BASED ON THE CARTOON.
A/N: This is the one shot I entered for the contest on the AATC forum. It got first place! Well, technically there was only one other entry for this category… still, I'm pleased with how it turned out.
The Chipette's parents are never mentioned in the cartoon, so I imagined how each Chipette felt about the mother they never met; I figured Brittany would be angry, Jeanette would be sad, and Eleanor would be forgiving. I also added in a few parts since I originally posted it for the contest; I changed the ending slightly and added a paragraph about the "My Mother" song from The Chipmunk Adventure. Enjoy!
"Good night, girls."
"Good night, Miss Miller."
The elderly woman slowly closed the door, surrounding the 13-year-old Chipettes in darkness. It was ten o'clock on the dot. The windows were cracked open to let in some warm spring air. It seemed like a typical Sunday night.
Only it wasn't; not quite. Today had been Mother's Day. It wasn't a huge celebration at the Miller home, mostly because the girls didn't have a mother to celebrate it with. They each got Miss Miller, their guardian, a small gift and card, since she was the closest thing to a mother they had, and she may get offended if they didn't acknowledge her on this day. But after the gifts were given in the morning, the three sisters went about their day as if it was just another day.
Brittany figured her sisters wanted to talk about their mother… their real mother. The mother who abandoned them at birth. As far as Brittany was concerned, they didn't have a mother. What kind of mom just drops her babies off at an orphanage with no explanation?
Still, Brittany couldn't help but wonder what she was like, and Mother's Day was the only day she allowed herself to think about it.
She supposed her mother was beautiful, like her. Probably fashionable as well. Maybe she had a personality like Brittany too; vain, selfish, lazy. Maybe she was a diva and thought she was too good for three babies, so she just dumped them at an orphanage.
Brittany gripped her pink cotton sheets and huffed. This was why she refused to discuss her mother with Eleanor and Jeanette; whenever she pictured their mother, she always pictured an older version of herself. After all, if her own mother was willing to do such a heartless thing, why wouldn't her own daughter be capable of the same thing?
Whatever, she thought with a sigh. She was probably dead anyway. Or maybe she had a new family, with new children who she loved and never abandoned.
Brittany preferred the first option.
Jeanette could hear rustling from the other two beds in the room. She wondered if her sisters were thinking of the same thing she was.
It was easy to see that Brittany didn't want to talk about their mysterious mother; she always acted weird on Mother's Day by acting overly cheerful, as if she was trying to distract Jeanette and Eleanor. What Brittany didn't know was that Jeanette actually preferred avoiding the subject; she hadn't spoken about her parents in years simply because she didn't know what to say. Most of the time, she didn't know what to think.
Except tonight. Every second Sunday night in May, Jeanette would think about the woman who left her and her sisters at that Australian orphanage all those years ago.
She supposed there was a logical explanation as to why their mother left them. Perhaps she was a young mother and couldn't afford to keep them. Maybe she was in danger and was forced to leave them. The living conditions must have not been suitable for children, or she was sick and couldn't care for them.
Still, no matter what possibility Jeanette could come up with, the result was always the same: She and her sisters didn't have a mother, and they never would.
Eleanor winced when she heard Jeanette's muffled sobs in the bed next to her. Her sister did this every Mother's Day; it was sort of strange, because Jeanette was not a crier. Eleanor was sensitive, Brittany was emotional, but Jeanette… Jeanette was tougher to break than most people thought. But the one time Eleanor could expect to hear her sister cry was on the night of the second Sunday in May.
Eleanor sat up and looked at the other two beds. Jeanette's shaking body was buried underneath blankets. Brittany was already asleep, which was typical. Brittany wasn't going to keep herself up thinking about their mother. Eleanor had always gotten this vibe that Brittany would yell at her if she ever wanted to talk about their mom, so she never brought it up. She doubted Brittany would have any nice things to say anyway, if Brittany even cared at all to comment.
The last time Eleanor had heard Brittany say anything about a mother was when they were in a hot air balloon during that race across the world. Eleanor remembered that sick baby penguin and her need to make him feel better. She didn't know what else to do, so she sang "My Mother," and much to her surprise, her sisters joined in. Eleanor was fairly certain that Brittany and Jeanette were thinking of their own mother, but the moment hadn't been brought up since.
The shortest Chipette lay back down and stared at the dark ceiling. She had her own Mother's Day tradition.
Years ago, Eleanor had chosen to believe that their mother hadn't willingly brought them to that Australian orphanage. She figured she and her sisters were kidnapped and dropped off there. It wasn't their mother's fault that she had her babies stolen from her. She was probably still looking for them.
The older Eleanor got, the harder it was to trust in her theory, but she had to try. She had to hold on to that little bit of hope that she, Brittany, and Jeanette weren't just thrown away as infants; it wasn't their mom's fault. Their mom was a sweet, caring woman who had her children taken away by force.
The room was quiet. Jeanette was no longer crying and, judging by her still form, had fallen asleep. Eleanor snuggled deeper into her blankets and closed her eyes. She pictured a pretty Australian Chipette. She had Brittany's slim build, Jeanette's long dark hair, and Eleanor's big brown eyes. Sometimes Eleanor imagined her differently; some years she would have Brittany's icy blue eyes, or Jeanette's lanky height, or Eleanor's white blonde hair. But every year, she had that same warm smile on her face and a slightly sad look in her eyes that seemed to say, I'm sorry.
"I love you, Mom," Eleanor whispered in the darkness. Then, somehow feeling sad and content at the same time, the last Chipette drifted off to sleep with the notes of "My Mother" lingering in her mind.