Chapter 6: You Just Stay Forgiving Through the Forest and the Trees
Kirby turned restlessly in his cot, not sure if the rusty coils bothered him more than the idiocrasy of the evening's events.
It was hard to choose.
The Mistress' plan was the most ridiculous notion he had ever heard.
"But it's perfect!" Her voice insisted, as his mind replayed the events at dinner yet again. He could recall her clearly sitting on the edge of her seat, both hands pressed on the table as she addressed everyone. Gone was the discouraged housewife who kept trying to clutch at pieces. New excitement had breathed energy and purpose into her with a plan that made eating nearly impossible. "I can hire you to look after Robbie and the house while I take that job at the bank! I won't have to worry about putting Robbie in daycare, or making sure Rob's fed."
"Kirby, that is perfect!" Kirby's protest was cut off as yet another party made herself heard. "That's exactly what you've been doing your whole life! Cleaning…and looking after people! You're a natural at it!"
"He is, isn't he?" Kirby followed the unwitting smile the Mistress flashed at the toaster, though Toaster seemed to miss it completely. She was too busy smiling at him. "I've never seen Robbie so happy before."
"He's incredible…when's he not being such a grump, anyway." Both woman laughed.
Kirby looked from one to the other, becoming more and more flummoxed with each glance. For all their differences, their faces were near mirror images of each other as they reflected the same enthusiasm and admiration.
"Would you stop talking about me as if I wasn't here!" He finally spluttered.
"Please consider it, John. You'd be doing me a favor!" the Mistress added, almost pleading. "Both of us, really. Wouldn't he, Rob?"
If Kirby had hoped for any protest from the Master (who should have at least explained to his wife that he could feed himself just fine), he found none at all. Perhaps the veterinarian was simply tired, or relieved to see his wife in a happy mood. Or maybe, Kirby realized darkly, as he watched Rob eat a third helping of chicken pot pie, he actually relished the idea.
"It would certainly go a long way towards helping," he said. "Between what Chris could make at the bank and Thea helping me in the clinic, we could make headway on the bills we still owe. Maybe save up for another van…but you shouldn't feel obligated to say yes," he quickly added, catching Kirby's eyes on him. "We don't want to take advantage of you. You can always say no."
"Why would he say no?" the Mistress exclaimed in a laugh.
HOW could he say no was the better question.
Kirby pounded a fist on a spring that kept trying to dig into his shoulder. He'd spent most of the night trying to find a way to say no. Absolutely not? Under no circumstances? Never ever in a million years?
Cleaning and cooking aside, he simply hadn't been built for what they were asking him to do. There was only thing he was meant to be and that was a vacuum. But every time he saw the Mistress' shining face and the Toaster's beaming smile. He couldn't even say for sure which one made it more difficult to refuse.
Why was it his business to make any decision? Kirby flung off the blanket and flailed to his feet. He stumbled up in the stairs in the dark. He hadn't even asked to be involved in any of this.
"Those hearing aids have had more than enough time to figure this mess out," he told himself and he opened the basement door and stepped into the living room. "They should have told Ratso what they've found by now. And if Ratso isn't awake, I'll shake him until he is!"
And that was exactly what Kirby ended up doing, when he found Ratso snoring away on his couch. A good shake of the unit sent him rolling on the floor, and blinking bleary eyes in confusion.
"Whatcha mean what are they doing?" It took him some time to answer Kirby. "They've barely had enough time to talk about anything!"
"They've had four days," Kirby retorted. "What are they waiting for?"
"How should I know? Oh, wait." Ratso scratched his rear as he looked at a corner of his unit. "Actually, I do know. It was gonna wait until morning…"
"What was?" Kirby demanded, as Ratso rose on unsteady feet.
"Samples." The Rat tugged sandwich bags from behind his couch.
"Samples?"
"Yeah. They want some hair from you and Toaster so they do some lab testing on it. Don't bother asking me how." Ratso stifled a yawn. "I didn't bother asking for details."
"Hair?" Kirby ran his fingers through the short hairs on his head. "How much?"
Ratso shushed him and beckoned him closer with a finger. Kirby lowered his head to the unit to hear what he had to say. Instead of whispering, Ratso plucked two hairs from his mustache.
