Hello guys! Here is Chapter 12! I hope you like it! Don't forget to R&R! :D Enjoy!
Neither Morticia nor Gomez could ask for a better relationship. They have been together for three quarters of a year, and not a day passed without them stoking the burning fire of their passion for each other. It was not as if they have already made love with each other, because they have not. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them about waiting for the right time to extend their love for each other to the bed.
Although Gomez would fetch Morticia, and sometimes Ophelia, during the morning and take her to class, after which they would dine out and talk until the wee hours of the night before retreating home, neither of them seemed to get enough of the other. Which was why every night, just like what he did when they first became in a relationship, almost right after they bid each other good night, Gomez would climb onto Morticia's balcony where they would cuddle and talk some more, but most of the time would just fell asleep wrapped in the arms of the other.
One night, Morticia jokingly told Gomez that perhaps it would be better if they set up a cot on the balcony just so they could be comfortable during the night. The following evening, Gomez attached a make-shift pulley to the willow tree, which he used to bring a portable cot onto her balcony, despite her nonstop laughing.
"I was merely pulling your leg, darling," she said, still laughing.
"Pull my leg further then," he replied as he laid down the cot on the balcony floor, extending a hand to help her settle beside him.
That was where they stayed since. Morticia brought out a comforter, which kept them warm during the storm.
Ophelia on the other hand, of course knew about what her sister and her beau were doing. But just like her sister's attitude towards her and Christian, she did not bother them. Although both Morticia and Gomez find it awkward if they cuddle inside Morticia's room rather than outside. There would be more privacy and the room would be too small for either of them to control their passion. Staying outside kept them from doing what they reserved for the right time.
They rarely fought, as they trusted each other to be faithful to the other. Also, they kept their communication open, simple, and nondramatic. Gomez was the most gentleman Morticia could ask for, and she on the other hand, was never demanding or needy. They both understood the need to prepare for an exam or the priority to accompany a love one, most especially when Mrs. Addams was in town, which she greatly appreciated from the both of them. Of course, though, Mrs. Addams would insist to have Morticia accompany her and Gomez wherever they go for she prefer to see her son lively.
However, there were times, usually when a specific time of the month comes, neither of them could avoid snapping at the other. It was part of the female anatomy that Gomez seemed not to quite understand. And unfortunately, the times when he would pester Morticia about it would be when red was etched all over her.
"But why do you have to be irritated?" Gomez asked for what Morticia felt as the fiftieth time that day.
The moment she woke up, she knew that today was the day and kept silent. Ophelia realized this the second her sister entered the kitchen and did not utter a word. Phoebe was incidentally with them having spent the night to finish a partner project with Morticia, and bit her tongue, knowing fully the female human anatomy despite her being a banshee.
Gomez on the other hand, was not very much aware of this female phenomenon, and chose that day to question Morticia yet again.
She sighed, trying to keep her cool, but failing miserably. There was an edge in her voice when she spoke.
"Gomez, I told you, during the cycle, hormones are raging. Most of the time, women experience hormonal imbalance during their period. Which is why some are happy like morons, while some are as angry as a hungry lion! Why could you not understand that?!"
"Alright, so there are happy hormones and there are angry hormones, why don't women just take happy hormones when they are angry or the other way around just to balance?" he persisted.
She groaned. Ophelia and Phoebe skirted away from them, murmuring that they would just walk to class and see them later that day (or perhaps not).
"Because women have no means of knowing how much happy hormone they should take!" she cried. "Perhaps you should try having some happy hormones when you are angry! And besides, there are more than two emotions, just so you know!"
"Of course I know that!" he shouted back. "I have emotions too, in case you do not know. And how am I supposed to take hormones, I do not even experience your episodes!"
"Lucky you, then!" she yelled before stalking away and slamming the door as she went, making the house shook in the force.
They would not speak for a day and the two of them would feel guilty of their petty fight. The next day, Gomez would arrive at Morticia's doorstep, holding a bouquet of red, long stemmed, thorny roses, which she was very fond of, ready to apologize. When she opened the door, she would be holding a folded paper in her hands, which consisted of her apology and her profession of love for him, written in her elegant and loopy penmanship.
And just like that, their fight was like water under the bridge.
Pretty soon, they learned to control themselves and prevent antagonizing the other. Gomez even started to chart Morticia's cycles just so he knew when would be the least opportune moment to anger her (not that fully intended to), and also for him to somehow prepare for her cycle. Morticia, on the other hand, was attempting to be less emotional during her red days.
Needless to say, their relationship was as harmonious as either of them could possibly imagine.
Gomez, Phoebe, and Christian were all at Ophelia and Morticia's house one night, doing their homework or otherwise reviewing for an exam. The five of them were at the downstairs receiving area, the furniture strewn all around as if a tornado kicked in the house, each in their own spaces.
Christian and Ophelia were sitting back to back next to the coffee table. Around them were a number of open books, and an assortment of plants and parts and different kinds of soil. Both of them were muttering words for them to memorize.
Phoebe was crouched on an arm chair, biting the cap of her pen, as she thought about what to write in the seven page essay assigned to them in their History of French Literature subject. An open book was on one arm of the couch, while her ninth page laid on the other arm. On the floor, neatly stacked, was the rest of her essay, her now-empty wine glass was acting as paper weight.
Morticia already finished her essay a few hours previously. She was now working on her other assignment, which was to compose a short fictional story of no less than fifteen pages, about at least two historical people or occurrence that coursed through the European history. It was a writing exercise for their Advanced Creative Writing class.
Most of her fellow classmates found the task hard, almost impossible. But she and Phoebe was excited to take the challenge. Phoebe even started writing her short story during class. Morticia, on the other hand, decided to conduct research first before writing anything. But then again, Phoebe had already lived for a long time, she witnessed history unfold with her eyes. It was no wonder she did not need to research.
On the floor, beside a small pile of European history books from the library, which Morticia were using as references, was Gomez. He was lying on his back with his arms folded on his chest as if meditating, and his legs crossed. He previously said that it was a zen yogi pose and it helps him concentrate. On his face was an open book, his nose serving as a bookmark. Though everyone else thought that he was sleeping, he was actually memorizing The Declaration of Independence of the United States of America. By some reason, his American Politics professor would be using that for their preliminary exam, instead of the lessons she tediously taught them on the first triad of the semester.
"Gomez, darling, are you awake?" Morticia asked in a whisper as she leaned down to his ear. Her hair brushed his forehead.
"…and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor," Gomez murmured in rapid speed. "By jove, I memorized it!" he exclaimed.
He removed the thick book from his face and got a full sight of Morticia's face, staring down at him with so much adoration. He touched her face. "Were you asking me if I was awake, cara mia?" he asked.
"Indeed, I was," she whispered back. A small smile formed on her lips. "But I suppose you are."
"Most certainly!" he replied, returning her smile. "I could never sleep when I am with you."
