Chapter 2

Girls' Night In

The scent of sautéed garlic wafts through the air, carried by the sweet melancholy croon of Joni Mitchell's Blue. Padmé stirs the frying pan ever so gently, her slender fingers easing the wooden spatula across its surface. A soft hum escapes her lips, perfectly matching up to Joni's impeccable vocals (this is clearly one of the best albums ever made, and it's impossible to overstate its impact on the folk scene of the 1970's). Spurts of hot olive oil fly up, and the way the droplets sting Padmé's hand reminds her of flecks of frigid sea foam from her home planet, Naboo.

Darth pops his shiny, smooth head through the basement vault door. He creeps up and peers over Padmé's shoulder, but she quickly recoils, his breathing much too loud.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph Padmé! Can a man not love in peace?"

Padmé sighs, suddenly reminiscent. Her mind flashes back in time, and she sees a young Anakin, nobly enrobed in a coarse jedi's tunic, leaning in to steal a kiss in the darkening twilight. The memory dissolves as she becomes distracted by Darth's heavy inhalations.

"Anakin- when was the last time we spent some time alone- you know, just the two of us?"

"Padmé, don't you know I don't like being called that?" Darth huffs a sigh, but his mask amplifies it to a near deafening volume. Both he and Padmé cringe a little, covering their ears. "Sorry… And anyway, you know I've been busy renovating the basement. You know how important that is to me."

"Yes, Darthy, I know you've been talking about this for a long time… I just…" She lets out a long, slow exhale. "Sometimes I feel like you're so caught up in your games–"

"THEY'RE NOT GAMES!" He screams it so loudly that the mask distorts his voice, and high-pitched feedback pierces the air. They pause routinely, waiting for it to dissipate. After six seconds, the screeching fades away, and they keep talking.

"Of course! Sorry, I mean, your reenactments– with like, the Clones and the Star Death and the Fish Lord and–"

"Sith Lord, Padmé! Not Fish Lord!"

"And that makes me feel like you're not making time for us anymore! A marriage is between two people, Anakin, not just one! And lately I've been starting to think that maybe this isn't something I want to be a part of anymore!"

For once, Darth Vader is silent. He bows his head solemnly and, slowly, motions to pull off his mask. He rests it on the kitchen counter and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Oh my god, Anakin! How long has it been since you last shaved!?"

He scratches at his newborn beard. "A week and a half, maybe?" He offers a wry half-smile, and Padmé turns her back to him, rolling her eyes. She gives a stir to the frying garlic, just for good measure.

"Padmé, you're right. I haven't been making enough time for us. I'll make it up to you, though, I swear. I just have to finish this one roleplay episode that Luke and I are doing. We finally got Jeff, our neighbor, to play the emperor for us? Anyway he's really into it, and agreed to chip in for some of the renovations, which could really help make the starship look more realistic. And we're right at the part where we try to get Luke to join the dark side. But the episode is almost over, I swear!"

Before she has a chance to respond, Darth is already bounding down the basement stairs two at a time, helmet in hand. As he reaches the bottom of the landing, he trips over the tip of his black cloak, stumbling down a few steps. He quickly recovers and rushes off to his mancave.

Before Padmé has a chance to start singing along to "A Case Of You", Leia comes bounding down the stairs. She is freshly showered and clad in a pastel pink silk gown, smelling of coconut oil and roses. Wow, Padmé thinks. I'm so glad that I, Padmé Amidala, am the mother of Leia Organa, Literal Goddess.

"So what's for dinner, mom?" Leia asks, her voice a cascade of rich velvet.

"Well, I was thinking we could make pesto! I know it's your favorite."

Leia grins and is about to respond when she is rudely interrupted by a loud crashing noise, and some pubescent yelling coming from the basement. Leia has never in her life been interrupted because everyone cares so much about what she has to say. So, frankly, she is a little surprised.

Luke comes bounding up the stairs and, to everyone's shock, his arm is chopped clean off. Really just chopped right off. He's screaming.

"AAAAAHHHH," he screams, loudly screaming.

Darth Vader comes running up from the basement too, his exercise-induced asthma causing his breaths to accelerate and amplify to an entirely new level, even for him. "Padmé, I can explain! I swear!"

"Darth, I swear to Naboo if you cut off his arm again…."

"It's not what it looks like! I did cut off his arm but I can fix it! I was supposed to pretend to cut off his arm with my lightsaber, but we got a little carried away and well… There was an arm that came off, I'll admit it! But nothing that can't be fixed!"

Leia rushes off into the living room to care for her injured twin, holding him gently. Padmé runs her palm across her forehead, rubbing beads of sweat. Blue had just ended, and Court and Spark started playing a few minutes ago. Help me! I think I'm falling in love again, sings Joni. Padmé sighs at the irony of the lyrics in her current situation.

"Anakin, I don't want to hear it right now. I am sick of you cutting off our son's arm. Please go get the prosthetic limb from the medicine cabinet. I'm glad I decided to buy a spare last time we went to Home Depot."

As Darth rushes sheepishly to the bathroom, Padmé hears another set of heavy, clumsy male footsteps on the basement steps and turns to see Jeff the neighbor appear in the doorway. Jeff has the appearance of a grizzled turtle beneath his tattered hood. Padmé, usually so warmly hospitable, can't help but frown when she makes out the stains and dustings of dorito powder on his emperor's cloak.

"Things got pretty wild down there, I'll say!" Jeff offers a nervous chuckle. When Padmé doesn't respond, he ventures, "So...uh... what's cookin', Pattie?"

"It's Padmé," Padmé says.

"Oh." Jeff stands awkwardly for a few seconds. "Well, I guess I'll be heading out."

As Jeff leaves Padmé hastily turns to the living room to assist her helplessly wounded son.