"Odette, are your breasts getting bigger?" she heard Félicie ask her one morning, in between bites of breakfast. "Yesterday the girls were wondering, you know. Camille said that you were filling your leotard more now, that maybe it's the food you get here. But I told them that you haven't even been eating properly because you're sick, so it's not that you're getting fat. I mean, I didn´t think they were getting bigger and I told them to shut up, but… actually… they do look a little bit bigger." The girl´s voice trailed off in a sort of question when she stopped, embarrassed at where her monologue had taken her.
"What nonsense are you talking about, Félicie? Please finish your breakfast before you're late for class with Louis. We'll talk later, alright?" Odette replied, maybe more snappily than she intended because she knew the girl was not entirely wrong.
"Sure, Odette. Whatever. I mean, it's not like I'm the one who noticed anyway, I was just mentioning it. No need to be mean, you know?" came the reply, as Félicie was starting to get ready to leave. "If you're going to be like that, then I'm leaving now. Let me know when you're actually nice again. I'll tell Louis to be nicer to you when I see him." Félicie rolled her eyes at Odette and left for class. "And, I don't see you getting ready for class, Odette!" were the girl's last remarks before closing the door.
Louis had managed to get her a teaching position at the Palais Garnier's ballet school, and things were going well on that front. Since Louis was the Maître de Danse, he had been able to appoint her his assistant, and then give her a teaching post of her own. Tongues had wagged, of course. People saying that it was unheard of to have a female dance instructor at those high levels (never mind the fact that she had been one of the best prima ballerinas the theater had seen in a long time), and that she was only there because of her relationship with Louis. Well, that last part was true in a way, she supposed. If she had not met Félicie, and through her had contact with Louis, she would have continued being scullery maid to the Le Hauts and cleaning lady at the Opéra. But she was good at what she did, and had the world not been so unfair to women, she liked to think that maybe she could have been in Louis's position easily, even after her accident. Now, though, she had something more pressing to worry about.
Louis had formally been her copain for over a year now. They were happy together, and whatever it was they had, worked. She sometimes didn't know what he saw in her, but was glad he did. Félicie was also (usually) happy with her and Louis´s arrangement, especially because she was now getting some free time to "live her life" as she put it in her more rebellious teenage moments. Things had finally been well this last year, but now Odette was worried. She had indeed been feeling queasy around food, especially in the mornings, and the fact that her almost non-existent breasts had become slightly larger had not escaped her notice. Louis himself had noticed that they were more tender than usual. Most noteworthy of all, and to top it off, was the fact that she had missed her monthlies, due three weeks ago.
Odette was not stupid, she knew what this meant, but had been trying to will it away. She had wanted something like this, of course she had. In her youth, in a scenario in which she was married, and not having to work to earn her livelihood. Plus, she had Félicie now, and that was more than enough for her. But the girls were starting to notice something being off, and she was sure Louis had also noticed but was too polite to say anything. If she was right about this (what other explanation could there be?), things would only get bigger from then on.
Soo, voilà, the new story I had thought of writing. Oh, and the title was taken from the Sylvia Plath poem "Morning Song", in case you were windering ;) I hope the idea of a pregnant Odette is not too offputting, and that you actually enjoyed this? I have some more written down, so let me know if you'd actually want to read it. xx