"Yeah, sorry about that, Big Guy," he said, nonchalantly, as Kirby muffled his yelp with both hands. "Didn't think you were up to yanking 'em out by yourself."
"Why—you—you—I'll—I'll—"
"You'll what?" Ratso dropped the hairs into one baggy and rolled it up to stick back under the couch. "Wake me out of a nice sleep? You wanna feel better? Go shove Toaster out of bed and yank some hairs out of her head." He shot a nasty grin Kirby's way. "Trust me, it'll make you feel much better."
Going upstairs was the last thing Kirby wanted to do. But there was some sense in Ratso's suggestion. Perhaps not going as to shove Toaster out of bed, but to do whatever it took to get them back into appliances again. He tried to ignore the way the stairs creaked under his heavy feet, focusing only on his need.
To his surprise, the door to the guest bedroom was already ajar. The only window in the room gaped wide as it flooded the room with the pale light of some outside lamp. Apparently, the Toaster had pulled the blinds up as far as they could go and hadn't bothered to lower them again.
Even as he shook his head at her carelessness, a much more serious blunder caught his attention. The Toaster slept sprawled on the bed, her limbs askew and her hair completely covering her face. Blanky was stretched out on top of her in a very decided effort to cuddle as much of her as it could.
"You dope." The words shot out before Kirby could stop himself. "You can't be in here," he said again, in a much softer tone as he stepped inside the room. "Do you want to get us into more trouble? Besides, she's got a perfectly good comforter underneath her, if she needs one." Grumbling, he reached out and caught the blanket right behind its dial to lift it up.
It was a decision he'd regret, as he immediately found that the Toaster was only half- dressed. Bare legs and feet met his eyes, both curving up to join the white cotton fabric that hugged the Toaster's hips. Kirby stared dumbly for a moment, trying to register the odd form that was both the Toaster and someone else at the same time.
As the surprise faded, another thought tried to click itself into place. He let Blanky drop on the floor as he moved around to one side of the bed. He raised a hand and let it hover over the form, just over the apex where legs disappeared into the underwear that Toaster had the frame of mind to keep. Dark hairs covered the legs; a sight that somehow fascinated him. His fingers twitched, but a strange unease prevented him from lowering it any further. His free hand, however, traveled from his side to his abdomen, feeling for that part of his anatomy that had and still disturbed his peace of mind the most. There was an obvious difference between what he could see and what he could feel.
"But why?" his mind demanded.
Then Toaster drew a deep breath in her sleep, and turned her head to one side, snapping Kirby out of his senselessness. He pulled his hand back quickly and watched her move, waiting stone still until her breathing settled again.
"Idiot," he said to himself, "You want to wake her up, remember? You need her hair."
His hand reached for the hair covering her face, but instead of yanking at it he found himself drawing it away from her mouth; something he'd seen the Master do when the Mistress had fallen asleep on the couch. Toaster's lips parted and closed again, completely unaware of him.
For the first time, he found himself really able to see what the Toaster had become.
Ninny. It's not the first time you've seen her.
Yeah, but you try looking at her when she's got those infuriating eyes watching your every move. He'd been avoiding her gaze for so long, Kirby realized, that he hadn't taken the time to actually see how she had changed. Details that he hadn't noticed before struck him now; the curve to her jaw, the dip of her blouse over her budding chest. The hair had tangled into a painful disaster, but on his rough fingers it still felt as silky as the first time he had touched it.
Kirby had no really opinion on human beauty, but the Toaster was very pleasant to look at.
Just as his fingers hovered over her lips, a strong urgency shot up in his belly and spread through his veins; fiercely beckoning as he felt her breath warm his hand. He panicked, and pulled away. Groping in the darkness for Blanky, he didn't give heed to taking care as his hurried movements caused her to shift in her sleep again. Even in the hallway, with her door closed firmly behind him, he didn't feel safe. He dropped Blanky to the ground before the Little Master's bedroom without a word and thumped down the stairs without taking care. It wasn't until he reached the bottom of the stairs that his heart slowed to a reasonable speed and his mind cleared.
He had escaped something. Just what it was he didn't know. But he was darned if he let himself get that close again. If that meant never looking at the toaster again, then so be it.
