polychromatic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
polychromatic) wrote2017-08-31 10:30 am
polychromatic) wrote2017-08-31 10:30 am
Entry tags:
oops i wrote this two years ago
Pushing Daisies
The No-Kissing Chronicles
Ned | Chuck, special appearances by Olive Snook and Emerson Cod
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic
Posted here.
Prompt: Ned/Chuck, five times they couldn't kissand one time they could
I.
Having spent many of his adolescent years at the Longborough School for Boys which, by necessity, had only boys in attendance, Valentine’s Day was not exactly a holiday that inspired warm and fuzzy feelings in the Piemaker. When Olive had attempted to “spruce the place up with some of Cupid’s magic” in her first year in his employ, Ned had only mumbled something about how those seeking comfort in pie might not wish to be reminded of the holiday while eating alone.
(Olive – who realized she was counted amongst that group and was not likely to escape the designation, if the Piemaker’s gloomy expression was any indication – meekly stashed her collection of glitter and hearts away.)
But now that Chuck coloured his life with those exact warm and fuzzy feelings he had been missing in his formative years, he could only smile unabashedly at The Pie Hole being draped all over with spinning Valentine’s mobiles, swirly foil ceiling decorations dripping with hearts, and cupids and cherubs armed with trumpets and bows. He only had a moment to take in the brown paper bags taped to his counter - one decorated with hearts, pies, and his name - before Chuck had breezed over and settled on the other side, buzzing excitedly.
“So? What do you think?”
“I don’t think anyone could have done it better,” he said with his crooked smile that was saved mostly for her, meaning every word of it.
She grinned back, crinkling her nose in delight, “Aw, well that’s sweet! Have you had a chance to look in your Valentine’s Day mailbag yet? Because if you haven’t, you really should. I have it on good authority that there’s something in there from a secret admirer.”
Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, Ned reached for the little bag, “Oh, a secret admirer? I wonder who it could be!”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell,” was Chuck’s response of feigned innocence.
With a bit of fumbling, he peeled the tape off the counter and upended the contents of the bag onto the counter. An envelope and foil-wrapped chocolates tumbled out, filling the space between them. “Hershey’s kisses?”
“Mm-hm, one for every time I wanted to kiss you this morning,” she grinned. “Just in case you wanted to know”.
Ned felt his heart swell in a happy way. The kind that hurt - just a little – as he told himself that this… this was enough. “Funny you should say that…”
And in that very moment, the girl named Chuck experienced that exact same feeling, as the Piemaker – with his shy, crooked smile – produced a handful of Kisses from his coat pocket and poured them into her Valentine’s Day mailbag as well.
II.
Like many young girls, Charlotte Charles had dreamed of her share of wedding gowns and wedding cakes and a handsome groom waiting at an altar. Her father had walked her down their imaginary aisle on many occasions, doubling as the groom at the end when young Chuck had declared she was going to marry someone exactly like him. Aunt Lily had filled his position on a few occasions after his death, though her sarcastic comments about marriage made her a less than ideal player for the part. She had only asked Aunt Vivian once, and after her aunt had burst into tears and barricaded herself in her room for three days, Chuck learned never to ask again.
So at this very moment, standing across from the Piemaker and making promises of love and comfort through happiness and hardships, it was hard for the girl named Chuck not to feel a small thrill.
“And do you, Eileen Dover, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”
… even if it was all part of an undercover sting to take down the Lickety-Split Wedding Chapel that was a suspected front for an underground dove smuggling ring.
Ned, for his part, was emanating a bewildering mix of bashful delight and abject terror as she answered, his eyebrows raised sky-high as Marriage Commissioner Wile E. Hawk pronounced that he could now kiss the bride.
“Uh, we… don’t do that. The kissing thing,” he stammered unconvincingly as the congregation (which consisted of Wile E. Hawk and receptionist Rhonda Corner) looked on with suspicion.
Their respective ear pieces squawked to life as Emerson Cod’s growl emanated straight into their ear drums. “Don’t you blow your cover, Pie-man! Itty Bitty and I ain’t done with our snoopin’ yet!”
