together. They've been talking and catching up the entire ride into town, either blatantly or unintentionally ignoring Wednesday's presence. Thing gives Enid a litany of complaints about how boring his life has been without her around, and she pats him like a dog and assures him that she isn't going anywhere ever again, that they'll be best friends until death does them part.
The jealousy is unnecessary and perhaps unreasonable, but Wednesday makes no effort to obviate it. She sits across from them in the back of the family car, hands neatly folded in her lap, looking askance at Enid and Thing as they talk and giggle like happy schoolgirls. If nothing else, Wednesday is relieved that Enid has found peace and solace in Thing and that, for the moment, whatever fears she has surrounding her biological family are null and void.
The car comes to a gradual stop in front of a mom-and-pop market, the same one that the Addams family has frequented for decades. Wednesday rarely accompanies Lurch or her parents on trips here, but the sight of the decor, that's now considered to be vintage in popular culture, fondly reminds her of that one time her father entered the market with her sat atop his shoulders and he misjudged how low the entryway was and she busted her nose on the frame and bled a pool in her father's hair. It's, as Uncle Fester would describe, nostalgic.
Lurch comes around and opens the door for Enid first, nodding at her when she thanks him. Thing goes to follow at her feet, but Wednesday quickly snatches him up and shoves him into her bag. She looks up at Lurch. He's so tall, he could eclipse the sunlight beaming down on her.
"Enid and I are going to take a brief walk around town. She needs to familiarize herself," Wednesday tells him. "Would you be alright with us meeting you back here in approximately one hour?"
Lurch nods, pulling a grocery list from his blazer pocket. "Yes, Miss Addams. Your mother needs shopping done."
"Remember, ground beef," Wednesday reminds, just in case his manufactured memory eludes him and he picks up something exotic based on muscle memory alone. "I want this to be just right for her."
"Ground beef," Lurch parrots in a grunt.
"I'll see you later," Wednesday politely says, going to turn around, but a strong hand gently stops her. She lifts her head and squints at the sunlight gleaming around Lurch's head. "What is it?"
Pointing to Enid, who's found interest in a mural painted on a brick wall, Lurch mutters slowly, as if he's unsure of himself. "Your…partner?"
Wednesday blinks up at him. "Yes. She is my partner. My…my girlfriend."
Lurch nods, satisfied. If Wednesday looks hard enough, she can even see him smile in his own odd way. It's rare that he shows any real emotion, being a genuine monster who was adopted by the family, and Wednesday thinks it's a bit silly.
Once Lurch has stalked into the market, catching absurd glances from passersby who gawk at him, Wednesday catches up to Enid, who turns around with a smile that could melt the sun. Thing rattles around in the bag, trying to claw his way out, and Wednesday quickly smacks the leather. He immediately quiets down, likely stewing with rage.
"This is the horrid place I mean when I mention going into town," Wednesday says, gesturing to the street. There are a few shops, a bookstore, a cozy cafe, and a general store nestled between two traffic lights on opposite ends of the road. "I hardly ever visit. I would rather stay home. It's too…peoplely."
She lands her point with a vicious sneer at someone pushing an obnoxiously large stroller that contains a screaming baby, and then she glowers coldly at an old man rudely coughing into the open air while reading a newspaper.
Enid nods, admiring the architecture. "It's not as cute as Jericho, but still cute. Looks like something out of a magazine. It looks fun here."
"Fun," Wednesday says. "I am melting."
"It's not even hot," Enid comments. "How can you possibly be melting?"
"Figuratively speaking." Wednesday plucks at her sweater. "The pills I take for my allergy to color; they also help prevent my skin from blistering in the sunlight."
"So now you're allergic to sunlight," Enid snorts. "That tracks for you. You really are a walking raincloud."
Wednesday nods and scratches a particularly itchy patch of skin on her arm. "My parents didn't believe in such a thing either, until we visited the beach when I was three. I had to wear sun cream, but I still broke out in awful hives that bled for days. I picked at the pustules until they scabbed over. Ever since then, I've had to take medication in order to be exposed to direct sunlight for too long. Though, I prefer to avoid it altogether and live in my cave."