She scoffed gracefully, though her eyes were shining with amusement. "But you already have!"
"When?" he asked indignantly.
"Last night on my balcony," she answered. "And two nights ago, and the night before that, and the night even before that. Oh, darling, I could go on forever."
"Ah, I suppose I truly have slept even with your presence," he replied, pouting. "But I would really rather not sleep when I am with you. Too bad being human has its limitations. How I wish I am a witch just like you, cara."
"Wizards, darling," Morticia corrected. "But witches and wizards are still humans, my love. We are still in need of sleep. Never worry, Gomez dear, I love falling asleep in your arms."
"And I you," Gomez said. He reached up and brushed his lips on hers. It was a chaste kiss, but still full of emotions.
Morticia smiled. "Am I bothering you?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Not at all. I would never see your interruptions as 'bothering me'. I would welcome all kinds of distractions as long as they came from you."
"But I do not mean in general, darling," she insisted. "What I meant to ask was whether I am interrupting your studying."
"No, you are not," he repeated. "I have finally memorized six long paragraphs of The Declaration of Independence of the United States of America after four tedious hours. I will just be reviewing if I got them all correctly. Why did you ask, cara?"
"Nothing in particular," she said. "I was merely intending to tell you that I will be going to the powder room."
"Do you need to tell me that?" he asked, confused.
"I was afraid that you will not notice my brief absence," she replied. She looked sheepishly at him, which was new for Gomez for she had never looked that way to him before. He smiled widely, enjoying the sight of the love of his life looking the way he almost always seemed to look at her. Despite the look, she was still beautiful.
"You are amused," she said with a hint of hurt in her voice. He immediately lost his grin.
"I am sorry, my love," he said. He touched her face again, this time to straighten the creased formed in between her eyebrows as she frowned upon him. "I was merely attracted to the way you looked sheepish. Not to mention that this is the first time you displayed that. And besides, I did not know you are clingy, Morticia," he said, repeating the same words she uttered to him before.
A small smile crept unwillingly on Morticia's lips. She candidly scrunched up her face, as she had always done whenever he would throw back at her the words she had previously said to him. "Oh, you are so adorable, mon cher," she whispered. She moved to kiss him, but he was faster. The French made his blood boil with excitement.
"That was French, cara mia!" he urgently whispered. He took her hand and showered it with kisses. "Say some more, cara! Baguette! Caviar! Crêpe! Fillet mignon! Anything! Please, Morticia mia!"
She laughed wholeheartedly and threw her head backwards. Everyone in the room stared at her in disbelief. Even Gomez ceased from kissing her arm, he stared at her with wide eyes, though perhaps not as wide as Ophelia's.
Vaguely, Gomez heard Ophelia whisper to Christian, her tone completely surprised, "Morticia's laughing." And if he was not mistaken, Christian replied, "Yeah, shocking."
"What's so funny, Tish?" Gomez asked.
"You are, darling," she replied, barely containing her laugh.
He looked at her blankly. He racked his brains for any idea of what he might have said that seemed funny. However, he could not think of any.
"When you asked me to speak French, all you could give as example were French cuisine," she explained. "Though not entirely classic French cuisine, but merely ordinary French food. I have no idea I remind you of food."
He still did not get it. That seemed to make her smile wider. Still smiling, she kissed him on the cheek and went to the bath room in between the kitchen and the receiving area.
Making sure that the door to the bath room was closed, Gomez abruptly sat up. "Psst," he whispered to Ophelia. He inched closer to her, his head craning to see whether Morticia was already back. "Psst! Ophelia!" he hissed.
Ophelia looked at him strangely. "What?" she asked, her voice in normal volume.
"Talk quietly," he whispered. He turned again to check on Morticia.
Phoebe raised her head from her writing. She looked inquiringly at Gomez, curious of his intentions of speaking silently. However, she remained quiet and just observed.
"What's going on?" Ophelia asked, imitating his hushed voice. She also moved closer to him to hear him better. Christian leaned forward to listen.
Before speaking, he checked on the direction Morticia came from. "How does Morticia spend her birthdays?" Gomez whispered. On the corner of his eye, he saw Phoebe nod knowingly. She smiled and returned to her writing, but still continued listening.
Instead of replying, Ophelia stared oddly at him. This quite irritated him for he was on a tight time, any minute now, Morticia would be returning from the bathroom. "What?" he asked almost exasperatedly.
"You speak of Morticia's birthday as if it was not also mine's," Ophelia explained. Her tone was not angry, but more of amused.
He slapped his palm to his forehead. "Of course! How could I forget?"
"Are you already preparing for our birthday?" she asked.
He smiled sheepishly at her. "Just for Morticia, I'm sorry." He heard Phoebe chuckled, though quietly.
Ophelia also cracked a smile. "It's alright, Gomez. I did not expect you to whip me up a party. But a present would be very much welcome," she added, winking playfully at him. He smiled back for there was nothing malicious on her action, it was all sisterly affection. "But that is not until two weeks from now."
Before he could reply, Christian spoke up. "Your birthday is in two weeks?"
"You did not know your girlfriend's birthday?" Gomez asked incredulously.
Christian did not reply. Gomez watched as Ophelia's face darkened.
"How come?" Gomez insisted. He looked wildly at Christian.
"I didn't ask," Christian responded. He braved a glance at Ophelia, who was now scowling. He swallowed hard.
"Neither did I," Gomez said defensively.
Phoebe chuckled again. "You need not to," she said, finishing her essay. "Your stalking skills are unbelievable," she echoed Morticia's words.
"I am," Gomez proudly replied.
"So, when is your birthday?" Christian whispered to Ophelia.
"On the 31st of October," Gomez answered. He then ignored Christian and turned to Ophelia. "Well? How does Morticia celebrate her birthdays?"
"She doesn't anymore," she finally answered. Her voice was sad, letting go of the fact that her boyfriend did not know her birthday. Well, in the meantime, that is.
"What?!" he cried, completely forgetting that he was supposedly keeping the conversation away from Morticia's ears. "But, why?"
"She –" Ophelia began.
"– is coming," Phoebe finished. She appeared nonchalant as she discreetly nodded towards the bathroom door, its knob moving as Morticia opened it from the inside.
"Later," Ophelia whispered as she shifted away from Christian and continued reviewing her notes. Gomez flopped back down on the floor and grabbed the book he was memorizing.
He thought of possible reasons why Morticia creased from celebrating her special day but none came to him. He stared at his book, thinking of what he was supposed to be doing with it. Morticia sat down beside him and further distracted him.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Concern was etched on her gloriously beautiful eyes, despite them being blue.
"Nothing. Why?" he asked.
"You look confused… and you are frowning," she answered. She put her fingers on his forehead to straighten the crease.
"Just thinking," he said. He forced his forehead to let go of its frown.
"About what?" she asked.