Ratso's snoring from the kitchen reminded him that he hadn't gotten what he'd gone for in the first place.
"Whatever. Tonight, tomorrow. What difference does it make?" he told himself, taking care of his discomfort. "Those blockheads will figure something out how to change us back soon enough."
And just like that, July was over, and a hot, muggy August was well underway.
To Toaster, it seemed that time had slipped by quietly and quickly. Kirby had accepted the Mistress' offer the first morning after her plan had been announced, setting into motion what was now the household's routine. Kirby rose early in the morning to set out breakfast, waking them all with whatever delectable concoction he managed to test. The Mistress left for her bank teller job soon after, with a quick kiss for her husband and her son. Toaster would follow the Master out to the clinic, where they spent most of the morning pouring over equipment or patients. At lunch they would head back inside an immaculately clean house to eat whatever Kirby set out for them, usually just in time to see Kirby and Robbie off to the park. Some days the Mistress would be home for the afternoon, and then Toaster would find a quiet place to escape to so the Master and Mistress could be by themselves. She was never alone for long, though, as the Master would come find her as soon as he had finished lunch so they could return to the clinic for more patient visits or equipment checks.
If there were neither, Rob happily spent the afternoon instructing her in his profession. Toaster practically swallowed those teaching moments whole, both for the marvel of veterinary medicine and for the thrill of her Master's attention.
She was helping him. Not just watching and admiring, but truly and honestly helping him.
At some point, it all became natural to her. Not just the routine the four of them followed, but the sensation of being human. The rituals of eating, dressing, sleeping, and bathing become second nature, though she had started wishing she could just hack off her hair and call it a day. While she waited for the hearing aids to finish studying the hair samples they'd collected, she found herself slowly becoming used to everything in her new life.
Everything but the terrible loneliness, that is. The moments when the Master was with his wife or off in his study, Toaster found herself missing her friends' company.
"But Kirby's been talking to you now, ain't he," Ratso asked, on one of those rare afternoons when Toaster was in the kitchen by herself. "I'd thought he stopped blaming you for everything."
"I thought so, too." Toaster leaned against a counter corner, swinging a cabinet door back and forth on its hinges with one finger. "But I guess not."
It was one of those Saturdays when Chris was off from the bank, and Rob had no scheduled appointments. Saturdays in the past, to Toaster, had meant more time together; everyone laughing and playing. Somehow it had just become more empty time, with everyone looking for ways to be away from each other.
And that meant that she was alone.
"I mean, he talks," Toaster continued, "But he doesn't really say anything important. He doesn't tell me what he's thinking or feeling, or what's he's hoping for."
"Yeah, but he never did that before. Why's it so important now?"
"It…it just is." Toaster couldn't really explain what she meant. She didn't know how to tell Ratso that she could sense Kirby keeping her at a distance, physically and emotionally, in ways he never had as an appliance. She couldn't tell him how hurt she felt when Kirby wouldn't look her in the eye, or how painful it was that he scrambled to get out of any room he found her alone in. She couldn't even ask him why he wouldn't be alone with her; he never gave her a moment to talk.
"Well, you know how he gets." But Ratso still looked as perplexed as she felt. "Besides, he's stayed pretty busy lately. Even busier for a vacuum! Maybe it just ain't as easy for him as it is for you."
"Maybe." Toaster moved to the sink to look out the window. From there, she could see Kirby and the Mistress together, holding a basked full of wet laundry. In whatever free time he had, Kirby had strung up a clothesline between the house and the old water pump, claiming in an embarrassed way that they needed to give the dryer a break during the summer. He and the Mistress chatted away as they hung up clothes. She saw him put a hand on her shoulder. In memory, Toaster ran the back of her finger across her cheek, wondering why Kirby's fingers had felt so differently than hers.
"He doesn't have a problem talking to her," Toaster observed, wistfully, as Kirby tossed back his head to laugh at something the Mistress had said.
"What? Don't tell me you're jealous."
"What?" Toaster shot a glance at Ratso. "No! Well…not really." She grinned sheepishly. "But he treats me differently, almost like she does. Like I'm something you have to avoid."
"Well, I get why she's still avoiding you. You follow her husband around like some sort of sick puppy."
"But I have finally have a chance to talk to him and work with him!" Toaster protested. "Why does that bother her?"
