matilda oneshots i had to get out of my head

day 10: christmas shopping

helloooooo and welcome to day 10!! i can't believe we're already in double digits!!

enjoy!

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"Mrs. Phelps!"

"Cheese and crackers!" is Mrs. Phelps' startled response to Matilda slamming her way into the bus and bellowing for her at the top of her six-year-old lungs. "Heavens, Matilda, what's happened?"

"I need help," Matilda replies.

"With what? Is someone injured? Is Miss Honey-" Mrs. Phelps begins to ask frantically.

"No, no, everything is fine," Matilda interrupts.

"Oh, good."

"Well," Matilda continues.

"Well?!" Mrs. Phelps yelps.

"Everyone is fine. But I still need help," Matilda amends. Mrs. Phelps takes off her hat and rests a hand over her heart as she apparently gets off the emotional rollercoaster Matilda stuck her on against her will.

"What do you need, dear?" she asks after a while.

"I don't know what to get Miss Honey for Christmas."

Mrs. Phelps rubs the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her forefinger. "Well, you know her better than I do."

"But you're her age. A woman," Matilda says, sitting in the chair across from her with a small pout. "What sorts of things do women like?"

"I don't exactly think your mother and I would have the same taste in Christmas gifts," Mrs. Phelps says with a chuckle. "You don't have any ideas?"

"I have a few. What I don't have is money," Matilda replies. She pulls her entire life's savings, four pounds, out of her pocket to demonstrate. She gets an allowance now, but it doesn't exactly rack up quickly.

Mrs. Phelps hums understandingly. Matilda puts her money back into her coat pocket and looks pleadingly up at her friend. Mrs. Phelps looks back at her and gives her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "You know she would be perfectly content with absolutely nothing from you, dear."

"I know, that's the problem!" Matilda says, flopping back in her seat in exasperation. "I've only known her for a year and a bit and she's already done so many wonderful things for me, and she won't let me do anything for her!"

"Because you're her child, Matilda," Mrs. Phelps says kindly.

"I just want a good way to say thank you," Matilda mumbles, looking dejectedly at her lap. Mrs. Phelps gives her a sad grin that she doesn't see.

"Well... hm. Four pounds isn't much, I will say," she begins. Matilda casts her eyes up at her. "But I think it's something we can work with."

"We can?" Matilda asks, beginning to brighten again.

"I'm sure we can. Because nothing says you have to buy her anything," Mrs. Phelps says.

"What do you mean?"

"I may not know what other women like, but I know mothers. And I know that just about every mother in the world love things their children make, especially if they make it just for them."

"Make her something?" Matilda asks. She hadn't thought of that. "But what?"

"Well, what does she like?"

"Um... sweets. Her work. Me. She likes honeysuckle and starlings and fireflies. She likes fruit teas and old paintings and the smell after it rains. And books."