An idea came to him. He took her hand and caressed it. "About what you would want for your birthday."
She looked at him in surprise. Apparently, of all things, this was not what she had in mind. Behind him, Gomez heard Ophelia slapping her forehead, perhaps in frustration of his sudden question for her sister. He did not think that asking Morticia would be a bad scheme until she felt frigid in his touch.
"Tish?" he carefully asked. He sat up and peered at her face, but she was emotionless. She did not speak. She took back her hand and resumed with writing her short story.
He turned to Ophelia, confusion apparent to his face.
Mother, Ophelia mouthed.
He did not ask any more questions. In an instant, somehow, Gomez knew that Mrs. Frump must have done something to make her daughter stop celebrating her birthday.
The rest of the night was awkwardly silent. They all finished their endeavors, though with the intention of leaving the house immediately because of the uncomfortable atmosphere looming. It was not only because of Gomez's mistake of asking Morticia about her birthday, but also because of the silent war between Ophelia and Christian.
Although still distant, Morticia walked Gomez and Phoebe out the main door. Gomez believed that she chose to do this rather than stay inside the house with Ophelia whispering anguished words to Christian's ear. They
"Good night, Gomez," Phoebe said, waving to him. She turned to Morticia. "Good night, Morticia. I will see you at class in the morning."
"I will drive you home," Gomez volunteered. He saw Morticia raised an impressed eyebrow. He smiled.
Phoebe also seemed surprised at his offer. "No need, Gomez. I can walk."
"No, I will drive you," he insisted. He glanced briefly at Morticia before turning his attention back to Phoebe. "Can you just give me a minute?"
"There really is no need, Gomez," Phoebe persisted. "I walked on my way here, I could walk back. Just take your time."
"I insist," he almost pleaded. He wanted to ask Phoebe several things, and the only inconspicuous chance would be through driving Phoebe home. He tried to convey his intentions through pointed glances, but she seemed to not get it. Perhaps he was not as talented as most women were in doing silent communications.
"I suggest that you let him drive you home, Phoebe," Morticia finally spoke up to Gomez's rescue. She smiled slightly. "He can be very… obstinate when he wants something."
"I will wait by your car then," Phoebe said, at last agreeing to his offer.
"Tish…" Gomez began as the two of them watched Phoebe walk away.
"Yes?" Morticia replied, her voice slightly wary.
"I'm sorry when I asked you about… well, earlier when I asked you…" he apologized but could not get himself to repeat the word that made her upset. "I didn't know that you had a negative thing about… you know. I just thought you would like to…"
"It's alright, Gomez," she said, silencing his almost nonsense talking.
"I hope you are not that upset on me," he furthered, his head low.
She raised his face to face him using a slender index finger. "I told you, Gomez, it's alright. I am fine now, bubula."
He was stumped by the moniker. "But that wasn't French, Tish."
She smiled. "It was not. It was Yiddish."
"Will you call me that again?" he asked. He felt himself growing warm and somehow emotional.
"Bubula?" she repeated, indulging his request.
He felt his heart soar. He took her hand and kissed it. "Will you always call me that?"
"I will, bubula," she whispered.
He leaned closer to her. He knew that she was truly no longer upset with him. Holding her waist to pull her closer to him, he pressed his lips on hers. She responded to his kiss with so much passion that almost made him guilty of wanting to pursue the matter about her birthday. Almost, being the operative word.
For whatever reason she stopped celebrating her birthday, Gomez wanted Morticia to view things about her birthday differently. Especially now that they are a couple. He wanted to spend her special day and make her feel that she was special on the day she was born, despite the things her mother said to her.
"Gomez, darling…" she whispered, breaking away from their kiss. "You still have to drive Phoebe home."
"Ah, yes," he said, remembering his intentions. "I will see you in the morning?"
"Most definitely," she agreed.
Once again, he took her hand and kissed it before stepping down the porch. "Good night, Tish."
"Good night, bubula,"
"I love you, cara mia,"
"And I you, mon cher,"
"But that's French, Tish!" he cried, running back to her. Like a madman, he grabbed her hand and fervently showered it with kisses, all the way up to her shoulders.
"Darling, control yourself," Morticia whispered as she tried to squirm away from his hold, but he won't budge. "Gomez, dear… Darling, it is way past midnight, Phoebe's grandmother will be worried if she is not yet home. Gomez…" Yet, he still would not let go. He was already making his way down her other arm.
Sighing, she said in an authoritative voice, not unlike Mrs. Addam's, "Gomez Alonzo Addams, stop it."
In an instant, he dropped her hand and stood still. He wildly looked around, looking for something.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, returning to the normal range of her voice.
"Mama, she's here," he answered, still looking around. "She told me to stop kissing you."
"No, she did not," she replied, suppressing a smile.
"Yes, she did. I heard her."
"No, she did not. You heard me."
"No, I – what?"
Could not stop herself from taking delight of his reaction, she finally smiled. "Mrs. Addams was not here. I was the one who told you to stop."
"But… what…? How…?"
"I heard how she reprimanded you the last time she was here,"
"Oh,"
"You know, I could have been already at home had I walked," Phoebe's voice rang out from the side of the car. Morticia and Gomez turned to her direction.
"He is already on his way there," Morticia replied. She did not shout, her voice was merely louder than a whisper, but the wind seemed to carry her voice all the way to Phoebe, who rolled her eyes, but in a kind and amused manner. Morticia turned to Gomez. "Go."
He pouted, as he did not want to go yet. However, he had a mission to discuss with Phoebe. "Good night," he said again.
"Good night," she replied, then added, "Go."
Though he had other pressing matters to attend to, which he could only accomplish by accompanying Phoebe home, he was still unwilling to leave. She chuckled at his reluctance.
"Go," she repeated.
"Make me?" he dared caddishly.
"As you wish," she replied. She cleared her throat, and once again assumed the manner of Mrs. Addams's speech. "Gomez Alonzo Addams…"
His eyes bulged out. He held up two hands to surrender. "Going, going. But honestly, Tish, you scare me when you do that."
She smiled. "I am glad to know."
Gomez kissed Morticia lightly on the forehead and finally left without a backward glance, for her knew that if he looked back, he would be running to her arms again. Upon reaching the Duesenberg, he unlocked the shotgun seat door for Phoebe, who was patiently waiting for him.
"Took you so long," she chided as she slid inside the car.
He closed the door after her and went over to the driver's side. He entered. "It's hard to say goodbye," he said as he started the car engine and left with a belch of black smoke.
"You did not say goodbye," she countered. "You only bid her good night."
"Still, I will not be seeing her until tomorrow," he replied with a hint of sadness in his voice. Even his eyes were a bit sad.
"You will not see her later?" she asked incredulously. She shifted on her seat to stare at him in disbelief.
"Sadly, no. She still has to finish her write-up –"
"Our short story is not due until Friday, it is only Wednesday. And knowing Morticia, she could finish the write-up in a blink of an eye."