"Wait. The same thing happens to Yoko if she doesn't wear her sunglasses, plus she gets flulike symptoms." Enid tilts her head, taking in every inch of Wednesday. "Are you…a vampire? I have a vampire GF? That's so cool!"
"The Addams bloodline is mixed with all sorts of outcasts from our ancestry. A little of everything, notably vampires and ravens," Wednesday says. "The only powers I exhibit are my psychic abilities, but all Addamses have vampiric genes laying dormant. We do not have the fangs or need for blood, but we do need to keep our body temperature regulated and cool and avoid harsh sunlight for long periods of time. The summertime is dreadful for us all. While I'm not as extreme as Yoko might be, I need to maintain a steady 95.4 degrees to remain comfortable. Otherwise I overheat and become irritable."
"So…you're overheated all the time?" Enid jokes with implication, laughing at her own words.
Wednesday admits that it's a simple yet good joke and in good taste. She offers a little smirk of approval as Enid is suddenly distracted by a yappy little dog being walked on a leash by a flamboyant man who is shouting at the dog to be quiet. Enid runs in the direction of the barking, grinning maniacally as she approaches the man and bounces on her feet.
"I married a comedienne," Wednesday mutters, watching Enid bend down to pet the poodle.
The flap of her bag flips open. Thing springs out, his fingers fixed to say something sassy like Enid would.
Married? he asks tauntingly. She can almost feel his teasing smirk in the way his fingers move as he's signing to her.
"Shut it," Wednesday hisses at him. "You know what I meant by that comment."
You're already married in your head, he signs.
"Don't you dare mention this to her," she snarls, jostling the bag. "One word about this and you'll be a mere palm searching for his appendages. Do you understand?"
I want to plan the wedding, he says.
Wednesday's jaw clenches. "There is no wedding."
But there will be someday.
"Someday is not today or tomorrow or the next day, so I suggest you get back in the bag before I wrap my hands around your metaphorical throat and strangle you," she snaps, slamming the flap closed just as Enid returns.
"That poodle was so cute but really needs a grooming," Enid says, sticking out her tongue as she spritzes fruity sanitizer spray on her hands. "Where are we going now?"
Wednesday thinks for a moment but doesn't get very far, too warm in both her face and body. Heat often hinders her ability to process information or think critically, and she's feeling a little vulnerable after her Freudian slip.
"I told you that I would replace your sweater," she finally says. "There is a clothing boutique down the street. My father purchased some of my sweaters from there. They produce only the best quality money can buy. Locally sourced materials and their seamstresses earn triple the minimum wage. I may be unethical and unorthodox in some of my…practices and can appreciate a little torture, but I can also appreciate the downfall of overconsumption of polyester garments that are made in sweatshops and fall apart at the seams on the first wear."
"Some people can only afford sweatshop polyester," Enid counters, shrugging. "I mean, it's not good. But it is what it is. Plus you're literally the daughter of a millionaire, so you can literally afford say that."
"I can afford to say that, and it would still be true even if I couldn't afford to say it," Wednesday replies. "Since I can afford to say it, I'm going to buy you a new sweater."
Enid winces. "I told you, you don't have to do that. It's not a big deal. I have other clothes. I don't wanna take anything from you." She interrupts Wednesday when she opens her mouth to retort. "Or your dad. Or your mom. Or your uncle. Or your grandma. Or any of your family I haven't met yet."
"You are underestimating my stubbornness," Wednesday says, plucking her father's black Amex from her bag. She holds it between her fingers. "You will get a new sweater today, and I'm not going to accept no for an answer. Start walking."
"Make me."
Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "There is a pet shop around the corner. I will get a leash."
"Oh please," Enid scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "Like I'm so scared of my GF dragging me through town on a leash. I've been in more humiliating situations than that, Wednesday. I got my ass beat AT A PARTY CITY!"