“We’re scientists first and foremost,” Chuck chimed in with a flattering smile at Wile E, “That’s why we’re here, none of that religion fuss-and-muss for us! And because we’re scientists, we recognize that kissing is a very important vector for the spread of disease. Have you read about how hospital mezuzahs in Israel were harbouring dangerous bacteria that could be easily transmitted to patients and visitors through the action of “kissing the mezuzah” and then doing the same to your loved one? So we’ve taken the extra step because we want each other to live long, happy, and fulfilled lives.”
Ned was looking at her as if wonderstruck, his eyebrows slowly settling down from “panicked!!” back to “besotted”. “Have I told you how much I love your love for science?”
“Only every day,” she said with a wink, before turning back to the witnesses of their sham wedding, “So if you don’t mind, we’re going to go with air-kissing, which is what we had agreed on before the ceremony.”
And… there! Ned’s eyebrows had shot straight-up again to “panicked”. But when she leaned in towards him, he reciprocated bracingly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Inches away from each other, their cheeks almost touching, Chuck felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up and a tingle in her skin as she kissed the air next to his ear and heard him do the same.
“… I guess I now pronounce you man and wife?”
“AND I PRONOUNCE Y’ALL AS UNDER ARREST FOR FOWL PLAY!” Emerson Cod yelled, bursting through the double doors at the back of the room, a shower of feathers and the tiny blond waitress striking her best Charlie’s Angels pose beside him making the ridiculous moment almost grand in execution.
“Did you just…” Ned turned to Chuck, his expression unbelieving, “Did Emerson just make a bad pun?”
And as the girl named Chuck hugged her bouquet of flowers to her chest and laughed, she reflected – just for a moment – that though this was nothing like the many charades she had hosted before, she was happy to finally have a new “partner” in her continuing anthology of wedding escapades.
III.
New Year’s Eve is often a time of celebration, of saying a fond goodbye to a year gone and looking forwards to the new one on the horizon. But while many eagerly put together their list of resolutions of self-betterment, the Piemaker had made a habit of mentally listing his regrets, closing shop early, and burying his head beneath his pillows to drown out the sounds of merriment and joyous expectation. With the reintroduction of Chuck in his life, a new tradition had been grudgingly adopted, with the two of them bundling up in four layers of clothing with Digby and hot chocolate on the rooftop to watch the fireworks. It was a tradition that Ned had actually found himself looking forwards to.
Ned still wasn’t quite sure how he’d been talked out of that tradition for this new one.
“Don’t look like that, it’ll be fun! Olive’s been planning this for a month and she really wants it to be a success,” Chuck chided him, her hands too occupied with flowers and brown paper bags for him to take advantage of their currently-gloved-status to hold hands.
“I’m just saying that I don’t think the success of her party hinges on our attendance,” he replied, shoving his own hands deeper into his coat pockets a little sullenly.
“Still, this is the restaurant’s first New Year’s celebration! We are going to be there to be supportive of our friend and her new business venture, because that’s what friends do,” she said firmly. “Besides, I want to try her Vintage Cheddar, Gruyere, and Bacon Mac & Cheese dish. Did you know she named it ‘The Chuck’? Isn’t that sweet?”
“Sweet is for pies,” Ned said stoutly, “If anything, I’d say it’s cheesy. But not in the sense that it’s the corny kind of cheesy-- … you know what? I’m going to abandon the ‘food as adjectives’ thing because it’s clearly not working for me.”
“I’d say someone’s feeling a little salty,” came Chuck’s dry reply as they came up to the towering, bovine-shaped restaurant that was Olive Snook’s pride and joy: The Intrepid Cow.
Upon alighting from the elevator, they were greeted by a tiny, blonde blur of a waitress-turned-proprietor. “Ned! Chuck! Hiya! You made it! Wasn’t sure you were going to show before the big ball drop!” Olive chirped, giving each of them an enthusiastic hug.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” Chuck beamed, handing over the flowers.
“And we have a whole five minutes to spare,” Ned tapped his trusty watch before craning around to find a familiar face amongst the hustle and bustle, “Where’s Emerson?”