"– I have to finish studying –"
"Exams do not start until Monday next week."
"– and besides, we were already together the whole day. Sometimes, while we still can manage, we give each other space. Just so not to bore each other."
"I doubt that would happen between the two of you," she countered. "You never seem to have idle moments."
"Oh, we do," he replied. A sudden glint shone in his eyes. "Most of our nights are idle."
"Oh. She didn't tell me that."
He looked at her briefly before returning his sight to the road. "She tells you about me?"
"Yes. Well, no," she said, changing her mind after a fraction of a second's deliberation. "Not much about your personal life. But she speaks about her feelings for you and what you do for her." Phoebe glanced outside and observed that the trees on the side of the street were passing them so slowly. She turned to him and asked, "What?"
"Huh?" he replied, looking confused. He flashed her a puzzled expression.
"What do you want to ask?"
"What do you mean?"
"I see what Morticia meant that you are coy," she commented. She sighed almost exasperatedly and explained as if she was speaking to a two-year old child. "You are driving so slowly. I could outwalk your car without breaking a sweat. I know how fast your car, though visibly old, could go."
"Meaning?"
She sighed again, this time, she was definitely exasperated. "Meaning, you are stalling. Everything now falls into place: why you insisted on driving me and why you are driving as slow as a tortoise; you want to ask me something. What is it?"
"You, women, truly notice everything," he mused.
"We are better observers. Come on, Gomez!" she insisted. "Let the cat out!"
"I just want to know if you knew about Morticia's disregard for her birthday,"
"Oh, that… I should have known you will be asking me that," she shook her head dismally. "But no, I did not know until Ophelia brought it up."
"Oh… I thought, since you are best of friends…"
"I knew when her birthday is, as I accidentally saw Morticia's school records, but I never asked about it. We never talked about things she does not want to speak of," she thought for a moment. "Though she is friendly and could be talkative, Morticia is rather… shy, could be the perfect word."
"I think I understand what you mean," he agreed as he thought about how Morticia was during conversations. "She mostly asks and discusses, but never divulges."
"Indeed."
"What do you talk about, then?"
Phoebe chuckled quietly. "Me. I fascinate her, you see."
Gomez did not look at her and kept his eyes on the road, but his expression was hurt, even a bit jealous.
"Oh, none of that sort, Gomez," she contradicted his reaction. "Morticia is not attracted to me, neither I am to her. We are merely friends. And she is most attracted to you," she assured him.
A slight smile appeared on his lips.
"She told me a number of times that she loves you very much," she furthered. "Going back to your question, as I've said, I fascinate her as she has not met a banshee until I came –"
"Oh, so I was right. You are a banshee,"
"You didn't know?"
"I guessed. But Morticia did not tell me." There was a touch of vague emotion in his voice.
"Do not feel bad, Gomez. I suppose she thought it was not her business to tell you."
"I don't feel bad about it. I actually admire her more for keeping it from me because she may have thought that the information should come from you and not from her." He looked searchingly at her. "What were the personal things she told you?"
"Hmmm," she murmured, thinking about his question. "I doubt that you do not know what I know."
"Perhaps that is not true."
"Perhaps. But then again, it is none of my business to tell you if she chose not to, right?"
"I suppose you are correct," he said as he realized that Phoebe had a point.
There was silence following his last comment. Phoebe chose to break it.
"I have not known Morticia for a long time before you came, but you certainly brought change to her. She smiles and laughs now. More when you are around."
"She knocked sense to me, too," Gomez admitted with a proud smile.
"And so I've heard. You are very fortunate to have met each other."
"You as well. She vaguely said that you had a dark past, though she did not delve to the specifics."
"I did. And I am," she agreed. "It is refreshing to have met Morticia after living along for a long time. It is good to know that I have a friend to turn to."
"But she is not the only one," he contested.
She looked at him strangely. "Pardon?"
"She is not your only friend. I would like to be yours, too."
She smiled affectionately at Gomez. "Morticia was right, you are indeed sweet. I am pleased that you want to be my friend."
He shrugged nonchalantly, though a wide smile was plastered on his face. "I already consider you as my friend."
"Thank you, Gomez."
The car stopped.
"Oh, we're here," she said, looking around.
"We passed by your house three times already," he confessed. "I wanted to speak with you that I decided to drive around your neighborhood."
Without waiting for him to assist her, Phoebe stepped out of the car. Before closing the door, she stuck her head back in. "Thank you for the ride, Gomez."
"Anytime."
She turned to leave but he abruptly stopped her.
"Oh, wait! Phoebe!"
She swiveled back to face him. "Yes?"
"How… er, how old are you? That is if you don't mind."
She laughed kindly. "We are friends, remember? But as not to shock you, I am extremely old."
"How old is extremely old?"
"Really persistent, that you are. 300… and 1. Turning 2 on December."
"No," he said, gaping at her.
She laughed again. She turned to walk up to her house. "Good night, Gomez!"
He laughed with her. "Good night, old lady!"
As he drove away, he heard her laughing loudly. It somehow made his day. For today, he officially made another friend.
The following morning, as what he had repeatedly done over the past several weeks, Gomez drove over to Morticia's place, breakfast for two at hand. Arriving there, he realized that he need not knock, for Morticia was already seated on the porch railing, her bag laid forlorn on the floor. From his vantage point from several meters away, she looked irritated, for her brows were furrowed and her arms were crossed tightly on her chest
As he walked towards her, he spoke. "Irritating morning, cara mia?"
She turned to look at him. The irritation on her face vanished instantly and she smiled upon the sight of him. "Not anymore, bubula."
He felt his insides melt with affection from the nickname she christened him with. He kissed her on the cheek. "Shall we go?"
"Oh, yes, please," she said in what seemed a desperate voice.
He held out a hand, which she took, perhaps too eagerly. They walked hand in hand towards his car. As he had left the Duesenberg unlocked when he left it, he merely opened the passenger door for her. She slid inside and waited for him to enter through the driver side.
"Would you be further irritated if I ask you what was bothering you?" he carefully asked as he started the engine.
She shook her head. "It was Ophelia. She is still seething mad with Christian."
"Did she do something?" he asked.
She scoffed before answering. "Ophelia is mad because Christian did not know when her birthday is."
And there was the God forsaken word, for Morticia, at the very least. Gomez chose not to answer. He merely said, "Oh."
"She was impressed that you knew about mine even if I have not told you," she continued. "That made her extremely disappointed with Christian."
He decided to speak, but made certain that he would not antagonize her in the process. "Well, as you have repeatedly said, my stalking tendencies have no boundaries." He glanced sideways and saw her slightly smile.
"Indeed," she agreed. "I attempted to tell Ophelia that fact, but she had her mind set upon being angry with Christian." She paused. "I might be wrong but I believe Ophelia is upset about Christian not knowing when her birthday is because she was expecting a surprise."