Wednesday calls her bluff, because she knows she's met her match with Enid, and she turns around with intent and begins walking towards the end of the road, away from the clothing shop and from Enid, who stares blankly from behind but doesn't move.
"Where do you think you're going?" Enid calls after her. "I'm not done arguing!"
Turning back around, Wednesday gives her a very coy look. "To get a leash."
Enid stomps her foot and pouts like a child would, and Wednesday can feel her insides growing warmer by the second, suddenly overcome with a sense of victory.
"Fine!" Enid exclaims, throwing her hands in the air, utterly defeated yet again by Wednesday Addams. "I'll let you buy me a stupid sweater if that will make you happy!"
Wednesday nods her head once and aligns her shoulder with Enid's as they start walking towards the boutique. Enid is noticeably red in the face, either from shame at the implication of being dragged on a leash, or frustration that she let Wednesday put one over on her for the umpteenth time.
"Now I know what you meant when you told your dad that you wanted to degrade me in other ways," Enid mutters disdainfully as she hops over cracks in the sidewalk. "You really are a little weirdo, but I love you so fucking much."
"The feeling is incredibly mutual."
Upon arriving at the quaint little shop that reminds Wednesday of the cottage her parents stayed in during their time being her 24/7 babysitter at Nevermore, she opens the door for Enid. Enid doesn't move, as if she's waiting for some kind of invitation into the shop. Wednesday doesn't say anything at first, not quite understanding the hesitance, and then she vaguely gestures at Enid to enter.
"Enid, I am not going to carry you over the threshold, if that's what you are anticipating," she says. "You are staring at me like I've grown a second head."
Enid blinks rapidly, and Wednesday understands that she's trying to dispel a thought that she probably shouldn't be thinking.
"I know you hate when I say this, but you really are your father in feminine form," Enid observes, and her cerulean eyes are brighter than the afternoon sun breaking through a part in the clouds overhead. Wednesday swears she sees them shimmer the color of the sea. "I think that's one of the best parts of your character."
Wednesday swallows a bitter comment that seems too extreme to say aloud in response to a compliment, unsure of what would be an appropriate reaction to such a gentle remark, and so she wordlessly ushers Enid into the shop and dutifully stands at her side while she browses the racks and shelves, her father's charge card in her hand, prepared to provide Enid with whatever her heart desires, because that is what her father does for her mother, and the one thing she can fairly give her father without judgement is that he would die before allowing her mother to go without. And for now, she's perfectly content with living in that part of his shadow.
Notes:
This whole chapter felt really stupid to write (the polyester argument threw me off) but it's done so it's whatever.
Up next in chapter 12: Wednesday Addams short circuits because she's never been in love before and she doesn't know what to do with her hands; Enid comes to terms with her new life.
Up next in future chapters: tons of Addams lore, intimacy, romance, domestic Wenclair, and plenty of angst for all.
Chapter 12Notes:
Two chapters in one week is insane but so am I.
We're getting to the good shit now. If you wanted Addams lore and Wednesday Addams short circuiting, here you go.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The evening begins with soft music spinning on the phonograph in the family room while Lurch cooks to Enid's taste in the kitchen. Gomez is throwing knives at a dartboard hanging on the wall, next to a painted portrait of himself and Morticia on their wedding day. Just inches from that one is one of little Wednesday and baby Pugsley, painted in dark grays and midnight black. The artist seemed to have gotten Wednesday's depressed yet curious expression just right, and tiny Pugsley, who is sitting in her lap, has the biggest, toothless smile on his face. Wednesday pretends that he's not smiling, but screaming.
Morticia and Enid are curled up on the loveseat together. Wednesday had desperately tried to stop her mother from taking Enid on a stroll through memory pain with her, but she lost the battle, and now there is a giant photo album in Enid's lap, and Enid is giggling and pointing to random photographs taken on a Polaroid camera, asking Morticia every so often why Wednesday looks so such-and-such and what exactly is occurring in the photos. All Wednesday can do is idly sit by in the family rocking chair, swaying herself back and forth with a book in her hands.