“Cloistered off in the corner booth by the back and lookin’ kinda surly,” Olive turned to Chuck and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Sounds like trouble in paradise with Simone, if you ask me. But of course he said no one was askin’ me and to hurry up and get some food on his table. I’d steer clear if I were you two. What’s in the bag?”
“Oh these?” Chuck opened the bag so Olive could peer inside, “Just some grapes.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Olive nodded, eyes narrowed as if thinking hard, “and what are they for?”
“It’s a Spanish tradition for New Years’. The idea is you eat twelve grapes at midnight and it’s supposed to bring you luck in the new year,” Chuck explained, “Do you want to join us? I brought enough for four.”
Shaking her head emphatically, Olive did a dainty little wave in Randy Mann’s direction, “Nuh-uh, I plan to ring in my new year the traditional way: with a big ol’ smooch-fest. You two have fun with your grapes, I’ll check in with you after!”
Ned watched as Olive dashed away towards Randy, nearly bowling him over when she flung her arms around his neck. “Here,” Chuck nudged him with her elbow, “take these, it’s almost time.”
He cupped his hands obligingly as she tipped twelve grapes into them, “You didn’t tell me about the grapes.”
She shrugged a little as she counted out twelve grapes for herself, “I thought it’d be a nice surprise! And double as a good cover-story for why we’re not engaging in a ‘big ol’ smooch-fest’.”
“I like surprises,” were the words that escaped past his lips, the cacophony around them fading to a dull roar as he watched her, wanting to make her smile.
Chuck only laughed, “Ned, you hate surprises!”
“Not when they involve you or anything you do,” he raised one of the grapes up in a mini-salute as the crowd started counting down the seconds around them. Ten, nine, eight…
And as the clock struck twelve and all around people whooped and hollered and kissed their cares away, the Piemaker and the girl named Chuck ate their grapes, one by one, with only eyes for each other.
“Happy New Year, Ned.”
“Happy New Year, Chuck.”
IV.
Unlike most children celebrating their eleventh birthdays, Charlotte Charles did not have a flouncy dress, colourful balloons, an ice-cream cake, a crowd of friends, or the big party that usually went along with the very special occasion. Instead, she had a quiet night in with her shut-in aunts, a sampling of excellent soft cheeses, grape juice, and a few choice presents. While all of the gifts had delighted young Chuck, Aunt Vivian’s book of obscure holidays had captured her particular fancy. For the young girl who spent most of her time indoors for the sake of her agoraphobic aunts, even her imagination could only do so much for the endless stretch of days that were occasionally interrupted by a holiday or birthday. So it was with great delight that Chuck realized that every day could be a celebration of sorts, and she did her best to make each day a special one.
“Boy, of all the obscure holidays, I hadn’t expected this one to take off!”
It was 21 years, 35 weeks, 4 days, 3 hours and 17 minutes later, and the Piemaker and Chuck were on a date at The Great Impasta, an Italian restaurant that prided itself on its vegan and gluten-free status. While they had anticipated a quiet and romantic night out, neither had been prepared for the “International Kissing Day!” theme night that greeted them upon their arrival.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” Ned shifted uncomfortably as the staff tapped utensils against wine glasses, prompting kissing of various enthusiasm around the restaurant.
“It was hard enough to get a reservation the first time around!” Chuck reminded him, “And you’ve been looking forward to it for so long! Let’s just go inside, have a nice meal, ignore social pressures, and then head home with a doggie-bag for Digby.”
“People are going to be staring, Chuck,” was Ned’s terse reply.
“Then we’ll stare right back at them!” she countered before turning to the maître-d’ waiting at the podium, “We have a reservation for two under Kitty Pims.”
After they were seated in the middle of the dining floor, Ned perused the menu, glad to have something to keep his agitated hands occupied. “I don’t know that Italian is really a good choice for kissing,” he commented, “I mean, garlic and onions? They’re not exactly minty-fresh.”
“That’s actually kind of brilliant! Let’s load up and ward off any potential kisses with nothing but our terrible breath,” Chuck laughed.
