Panchy Brief hummed sweetly alongside a roaring mixing machine full of chocolate cake batter. A colorfully disordered mosaic of sprinkles and flour speckled her royal-blue muslin apron. This confectionery creation would be her third cake of the day, and likely her last.
Her impeccably dressed daughter Bulma entered, dropping her briefcase on the kitchen floor. Panchy's lips pursed with "I taught you better manners than that" disapproval.
"Bulma, dear, you bypassed several strategically placed accessory hooks. Perhaps you should revisit them. No reason to ruin an expensive bag like that on the floor."
"You know me better than that." Bulma elegantly galloped over to kiss her, reaching for Panchy's batter-covered spoon to lick it. "That is a cheap knock-off from a discount store Chi Chi and I visited last week. Now that it has your seal of approval, I'll get you one too."
Panchy whacked her daughter's impatient hand with the utensil, coating her palm with the gooey mess, which Bulma promptly lapped up like a three-year-old. Some things never changed. Both women smiled, admiring their playful inner spirits. Bulma had celebrated her fifty-fifth birthday a month earlier, in August, while Panchy had her seventy-fifth in April. The latter moved slightly slower after suffering a broken hip, but her best years certainly weren't anywhere close to ending. Modern medicine offered many gifts to humanity, and yet, being a practical sort, Bunny had no interest or desire in living forever.
She did, however, enjoy looking gorgeous as much as her two hard-working daughters. But her love and admiration centered on the substance of her children's lives. Bulma and Tights rejected the impotence that fear sometimes imposed on ambitious souls. Indeed, the Brief family's cleverness, diligence, and inventions had saved countless lives for decades. Her deceased husband trained their girls with calculated aplomb to make others' strengths and weaknesses work for them, in unique ways, as they solved problems together.
Panchy licked another spoon, replying, "I am perfectly happy with my burlap and cotton bags. I don't regret the day I stopped carrying briefcases. Helping your father impress investors with his ideas for Capsule Corp. had its rewards, obviously, but -"
"All right, mom," Bulma said uncomfortably. "I'll return later if this is another one of your thinly veiled hints about me working too much, because I don't want to argue."
"You don't have to argue," Panchy replied, wiping her hands. "You're thinking about it. Therefore, I planted the seed well. I am a phenomenal horticulturalist."
"No, mother, you are incorrigible."
"That too."
Bulma paraded around the kitchen's sawbuck-wood table to inspect her mom's handiwork: a lemon-raspberry layer cake and an Esterhazy torte. The latter - a mouthwatering collage of chocolate-hazelnut buttercream and sponge cake - was her absolute favorite.
"Please, tell me this one is mine."
"The Esterhazy?" Panchy laughed at her daughter's persistence. "Not today."
Bulma's eyes narrowed. "OK, well, you know I love chocolate as much as sex, grandma Brief. So what about the one baking now?"
"I'm having that delivered to Bulla's campus dormitory. As for the sex, you'll just have to settle for that when Vegeta's around. Also, the lemon cake is for -"
"Trunks, of course," Bulma said dryly. "I figured that out - as if either of my kids need more spoiling from you. So back to your delectable masterpiece. If it's not for me, then what lucky person gets murdered by me for it?"
Panchy's observant eyes took stock of the atmosphere outside from a kitchen window. "Bulma, love, follow me out back."
"Mom, what are you up to?"
Panchy clucked her tongue. "Gods, you are just like your father sometimes." She tenderly grasped Bulma's hand, leading her to the estate's exquisitely manicured gardens. "Be patient with this old lady."
Charmed by her mother's Zen-like serenity, Bulma obeyed. Panchy's earnest wisdom and upbeat demeanor offered lifelong lessons. Her daughter felt beyond lucky to have her. Bulma removed her dress jacket and put on her shades to reduce the glare. Crickets blared their anticipation for sunset's advance.
The women paced through a low-level rock labyrinth to chat. Panchy trekked through the grass with a medium-size wooden walking stick, carefully contemplating what she would say next.
On the far end of the estate stood a stately, open-air pavilion built across a large pond flanked by trees bearing heart-shaped leaves of green and gold. A man sat on a side rail with his back to them, appearing lost in thought.
Panchy nodded in his direction. Bulma shrugged her shoulders, raising her arms on both sides. Her mother doubted the woman's apparent confusion.
"What, mom?"
"He's been there all day, Bulma."
Bulma glanced at her husband again. "Why is this an issue?"
"All day, darling? You don't find that strange?"
"First of all, you know Vegeta probably senses that we're all the way over here."
"Are you deliberately being thickheaded?" Panchy asked, observing her daughter's twitching eyelids. "Of course I know that. From the looks of him, though, he doesn't appear interested in eavesdropping. Now then, answer the question."
Bulma groaned, searching for another way out of this discussion. "I can't believe I'm almost sixty-years-old and feel like a teenager being ordered around."
