Ch. 29: Sweeter Than Apple Pie
The timer on the oven slowly ticked away the minutes. Jonathan yawned, but his eyes stayed on the pan he was watching. It was six in the morning.
Pamela wanted pie. Luckily she had wanted the apple pie his thugs had bought a few days prior and all he had to do was bake it. It was nearly done, only about three minutes remaining. He turned his back to the oven and walked towards his lavish-sized refrigerator—you had to have one when feeding yourself, a volley of thugs, and now a wife eating for two. He opened the door and pulled out a can of whip cream. He wasn't sure if she wanted any, but it would be safe to assume in case.
His thugs just gave him knowing looks when sometimes Pam would wake him up, asking if they had a certain food. If they didn't it was him waking up one of them, and they would either grumble or laugh as they left to get it. He smiled softly as he sat the can on the kitchen bar that was in the middle of the room. He couldn't deny Pamela; that was his child and she was his wife. None of the stuff she had wanted was hard to find, either, and most of the time she was able to get the food herself. This morning, however, she was in the shower and he had just come in to use the bathroom when she asked him if they still had the frozen apple pie.
So here he was, baking it. She asked him he wouldn't mind making it. How could he?
The kitchen door opened. He didn't turn around at first.
"Jon?"
"The pie's almost," he turned around with a smile, but saw the excited look on Pamela's face, "what?"
Pamela was five months pregnant, so she quickly half walked, half-waddled to him. She had an excited expression on her face as she grabbed his hand. She placed it on her stomach. For a few moments nothing happened. Then her face lit up and she moved his hand.
He gasped in awe and his eyes widened. It had kicked him. The baby had moved. He was silent; it moved again.
The oven timer went off and he and Pamela laughed. He reluctantly pulled away from her and retrieved the pie, using oven mitts. He sat it on the bar and pointed to the whipped cream. Pam took a seat as she waited for the pie to cool.
"When do you think would be a good time to think of names?" She asked.
Jonathan shrugged, "Anytime, I'm ready whenever you are." He was distracted, though. He leaned down and lifted Pamela's blouse. She laughed as his hands touched the skin underneath lightly. He grinned, glancing up at her, flushing embarrassedly.
He placed a kiss to her growing stomach, "Hello, this is your dad. You're an early raiser, you know that?" His reply was a soft kick, the indent he could see in her skin. Pam's hand fell there and and he covered it with his own, "I think we're in for trouble." Pamela laughed, "It's your child, I wouldn't expect any less." He snickered. "Yours too. We're doomed, huh?"
The prompt for this chapter was "Whatever You Want; Your Wish is My Command". What better to do for than to have Pamela have cravings? And yes, Jonathan Crane and Pamela Isley's child...they are doomed. Enjoy!