So the girl named Chuck and the Piemaker loaded up on pungent pasta, loudly proclaiming their garlic breath statuses to their waitress. And ignoring the curious stares from everyone, they bumped breadsticks every time wine glasses were clinked and smiled as if sharing their own private joke.
V.
The holiday season at The Pie Hole was always a practice in compromise. To Ned, it conjured up images very much like those presented in “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, only without the stockings or sugar-plums or Ma and Pa settled in bed. Instead, he remembered lonely nights at the Longborough School for Boys with only Digby and the howling storms outside his windows for company, wondering whether there really was a Santa Claus or a baby Jesus in a manger, as the carols claimed. Chuck, on the other hand, had happier, warm memories of a time for family, lighting the menorah with Aunts Lily and Vivian, making and consuming latkes with cheese, and singing songs associated with the holiday. After repeated discussion, it was decided that The Pie Hole would furthermore celebrate “Chrismukkah”, merging the spirit of both holidays, with the added benefit of a gift-giving extravaganza.
Mistletoe, however, continued to be a contentious subject every year when decorations went up at The Pie Hole.
“It’s basically a parasite, Chuck, and who knows what kinds of bugs or germs it might be carrying! I just don’t think it’s appropriate in a food establishment, when we have certain standards of hygiene to adhere to. What if the health inspector pops ‘round for a surprise inspection?”
“I’d think they’d be more concerned about the storage room full of rotting fruit,” Chuck replied, undeterred from her place atop the ladder where she was fastening the last bit of mistletoe to a doorway. “I don’t know why we’re even having this debate again. You know you give in every time.”
Ned squared up his shoulders, “Well, maybe this year I won’t.”
“Ned!”
“What’s the point of observing a tradition that you can’t participate in? It’s like being the perpetual benchwarmer on the basketball team or attending a concert where you’re locked in a sound-proof room in the nosebleed section. You get to see everyone else having fun when you’re barred from joining in! I say ‘no’ to being individually excluded, and ‘yes’ to everyone being on the same page.”
“But people love mistletoe!” Chuck protested, making her way down the ladder, “It’s a little bit of holiday cheer for everyone as the days get shorter and the nights get colder!”
“Or,” Ned crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, “it’s an awkward moment they’ve felt forced to participate in due to social expectations.”
Hands on hips, the girl named Chuck struck her own stubborn pose, eyebrows quirked in annoyance, “We can’t just decide that other people can’t have something just because we don’t. That’s not fair, and it’s most definitely not in the Christmukkah spirit!”
“There are plenty of other places for folks to get their mistletoe fill,” he said with all the conviction of a closing statement at a trial.
Chuck tilted her head a little, regarding him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, as if analyzing every inch of him. “You’re really not going to give in, are you?”
“Not this time, no.”
“Then I propose a compromise!” she said with a grin, “It’s probably not fair that I’ve won this many years in a row anyway.”
This caused Ned to tilt his head, but mostly in bemusement. “A compromise suggests making concessions, and making concessions means I’m settling for less than I want. I’m not sure that qualifies for my current stance of ‘not giving in’.”
“I like to think of it as finding a happy medium,” she was already climbing the ladder again to pull down the mistletoe she’d just hung with care, “We will have exactly one sprig of mistletoe outside the main entrance. That way people can still engage in a little bit of holiday joy away from your Grinch-y gaze.”
“Hey, I am not the Grinch in this scenario!” was the Piemaker’s offended reply.
“You’re a little bit the Grinch in this scenario, but I know your secret: your heart will grow three sizes again any day now,” she teased. “So do we have an agreement or not?”
The Piemaker did feel his heart grow a little bit bigger indeed, regarding this staunch defender of holiday-sanctioned Public Displays of Affection. “Alright, I’ll agree to your terms.”
“Good! But don’t think I won’t try and re-negotiate for a better deal next year!” she responded with a cheeky wink.
And when Christmas Eve finally rolled through the doors of The Pie Hole, the Piemaker found a small book under the branches of the Christmas tree, its blank pages filled with his name, a note, and a dizzying variety of lipstick kisses: “For all the times we were under the mistletoe. Love, Chuck.”