"Isn't that the exact opposite of surprises?" he asked, puzzled. "I mean you cannot really expect to be surprised. Otherwise, it won't be a surprise anymore."
"True. But perhaps she was used to the manner by which her birthdays were being celebrated back at home."
Gomez noted the bitterness in her voice. It saddened him. He decided to change the topic of conversation before she could divulge her true feelings about the matter. Of course, he wanted to know about her dislike on celebrating her birthdays, especially if it came straight from Morticia. But it was too early in the morning for her to be upset further. Perhaps he would ask tonight, but not at the moment.
"I'm sure Ophelia will get over it soon enough. You need not to be upset, cara mia,"
She looked at him lovingly. She placed her hand over his, which was holding the stick shift of the car. "You are surely saving me from being upset. Thank you."
His heart sank. Last night's dilemma returned to him. How was he supposed to make her special day… well, special, when the mere mention of her birthday clearly upsets her? From the tone she used speaking about the day, he felt that if she could, she would gladly skip the deranged day.
He merely smiled as he decided to push back in his mind the thought of Morticia's dismay regarding her birthday. He knew that his smile was like a grimace, and so he turned away from her as nonchalant as he could and faced the road. He sped up and not very long later, they were parked beside the now abandoned and long-forgotten first chapel of West Parker.
After he helped her out of the car, Gomez opened the heavy wooden chapel doors. They looked around through the dust so thick, it was practically veiling the inside of the decrypt chapel. The windows were made of stained glass, but grime had accumulated over the past years that hardly any light could pass through.
Holding each other's hand, they walked deeper into the chapel. The pews were rotting, the tiled floor was crunching under their feet, but by some miracle, it felt homey. As if in a déjà vu, he felt as if he had been there or at least the likes of it.
"The campus never ceases to amaze me," Morticia said in awe as she looked at the details of the structure they were in.
"That is because you expect less from it," Gomez replied.
"It did not have promising features," she defended herself. "All the brochures showed Art Deco buildings, state-of-the-art equipment and facilities, air conditioned dormitories, and the management was even proud of its friendly students. How could I think highly of it?" She laid her head on his shoulder. "Had I not met you, I would have probably hanged myself on the willow tree beside my room."
He kissed the top of her head. "I would have probably done the same, had we not met. Probably the reason why I kept surviving year in and year out, although barely should be the operative word, was because my subconscious knew that you would be coming."
Gomez stoop down to spread an old patchwork quilt on the floor of the altar, their only source of light was from the open chapel doors. They sat down and started eater. For Morticia's case, drinking the tea he prepared for her.
While eating, he contemplated on ways to ask her what she wanted for her birthday, without him being blunt and tactless, which might just upset her. Asking her what she wanted for Halloween would be idiotic for she was born on Halloween. The birthday per se was already a hard topic to bring up, how much more asking her what she wanted for the day she wanted to forget. He absently ate, temporarily forgetting that she was sitting beside him.
"You are distracted again," she said, waking him up from his reverie.
"Huh?" he asked absently.
She shifted closer to him and straightened his furrowed brows. "What are you thinking of?" she asked.
It was the question he dreaded to hear; most especially from her when what he was thinking about was an idea that set her off. She does not want to be lied on, she once said. But knowing how she would react if she told her the truth, Gomez decided to take a chance on a little white lie.
"I was thinking of what to give you…" he began, yet already her eyes narrowed, almost like a snake's. He swallowed hard. "…for our 100th day of being in a relationship."
Her eyes relaxed, though only a little bit. She scrutinized him. He felt like she was staring deep into his soul, searching for the lie he just said. Small beads of perspiration were forming on his nape as he nervously looked back at her, attempting to appear innocent.
Just a second before he felt that he was about to crack and tell her the truth, she dropped her inspecting gaze and smiled endearingly at him.
"But that is not until several weeks from now, darling," she said.
He sighed inwardly. "I know, but I want to give you something special. Thinking about what to give you could already take a long time, acquiring it might be longer. I also figured that you do not like surprises."
"Indeed, I do not," she replied making his guilt rise even more. "And besides, I do not need anything."
"That could not be true," he probed.
"I want you."
His face fell. "Don't you need me?"
"I will be honest, darling," she said quietly. She stared down her hands cradling her tea tumbler. "I do not want to need you, because I existed and functioned well enough before I met you. And I do not want to be dependent on a person no matter how much I love that person. I want to be with you for as long as possible, but there might be some twist of fate that can cause us to separate. If that happens, I do not want to become just like a shell, empty of myself."
He thought about her answer. Unlike him, she was indeed functional even before he came to the picture. He, on the other hand, barely lived until he met her. He knew right then, that he needed her to become human. She was his muse, his life line, his world. He knew that she had a point. Still, he could not stop himself from feeling hurt that he was not like how she was for him.
"I was not done speaking, dear," she whispered. Using her slender fingers, she raised his head to level with hers. "Darling, you know that you have this penchant of not letting me finish speaking." She stared deep into his eyes and continued, "I am starting to need you. Try as I might to fight it, I am needing you more and more as days pass by. Much like a heroin addict who was new to the vice."
His face slowly brightened.
"My greatest fear now is losing you," she quietly said.
"You will never lose me," he assured her.
"I pray so,"
He kissed her hand. "I promise so."
To Gomez's surprise and delight, Morticia was not available for lunch. In their German Literature class, their professor assigned them the make a book review on Der Richter und sein Henker by Friedrich Dürrenmatt. Most of the class did not even finish reading the second chapter, much more start the book review. Only Morticia and Phoebe were the ones able to reach half of the book. The professor then decided to divide the class into two with Morticia and Phoebe leading each group and each group would do a group review. The report was due the following day and they all decided to start working on it during their double free period, so they could all have their nights free.
This worked for Gomez. Now that Morticia was indisposed, and Ophelia was currently in a lover's quarrel with Christian, Gomez was free to badger Ophelia regarding Morticia's birthday. Though quite sad that he would not be with Morticia until after all of their classes, he kissed her good bye and pretended to have lunch on his own.
When he knew he was out of Morticia's sight, he drove all the way to the Agricultural Building, where Ophelia was just exiting the building. He saw Christian attempting to converse with Ophelia, however, she was visibly ignoring him.
Gomez stopped in front of the building and honked at Ophelia. She turned to him, silently inquiring. He gestured for her to come in, but she was hesitant. When from behind her, Christian tapped her on the shoulder, she then decided to climb in the Duesenberg, slamming the door with more force than intended.
Christian stared at them, surprised. Gomez shook his head, trying to silently tell him that their lunch date would be completely innocent. Christian nodded in understanding. He flashed a morose look at Ophelia, who was staring straight ahead, still ignoring him, before leaving.