"Mrs. Addams?" Enid asks, jabbing at the photo album. "Why is Wednesday in the deep freezer?"
Wednesday leans in a little to get a look over Enid's shoulder. It's a photo of herself when she was just a few months old, wearing just a cloth diaper and a black onesie, laying contentedly on a bed of frozen vegetables and meat wrapped in foil, with her black pacifier in her mouth. Her round eyes are sleepy as she suckles herself to sleep there, curled in the fetal position.
"Even as a baby, she could not overheat too much or she would become very fussy and not be able to sleep," Morticia says wistfully. "If her temperature spiked over 95.4 degrees, we would lay her in the deep freezer—with the lid open—to bring it back down. She would often fall asleep like that."
"That's such an Addams thing to do," Enid remarks, brushing her finger over the photo.
"The first time she ever got sick, she was a tad over two years old, and she had a fever and was inconsolable because she was just so warm," Morticia says. "She was getting a little too big for the freezer, so we visited our dear friend who works at the county morgue and asked her if we could borrow one of the mortuary coolers to bring Wednesday's temperature down. She agreed, and we stuck Wednesday in there for half an hour, and then she was perfectly fine. Of course, that did ignite her love for small spaces and frigid temperatures."
Enid raises a concerned eyebrow. "Ever heard of Tylenol?"
"That doesn't work on her. We tried all sorts of medication to help the fever, but she was still sweaty and miserable, and she had an allergic reaction to the dyes," Morticia regrettably says, glancing up at her daughter, who glares in return. "The cooler was more sustainable."
Enid hums in response, flipping through the pages. She started the album from the back, when Wednesday was three, and has gradually made her way to Wednesday's babyhood. Now she's browsing somewhere between February of 2007 and October of 2006, when Wednesday was just a precious bundle of misery and drool who couldn't hold her head up and required to be held by her uncle Fester when she couldn't sleep.
Wednesday's heart begins to pound the closer Enid gets to her newborn days. She watches and waits for a reaction to the infamous welcome-to-earth photo, because it's a family favorite and Wednesday absolutely detests that everyone has to make fun of her misshapen head and bruised skin.
Morticia points to a random place in the album, and Wednesday flinches.
"Here she is in her black swaddle," she tells Enid. Wednesday exhales quietly and resumes feigning interest in her book. "Whenever she was fussy but at a regulated temperature, we would swaddle her so snugly we thought she might suffocate. She loved having her arms pinned to her sides, unable to move, and if the blanket came undone, she would get upset, so we safety pinned it in the back so she couldn't move. She would fall right to sleep."
"A baby straightjacket," Enid laughs. "That tracks."
"And if that didn't work…" Morticia points to another photo. Wednesday peeks over and sees her newborn self strapped into a car seat that the hospital definitely forced her parents to purchase in order to take her home, as her father had complained about, because Addamses don't need such things. "We would buckle her into her car seat and pull the straps tight against her skin, so tight she would have the residual indentations afterwards. But she would calm down and soothe to sleep."
Enid giggles, tickled by the thought of her partner once being a masochistic baby. She continues browsing, running her hand over the card stock and film, taking in every ridge and dent like she's reading braille.
"Oh, ew!" Enid suddenly exclaims, slapping a hand over her mouth. "I mean…what is that?"
Leaning in again, Wednesday cranes her neck to get a good look. There it is; the very first Polaroid of her. She's lathered in vernix and screaming her purple head off under the warmth of a neonatal bed.
Morticia chuckles and shakes her head. "That's Wednesday, darling. The first photo of her ever taken. She was only a few minutes old. Her birth was…excruciating for the both of us, so to speak. She was stuck and had to be assisted out with forceps, and it caused some mild bruising and a misshapen skull for a couple of days."
"Mild?" Enid emphasizes, blinking owlishly. "She looks like she got dropped and stomped on!" She pulls another face. "And what's all that goo?"
"I take it you've never seen a live birth," Morticia surmises, amused by Enid's disgust. "It's the miracle of life. All babies leave the uterus covered in blood and goo. It's normal and very healthy for their skin. However, I chose to wash Wednesday as soon as I could. I couldn't stand the sight of her covered in it."