The No-Kissing Chronicles
Ned | Chuck, special appearances by Olive Snook and Emerson Cod
Written for
comment_ficPosted here.
Prompt: Ned/Chuck, five times they couldn't kiss
I.
Having spent many of his adolescent years at the Longborough School for Boys which, by necessity, had only boys in attendance, Valentine’s Day was not exactly a holiday that inspired warm and fuzzy feelings in the Piemaker. When Olive had attempted to “spruce the place up with some of Cupid’s magic” in her first year in his employ, Ned had only mumbled something about how those seeking comfort in pie might not wish to be reminded of the holiday while eating alone.
(Olive – who realized she was counted amongst that group and was not likely to escape the designation, if the Piemaker’s gloomy expression was any indication – meekly stashed her collection of glitter and hearts away.)
But now that Chuck coloured his life with those exact warm and fuzzy feelings he had been missing in his formative years, he could only smile unabashedly at The Pie Hole being draped all over with spinning Valentine’s mobiles, swirly foil ceiling decorations dripping with hearts, and cupids and cherubs armed with trumpets and bows. He only had a moment to take in the brown paper bags taped to his counter - one decorated with hearts, pies, and his name - before Chuck had breezed over and settled on the other side, buzzing excitedly.
“So? What do you think?”
“I don’t think anyone could have done it better,” he said with his crooked smile that was saved mostly for her, meaning every word of it.
She grinned back, crinkling her nose in delight, “Aw, well that’s sweet! Have you had a chance to look in your Valentine’s Day mailbag yet? Because if you haven’t, you really should. I have it on good authority that there’s something in there from a secret admirer.”
Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, Ned reached for the little bag, “Oh, a secret admirer? I wonder who it could be!”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell,” was Chuck’s response of feigned innocence.
With a bit of fumbling, he peeled the tape off the counter and upended the contents of the bag onto the counter. An envelope and foil-wrapped chocolates tumbled out, filling the space between them. “Hershey’s kisses?”
“Mm-hm, one for every time I wanted to kiss you this morning,” she grinned. “Just in case you wanted to know”.
Ned felt his heart swell in a happy way. The kind that hurt - just a little – as he told himself that this… this was enough. “Funny you should say that…”
And in that very moment, the girl named Chuck experienced that exact same feeling, as the Piemaker – with his shy, crooked smile – produced a handful of Kisses from his coat pocket and poured them into her Valentine’s Day mailbag as well.
II.
Like many young girls, Charlotte Charles had dreamed of her share of wedding gowns and wedding cakes and a handsome groom waiting at an altar. Her father had walked her down their imaginary aisle on many occasions, doubling as the groom at the end when young Chuck had declared she was going to marry someone exactly like him. Aunt Lily had filled his position on a few occasions after his death, though her sarcastic comments about marriage made her a less than ideal player for the part. She had only asked Aunt Vivian once, and after her aunt had burst into tears and barricaded herself in her room for three days, Chuck learned never to ask again.
So at this very moment, standing across from the Piemaker and making promises of love and comfort through happiness and hardships, it was hard for the girl named Chuck not to feel a small thrill.
“And do you, Eileen Dover, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”
… even if it was all part of an undercover sting to take down the Lickety-Split Wedding Chapel that was a suspected front for an underground dove smuggling ring.
Ned, for his part, was emanating a bewildering mix of bashful delight and abject terror as she answered, his eyebrows raised sky-high as Marriage Commissioner Wile E. Hawk pronounced that he could now kiss the bride.
“Uh, we… don’t do that. The kissing thing,” he stammered unconvincingly as the congregation (which consisted of Wile E. Hawk and receptionist Rhonda Corner) looked on with suspicion.
Their respective ear pieces squawked to life as Emerson Cod’s growl emanated straight into their ear drums. “Don’t you blow your cover, Pie-man! Itty Bitty and I ain’t done with our snoopin’ yet!”