Gomez drove to the opposite direction, heading towards a nearby diner. It was not where he and Morticia usually go, and he saw no reason to bring Ophelia to their special place. Still, the restaurant he chose serves none of those greasy and fried foods, which must be good enough for Ophelia.
Like a gentleman, he opened the door for Ophelia. They went inside the diner, walking a few feet from each other. He chose to sit by the window, so he could see if ever Morticia would be coming their way.
"Order anything you want," he said to Ophelia after the waiter handed them with the menus.
"Anything?" Ophelia asked, opening her menu.
"Anything," he replied, opening his menu. He looked up at her. "Well, anything listed in their menu, at least."
"Why?" she further inquired. Though she was scanning the menu, her eyes briefly rested at him, looking suspicious.
"Because I want you to be as comfortable as you could be while I ask you about a pressing matter," he replied.
She sighed. "You are still hooked about Morticia's birthday, aren't you?"
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"I told you, Morticia does not like celebrating her birthdays."
"I intend to change that."
"And how is that?" From the tone of her voice, she was challenging him.
He shrugged. "By you telling me the reason why she detests her birthdays." She opened her mouth to respond but he interrupted her. "You will tell me about that over dinner. Now, choose what to order." He signaled for the waiter.
"Yes, sir?" the waiter asked.
"I would like to have beef steak marinated in red wine, cooked rare," Gomez replied. He closed his menu and handed it to the waiter, who took it.
"We do not cook our steaks rare, sir," he said.
Gomez made a disgusted face. "The closest thing to rare, then."
"Medium rare, sir?" the waiter asked.
Gomez grimaced further and grunted, "Fine."
The waiter turned to Ophelia.
"Is this made of real monkey intestines?" she asked.
The waiter paled at her question. "No, ma'am. That is spaghetti Bolognese. We just call them monkey intestines."
"Yuck," she whispered loudly and made a face. "I'll have steak then, as well. Overly done, please."
"Overly done?" the waiter repeated, looking confused.
"Yes."
The waiter did not reply. He stared at her, still confused as if he did not understand.
"Overcooked steak. Charcoal burnt. Black on the outside, black in the inside," she explained as if she was speaking to an imbecile.
The waiter continued to stare at her, dumbfounded. Ophelia sighed exasperatedly. "Medium rare steak then."
"Marinated in red wine, as well?" the waiter asked, finally hearing a 'normal' order.
"I supposed so,"
"And for your drinks?"
"Red wine," Gomez said.
"Scotch," Ophelia said.
Both Gomez and the waiter gaped at Ophelia.
"For lunch?" Gomez asked, sounding very much incredulous.
Ophelia shrugged. "It was a tough day. And it was a tragic story."
"Anything else?" the waiter asked.
"None," Ophelia replied.
"I don't think you have what we like."
With an uncomprehending look towards them, the waiter left.
"What kind of restaurant is this?" she asked in a disgusted voice.
"A steak house," he replied.
"That does not serve overcooked or rare steak?"
"I haven't been here until now. Good thing Morticia was not here."
"Now, about Morticia…"
"Now?"
"When would you like to hear the story?"
Gomez sighed. "Fine."
"Morticia stopped celebrating her birthdays when she, well, when we, were 10 years old. Actually, our mother stopped celebrating her birthday."
"By 'her birthday' you mean –?"
"Yes, Mother only celebrates my birthday, not Morticia's."
"But you're twins!" he exclaimed.
"Exactly," she replied in a flat voice.
"But why?" he asked in an exaggerated voice, for he really could not understand the reason why and how a mother could do such horrible thing to her own flesh and blood. "I mean, why on earth would a mother do such thing to her child?"
Before Ophelia could answer, the waiter returned with their drinks. She took a swig of her scotch and continued speaking. "I suppose I should start at our 8th birthday." She took another sip of the scotch. "Morticia and I were playing at our yard that morning when a couple of kids wandered nearby. They were all wearing costumes; I suppose they were excited for Halloween.
"One of them was wearing a blue sparkling gown and a tiara, and she was holding a sparkling wand. The other one was dressed in black and a witch's hat. She had a fake long and crooked nose with a wart on its end, and she had painted herself green. That was when we knew about The Wizard of Oz. The first one was Glinda, and the other one was the Wicked Witch of the West.
"That sparked Morticia's interest about witches. I, too, was amazed, and so we went to the nearby library. I went to read stories about witches like Hansel and Gretel, The Little Mermaid, I even saw a copy of the script of Wicked. Morticia on the other hand, researched about witches.
"By some reason, there were books about the history of witches, their ancestry traced back in Salem, their burnings in the early 1900s, and everything a person should know about witches – spells, rituals, powers, among others.
"We borrowed two books, one for each of us – mine was the script of Wicked, hers was a spell book. The librarian did not suspect a thing, perhaps she thought we were preparing for Halloween. When we arrived home, we went straight in our room and busied ourselves with our borrowed books.
"At one point, Morticia tried a simple spell, a levitating spell, I remember so vividly. One moment, I was seated on my bed, the next thing I know I was floating together with all the other things in our room – our bedside table, the night lamp, our beds, even the closets. Morticia was also floating, she was in shock! Who would not be?
"She was searching in the book for the counterspell when Mother came and saw us floating. She was shocked more than us. I remember even proudly saying 'Morticia made us float! We are like astronauts!
"Perhaps it was the look on Mother's face, or maybe it was her angered voice when she cried stop that made Morticia lose her concentration on making us float and we dropped like stones. Without a word, Mother left, slamming the door hard. We did not know what we did wrong, especially that after the incident, Mother did not change her attitude towards us.
"For the following days, Morticia obsessed about finding out how she was able to cast a spell. Pretty soon, we learned that mother and her sister, who looked very much like Morticia, were witches. She died young though, in an explosion at Salem University. We thought Mother was pleased, and so we continued reading about witches. However, I soon lost interest. That was when my daisies started growing. Morticia, on the other hand, practiced casting other spells.
"For weeks later, it became apparent that Mother did not like witchcraft inside the house. But Morticia could not stop herself, she knew that she was a witch and loved the idea. I have never seen her so happy before the two of you met. With Mother's orders, she practiced only in our room. She rarely gets out of it. Eventually, she learned to develop other spells and she started concocting simple potions.
"Of course, Mother was not pleased. She constantly reprimanded Morticia, threw away her potions, burned her spell books, hoping to kill the witch inside her, but to no avail. Morticia kept on practicing witchcraft. And Mother grew desperate, she sought help from various child psychiatrists, sent Morticia to therapies, locked her up in our room. Still, the witch stayed."
The waiter then returned, carrying their food. It shook both Ophelia and Gomez. They were both so into Morticia that neither of them noticed that they were supposedly having lunch.
"We should eat first," Ophelia suggested. "Before we lost our appetite."
"I think I already lost mine," Gomez replied in a weak voice.
"The worse is yet to come," she assured him.
