The Movers | ONC 2022

II

A/N: I updated the first chapter now that I have a better idea what direction I'm going in. There're not many changes, but if something doesn't seem consistent with the first chapter, that's probably an edit I made to the plot later.

Driving would be peaceful, if they weren't stuck in a traffic jam. Charlotte always lays on the horn like that'll do anything other than annoy the ever living crap out of the cars around them, and Amelia. See, cottage country is prime Saturday real estate, clogging the main artery connected to the city going southbound on Friday, and northbound on Sunday. This saves the wilderness, sure, but a four laner to service all the tiny country roads capillaries? Might as well hop out of the car, grab berries off the closet bush and set up a cookstove to make actual jam because it'll be done by the time you move a few inches forward. The only difference is that now, there's something fresh to eat.

"Sandwich?" Amelia offers. She holds it over the steering wheel. Her partner looks uncomfortable, and the best cure is food. Hangry is Charlotte's one bad look. Hence the sandwich is one of many snacks in the bag at Amelia's feet.

A mix of chocolate-hazelnut and strawberry jam leaks marginally out of the whole wheat bread. In the moving business of old, big margins were good. Go profit! Now? Small margins benefit the cleanliness of the front seats.

Charlotte hesitates too long. A mixture of chocolate-hazelnut spread and strawberry jam plops on the steering wheel. "Shit."

Sandwich back in its bag, Amelia grabs a napkin from the center console. She wipes at the faux leather wheel, gathering the glob of sandwich innards with the napkin, and wiping the area with a clean corner.

"You're welcome." Amelia would have said more... but her ridiculous partner gives the horn a long honk when the car two vehicles in front of them moves up, and the car just in front of them does not. The latter driver lifts their middle finger into view and she replies in kind. Oh. My. God.

"Char."

"What?"

"That's overkill."

Charlotte growls deep in her throat and then sighs. She manspreads as much as she can in the confined driver's seat, wiggling around in discomfort. "Want them to all fuck off."

And now, Amelia understands, dipping into her travel bag for another reason. "Ibuprofen? Dimenhydrinate?"

"First one. I didn't even think to stock up, thanks." Charlotte downs the pill. She hunches over the steering wheel as she waits for it to kick in. The driver behind them honks. She ignores them. "Not too bad right now but fuck. I can't even handle the thought of eating. If my period's this bad, I'm not sure I want to know what being pregnant is going to be like."

"Maybe it's your hormones resetting. It's been years, that's bound to mess around with things."

Period blockers were normally an essential part of Charlotte's routine to keep her job-ready, but this month had decided to forgo them. That was before Harlow and Simon. "Gee, thanks. That helps a lot."

Amelia fiddles with the travel bag's strings. "We don't even know when we'll be ready to conceive, if ever."

"Eh, I don't need all eight hundred. I could even spare the government a few test tube workers, if they're into that sort of thing. Oh, god above give me death, I think I'm going to puke."

"Would you prefer to lay down? I can take over," Amelia suggests. "Not like we're moving much."

"Maybe. Or I could rip out my uterus. Oh—" Charlotte pushes her door open without care for the cars around her and runs over to the shoulder, bouncing between fenders. She survives that, and proceeds to bend over the berry bushes.