"Then stop acting like the woman who spent two days giving birth to you is an idiot," Panchy said, appearing displeased. "Are you two having problems?"
Bulma sighed, removing her sunglasses. "Look, we aren't having problems. He is. It's been like this for weeks, really, but you know Vegeta. Until he's ready to share, I can't do much. Maybe it's not my place to do anything. But I believe in him. He would never desert me emotionally. Never again. All I can do is remind him how much I love him."
"You are a wonderful wife, you know," Panchy said, holding her hand.
Bulma laughed. "Oh yes, I know that. So I assume that Esterhazy torte is for my husband?"
Panchy traced jagged lines on the ground with her staff, weighing her next steps. "Do me a favor and make yourself scarce this evening, kid."
"What are you talking about?" Now Bulma had to put her foot down with this strange demand. "I'm not going anywhere. I have been on my feet all day, and I'm starving."
"And you're rich," Panchy replied, "and it's Friday. Go spend money and treat yourself. It will get your mind off the Saiyan, because I know you're more worried than what you're telling me. You will never win at blank-faced, defensive reticence over him."
"And what makes you believe you'll crack his armor today?"
"Because I believe I know what the problem is. I also have been a constant source of confusion for Vegeta since we met."
Bulma glanced over her mother's head, noticing Vegeta's stealth departure. Panchy's guess about his disinterest in their chatting was likely true, but he rarely chose not to greet them from afar while flying. Sometimes he gracefully twirled overhead, flirting and showing off for Bulma's enjoyment, before parting diaphanous clouds with his exit.
"You're not as confusing anymore, I think, little lady. He knows you're an elaborate con artist and borderline crook. He caters to you when he feels like it - simple as that."
Panchy's eyes widened, faking astonishment. "So you mean he finally forgave me for shamelessly flirting when he first arrived on Earth, before you captured his attention?"
"Um, no." Bulma wrinkled her nose, chuckling. "He's an OK guy these days, and I'm quite fond of him, but we know Vegeta doesn't do gracious mercy well. However, I trust that you'll babysit the love of my life with care tonight. But, can you do me one teeny favor?"
Flashing a devilishly toothy smile, Panchy shuffled past her daughter. "Bulma, dear, I will leave a slice of the torte just for you. I assume Vegeta won't be offended seeing one-sixteenth of his cake missing, but understand that you get all blame if he is."
Bulma kicked at the dirt. "Mom, I said 'teeny,' not 'barely visible crumb.' Not fair!"
"Please behave like the almost sixty-year-old woman that you are," Panchy replied. She had further plotting to do. "Hurry up now. Don't dawdle."
"I'm fifty-five," Bulma muttered as she sullenly plodded alongside her. "Don't put extra years on me, you heartless battleaxe."
Panchy winked as they lovingly locked palms. "Sticks and stones, kid."
Vegeta arrived at the main house for a pre-bedtime snack shortly after 10 p.m. He had been content eating dinner alone earlier, away from the residence, after Bulma surprised him with plans "to have a little fun with the girls." He accepted his wife's effervescent whimsy long ago, a satisfying byproduct of their love, and trusted her judgment - mostly.
Whoever in the hell these "girls" were, Vegeta didn't care to know - although he actually preferred seeing Bulma spend time with Launch, her weirdo pistol-carrying buddy, rather than her friend Krillin's wife, Eighteen. Fully forgiving "that blonde-haired harridan" - as Vegeta now called her - for shattering his arms, dislocating both shoulders, and worst, spitting on his semiconscious body when they were younger still stung his ego. No fighter he met had ever disrespected him during battle like that, drenching his body with saliva, despite justifiable fury and rank contempt for everything he represented back then.
But of all mortals, the Saiyan prince had little room to judge. People…change.
"Yeah, yeah," he grunted as he approached the kitchen. "I know. I still dislike her. Decent fighter, though. Maybe in some ways we're just too much alike, as my wife says, but I'm much nicer. That's what being killed more than once does, I guess."
He had more important concerns anyway. What would satisfy his nascent craving? He didn't need a nibble, really, but being out of sorts all day offered a suitable reason to. Bulma had not asked about his behavior at the pavilion earlier. He felt somewhat guilty withholding explanation about his recent demeanor, but he had to deal with his troubles alone.
"She doesn't need that burden," he mumbled to himself. "She seems to be doing well."
Their kitchen smelled glorious. His mother-in-law had taken over, clearly, blessing their home with her culinary genius. He didn't eat sweets much, but Panchy's imaginative desserts often broke his willpower like an eggshell. A single overhead light illumined a crystal cake stand on a counter. The chocolate-drenched torte sitting on top had a thin piece missing from its otherwise pristine form.
Vegeta blinked once.
"Esterhazy. Damn that conniving woman. What does she want now?"
Hi there! Hope you're enjoying this mini. (I'm keeping this one short.) All I can say is Panchy came to me in a vision while eating cake. Just kidding. 😄 Please take a moment to leave a comment. I look forward to hearing from you.