"There was something worse?"
"Eat up, I will continue later."
Gomez tried to eat, but his stomach did not seem to accept the state of his stake. And his mind was too busy processing Ophelia's story that he could not force himself to eat. On his third bite after almost thirty minutes, he looked up at Ophelia, who could not eat either. She was merely playing with her food, apparently waiting for him to finish.
"Could not eat?" she asked in an almost mocking voice.
He nodded. "Either it was because of your story or because of the steak."
"Should I just continue my, well, Morticia's tale?" she asked.
"Let me just ask for a glass of whiskey. Would you like one?"
"Whiskey, for lunch?" she asked, mirroring the tone he used earlier. "No, just another glass of brandy."
Gomez signaled again for the waiter.
"Another glass of brandy, and one whiskey."
Barely a minute passed and the waiter returned. They both took a long swig of their drink. "Ready," they said in unison.
"Our 10th birthday was the last straw. Mother was very impatient. It was only now that I learned that if a child do not cease from showing signs of his or her power at the age of 10, he or she would become a witch or wizard forever. We did not know that then, yet Morticia's powers perhaps knew about it, as she unexpectedly blew up her pink cake. The frosting was all over the place.
"Later, Morticia told me that she was disgusted with the color of the cake that she cursed inwardly. Probably her powers were very strong that even with just her mind, she could make things happen.
"Mother was beyond mad. We were given separate bedrooms, in the hopes that Morticia would not 'influence' me. She didn't know I also had powers, though not as attuned as Morticia's. I never practiced anyway," she shrugged nonchalantly. "For more than a week, Morticia was locked up in her room. Her windows were boarded up and chained shut, her door could only be opened from outside, she was a prisoner. The only time she was allowed outside was every night, when she could go to the bathroom but nowhere else. But worse –"
"There was still a 'worse'?" he asked in a flabbergasted expression.
"Yes," she replied in a grave voice. "Mother did not give her food. She only had water and nothing else."
"For how long?"
"Three –"
"Months?"
Ophelia let out a hollow laugh. "Years."
Gomez let go of his glass and it fell down on the wooden floor and broke into pieces. "Years?" he whispered weakly, not minding the shattered glass.
"Well, two years and seven months," she answered.
"And she did that because Morticia is a witch?" he asked.
"Because she reminded her of Aunt Esther, her sister, who died," she explained. "She blamed Salem University for her death."
"But that was unfair!"
"She was homeschooled. Well, because she was grounded for almost three years, Father and I brought her books which she studied. After those long years, Morticia returned to school. But she did not fit in. She did not fit in before, and much more after the hiatus. Her powers reverberated in her recluse and the other kids were afraid of her. So, she chose to continue homeschooling," Ophelia took another sip of her drink. "And that was her life."
"Good thing she had you and Mr. Addams," he commented.
"Good thing she met you," she added. He gave her the tiniest smile. "Now, are you still keen on celebrating her birthday?"
"I want to remove the stigma Mrs. Addams placed upon her. I will do whatever it takes for her to finally feel how special her birthday really is."
"Phoebe," Gomez hissed the following day. The two of them and Morticia were all in the library studying during the free period. Morticia just left their table to get another book from the shelves and Gomez seized the moment to speak with Phoebe.
"Yes?" she murmured, barely raising her head from the book she was reading.
"What does Morticia want for her birthday?" he whispered to her. He moved to the seat Morticia vacated and leaned closer to her to keep their conversation hushed.
"You still have not moved on from that, haven't you?" she asked, still not raising her head. She did not bother lowering her voice
"Keep your voice down, she might hear you!" he hissed. "And no, I haven't and I won't. Not after learning what truly happened."
Phoebe finally put down her book and curiously looked at Gomez.
"That got your attention," he said.
"What happened?" she asked, imitating his whisper.
He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. He looked around.
"She's not yet coming," she assured him.
"It's not that," he said. "Remember how Morticia did not tell you much about my personal life and how she did not tell me that you are a banshee and how you refused to tell me what you and Morticia talked about?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I think this is like that,"
"Alright," she replied with a shrug. She returned to her book.
"Alright, alright," he conceded. He shifted closer to her, dragging the chair with a squeak. "To make the long, morbid story short, Mrs. Frump locked Morticia up for being a witch on her 10th birthday… with barely any necessities."
"'Barely any necessities'?" she repeated, asking him to further.
He sighed. "No food, just water. No books, one bathroom time, almost nothing."
"How long?"
"Almost two…"
"I am assuming weeks,"
He did not immediately reply.
"Months, then?"
He still did not reply.
"Gomez?"
"Years…"
"What?!"
"Well, a year and seven months,"
"Still!"
"Shh!" Gomez urgently whispered. "Your voice is loudening. Morticia might hear you."
"Sorry," Phoebe replied in a whisper. "It's just that… almost three years of imprisonment by her own mother?"
"I know. And what more motivation do I need to give her the best birthday from here on?"
She sighed. "But Morticia does not want anything."
"I doubt that's true. She must want something and shared it with you."
"Morticia is not a material person,"
"Phoebe, you cannot have a birthday and not have anything."
"Of course, but I just know that she is not a material person."
"You already said that."
"Yes, I know." She thought for a moment. "Well, she wants you."
"Good. And so I will have myself wrapped up for her birthday."
"Do not be sarcastic, Gomez Addams," she admonished him. "Give her memories that would remind her of you on her birthday and not what her mother did on her birthday years ago."
"That makes sense," he slowly said, realizing that she had a point. "What if I –"
"She's coming," Phoebe hissed. "Move."
Gomez returned to his seat and tried to look busy by opening a book on folklore around the world. Phoebe resumed reading as Morticia sat down in between the two of them, putting down two volumes of thick books on the table.
"Tish, was this the one you were reading when we first met?" Gomez asked.
Morticia smiled. "You remembered?"
"Hard not to, cara mia," he replied, returning her smile.
Morticia turned to Phoebe, who was strangely staring at her. "What?"
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked.
"Like what?" Phoebe asked.
Gomez glared at her pointedly, silently telling her to stop showing how concerned she was for Morticia.
"Like that… like you pity me or something," Morticia replied.
From behind her, he shook his head vehemently. He mouthed 'No'.
"Why would I pity you?" Phoebe asked.
"I have no idea," Morticia replied. "You are the one staring at me like that."
"I think you are imagining things, Morticia," Phoebe said and returned to her book, but flashed Gomez a brief apologetic look.
For the following days, Gomez badgered both Phoebe and Ophelia, and occasionally Christian, who has finally made up with Ophelia, for tips on how to make Morticia's birthday a special one. All three of them were tired of repeatedly telling Gomez that all Morticia wanted was him. However, he was insisting that she wanted something material. And two days before her birthday, he found it.
The gift hunt started at the same time Gomez begun looking for ways to pleasantly surprise Morticia.