Wednesday glares at her mother's forehead. "Would you stop showing everyone that photo? It's degrading, and not in the way I prefer."
"She's so…purple," Enid comments, fascinated enough to ignore the fact that Wednesday is actively sneering at her mother and trying to wedge her way into the conversation. "And she had a cone head."
"Well, the head has to fit through the birth canal somehow," Morticia amusedly comments. "A newborn's skull is very malleable to adapt if it needs to during childbirth. Unfortunately for Wednesday, she had to have some assistance, and it only made things worse. The circumstances surrounding her birth were rather…preternatural. Her head did return to a normal shape, eventually."
Enid giggles. "Sounds painful."
"I'm sure it was painful for her. She made it known how much she hated being born." Morticia looks at Wednesday, then back at Enid. "She glared at me, just like that, when I held her for the first time. She was the angriest baby in the nursery that day. The baby nurse brought her to me after only an hour of her being in the nursery because she screamed so loudly and made the other babies scream, too. And how could I forget; she peed on her father when the nurse put her in his arms for the first time."
"Mother!"
"Ever heard of a diaper?" Enid asks.
"We used only cloth diapers for her, which my wonderful but sometimes forgetful husband forgot to pack in the bag when he was panicking after I told him that it was time," Morticia reminisces with a smile. "He learned his lesson and immediately came home to retrieve them once Wednesday and I were settled. And to have a proper shower and change his clothes."
"This is him with Wednesday?" Enid asks, pointing to a Polaroid of young Gomez Addams cradling a tiny newborn in one arm as his opposite hand strokes the full head of black hair. "She was super small."
Gomez comes around the couch, leaning over his wife's shoulder. He plucks his cigar from his mouth and blows a puff of smoke out as he sighs wistfully.
"Ah yes," he says. "She was six pounds and six ounces of pure terror. I feared I would break her."
Morticia smiles up at him and turns her attention to Enid. "He certainly was very afraid of breaking her. The first time he tried to dress her, he didn't know what to do with himself. He was afraid to put her arms in the sleeves. He handled her like she was a bomb."
"Well, she was always so scrunched up, it was hard to move her," Gomez defends. "She was stubborn when it came to bathing and dressing. She did not appreciate anyone attempting to move her if she didn't want to be moved. The only person she would allow to pick her up at any time without fuss was her Uncle Fester."
"I believe that," Enid says. She flips the page and tilts her head at newborn Wednesday howling in the Addams cradle and an exhausted Morticia leaning against the wall with a drink in her hand. "Why is Wednesday always scowling or screaming in most of these pictures?"
Wednesday interjects. "I'm still always scowling or screaming. But now, it's silent. Internal."
"She had colic," Morticia explains, waving a dismissive hand at Wednesday. "Her allergies are prominent. She was lactose intolerant, but we didn't understand that until she was a couple of months old. She had to be fed a special formula so she would stop regurgitating every time she ate. I didn't have any clean clothes for months. The doctor suggested we add rice cereal to her formula to keep her fuller longer and help stop the reflux, but we found that a little bourbon in her bottle soothed her and put her to sleep much better."
Enid blinks. "Well, yeah. Alcohol does that."
"It was only a dash in her nighttime bottle," Gomez says. "She slept like a rock."
"She was unconscious," Enid snorts. "I think it's funny that she's allergic to everything. I would've never thought that someone so scary could be allergic to the literal sun."
"Her vampiric genes are much stronger than the rest of ours," Morticia notes. "She can have lactose now, but only in small quantities. It's only dyes and sunlight that cause reactions if she doesn't take her medicine."
Enid goes to ask another question but is interrupted by Lurch entering the family room. He clears his throat and groans.
"Dinner is ready," he announces before disappearing into the dining room.
"Come along, Enid," Morticia tells Enid. "Your favorite meal is waiting for you."
