I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.
Wherever You Are
Jingle Bells, Something Smells
Annabel Margaret Walker was a grown woman now.
Fully twenty years old.
With her own shoebox apartment.
And her own job, part time as it was.
And she was nearly three-fourths of the way through college.
So she was set, she was good to go.
Evenso, she was also . . .
"I'll see you guys soon!"
"Okay, love you, darling!"
. . . still heading home for Christmas.
A whole week!
Yes, seven entire days!
. . .
Seems shorter than before.
She wants to get back to her radio station, I think.
And her Colorado.
Focus on the positives, Bette.
Annabel had shown them Instamatics of her . . .
"Is that the whole kitchen?"
"Yeah. I don't need much."
"It looks . . . cozy."
Actually, the idea is rather exciting. Her own place?
In Colorado.
Hush. Don't say it out loud.
I didn't.
. . . humble abode.
Daddy Jimmy had granted easy praise . . .
"Well, I'm not surprised in the least bit. Our Annabel can do anything she puts her mind to."
"Well, someone once told me sometimes you just gotta figure it out and do the best you can."
"Now I wonder who that could have been."
. . . and a fatherly dimpled wink at her fledging carpentry efforts.
And, after the man of the house had gone outside to fiddle with the lights some more, the women of the house had invited Annabel into the kitchen.
"Wednesday night we're having dinner with the Clarks."
Cool.
"Patty and her brood will be there of course. She has four kids, you know. They live in town."
Cool.
"George will be there too."
Okay then.
"He got divorced last year, poor guy. Wife decided she didn't want to be married anymore."
Really? I mean, he's not so bad. Looks like a thirty-year old, clean cut version of that guy from the Moody Blues.
"So sad. He deserved better."
Yeah, George was a good guy. Even when he pulled my braids.
"Anyway, we thought you might like to catch up."
Annabel, absently munching away on a delicious iced sugar cookie, nodded amicably.
Sure, whatever. Wait-
"Why would I like to talk with George?"
Her mothers' identical faces were carefully nondescript.
"Oh, no reason. Just old friends and all."
Annabel raised an eyebrow.
"Moms, are you trying to set me up with George Clark?"
Ma-Ba shrugged as Ma-Da tilted her head the opposite way from her sister.
They look like they're trying to split apart when they do that.
"No. Not necessarily," Ma-Ba replied carefully.
"Although it wouldn't be the worst thing," Ma-Da clarified. "He already knows our family and you so that wouldn't be a point of worry for you."
Annabel stared at them, completely sideswiped.
"What does he say?"
Her mothers averted their eyes, reaching as one for the green bean casserole dish.
"Well, we haven't really talked to him yet."
"We just thought if you would like to sit together at dinner, we could arrange it."
Arrange it.
Humph.
Then again . . .
He already knows about my eyes.
And my family.
It might be . . . safe.
Annabel chewed the cookie for a moment more.
"Okay," she finally said. "I'll sit with him."
And got dressed for dinner.
The Clark house was brimming with people.
The patriarch and matriarch of the family.
Both with greying hair and pleasant expressions.
"Oh, Annabel, look how you've grown!"
"How's that mountain life, Annabel?"
"Mountainy."
Patty, pleasantly rounded now that she was blessed with a passel . . .
"Jessi, give that back to your brother! Henry, don't you pull Becca's braids like that! Mom, where's the baby?"
"Right here in my arms, dear. Why don't you have some more ambrosia salad?"
. . . of poshly dressed, slightly feral children.
Her husband, a tall, somewhat bewildered man . . .
". . . mosquito netting just last week. Henry tried to eat it."
. . . outnumbered in his own house.
And of course, the Walker family friends plopped right in the middle of it . . .
Oh lord, Bette, can you imagine this many Annabels?
No, Sister dear, I cannot.
. . . all.
"Hey, Jimmy, how's the store?"
"Still selling the groceries, Tom. How's the firm?"
And stick her next to George they did.
"Hi, Annabel."
"Hey, George."
Oh, Sister.
They're talking.
Yes.
Annabel's hair looks so pretty. She looks a little like Barbara Mandrell when she styles it like that.
Yes. And that lovely Peter Pan collar looks so sweet on her.
Even if the dress is a little too short for my taste.
Why doesn't she take that outfit to college? It's just precious.
Yes, it - oh!
He's passing her the breadbasket!
Yes, he is!
She's smiling!
Yes, she is!
