Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Angry Desserts

As I close up the shop, cupcakes and cookie bars in hand, I check my phone.  Mom has texted me, asking when I will be at the Oyster, as the ladies at Bunco are in need of their sugar rush, but that is it.  I'm such a popular girl.  I'm guessing Tom is coming back sometime today, but I haven't gotten word from him.  It's nearly five, and I have already decided I'm going to drop off the desserts and then sneak away to the hobbit hole for take out dinner and a bath. Mmm...maybe Indian food—naan! Or perhaps Chinese with those little crab wontons... Ah. Did I eat today? Who knows.

In preparation for seeing my mother, I've actually spent some time on my appearance and changed out of my baking clothes.  I don't know why I do it.  I'm sure there are a lot of psychological reasons behind it.  Wanting to please her, my last living parent despite a lifetime of rejection and disappointment.  Wanting to be accepted by her and her peers.  Blah, blah, blah.  Also, I just don't feel like arguing with her about the merits of canvas slip ons with squishy lovely soles made out of yoga mat material versus five inch patent leather stilettos.  Both have their benefits, but I need to melt butter on a daily basis, not men's hearts—and come on, I can do that barefoot, for crumb's sake.

Anyway, for Mom's sake, I've changed into a plain black maxi dress.  It's cinched at my waist, which actually gives me some shape for once.  My hair was in a braid all day, and so now I've let it down, so it is all wavy and a bit crazy.  That's as good as it's going to get, folks.  Mascara, lip gloss, and a little bronzer. Ta da! I'm a model, Ma!

The walk to the Oyster from town only takes a few minutes.  The heat index has gone up a bit, but it's still lovely outside.  I pass by the Ink Pot, which is busy for a Monday evening.  I need to take Tom there, he'd get a kick out of it.  A few people say hello and wave to me as I walk, and I wave back.  Who knew?! Good feelings while in Maryland.  Maybe it's the weather.  Maybe I'm delirious from lack of real food all day.  Ohh, maybe I'll get pizza.  A deep dish with everything.

Once I'm out of town, I walk through the field and up to the big house.  I can already hear the women inside, cackling and carrying on before I even get onto the wrap around porch.  It makes me smile though.  Hearing laughter come out of this house, as opposed to anger.  Who knew.

"Helloooo?" I call out as I walk inside.  It smells delicious inside, like something garlicky and possibly made entirely out of pasta and butter.

"In the parlor, Charlotte!" I hear my mother. Parlor? People still have parlors?  I walk through the main hallway, into what I thought was just a mere living room. 

It takes me a second, because there is quite a lot of woman in the living room.  All of them are my mother's age--- early fifties to mid to late sixties.  It's like an explosion of color, and bosoms and aquanet hairspray.

"Charlotte!" There's an overall explosion of tutting and twittering, and I take a step back, gluing a smile onto my face.  My cheeks hurt already.  They are all gathered in various chairs, tea cups and terrible tin cookies on little china plates.  I'm guessing they will be going into the dining room later to play their Bunco game.

"Hi! Great to see you all.  Mrs. Jacobs, Mrs. McCord, Mrs. Winters." I can't believe I remember all their names, but it's flooding back to me. I keep going. I'm on a roll.  "Mrs. Horne! How's your dog? Mrs. Grace, Mrs. Fitzgerald.  Mrs. Fields. You all look gorgeous." I smile and hand my mother the case of cupcakes. 

"Charlotte, you look lovely!"

"Lovely to see you, honey."

"Aren't you lovely!"

"Lovely! Lovely! Lovely!"

"You look healthy, Charlotte!" Thanks, Mrs. Fitzgerald, you batty old rocking chair.