Morticia puts the album on the coffee table, open to the page Enid was admiring, with every intention of coming right back to it to humiliate Wednesday a little more. She stands up, bringing Enid with her, and puts a maternal hand on her back as she's escorting her to the dining room, Gomez following behind after stubbing out his cigar in an ashtray.
Wednesday watches plaintively from her rocking chair, wondering just how screwed she really is.
—
Wednesday has never been more grateful for nightfall. After a long day of strolling through town with Enid and having to listen in while her mother tells Enid very intimate things about her childhood, she's ready to retire to bed and get some real rest, but she remembers that she had made a promise to Enid, so she knocks on Enid's door after she's showered and gotten herself dressed for bed.
The door swings open with a creak. Enid stands there in a pastel yellow pajama set, which is arguably less of an eyesore than the pink one. It's easier on Wednesday's sensitive eyes.
"Did you come to join me and Thing for a sleepover?" Enid asks hopefully. "I can do your nails, too. But he goes first. I already promised him."
"I'll pass," Wednesday quickly declines. "I've come to fulfill my own promise." When Enid's eyes cloud with confusion, Wednesday exhales. "You don't want to look at your smartphone. I will do it for you."
Enid visibly tenses, knuckles white around the brass doorknob. Wednesday isn't an expert in body language, but she comes to the conclusion that Enid is nervous.
"Oh, yeah," Enid mutters. "I forgot about that."
"You are a terrible liar," Wednesday comments as she brushes past Enid and enters the room.
The overhead light is off and the bedside lamp is aglow, casting an amber shadow across the walls. Thing is sitting on the bed, an array of nail polishes scattered around him as he surveys each one in deep contemplation. He waves at Wednesday, although the flick in his wrist tells her that he's annoyed that she's here.
"Where is it?" Wednesday asks Enid when she notices that the cellphone has vanished off the nightstand. The charger dangles off the side of the bed. "Did you burn it?"
Languidly moving, Enid slips a hand under her pillow, and before Wednesday can blink, the pink thing is being shoved into her grasp. Wednesday stares blankly for a moment, like it's going to combust in her hand, and then she gently perches herself on the edge of the bed.
"Are you positive that you want me to do this?" Wednesday inquires, glancing at Enid, who's lowered herself next to her. "You don't have to torture yourself right at this moment."
"It's torture not knowing," Enid sighs. "Go ahead. Just look. Please?"
Wednesday simply cannot resist those big blue eyes. She feels as though she could get lost in them forever, like they're a map leading directly to Enid's soul. Whenever she looks longingly into Enid's eyes, she swears she can see tides and waves like that of the crashing sea.
"Fine," she readily agrees, turning the device on. "Just take a deep breath."
Enid does just that while Wednesday quickly types in Enid's passcode. On her exhale, Enid sits back a bit, her eyebrows revealing how both perplexed and worried.
"How do you know my passcode?" she asks Wednesday. "I never told you what it is."
Wednesday purses her lips, thumb hovering over the screen. "That's not very important right now."
"Agnes," Enid surmises with a little less venom in her voice than what might have been previously intended. "That little shit. She really was over my shoulder. I knew I felt random cold breezes when I thought I was alone."
"Quit harping on it," Wednesday mutters as she swipes down to bring up the lock screen. "Tell me when you are ready to know."
While Thing is comforting Enid by patting her trembling knee, Wednesday scrolls through the myriad of notifications, starting with texts from Yoko, whose messages have started to gap, seemingly more defeated as the days have passed, with the penultimate one reading I miss you so much, and the last one having been sent yesterday morning. It reads, simply, I love you Enid.
Wednesday thinks that this is a good start. Someone is verbally expressing love and gratitude for Enid and their friendship. Enid needs to be loved, and although it's only Yoko providing that, it's better than nothing.
Threaded between Yoko's texts are a few from Divina; only three, but it still counts for something. The first expresses worry in the form of a question, asking Enid if she's okay, the second is full of panic, likely when Divina realized that Enid wasn't coming back, and the third is as succinct as a Poe poem, where Divina tells Enid that she loves her and thanks her for always being a good friend to her and Yoko.
