PeculiarChangeling
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The Baby Bet, Chapter 27: A Realization in Three Courses
🕑 Added 2023-06-15 05:28:46 +0000 UTCBreakfast time.
Grace sat on a kitchen stool, waiting patiently for Pearce to finish serving her breakfast, waiting to see if his lesson had sunk in.
He’d dressed her plainly enough–onesie, pants, diaper. Practical and straightforward, to the point that the onesie didn’t even have any screen printed slogans or childish designs. Grace didn’t know how to take that. The bet was still on, clearly, but he hadn’t tried to tease or push any humiliating buttons, he’d just followed the rules.
On the one hand, the straightforward outfit and prompt meal was a good sign–it meant he’d at least learned a bit about responsibility.
On the other, she struggled to interpret his tactics. This was too weak and easy to make her quit, not after she’d proven she could stick it out for weeks. This couldn’t be an attempt to win the bet.
That left one possibility–he thought she was still mad, and this was his way of apologizing. Let her have it easy for a couple days, let the bet lie low so she could calm down.
His interpretation was wrong, she didn’t need kid gloves, but it was reassuring that he’d chosen to be kind.
“What’s on the menu?” she asked, as he passed her a bottle of fresh coffee.
“Toaster waffles,” he replied, leaning back against the counter and waiting for the toaster to get finished.
“Nice,” she said, unsure what else to add to the brief conversation. The air between them felt awkward and she wanted to chat to fill the space, but couldn’t think of what to say.
The toaster did its typical jumpscare, popping loudly and without warning to indicate its contents were cooked, and Pearce slid the waffles out onto a plate. Butter and maple syrup got slathered on the breakfast, and he set it all down in front of Grace.
Dividing everything up with a fork, he scooped up a bite, raising it for Grace without a word.
She hesitated. Normally, he’d have something to say here–maybe a classic, ‘Here comes the airplane/train/automobile’, or something teasy, ‘This will help you grow up to be a big, strong adult!’, or a joke, ‘Open wide for Daddy Bezos!’. Now, he just held out the fork.
“Uh,” she said, before just opening her mouth and taking the bite.
While she chewed, Pearce prepared the next bite, moving efficiently to get the meal over with.
Grace got it. He was task oriented. “Have a lot of work on your plate today?” she asked between bites.
“Playing catch-up,” he confirmed.
Well, he was staying on task and handling his duties. She couldn’t complain about that. Taking the next bite, she worked her way through breakfast, stopping for the occasional sip of coffee.
He responded to questions and occasionally spoke, but otherwise stayed quiet and got the job done. Grace didn’t try to prod too much for conversation, though–if he had things to do, she didn’t want to slow him down.
When she finished up the syrupy meal, he put the dishes away, refilled another bottle with plain water, and set it on the kitchen table in front of her. That done, he popped two more waffles into the toaster.
Finally, he gave the front of her jeans a tentative squeeze to determine how wet she was, and shrugged. “You’re all good,” he said. “Fed, don’t need a change, you’ve got something to drink.”
“Thanks,” she said, caught off guard by how quick and non-invasive the check had been. “You’re sure I don’t need a change?”
He stopped, eyeing her. “That’s awfully close to asking for one, Grace. Please don’t do anything that’ll get you a time out.”
(Right.)
He was watching out for her, trying to straddle the line between obeying the rules and protecting her from unfair consequences. He didn’t want her to get in trouble for something that wasn’t her fault, not for a second time in as many days.
She half-smiled, but couldn’t quite bring herself to fully appreciate his gesture. “Thanks for the warning.”
“No problem.” Leaning against the counter, Pearce checked his phone, waiting on the toaster.
Grace still didn’t get up, at least not right away. The meal felt incomplete, somehow.
Noticing her continued presence, Pearce directed a look up at her. “You want some coffee?”
“Oh…yeah, sure,” she said, glancing at her water. Maybe that’s what was missing–coffee–but she somehow doubted it. Draining the rest of the pot into a new mug, he gave it to her.
