I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.
Wherever You Are
The Pauseiest Pauses of All The Pauses
Oh my-
-god, Sister. Our baby's-
-having a baby!
". . . it is yet but . . ."
I wonder if they're going to get married?
Well, they certainly should! Marriage to the man you love is so-
"Hey, girls, Jerry said there's an alligator outside chasing his alpaca. Where's that glass jar of maraschino cherries?"
-wonderful?
". . . married."
Wait, what?
"I'm sorry, Annabel, what did you say again?"
"I said, 'and Patrick and I are getting married'."
"Oh-"
Sister-
"Darling, that's wonderful!"
Oh-
"Jimmy!"
"Hey, girls, what are you doing here?"
Their lined faces were radiant with joy amid the displays of green beans and McCall's magazines.
"We have something to tell you!"
Jimmy nodded at his second.
"I'm gonna take the girls to the deli, Gregg."
Nod of affirmation.
"No problem, Mr. Walker."
The cozy deli section and dual benches hadn't changed much since the Battle of Bitch when Jimmy Darling Walker had come to realize how grateful he was for his long-loyal wives.
Maybe a bit more worn perhaps.
But aren't we all?
"What's going on, girls? Everything okay?"
Everything certainly seemed okay.
Bette and Dot were grinning from ear to ear.
"We're going to be grandparents, Jimmy!" Bette declared
"Annabel just called us!" Dot continued proudly.
"And her and Patrick are getting married!"
"Well, they're engaged anyway."
"Isn't that just the best?!"
My little girl's . . . having a baby?
He could have laughed.
He could have cried.
Instead . . .
"Say, that's . . . quite a . . . that's fantas- wow."
. . . he just kind of babbled.
Dot tilted her head at him, Bette tilting the opposite direction.
Annabel's right. They really do look like they're trying to pull-
"Jimmy, you okay?"
He nodded, summoning a smile.
"Yeah. I . . . I . . . yeah. It's just . . . she's so . . . I mean . . . she's just . . ."
Bette covered his left hook. Dot, his right.
"We know, Jimmy. We know."
And he just felt vaguely lost.
"How did they take it?"
"I think they're okay. Maybe acting a little funny but you know them."
They're going to be so far away.
Who?
Annabel, Sister, who do you think? Johnny Cash?
Oh. Yes.
It was hard enough when it was just Annabel. But now a baby?
Yes.
We'll never see them.
We'll get pictures.
Pictures.
And Christmas.
Once a year?!
Well, it's all we can ask for, Bette. She has to have her own life.
But I want to be a grandmother! A real grandmother! Not a blurry picture Christmas grandmother!
Sister-
I want to bake cookies and read stories and take naps and ride bikes and take baths and-
Sister-
And I do not want to know my grandchild through the United States Postal Service!
Dearest Annabel,
Dot and I were so glad to hear of your newest addition to your family. We are sure you are going to be a wonderful mother and your child-
Dear Annabel,
Bette and I are so excited and happy for you becoming a mother. You and Patrick are going to be good parents, we have no doubt-
"You got letters from your moms today."
"Oh, cool."
Ripping of envelope, crinkling of paper.
Silent reading.
A waiting Patrick.
"They're convinced we're going to be the best parents in the world. They're proud of us. They love us. Same old."
Annabel tossed the letters down, heading toward the bathroom to pee again.
Seeing Patrick pick it up out of the corner of her eye.
To put up with the others, she guessed.
And then she closed the bathroom door.
We're being supportive, Sister.
I know.
We're being good parents.
I know.
We're being what Annabel needs.
So you keep saying.
"Huh."
"What is it, darling?"
"How're we going to get to see the baby anyway? I mean, it's going to be all the way in Colorado and we're going to be here so how the hell does that work? How will it even know us?"
Sister, don't-
"Whhhaaaaaa . . ."
"Do you . . . do you think . . . do you think your parents want to be close to the baby?"
The baby that's not even here yet? The baby that's still just a thing?
"Yeah. I guess."
Quiet.
Snuffling from Scruffy Sam.
Breathing.
Cranky refrigerater.
The usual noises, nothing out of the ordinary.
"How are they going to get to be close to the baby if they're so far away?"
Annabel half asleep because, well, pregnancy.
"I don't know, we make it work, I guess."
More quiet.
Nice and qui-
"What if we need help? With the baby or we're sick or something?"
Annabel raised her head off the couch and opened one eye.
"I don't know. Why are you being so negative?"
Weighty Patrick Pause.
"I'm not being negative. I'm being realistic. We're really alone here and if it's just us that's fine."
She squinted at him.
"But?"
He clenched his jaw and unclenched it.
"But if there's a baby too and we're alone then it could get really difficult."
She waited.
Waited.
And finally Patrick dropped his doom.
"But it would be easier if we were with family."
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Patrick, we can't move my parents to Colorado. My dad has his store and my moms made the trip but I mean permanently relocating them would be almost cruel even for their grandchild."
He never stopped stroking Scruffy Sam's fur, as if taking comfort in it.
"I know."
Annabel felt her tension drawing out like a blade.
"So what are you saying?"
Patrick Pause.
There have been some loaded pauses in the world of dialogue and communication.
"Drop the bomb."
"But the girl You gave me made me do it."
And basically anything ever uttered by William Shatner, King of Overblown Pauses.
But none of them compared to the Patrick's pause and the ensuing sentence thereafter.
"I'm saying I think we should move to Florida to be near your parents."
Son of a bitch.
See this coming? What do you think?
Thanks, brigid1318, autumnrose2010, and midnightrebellion86. I really appreciate you reviewing so graciously. :)