"Like I really know what the Mistress is thinking." Ratso flung up his arms. "I just know that you spending so much time in the clinic with him grinds her gears."
Toaster shook her head sadly. "There's nothing I can do about that. He needs my help. He said so." She remembered watching him try to remove the stitches from a kitten's belly, his hand awkward with the tweezers. His face had gone red with exertion, and he all but wrenched the sling off until she'd taken the tweezers away from him.
"Thanks," he'd told her when they'd finished with the kitten, but it pained her to see how useless he felt.
"Besides, I need to be doing something, too," Toaster admitted, mostly to the image through the window.
As if sensing her, Kirby's head turned towards the window. Toaster forced a smile and waved at him but Kirby simply stared until her hand dropped and her smile vanished. "I know Kirby feels frustrated, but at least he's doing something useful. Me? I keep trying to toast something that just isn't there."
"Well, you could always spruce up your appearance," Ratso replied. "I heard the Mistress say you keep looking like something the cat dragged in."
"What does that mean?" Toaster flushed regardless.
"Well, for starters, you ever think about dragging a comb through that nest? Every time you come in here you look like a crazy woman."
"My hair again?" Toaster groaned and reached up to smooth the frizz. "I have tried to fix it. Again and again and again. But the comb keeps getting stuck in it, and it keeps tearing, and IT HURTS!" she yelped, as her fingers caught in tangle and yanked.
"Whoa! Whoa!" Ratso flung up his hands. "Cool it! I was just trying to offer some advice."
Toaster turned away from the window to free her fingers and calm herself. "Sorry, Ratso," she managed to say after a moment. "I know you're trying to help. I just wish…" She didn't know what she wished.
Ratso waved her apology aside. "Don't sweat it, slots. You just keep your chin up. Those earplugs will have everything figured out before you know it!"
"Thanks."
"Oh, Toaster?" Ratso whispered, as the study door opened and the Master called for her.
"Yes?"
Ratso shrugged apologetically. "Blanky, Lampy, and Radio say they miss you."
The hopelessness settled over her heart again. "Oh. Tell them I miss them, too." She headed towards the study.
The Master was waiting in the living room for her with a tube of plastic wrap. On the floor, Robbie played with a bright blue ball Chris had brought home for him.
"I told John I would watch Robbie until the laundry was done, but I need a shower," the Master said, apologetically. "I can't take the heat right now. And this thing…" He indicated his cast with a frustrated sigh.
"Sure, I'll watch him," Toaster said, forcing a smile.
"…And do you think you could…?" The Master held out the plastic wrap.
"Of course!" Glad to be of some use at last, Toaster helped him wrap his arm until the cast was completely water proof.
"Thanks. I would have asked Chris, but I couldn't find her anywhere."
"She's in the backyard hanging laundry. With Kirby." Toaster bit her tongue as she heard the iciness in her own voice.
"Yeah. That figures." Rob's face changed as he regarded his busted arm. "Oh, well. At least she's spending time with someone who makes her happy right now."
"You've made her happy," Toaster protested, not able to stand seeing him look so forlorn.
"Well, you can't make everyone happy all the time," he replied, giving her a crooked grin that looked forced. "My mother used to say that sometimes you just need to do things that make you happy, and let people do what they have to do."
"Is that true?" Toaster watched his face, waiting.
The Master sighed and shrugged. "It worked for her. I guess I'll try it, too. Thanks for your help, Thea."
"You're welcome." Toaster watched him disappear up the stairs, mulling over everything.
"But what if things don't make you as happy as they used to?" she asked herself, turning towards the little Master. She couldn't help a genuine smile this time as she watched him bounce his ball as high as he could. Blanky lay nearby; a guardian to the little boy's fun.
"You know exactly what makes you happy, don't you?" Toaster exclaimed as she knelt beside Robbie.
The blue eyes shot to her face and he poked her nose with his finger. "To-aster…"
Toaster rubbed her nose against the finger. "Yes, that's who I was. I'm not sure who I am now," she admitted, sadly.
The toddler's face fell as he watched her, then he grabbed his ball with both hands and heaved it at her. The throw was weak and unmannered, but Toaster laughed as she caught it and rolled it back to him. For a few moments, she forgot her issues with Kirby and the Mistress and her loneliness as she and the little Master played with the ball.