“We’re scientists first and foremost,” Chuck chimed in with a flattering smile at Wile E, “That’s why we’re here, none of that religion fuss-and-muss for us! And because we’re scientists, we recognize that kissing is a very important vector for the spread of disease. Have you read about how hospital mezuzahs in Israel were harbouring dangerous bacteria that could be easily transmitted to patients and visitors through the action of “kissing the mezuzah” and then doing the same to your loved one? So we’ve taken the extra step because we want each other to live long, happy, and fulfilled lives.”
Ned was looking at her as if wonderstruck, his eyebrows slowly settling down from “panicked!!” back to “besotted”. “Have I told you how much I love your love for science?”
“Only every day,” she said with a wink, before turning back to the witnesses of their sham wedding, “So if you don’t mind, we’re going to go with air-kissing, which is what we had agreed on before the ceremony.”
And… there! Ned’s eyebrows had shot straight-up again to “panicked”. But when she leaned in towards him, he reciprocated bracingly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Inches away from each other, their cheeks almost touching, Chuck felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up and a tingle in her skin as she kissed the air next to his ear and heard him do the same.
“… I guess I now pronounce you man and wife?”
“AND I PRONOUNCE Y’ALL AS UNDER ARREST FOR FOWL PLAY!” Emerson Cod yelled, bursting through the double doors at the back of the room, a shower of feathers and the tiny blond waitress striking her best Charlie’s Angels pose beside him making the ridiculous moment almost grand in execution.
“Did you just…” Ned turned to Chuck, his expression unbelieving, “Did Emerson just make a bad pun?”
And as the girl named Chuck hugged her bouquet of flowers to her chest and laughed, she reflected – just for a moment – that though this was nothing like the many charades she had hosted before, she was happy to finally have a new “partner” in her continuing anthology of wedding escapades.
III.
New Year’s Eve is often a time of celebration, of saying a fond goodbye to a year gone and looking forwards to the new one on the horizon. But while many eagerly put together their list of resolutions of self-betterment, the Piemaker had made a habit of mentally listing his regrets, closing shop early, and burying his head beneath his pillows to drown out the sounds of merriment and joyous expectation. With the reintroduction of Chuck in his life, a new tradition had been grudgingly adopted, with the two of them bundling up in four layers of clothing with Digby and hot chocolate on the rooftop to watch the fireworks. It was a tradition that Ned had actually found himself looking forwards to.
Ned still wasn’t quite sure how he’d been talked out of that tradition for this new one.
“Don’t look like that, it’ll be fun! Olive’s been planning this for a month and she really wants it to be a success,” Chuck chided him, her hands too occupied with flowers and brown paper bags for him to take advantage of their currently-gloved-status to hold hands.
“I’m just saying that I don’t think the success of her party hinges on our attendance,” he replied, shoving his own hands deeper into his coat pockets a little sullenly.
“Still, this is the restaurant’s first New Year’s celebration! We are going to be there to be supportive of our friend and her new business venture, because that’s what friends do,” she said firmly. “Besides, I want to try her Vintage Cheddar, Gruyere, and Bacon Mac & Cheese dish. Did you know she named it ‘The Chuck’? Isn’t that sweet?”
“Sweet is for pies,” Ned said stoutly, “If anything, I’d say it’s cheesy. But not in the sense that it’s the corny kind of cheesy-- … you know what? I’m going to abandon the ‘food as adjectives’ thing because it’s clearly not working for me.”
“I’d say someone’s feeling a little salty,” came Chuck’s dry reply as they came up to the towering, bovine-shaped restaurant that was Olive Snook’s pride and joy: The Intrepid Cow.
Upon alighting from the elevator, they were greeted by a tiny, blonde blur of a waitress-turned-proprietor. “Ned! Chuck! Hiya! You made it! Wasn’t sure you were going to show before the big ball drop!” Olive chirped, giving each of them an enthusiastic hug.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” Chuck beamed, handing over the flowers.
“And we have a whole five minutes to spare,” Ned tapped his trusty watch before craning around to find a familiar face amongst the hustle and bustle, “Where’s Emerson?”