Why are my wives staring at Annabel and George like they're watching one of those daytime soap operas?
Boy, this ham is good. I wonder if anyone would notice if I just stab it with a hook?
Boy, Patty's sure churned out the kids. Seems like a happy family. I wonder what would have have happened if we'd had more children.
One of them probably would have the Famous Toledo Lobster Clan claws.
Boy, that would have been a whole other set of-
Wait, why is my daughter sitting with George Clark?!
"It's kinda loud in here."
I think it may be your sister's horde of monk- children.
"Would you like to go out on the back deck where it's quieter?"
Annabel nodded.
"Sure."
He did not reach out and take her hand as they silently escaped the tinsel tinged gathering together.
And she did not lament it.
Out on the deck, the Florida breeze was just cooling enough to lend them a breath.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Finally, George said:
"Whew."
Annabel nodded in agreement.
"Yeah."
The moon was bright enough to compete with the mutlicolored holiday lights below it.
"So," George began.
Then he grinned with embarrassment.
So?
Are you going to tell me how beautiful I look in the moonlight then?
'Cause I hear that's a line.
"I get the feeling our mothers are playing matchmaker."
Slam dunk for you, my friend.
"Yeah, they weren't too subtle about staring at us during supper."
"I felt like a lobster in a tank."
"Ha."
Quiet.
"What do you think then?"
Annabel shrugged.
"I don't know. You're George. You've always been . . . George."
Annabel paused then continued on.
"I mean, it's nice that I don't have to hide my eyes or my family around you."
Hoping she wasn't sounding rude or dismissive.
"I don't know. I guess I never really thought it."
Conversational lull.
Finally . . .
"Yeah. It's weird. Like cousins or something."
She nodded.
He understands.
"After Denise and I called it quits, I was kind of lost. It was rough."
Annabel felt bad.
Was she really writing off this guy so easily just because he was George?
"But now . . . I've got my own apartment. I've got a routine."
At the mere mention of 'apartment', Annabel felt a swell of homesickness for hers.
"I'm not . . . I'm not happy yet," he was saying, seeming without self pity or martyrdom. "I've got a plant. And a fish."
Already too much responsibility for me, buddy.
"I'm just not sure if I'm ready for more yet."
She felt a wash of relief.
Are you pre-dumping me before Christmas?
Oh, the horror.
"I'm sorry if that seems rude or dismissive."
Oh, that's just what I was thinking about-
"No," Annabel replied quietly. I was just thinking the same thing."
George side-eyed her.
"Really?"
Annabel grinned.
"Basically."
Then he turned and looked back at the bright house lights and all the social holiday people therein.
"Mother will kill me if I get drunk."
Probably not.
"Do you want to sneak off and go to a movie?"
Annabel shrugged.
"Sure."
"Flash! I love you but we only have fourteen hours to save the Earth!"
Well, man, you better get a move on then.
"Annabel! George! Where have you two been? We've been waiting for you."
"Well, not long."
Don't her off the hook, Sister.
"Obviously we ran right off to Vegas and got married. Your grand scheme worked."
"Annabel Margaret Walker!"
"Sorry."
". . . evening. Thank you so much."
"We enjoyed having you."
"Thanks for the movie, George. It was fun."
He smiled a little.
"Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming with me."
The following hug was awkward but not terribly so.
Just . . . cousins.
Who had been set up on a date.
By their well-meaning mothers.
"I hope you can be happy, George. You're a good guy."
"Thanks, Annabel. You too."
He shuffled.
"Well, you know-"
Annabel nodded.
"Yeah, I know."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Goodnight, Annabel. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, George. Goodnight."
Well, that didn't work.
No.
I'm not sure why.
I guess they just weren't right for each other.
They ran off to a movie without telling anyone.
Yes, they did. What-
". . . was that about? Why was Annabel running around with George Clark all night?!"
Oh dear.
She kinda felt sorry for her moms.
They just wanted her happy with a guy.
And she would be.
Eventually.
She hoped.
One day.
Maybe.
Just not with George Louis Clark.
Not during Christmas.
And not . . .
"Cherry?"
"Thanks."
. . . over Christmas ham.
Love Story.
Or not.
Whatever.
And that was the end of Annabel's 1980.
So a little not-bad interaction with the opposite sex there.
I thought it might be something moms might pull.
Especially at Christmas. ;)
Anyway, special thanks to brigid1318, midnightrebellion86, and autumnrose2010 for reviewing.