All went well, until the toddler bounced the ball. Toaster grimaced as it hit her shoulder and bounced off, heading back the way it came. It swept past the baby's head, just barely missing his ear, and ended up rolling under the couch.
After a brief moment the little Master registered that his toy was gone and shot pleading eyes up at Toaster.
"Oh, oh, it's okay," Toaster soothed as the little eyes began to water. "It's not gone. I'll get it."
She crawled over to the couch and thrust a hand deep inside the dark recesses. Dust and dirt seemed to attach to her skin, and she frowned, wondering if Kirby knew he had missed a spot.
"There we go!" she exclaimed, as her hand touched on something. "I got it. Oh, wait, no, that's not it," she added, as her fingers mapped out a handle. "Hold on." The item she drew out into the light was a tiny brush with fine bristles. She picked the dust out of it, looking it over carefully before tossing it up on the couch cushions and delving underneath once more.
The ball was soon retrieved, unscathed, and the little master was tossing and bouncing it once more. Toaster, however, felt her gaze drawn away from the game to the brush on the couch.
"You ever think about dragging a comb through that nest? Every time you come in here you look like a crazy woman."
"Well, if that's what it takes…!" She snatched the brush up from the couch. The little master barely noticed her absence as she walked into the guest bathroom and flicked on a light. Her human reflection glared back at her from the mirror, but she refused to back down.
"Okay," she told the determined reflection. "This time, I'm going to get it."
She brandished the brush high above her head and brought it down with force on a particularly wild tangle. She grit her teeth against the pain that ripped through her scalp, but the tangle didn't come free. She tried tipping her head down, brushing her hair forward, and hoping that it would easier if she brushed upside down.
Worse luck. Not only did she make herself dizzy trying to brush hair she couldn't see, she managed to once again get the brush stuck fast in her frizz. It took several strong, painful tugs to get it free again.
"Oh, pumpernickel!" she shouted, banging the sink as she straightened up. She glared at her reflection, finding it red and fierce as it glared back through the bush of hair.
"Well, I'm not finished yet!" she told it. "You're going to be brushed, and you're going to be brushed good!"
The laughter that erupted behind her made her drop the brush again. She whirled around to find the Mistress doubling over in the doorway.
"I'm sorry!" the Mistress shrieked, grabbing at the door for dear life. "I couldn't help it! It was just so…so…" Toaster felt herself burning under the laughter. "I've never seen anyone have so much trouble before!"
"What do you want?" she snapped.
That only sobered the Mistress a little as she stepped inside. "Trying to figure out what all that moaning and yelling was! You act like you've never brushed your hair before!"
"Well, maybe I haven't," Toaster retorted. It wasn't true-of course, she had tried-but she was too tired to get hung up on details. "But I'm trying now, aren't I?"
"Good luck." The Mistress shook her head as she reached around to pluck the hairbrush up from the sink. "Nobody I know brushes hair like that with a baby hairbrush."
"If you have any better ideas, I'd love to hear them!" Toaster was aghast at the words coming out of her mouth. How she could she speak to the Mistress this way?
For a moment, the Mistress seemed ready to tear her apart. Then, she rolled her eyes. "Actually, I do." She indicated the staircase. "Come on."
Toaster hesitated, but the Mistress' hand pushing her shoulder left her no room for argument.
Only a few minutes later saw her seated at the Mistress' vanity, clutching onto the edge for dear life as wave after wave of pain attacked her scalp.
"Geez, this is a real rat's nest!" The Mistress held tight to a handful of the hair as she combed with one of her wire brushes. She had been trying hard to start slow and easy. Toaster knew that. But every tangle caused a new problem. Every attempt hurt. Even the concoction the mistress kept spraying over her head in a fine mist did little to alleviate the pain.
"Stop! Just stop!" Toaster couldn't take it anymore.
"I've almost got it," the Mistress insisted for the fifth time. "Your hair is thicker than I thought it would be!"
With cry, Toaster flung out a hand to shove the Mistress. With a cry of her own, the Mistress dropped the brush and stumbled back towards the bed.
"I'm only trying to help!" Toaster heard her groan.