“Cloistered off in the corner booth by the back and lookin’ kinda surly,” Olive turned to Chuck and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Sounds like trouble in paradise with Simone, if you ask me. But of course he said no one was askin’ me and to hurry up and get some food on his table. I’d steer clear if I were you two. What’s in the bag?”
“Oh these?” Chuck opened the bag so Olive could peer inside, “Just some grapes.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Olive nodded, eyes narrowed as if thinking hard, “and what are they for?”
“It’s a Spanish tradition for New Years’. The idea is you eat twelve grapes at midnight and it’s supposed to bring you luck in the new year,” Chuck explained, “Do you want to join us? I brought enough for four.”
Shaking her head emphatically, Olive did a dainty little wave in Randy Mann’s direction, “Nuh-uh, I plan to ring in my new year the traditional way: with a big ol’ smooch-fest. You two have fun with your grapes, I’ll check in with you after!”
Ned watched as Olive dashed away towards Randy, nearly bowling him over when she flung her arms around his neck. “Here,” Chuck nudged him with her elbow, “take these, it’s almost time.”
He cupped his hands obligingly as she tipped twelve grapes into them, “You didn’t tell me about the grapes.”
She shrugged a little as she counted out twelve grapes for herself, “I thought it’d be a nice surprise! And double as a good cover-story for why we’re not engaging in a ‘big ol’ smooch-fest’.”
“I like surprises,” were the words that escaped past his lips, the cacophony around them fading to a dull roar as he watched her, wanting to make her smile.
Chuck only laughed, “Ned, you hate surprises!”
“Not when they involve you or anything you do,” he raised one of the grapes up in a mini-salute as the crowd started counting down the seconds around them. Ten, nine, eight…
And as the clock struck twelve and all around people whooped and hollered and kissed their cares away, the Piemaker and the girl named Chuck ate their grapes, one by one, with only eyes for each other.
“Happy New Year, Ned.”
“Happy New Year, Chuck.”
IV.
Unlike most children celebrating their eleventh birthdays, Charlotte Charles did not have a flouncy dress, colourful balloons, an ice-cream cake, a crowd of friends, or the big party that usually went along with the very special occasion. Instead, she had a quiet night in with her shut-in aunts, a sampling of excellent soft cheeses, grape juice, and a few choice presents. While all of the gifts had delighted young Chuck, Aunt Vivian’s book of obscure holidays had captured her particular fancy. For the young girl who spent most of her time indoors for the sake of her agoraphobic aunts, even her imagination could only do so much for the endless stretch of days that were occasionally interrupted by a holiday or birthday. So it was with great delight that Chuck realized that every day could be a celebration of sorts, and she did her best to make each day a special one.
“Boy, of all the obscure holidays, I hadn’t expected this one to take off!”
It was 21 years, 35 weeks, 4 days, 3 hours and 17 minutes later, and the Piemaker and Chuck were on a date at The Great Impasta, an Italian restaurant that prided itself on its vegan and gluten-free status. While they had anticipated a quiet and romantic night out, neither had been prepared for the “International Kissing Day!” theme night that greeted them upon their arrival.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” Ned shifted uncomfortably as the staff tapped utensils against wine glasses, prompting kissing of various enthusiasm around the restaurant.
“It was hard enough to get a reservation the first time around!” Chuck reminded him, “And you’ve been looking forward to it for so long! Let’s just go inside, have a nice meal, ignore social pressures, and then head home with a doggie-bag for Digby.”
“People are going to be staring, Chuck,” was Ned’s terse reply.
“Then we’ll stare right back at them!” she countered before turning to the maître-d’ waiting at the podium, “We have a reservation for two under Kitty Pims.”
After they were seated in the middle of the dining floor, Ned perused the menu, glad to have something to keep his agitated hands occupied. “I don’t know that Italian is really a good choice for kissing,” he commented, “I mean, garlic and onions? They’re not exactly minty-fresh.”
“That’s actually kind of brilliant! Let’s load up and ward off any potential kisses with nothing but our terrible breath,” Chuck laughed.