The only decent information he got from Ophelia was that Morticia told her before that she wanted to have balloons on their birthday. Of course, this happened before their mother chose not to celebrate her other daughter's birthday, which only meant that Morticia wanted balloons when she was still a child. Obviously, she was far from a child now. Yet still, Gomez felt it necessary to give her what she wanted before – hoping that her childhood want would help her overcome her hatred for birthdays.
Phoebe was less helpful. Not only because she only knew Morticia a few days longer than Gomez did, but also because after living for 200 years, the novelty of celebrating birthdays wore off already. And besides, banshees do not receive much invitation to gatherings like parties. Quite frankly, Phoebe's socializing skills were rusty.
The only information she shared with Gomez was Morticia's favorite color, which of course Gomez already knew, or at least he already guessed from the color she usually wore. He voiced this out.
"I know black is Morticia's favorite color. In fact, I think everyone knows that."
"Do not exaggerate, Gomez," Phoebe said, narrowing her eyes on him. They were once again whispering as Morticia just left to go to the bathroom during their free period.
"By other information about Morticia, I meant information that I did not know about her," he whispered, feeling quite defeated. He knew Morticia was a private person, but not this private.
"Gomez, I told you, we never really talk about her," she said. He felt her frustration and could not help but mirror it.
"Perhaps she said something in passing –"
"I cannot remember anything she said –"
"Who is she?" Morticia interrupted their conversation. Both Gomez and Phoebe nearly jumped off their skins as neither of them noticed her returning.
"What?" Gomez asked, opting to play dumb rather than let her know what they were previously talking about.
"Phoebe said that she could not remember anything she said," Morticia explained as she sat down beside them on the grass beside the baseball field of West Parker. "I was asking who was the 'she' Phoebe meant."
"Oh," was the only thing he could say. He pointedly looked at Phoebe, begging her not to sell his plans out.
"Oh," Phoebe replied, repeating what he just uttered. "By she, I meant… you."
Gomez's heart nearly stopped beating. "She?"
"Me?" Morticia asked.
"Yes," Phoebe answered, ignoring Gomez's reaction. "Gomez here was asking me…" He vehemently shook his head, pleading her to stop. "… what you wanted…" Gomez badly wanted to melt on the floor. How could she tell Morticia his plans? "… to be if you were not a witch."
"Oh," Gomez could not help himself from murmuring. Still, he glared at Phoebe who smiled at him wickedly. It was a good thing that Morticia was staring off into space that she did not notice their silent banter.
"Oh…" Morticia said, wondering to herself. "Well… I have not given that much thought. Perhaps an author? Or a painter… maybe a sculptor. I think becoming a decorator would not be bad either."
"An artist," Phoebe commented. She stared pointedly at Gomez. He nodded his head in comprehension.
"Yes," Morticia replied. "Art would help me express my true emotions." She turned back to Phoebe. "What about you, Phoebe?"
"Me?" Phoebe asked. She laughed to herself. "Well, I would like to become human first." She and Morticia laughed.
Gomez tuned out to the two girls' conversation, for he just had a great idea on how to surprise Morticia on her birthday. He excused himself and went to the art section of the library to research. He smiled to himself, for sure, Morticia would not be angry at him for deciding to celebrate her birthday. Especially that the theme of her special day would be art.
"Do you think Morticia is already awake? Perhaps I should check on her" Gomez nervously asked Phoebe on Morticia's birthday. It was only half an hour before her first class and she has not come down from her room. Besides Gomez, Phoebe and Christian were also there, waiting for her to see the efforts they pulled a few hours ago. The whole house was like a museum, for Gomez made several local artists replicate the famous works during the Dark Ages, Baroque Period, and Renaissance Period.
"That will blow the surprise, man," Christian said, leaning over the kitchen sink.
"But she hasn't come down," Gomez reasoned. He started pacing the length of the kitchen, smoking his cigar as he does so. He was terribly nervous that his planned surprise came down to pieces.
"I told you, you should not have left a note beside her table," countered Ophelia. She sat beside Christian on the kitchen sink and crossed her arms as she glared at Gomez. "You told her in the note that there is a surprise waiting for her down here. Seeing how much she hates her birthday, she would not come down anymore."
"Well, I also think you should not have left a note," Christian added. "I mean, with the note, you told her that there is a surprise for her here. So technically, there is no surprise anymore."
"To be fair," Phoebe spoke up to Gomez's defense. "I believe that what Gomez did was justifiable. It prepared Morticia. Can you just imagine how she would react if she came down and saw all these, laid out for her birthday? She would be very anguished."
"But now, she knew that there was something prepared for her birthday," insisted Ophelia. "Knowing that, she will not go down."
"But she has no choice, does she?" Christian asked. Everyone turned to him, looking at him questioningly. "Well, Gomez and I boarded up her balcony door. She could not go to her classes through there."
"You what?!" Ophelia asked, outraged.
"Why would you do such thing?" Phoebe asked, mirroring Ophelia's angered voice. Her eyes were bulging out of her head, almost ready to fall down.
"So she could not escape?" Gomez asked. He was still pacing around.
"By imprisoning her?!" Ophelia and Phoebe said in unison.
Gomez stopped on his tracks. He faced them both with a horror-struck look on his face. "What?! I did not – I mean… I didn't – that wasn't really… er. Christian and I were just… um… imprisoning… that's too harsh… but – not my intentions… I was not – was I?"
"Chain your words together, man?" Christian suggested, almost laughing. Of course, he did not know the reason behind Morticia's reluctance in celebrating her birthday. Ophelia and Phoebe glared at him. Christian immediately shut up.
Gomez looked helplessly at Ophelia and Phoebe, who stared back at him, though in utter disbelief. They were quiet for some time. At some point, Gomez looked down at his pocket watch, and saw that it was barely five minutes before her first period.
Time passed slowly. Phoebe did not leave, even though she was already late for her class, for she wanted to witness how Morticia would react. After a quarter of an hour passed, Phoebe raised her head and saw the unmistakably outline of Morticia descending the stairs. She whistled to Gomez, who was smoking miserably by the window facing away the stairs.
He looked at her, his eyes very much remorseful. Phoebe slightly nodded her head towards the stairs. Gomez frowned, not immediately understanding what she was signaling. She continued nodding. Finally, he turned around, and saw Morticia a few steps down the stairs. He swallowed hard and walked up to her.
"Happy birthday, cara mia,"
Her face was blank and emotionless.
I know, I know, the chapter was a cliffhanger. But, what do you guys think? How do you think Morticia would react? What do you think Gomez said in the note he left Morticia? What do you think Gomez got for Morticia? But most of all, what do you guys want to read on Chapter 13? I was thinking of a Christmas special, but then Christmas was long over. Of course, I will be continuing Morticia's birthday on Chapter 12.5 :D But I really need your help for Chapter 13.
Thank you for your support! See you soon!