The lack of attention couldn’t be blamed totally on how busy he was, not if he was scrolling through apps while waiting on his own breakfast. So, it was down to her first guess–that he just didn’t want to try and push her or be condescending if she still held on to any residual anger over his mistakes the day before.
A twang of guilt hit her. If he thought she was still mad, she had probably been a little too harsh on him, pushed too hard for the ‘obey the rules’ mindset.
With time, though, things would settle back into the way they had been. She just needed to make it clear that she’d gotten over it, that an occasional quip would be fine, she wouldn’t take it the wrong way–as long as he kept on top of his responsibilities and didn’t abandon her again. Improving and showing that he’d listened would be a better apology than any words could be.
(It’s not that I miss being teased,) she told herself. (It’s just that I don’t want him to feel like he shouldn’t talk to me. That’s all.)
For the time being, she had her own work to do, but she’d try and get him to ease up soon.
…
Lunch time.
Same clothes, same stool, fresh diaper. Macaroni bubbled on the stovetop, powdered cheese sauce at the ready. All of Grace’s physical needs were either taken care of, or would be tended too imminently.
Pearce was on his phone.
“Anything important going on?” she asked, trying to get him to engage.
“Not really,” he said. “Just taking a break to check some stuff.”
“Gotcha.” Grace drummed her fingers on the table, thinking what to say, trying not to be too overt.
Ultimately, she decided not to say anything. If she wanted to get Pearce to lighten up, she didn’t need words, just a few well placed actions.
The timer for the macaroni beeped, and with a little bit of work–draining, mixing, stirring, and dumping into two bowls–Pearce had it ready to eat.
Pearce set aside his own food for a moment, raised the mac n cheese spoon, and held it there. Again no quip, no commentary, just a spoonful of food hovering in front of her lips.
Grace didn’t open up. (Let’s see what he thinks of this.)
After a few seconds, Pearce lowered the spoon. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s too hot,” she said, feigning protest. “It’s going to burn my mouth.” She almost added, ‘Can you blow on it for me?’, but decided that’d be too on the nose. He’d get the idea, he wasn’t stupid.
“Okay,” Pearce said, setting the spoon down in the bowl.
Sliding it off to the side, he walked around the table, sat down, and started working on his own food. His first bite had him puffing a bit, and after that he blew on his own spoon, cooling off the fresh pasta just a bit, but Grace didn’t get that treatment.
“Hey,” she said. “What happened to my lunch?”
He looked up at her flatly, speaking in an, ‘isn’t-it-obvious?’ deadpan. “It’s cooling down. I’ll feed it to you in a minute.”
She frowned to one side. “You always feed me first.”
“Mhmm,” he said. “Well. Not today, yours is too hot.”
He blew on another spoonful, chewing slowly.
(Yours is just as hot as mine,) she fumed, (But when you eat it, you do something about it.)
Still, this offered an opportunity. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Grace stuck out her lower lip a little, framing her face in a very clear pout. A childish response to being told her lunch would come five minutes later. She just hoped it was childish enough that Pearce would take the bait and engage a little.
He had eyes only for his macaroni. He didn’t even look at her.
“Pearce,” she said. “I’m–I’m hungie.”
The affectation she threw on was a last minute addition. Maybe it was too much, but he wasn’t acknowledging her, she needed to do something.
He sighed, setting down his spoon. “Okay, fine. You can eat first”
Standing up, he walked around to her bowl, scooping it up. She expected a loaded spoon, a long puff of air from Pearce’s mouth to cool it off, and maybe, if she was lucky, the extra step would get him back to his usual self and he’d even throw in a joke before helping her eat it.
Instead, he opened the fridge door and searched around until he found a tub of sour cream. Tossing a dollop onto the noodles, he stirred it in and gave a tentative taste.
“There,” he said. “That’s cool enough.” Raising the spoon, he held it in front of her mouth.