Although the texts are a great relief, Wednesday regrettably notices the lack of contact from either of Enid's parents. No messages or words of encouragement or fear. Nothing, except a voicemail from a contact labeled "birth giver." If the situation weren't so tumultuous, Wednesday might be able to smile at Enid's sense of humor.
"Wednesday?" Enid asks, sounding faraway, but that's due in part to the fact that Wednesday feels like she's drowning. "Anything?"
Lifting her head, Wednesday gives Enid a look of confidence. "Yoko and Divina are worried sick. They miss and love you."
Enid's shoulders sag as she relaxes. "Really?"
"They've texted you to express as much," Wednesday says, opening Enid's text messages with Yoko and thrusting the phone in her hand. "People do care, Enid."
"I miss them, too." Enid's voice is fleeting, like a distracted thought. "But what about my parents?"
Wednesday swallows and it hurts. That stupid coil fills her belly, and she's learned over time that it means the worst is yet to come, that there is more mayhem at her fingertips. She first felt it when Tyler asked her out on a date, and then she felt it again when he kissed her and triggered a haunting vision, and then again when Eugene mentioned the red rain boots of Laurel's and everything began making sense like clockwork.
She understands now that this feeling is what Enid means when she says "the ick."
"Your mother left you a voicemail," she tells Enid. "She must have called."
Enid quickly shoves her phone back into Wednesday's hand. "You open it. Please. I can't."
Wednesday stares at her reflection in the blackness of the screen. Her thumb gently glides over the wake button before cautiously pressing it. She types in the passcode again and hovers over the voicemail notification, wondering if Enid would be upset with her if she just chucked the whole thing out the window.
Her thumb navigates itself to the notification, and the app immediately opens up. She taps the speaker icon, and the gravelly sound of Esther Sinclair's shouting voice prickles her ears.
Enid Sinclair! Your teacher called me to tell me that you allowed yourself to wolf out under the full moon when you knew that there would be consequences to your actions! All because that goddamn Addams girl cannot stay out of trouble! It was hard enough to heal your scars after you fought a monster because of her, and now you go and do something like this! For an Addams! If you would have just settled down with that werewolf boy you met at school and stopped worrying about that girl and started living a normal life like any other teenage girl would, we wouldn't be having this problem! But no! You continue to chase after her for some reason that I cannot ration, and look where it's gotten you! You are as good as dead, to the Sinclair pack and to the world, because you know what's going to happen now! And I know that I'm beating a dead wolf here, because I know you'll never hear this, but I just needed to get this out before I fucking explode! I got a call from Ms. Capri, and she tells me that all your stuff disappeared from your dorm! Every last bit of it! I know it was that Addams girl, and I know everything you do is because of her! Congratulations, Enid! You have managed to defy me in both life and in death! If you are lucky enough to be brought back to human form, don't bother to call me! You are DEAD if I see you!
The voicemail abruptly ends there. The room falls silent, save for Enid's ragged breathing. Wednesday doesn't know what to do now. What's the right thing to do or say when your partner has been disowned from her biological family? Is there a handbook on this?
"Enid—"
"—Can we just lay down?" Enid's voice is small and reserved, her expression vacant and faraway. "Together?"
Wednesday sucks in a breath. "Of course. Whatever you'd like."
Thing takes this as his cue to make himself scarce. He's already put all of the nail polishes away, understanding that he's going to have to rain check tonight's sleepover, and tugged down the covers for Enid to easily slip into. He jumps onto the nightstand while Wednesday helps Enid settle into what's known to be her side of the bed, and then Wednesday gets in next to her.
Courtesy of Thing, the room is plunged into darkness, save for the nightlight plugged into the wall. Wednesday hears the hinges cry out as the door opens, and then there's a faint click when it closes. Wednesday's shoulder brushes against Enid's. They're both laying on their backs, staring idly up at the ceiling, and Enid's breathing is still worryingly ragged, like she's on the cusp of a panic attack.