"I know! I know!" Toaster moaned, pressing her hands against her head to ease the stinging. "It's just not working! None of it is working!"
"Look, it's just hair…" Toaster didn't even let her finish.
"No, it's not! It's a disaster! All of it! And I don't know how to change it!" She wiped the mist away from her cheeks. Just how much did the Mistress use, anyway?
"I don't know what I'm doing," Toaster exclaimed. "I thought I could do this, but I can't! It's impossible! I can't talk to anyone! Kirby won't come near me! I don't even know who I am anymore!" She glanced up at the mirror, and stared at the swollen eyes that peered back at her in shame from under a frizzy mess. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"Oh…"
The Mistress appeared behind her in the mirror.
"No, no, don't cry, Thea. Please? I can't stand it when people cry." Hands attempted to smooth the hair back from Toaster's face. "I…I really was just trying to help." Guilt crinkled the Mistress' tired face as she met their eyes met in the mirror. "But I guess I really haven't been much help, have I?"
Toaster quietly watched her.
"Everything has felt out of control since the accident," the Mistress continued, softly. "I've felt out of control."
"I know you don't want me here," Toaster started. "I've made everything difficult."
"No, you haven't. Well, okay." Her hands rubbed Toaster's shoulders, slowly easing the pain. "Maybe a little. You're just…I've never met anyone like you before. You're so different, and Rob likes you so much…I just forgot that everything has been hard for you, too."
"It's not supposed to be," Toaster murmured, covering her eyes with her hands so she wouldn't have to look at that woebegone creature sitting opposite her.
"Here." A cloth ghosted over her fingers. "I guess it's about time we talked to each other. A real talk. Not the careful ones we've been doing."
A real talk? Toaster lowered her hands just enough for the mistress to dab away the lingering tears, and found herself looking up into a genuine smile.
"Hey, what do you say we get out of here for a while?"
"Out of here?"
"Yeah." A glow swept over the Mistress' face as excitement banished the tired look. "Let's go find a professional to take care of this." She gingerly stroked Toaster's tangled hair. "At least if they hurt you, we don't have to pay them."
"Really?" Toaster put a hand to the rat's nest.
"Why not? I have some money left over from my paycheck. We can splurge. And maybe we can find something that fits so you don't have wear my maternity clothes anymore." She grinned widely as she held out a hand. "Girls' afternoon out. We can spend some time together. How does that sound?"
Toaster glanced from the eager face to the outstretched hand. A strange weight lifted off her shoulders as she clasped the Mistress' hand.
It sounded great.
"And don't suffocate him this time," Kirby snapped at the blanket as he tucked the little master into his crib. The blanket made no sign that he had heard, but Kirby was confident that he had made his point. He checked that the curtains were securely closed before leaving the little master to his afternoon nap.
As he closed the door, he felt oddly successful. It had been so long since he had felt that confidence. It used to be reserved for when the Master or Mistress had grasped his handle and flicked on his power switch, sending him careening over the carpet to grasp at the dust that settled. Even as he walked down the stairs, he remembered clearly the sensation of his gears turning and the speed at which he moved.
Giving the little master his snack, taking him to the park, and rocking him to sleep wasn't exactly the same, but it carried its own value.
And it helped him keep his mind off the Toaster.
Even as he headed into the kitchen to start dinner, he found himself fighting away images that kept popping. It seemed no matter how he fought to avoid her, she followed him everywhere in his thoughts. Her laugh, her smile, the way she slept…
"Don't you think you need to cut the Toaster a break?"
"What?" Startled that he had been caught dust gathering, Kirby turned to blink at the rat.
"Well, you're sorta hurting her feelings by the way you've been treating her lately," the rat persisted, laying on his back in his nest of paper clippings. "What's with the cold shoulder, anyway?"
"Oh, that." Kirby couldn't help but give an extra snap to his sleeves as he rolled them up to wash the dishes. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"Have those blockheads figured out how to change us back yet?"
"Nope," Ratso replied, flatly. "They running every test they can think of on those hair samples. And don't change the subject." He leaped to his feet and began running in his wheel.
"I'm not changing the subject." Kirby turned on the faucet and watched the water run.
