PeculiarChangeling
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The Baby Bet, Chapter One: Grace
🕑 Added 2022-05-01 04:22:18 +0000 UTCIt's a five-friday month, which means I technically have this week off!
I ended up writing some stuff anyways. I never properly finished Chapter One of 'The Baby Bet', so I've gone back, cleaned it up, introduced all five of the core cast members this time, and it's closer to a proper chapter length.
I might still give it another pass, but now at least the entry point to the story isn't unfinished!
Chapter One
Grace, as in elegance, surveyed the scene. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The kitchen was a wreck; the aftermath of four adults - she wasn’t counting herself - who couldn’t clean up after themselves if their lives depended on it.
She frowned. That wasn’t true. It was the result of three adults who could clean up after themselves (Badly!) and one adult who, she suspected, didn’t know how to wipe his own ass.
Sighing, she rolled up her sleeves, stepped up to the plate, and got to work.
Dishes were the first thing. She had to reorganize the washer to make sure everything would be efficient, but even then it was going to take two loads. Better to get started early.
Someone (It had to be him) had left the cast iron skillet soaking in the sink. She recovered it and dried it quickly, checking for rust.
“Morning, Grace.” Brains, as in smartass, strolled in, a backpack over his shoulder.
“Morning, Brains,” Grace replied. “Got much going on today?”
“Not much,” Hopping over the dustpan on the floor, he navigated to the coffee pot, pouring a quarter of it into his portable thermos. Digging in the cupboard, he produced a box of sugar crap that technically qualified as ‘Cereal’. Looking into the bottom of the box, he grinned. “Great. Almost empty.”
Grace shook her head and began bagging up trash, scooping it off the counters into the bin. When Brains finished pouring the cereal dust into a bowl, nabbing the plastic dinosaur that fell out when the bag was empty, she stuck out her hand and took the leftover refuse box.
Wrapping up the bag, she heard off-tune humming and glanced up. Melody, as in music, found her way in, mumbling a tune under her breath while texting. Catching Grace’s efforts to clean, she said, “I could have helped with that, you know.”
“I was awake, and it needed done,” Grace replied. (There’s still plenty to do, if you really wanted to help.) “I don’t mind.”
Melody walked around the dustpan and looked into the fridge. “Well, thanks then. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Want me to make something?”
Grace shrugged. If Melody ‘cooked’, it’d inevitably just make more mess for her to clean.
Melody took that as the indication to start cooking, raiding the fridge for breakfast fixings. It wasn’t anything fancy, just bacon and eggs, but she cooked them up while Grace cleaned. They managed to move around each other in the kitchen without getting in each other’s ways, and before long, three plates of food were set out on the now-clean table.
“Gotta go,” Brains said, setting his bowl in the sink. “Thanks for cleaning, Grace.”
(The dishwasher’s right there…) Grace smiled. “Sure thing.”
Snagging an apple from the basket of fruit on the kitchen table, Brains jumped once again to clear the dustpan, waltzing out the back door.
Grace moved his bowl from the sink to the washer, then a break to eat, pulling up a stool. She used ketchup, Melody doused her eggs in salsa.
“How are things going with Bill?” Grace asked, between bites.
“Oh, I ghosted him.” Melody talked right over a mouthful of food. “He wouldn’t shut up about his band.”
“So?”
Melody’s chewing slowed, and she raised her eyebrows. “When’s the last time you saw someone?”
Grace shook her head, sticking out her middle finger and raising it over her heart. “Wasters Club,” she reminded Melody.
Melody returned the salute, and that was that. The subject was dropped. “Anyways, he was great in the sack, but we’d be done and like five seconds later he’d be talking about how I’d inspired him to write a song, and like–Fuck, dude. We’ve known each other for three days and they’ve only been pleasant when your mouth is on my pussy.”
“Eventually you’ll run out of college guys to bang,” Grace pointed out.
Melody just shrugged. “That’s the nice thing about college boys. They make new ones every year.”
While they chatted, about boys and college and nothing in particular, their fourth arrived. Skip, as in playing hookie, was rubbing at their eyes and yawning when they wandered through the back door. “Morning, G.”
Grace glanced up from what she was doing. “Evening, Skip. You’re home late.”
Skip shrugged. “Just twelve hours. We’re in the busy season right now.”
“More than busy,” Melody said.
“Gonna sleep?” Grace added.
“In a bit.” Skip strolled through, drinking the rest of the slightly-cooled coffee straight from the pot. “Got some personal work to take care of, first.”