So the girl named Chuck and the Piemaker loaded up on pungent pasta, loudly proclaiming their garlic breath statuses to their waitress. And ignoring the curious stares from everyone, they bumped breadsticks every time wine glasses were clinked and smiled as if sharing their own private joke.
V.
The holiday season at The Pie Hole was always a practice in compromise. To Ned, it conjured up images very much like those presented in “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, only without the stockings or sugar-plums or Ma and Pa settled in bed. Instead, he remembered lonely nights at the Longborough School for Boys with only Digby and the howling storms outside his windows for company, wondering whether there really was a Santa Claus or a baby Jesus in a manger, as the carols claimed. Chuck, on the other hand, had happier, warm memories of a time for family, lighting the menorah with Aunts Lily and Vivian, making and consuming latkes with cheese, and singing songs associated with the holiday. After repeated discussion, it was decided that The Pie Hole would furthermore celebrate “Chrismukkah”, merging the spirit of both holidays, with the added benefit of a gift-giving extravaganza.
Mistletoe, however, continued to be a contentious subject every year when decorations went up at The Pie Hole.
“It’s basically a parasite, Chuck, and who knows what kinds of bugs or germs it might be carrying! I just don’t think it’s appropriate in a food establishment, when we have certain standards of hygiene to adhere to. What if the health inspector pops ‘round for a surprise inspection?”
“I’d think they’d be more concerned about the storage room full of rotting fruit,” Chuck replied, undeterred from her place atop the ladder where she was fastening the last bit of mistletoe to a doorway. “I don’t know why we’re even having this debate again. You know you give in every time.”
Ned squared up his shoulders, “Well, maybe this year I won’t.”
“Ned!”
“What’s the point of observing a tradition that you can’t participate in? It’s like being the perpetual benchwarmer on the basketball team or attending a concert where you’re locked in a sound-proof room in the nosebleed section. You get to see everyone else having fun when you’re barred from joining in! I say ‘no’ to being individually excluded, and ‘yes’ to everyone being on the same page.”
“But people love mistletoe!” Chuck protested, making her way down the ladder, “It’s a little bit of holiday cheer for everyone as the days get shorter and the nights get colder!”
“Or,” Ned crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, “it’s an awkward moment they’ve felt forced to participate in due to social expectations.”
Hands on hips, the girl named Chuck struck her own stubborn pose, eyebrows quirked in annoyance, “We can’t just decide that other people can’t have something just because we don’t. That’s not fair, and it’s most definitely not in the Christmukkah spirit!”
“There are plenty of other places for folks to get their mistletoe fill,” he said with all the conviction of a closing statement at a trial.
Chuck tilted her head a little, regarding him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, as if analyzing every inch of him. “You’re really not going to give in, are you?”
“Not this time, no.”
“Then I propose a compromise!” she said with a grin, “It’s probably not fair that I’ve won this many years in a row anyway.”
This caused Ned to tilt his head, but mostly in bemusement. “A compromise suggests making concessions, and making concessions means I’m settling for less than I want. I’m not sure that qualifies for my current stance of ‘not giving in’.”
“I like to think of it as finding a happy medium,” she was already climbing the ladder again to pull down the mistletoe she’d just hung with care, “We will have exactly one sprig of mistletoe outside the main entrance. That way people can still engage in a little bit of holiday joy away from your Grinch-y gaze.”
“Hey, I am not the Grinch in this scenario!” was the Piemaker’s offended reply.
“You’re a little bit the Grinch in this scenario, but I know your secret: your heart will grow three sizes again any day now,” she teased. “So do we have an agreement or not?”
The Piemaker did feel his heart grow a little bit bigger indeed, regarding this staunch defender of holiday-sanctioned Public Displays of Affection. “Alright, I’ll agree to your terms.”
“Good! But don’t think I won’t try and re-negotiate for a better deal next year!” she responded with a cheeky wink.
And when Christmas Eve finally rolled through the doors of The Pie Hole, the Piemaker found a small book under the branches of the Christmas tree, its blank pages filled with his name, a note, and a dizzying variety of lipstick kisses: “For all the times we were under the mistletoe. Love, Chuck.”