This is apparently the closest thing to fluff that I can write. A controversial topic for the time period and location, but a topic nonetheless.
a rose by any other name
She brings the pen to the paper lying on the table in front of her. She moves it in long broad strokes, carefully and deliberately. She writes over and over again until her words are lost in a dark sea. The black ink mars the perfectly pristine page forever.
Mrs Elsie Hughes
Mrs Elsie Carson
Mrs Elsie Hughes Carson
Mrs Elsie Carson-Hughes
Mrs Elsie Hughes-Carson
She write tthem all out, over and over again. She makes her C's loopier. She makes her letters the same size. She makes her capitals bigger, dwarfing the rest.
They all feel wrong. Her signature – the signature that she has used since she learned to hold a pen – will change. Her name will change and all the new possibilities look like they don't belong on the page. They all feel foreign on her tongue.
She crumples the page and tosses it towards her waste basket. It bounces off the rim and lands next to another discarded, unwanted page.
She grabs another sheet of paper and tries again, hoping that it is a habit she will pick up. She writes it quickly in the hopes that it will become so engrained in her mind, that is will become second nature by the time to reaches the bottom of the page.
Mrs Elsie Carson
Mrs Elsie Carson
Mrs Elsie Carson
Mrs Elsie Hugh-
She crosses out the last one before she even finishes. It is not use. She is old and she has no more tricks to learn. She crumples the page and tosses it across the room, it bounces off the doorframe, almost hitting the woman hovering at the door.
"What on earth are you doing?"
She jumps at the voice.
Not even bothering waiting for an invitation, Mrs Patmore takes a step into the sitting room. She quickly scans her surroundings, taking note of the pieces of paper that had missed the waste basket. She bends down and picks one up curiously. She carefully starts to open it. Spurred on by lack of reaction on the housekeeper's part, she proceeds to quickly gloss over its contents.
"This is behaviour that I would expect from a lovesick school girl, not you," Mrs Patmore frowns. "What is this?"
Not quite sure how to proceed, the Mrs Hughes hesitates. "I'm practicing."
All the pieces of the puzzle are there; she just needs to put them together. But the picture that is forming is not something that she had ever thought possible. "I don't understand."
"Mr Carson has asked me to marry him," she answers sheepishly. She braces herself for an emotional response.
Mrs Patmore sinks slowly into a vacant chair. She doesn't say anything for a moment. Mrs Hughes worries for a moment that she sent her friend into a catatonic state of shock.
"I don't know what to say," she finally says. Now that the words are out, they are easier to find. "I mean, I always knew you and Mr Carson are very close. I guess I hadn't realized just how close." She pauses. "When did this happen?"
"Recently," she admits softly. She is vague, and Mrs Patmore doesn't press for more. She doesn't need to know more. "You're the first person I've told."
Mrs Patmore jumps from her seat and barrels towards Elsie's seat. She wraps her arms tightly around her shoulders. Elsie, meanwhile, awkwardly flails for a moment, not knowing how react, before finally settling on patting the other woman gently on the back.
"I am so happy for you," says Mrs Patmore as she lets go. "But in all seriousness, what is with all the signatures?" She waves to the mess on the floor.
Elsie bites her lip. It is the first time she is voicing her concerns, and she doesn't quite know how to put it. "I don't know how I feel about becoming Mrs Carson."
Mrs Patmore's mouth is agape. "You can't be serious."
"That's not what I meant!" Realizing her mistake, Elsie is quick to clarify. "I just don't know how I feel about changing my name."
Mrs Patmore relaxes visibly and reclaims her seat. "Maiden names are a ridiculous concept. Years of hard work, years of earning your name and title, and you're supposed to change it just like that?" she pauses. "I didn't even realize you could still be considered a maiden."
Mrs Hughes raises an eyebrow at her cheek. "You don't think this is horribly Lucy Stoner of me?"
"Only if you keep your name," Mrs Patmore replies. "What does Mr Carson think about this?"
"Oh, you know how he is about tradition," she waves her hand.
Mrs Patmore shoots her a pointed glare. "You haven't talked to him."
"I was going to," she bites her lip guiltily. "I wanted to sort out my feelings before talking to him."
"Do you love him?" her quick question startled her.
"What?"
"Do you love him?" Mrs Patmore repeated a bit more forcefully.
"Of course I do." She frowns, bewildered by the strange round of questioning. "More than I ever thought possible."
"That is the only feeling you need to be sure of before you talk to your fiance." Mrs Patmore makes a face. It hits her again. "Oh my God, you're getting married."
Mrs Hughes smiles. "That I am."
"You know, he's so adverse to change that he'll probably keep calling you 'Mrs Hughes' forever."
Mrs Hughes laughs because Charles Carson really is that English. He is the man that she loves. He is the man she is choosing to marry.
And in that moment, she is so incredibly happy.
I am a little ashamed that this doesn't quite pass the Bechdel Test. There must be some other measure of female representation/empowerment out there.