Grace shook her head. “Don’t kill yourself.”
“Can’t. Too busy,” Skip pointed out, wandering out of the kitchen.
“And on that note,” Melody added, pushing to her feet. “Duty calls.”
“Don’t be late,” Grace replied.
Pushing up from the table, Melody glanced at her plate, then at Grace.
Grace just nodded her head. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, G. Need anything from the store? I’m grabbing groceries on my way home.”
“Dish soap,” Grace suggested. “Thanks.”
Melody left Grace alone, back sweeping up the crud and dirt on the floor, with a whole new load of dishes to deal with.
She sighed, starting over on the cleaning.
A while later, she had everything clean, save for the still running dishwasher, and a few loose dishes patiently waiting their turn. Counters wiped down, stove washed, she was done for the morning. Someone would likely trash the place come lunchtime, but that was a problem for later.
She had work to do, so she went to go get her laptop. Walking out of the kitchen, she crossed through the dining room, went up the stairs, and retrieved her laptop. She could have worked in her bedroom, but while the house was relatively empty and quiet, she preferred to be on the couch in the living room, where she could listen and hear when the dishwashing machine was done.
On her way out of her room, she met the final member of the Waster’s club.
Pearce, as in a stabbing pain in the ass, scratched the ten-o-clock shadow on his chin, still in a night shirt and loose shorts. How he managed to keep his stocky build from highschool with all the junk food he ate, Grace couldn’t be sure, but she’d seen him in far too many slovenly states to ever find his ‘cool bro’ aesthetic attractive–she knew it wasn’t a styled faux unkempt look, it was just unkempt.
“Morning,” he said, walking past her.
Grace scowled. “It’s almost ten. Aren’t you up early?”
“Wow.” He rolled his eyes, wandering down the stairs.
(Okay, maybe I was rude there,) Grace admitted to herself. Out loud, she just said, “Try not to trash the kitchen, I just got it nice.”
He rolled his eyes, wandering down the stairs. Grace sighed and walked behind him, branching off to take a seat on the couch with her computer.
A minute later, Pearce called across the house, “Did you drink all the coffee?”
“I made the coffee,” Grace shouted back.
“It’s house coffee, we share!”
“Then share yourself another filter and make your own!”
Her phone buzzed, and she checked it. A message, from Skip. ‘Can you keep it down?’
(Whoops.) ‘Sorry.’ She opened her laptop and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen as Pearce did whatever the hell he was doing. She could hear the microwave beep, and then… (is that the blender? What’s he even–)
“No,” she told herself, quietly, focusing on her work. She got little done, but she did at least focus, for whatever that was worth.
Some half an hour later, Pearce finally wandered out of the kitchen, and, driven by morbid curiosity, Grace got up to go see the damage.
It was just as bad as it’d been before she started. The dishwasher was done, but Pearce hadn’t bothered to empty it, let alone refill it and run it again. Instead, he’d dirtied two pots, countless dishes, and the counter.
(Nope,) Grace thought, turning to storm upstairs after him. (Not letting it slide. Not again.)
Pounding on his door, she called, “Pearce!”
“What?” he shot back.
She opened the entrance to his room. “The kitchen’s a wreck. Are you going to do something about that?”
He stared blankly at her. “Yeah. Obviously. I’ve got some stuff to do now, but I’ll get to it.”
“Uh-huh. When?”
He shrugged, turning back to his desk PC. “Later.”
“Pearce–”
He wheeled on her, spinning in his slick office chair. “What, you’re going to chew me out about it? Get off my ass, Grace. I’ll clean it up later.”
“Yeah, and–”
“Would you two shut up?” Skip called from the next room over. “I’ve got three fans on and I can still hear you bickering!”
“He–” Grace started.
“She–” Pearce called, at the same time.
Skip cut them both off, throwing open the door to their own room, a space from which no light escaped. Only their form was visible, shaking with annoyance and sleep deprivation. “Deal. With. It.”
They stared. Grace opened her mouth.
“We’re Wasters,” Skip said, simply. “We don’t attack each other. Get your shit together.”
They slammed the door.
With the situation defused, Grace walked sheepishly away from Pearce’s room.
Maybe he really would clean up.
Maybe.
She got back to work, but the state of the kitchen stayed in the back of her mind. An hour went by, and she finally decided to take care of it herself so it’d actually get done. She didn’t want the house to remain a wreck just because Pearce was a lazy slob.
She took care of it.
Then she got back to work, finally able to relax and get things done.