Grace paused, going slightly cross-eyed as she looked at the food. She couldn’t really complain again, not without coming up with something new, and that would give her game away.
“I don’t like sour cream,” she said.
Pearce shrugged. “It’s food. You said you were ‘hungie’. Do you want this, or do you want to wait for something else to cook?”
Grace slumped back a little, though the stool didn’t leave much room for a dramatic recline. This was a fight she wouldn’t be winning with her current tactics. She opened her mouth, sullenly accepting the mac n cheese without another word.
She’d try again later.
…
Dinner time.
Same Grace. Same Pearce. New plan.
Being coy wasn’t working, and she wasn’t about to try patience. If Grace wanted the old Pearce back–or, at least, some of the old Pearce, with more of his new discipline–she needed to be direct.
So, while her babysitter took a formerly-frozen pizza out of the oven and slid it onto a cutting board, she said, “Can we talk about yesterday?”
He looked back at her, nodding. “Sure. What about it?”
“I just…” she paused, trying to decide which direction to take the conversation. “I appreciate that you’re doing a lot to follow the rules and take care of me today,” she said, “but I feel like you’re trying so hard to be perfect that it’s making you stressed.”
“It’s not,” he said, returning his attention to the pizza. “I made a checklist on my phone, there’s an app with reminders. I’m not stressed about it at all, I’m getting everything done.”
“Oh,” Grace re-evaluated the time he’d spent on his phone. He hadn’t been ignoring her, he’d been thorough. “Okay. That’s good.”
Rolling a pizza cutter across their dinner, he divided it up into eight even pieces and moved half onto a plate, then cut the remaining half into much smaller squares.
Grace tried again. “You just seem really reserved today, and I’d hate for you to be so worried about all your responsibilities that you can’t relax at all.”
He paused for a moment, then finished his last cut and set aside the pizza cutter. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
She frowned. “What?”
Turning to look at her, Pearce said, “I’m not supposed to relax. I’m babysitting. I can’t let my guard down, or I’ll miss something, and the baby will get hurt. You wanted to prove that I relax too much, that I’m not responsible enough to handle anything important, and now you’re asking me to be careless.”
“Pearce, that’s not what I’m saying.” She stared at him, trying to communicate what she wanted without finding the words she needed.
He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Then what are you saying?”
(I want you to smile, and laugh, and tell me I’m being a good baby again,) she thought.
There were things she couldn’t be direct about, not even to herself. She shoved that thought away and shook her head. “Never mind. Do you want to watch a movie or something tonight?”
“No thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been working all day, I want to do something fun.”
(Oh.)
(He–)
(Oh.)
Grace blinked, trying not to let the hurt register.
Pearce no longer categorized ‘Spending time with Grace’ as ‘Something fun.’
That’s why he’d been distant. Not because he was stressed, not because he was busy, not because he was placating her mood. Because, however much he’d deserved a bit of education, Grace’s lesson the day before had changed his outlook on her completely.
Pearce misread her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be checking on you every hour or so. You’re not going to be totally ignored and left to fend for yourself.”
“Right.” Grace fumbled for words, speaking almost as an afterthought as she processed what Pearce was communicating. “Not ignored. That’s good.”
He kept his promise.
After dinner was over, he checked on her. Poking his head in her door, squeezing her diaper just enough to determine she didn’t yet need a change, refilling her bottle as needed.
And not a single thing above and beyond that. He barely spoke to her, moving quickly and efficiently to get back to…whatever else it was he was doing on his own.
Grace didn’t feel ignored that night.
She felt alone.
Comments
Ughhh you monster. The cliffhanger. Making me care about these imaginary people. Fuck.
She'll have to try something drastic now, won't she?
Yes let me feast on your delicious tears! (I'm a sadist on the keyboard :D )
I'm evil and crave heartbreak! Muahahah!
Oh no! Sad for Grace, how will she get his attention again?
KittyCali
😢
Mic McRae
😭💔