Wednesday wonders if Enid is waiting on her to say something, to speak her to sleep. What is she even meant to do for Enid? Nothing she could provide her with right now would absolve Enid of the abandonment that festers in her heart. She only has materialistic items to give, a charge card to swipe, and empty words of comfort that won't fix anything. She's not meant for this sort of thing. She may be her father in holding open doors and providing trinkets, but she is not him in sweet talking her partner out of turmoil.
"What do I do?" she asks, and it sounds so stupid coming out of her mouth.
The covers rustle. Enid turns onto her side to face Wednesday, and Wednesday only knows this because she feels a warm nose bury itself in her shoulder. A leg throws itself across her waist, locking her in, and arm snakes around her body. A hand sneaks under her flannel nightshirt and travels from the small of her back to the bare skin between her shoulders, fingernails raking a trail down her flesh. The warm skin of Enid's fingers suddenly halts where Wednesday's bra usually sits—if she were wearing one—and stays there.
"You just stay here," Enid finally mumbles, giving Wednesday some closure to her ridiculous question. "Please."
Wednesday's breath hitches. The hand on her back is heavy and taking hold of her with purchase. She thinks that this should be inappropriate of them, but it hardly feels sexual, and even if it did, she can't say that she would mind going a bit further if Enid wanted to, but the circumstances aren't ideal for them to go any further. Wednesday would never take advantage of Enid's vulnerability that way, even if Enid begged.
When Enid's hand drags along her spine and paws at the bones of her ribs like Enid is counting them individually, Wednesday realizes that her own hands are curled into her chest and wedged between herself and Enid. She's already asked too many absurd things tonight, and she's not going to ask Enid what she's supposed to do with her hands, so she works one out from the seal between them and mimics Enid's actions. She pushes up the duckling yellow pajama top just enough to reveal a sliver of alabaster flesh, then settles her hand on the warmth. At first, her hand doesn't move, and she simply counts each rise-and-fall of Enid's back with every anxious breath she takes, but once she's found her footing and quits blundering and second guessing, she's able to drag her palm over the soft skin.
"That feels nice," Enid sleepily mumbles into Wednesday's hair as she wiggles contentedly under the blankets, pushing herself further into Wednesday's shoulder and getting comfortable. "Keep going, baby."
Wednesday's hand stops and so does her heart. Her ears must be deceiving her or Enid is delirious, because there is no way that Enid Sinclair just referred to her as "baby" while their hands are busy massaging each other's tender flesh under their clothes.
"I said, keep going."
The demand is gentle but rough all at once and punctuated by Enid greedily pulling Wednesday in closer by her waist. Wednesday's toes curl with excitement. She's not going to make Enid repeat herself again, because third times the charm and all that nonsense.
Settling down, Wednesday resumes whatever they're going to call this. Her hand strokes the skin, up and down, feeling every minuscule goosebump and freckle. The hand that is caressing her back never stops, but it does begin to slow in time with Enid's breathing. Wednesday intentionally slows, too, syncing up with Enid's pace so they're moving identically, like a mirror.
Eventually Enid's movements stop, her hand lazily draped over Wednesday's hip, and when Wednesday draws back the slightest bit to get a look at her face, she finds Enid sound asleep against the pillow, her pink lips slightly parted to let her featherlight snores through, and the amber glow of the nightlight bathes her in a heavenly gold.
Wednesday presses the lightest kiss to Enid's nose before snuggling into her. Her hand never leaves the rhythmic undulation of Enid's body the entire night, even when they've both drifted off into slumber, the weight of the world entirely forgotten for now.
Notes:
I mentioned the Addams cradle (as it's referred to in the film) for a specific reason, and I need you to tell me if I'm insane and seeing shit. For the split second we see Wednesday "dropping her phone in the bath," there looks to be something like a baby cradle/bassinet behind her. I paused it on that frame to get a good look, and I cannot imagine that it's anything else. My question is…why is it there? I absolutely could be wrong. All I know is it confused me. However, I did see a BTS photo of Catherine (Morticia), and if you look closely, there is a baby wearing very Addams clothing just barely in frame.
I know I'm going insane.