"What's your problem? She just wants to talk with you once in a while. Even you could manage a civil conve-sation once in a while when you were a vaccum. What's wrong with talking to her now?"
"Since when was it any of your business." Kirby shot the rat a suspicious glance. "She say something to you?"
"No, of course she didn't! I…I just think youse two oughta spend more time together. You're sort of doing the same things as you used to." Ratso indicated the dinner. "I mean, you're cleaning, and she's-"
"Making toast?" Kirby exclaimed sarcastically.
"Well…helping the Master…"
"That's not the same thing." Kirby focused his full attention on the dishes. "And this is none of your business. I am trying to keep myself together until the hearing aids change me back. And if you don't like it, you can shove off!"
Ratso's reply never came. Something thumped against the backdoor twice before it swung opened, revealing a mountain of bags and boxes.
"See? I told you I had it, Thea!" The Mistress' voice floated from somewhere behind the bags as they entered. "Now I just have to find the table…"
The bags swayed. Kirby, quickly forseeing a mess on the floor, quickly shut off the water and grabbed the topmost boxes just as they shifted.
"Whew! That was close!" The Mistress shook her head and quickly dumped the rest of her baggage on the kitchen table. "Thanks, Jon! That would have been bad."
Kirby grunted as he set the boxes down beside hers and watched her dig through everything.
"You would not believe the time we had! I don't think I've had that much fun since Robbie was born! Mothers just don't get out much. Thea, hurry up and get in here! We have to sort this stuff! And we found some real deals," she continued to Kirby. "Even Rob would be proud! He is all about the deals! And making sure we never add to another landfill again!"
"Thank goodness!" A familiar bubbly laugh from the doorway followed the mistress's words. Unconsciously, Kirby looked towards it.
What he saw stopped him fast.
The figure just stepping over the threshold looked nothing like the toaster, even though it possessed her laugh and her voice. It didn't even bear a resemblance to the dumpy, unkempt thing that had been masquerading as human for the last week.
It had transformed.
The frizzy mess had been tamed into shiny curls that piled up high on her head, held firmly by a silver clip. Underneath a faded jean jacket, a blue tee dipped in a low neckline, teasing the eyes towards an ample bosom. Grey capris revealed curves that had gone unnoticed in Kris' maternity clothes. But though the colors dazzled and the clothing complimented, it was the glowing brown eyes and ecstatic smile that bewitched Kirby.
His thoughts spluttered like a coffee pot.
The smile and the sparkle disappeared, though when her eyes glanced at him. "Kirby? What's wrong?" she asked, rushing towards him.
Kirby flinched and stepped back involuntarily. He felt his mouth move, but no words came out.
The Mistress's snickering saved him. "I think I know what's wrong." She stood at the Toaster's side, putting an arm around her shoulders. "It's a little condition known as makeover shock, often experienced by friends and family. Isn't that right, John?"
Kirby couldn't even find the words to protest.
"Hey, you're both back," Rob's comment proceeded him as he entered the kitchen. "Whoa!"
Kirby didn't have to look at his master to share the same sentiment.
The Mistress' grin widened even as Toaster's brows knit together. "Gentlemen, may I present to you the new and improved Thea Masters."
Rob spluttered nervously. "Well…I wouldn't say improved, per se…but you look…"
"Beautiful." A hot flash rushed through Kirby as all eyes fell on him.
"Got your voice back, huh?" He didn't care for the way the Mistress's eyes rolled as she headed towards her husband. He felt uncomfortable at the shy smile the toaster was giving him.
"Rob, can you help us ladies carry these things upstairs?"
"Your outing was good then?" he heard the Master asked as the couple left the kitchen.
"I think we got a few things worked out." Their voices faded away as footsteps echoed on the staircase.
Kirby and Toaster were left in the kitchen. Together. In unmerciful silence.
"Hubba! Hubba!" Almost near silence. "Toaster, you are looking fly!"
"Is that good?" A pink blush was spreading across Toaster's face as she fiddled with her hands and glanced down at her feet.
"Yeah, baby. Bow chicka, bow wow!" Kirby felt his gorge rise, even though he didn't quite grasp the sentiment behind Ratso's cat calls.
"Aw, thanks." He didn't think Toaster understood either, but she had never seen the wrong side of anyone. Kirby followed her gaze to her feet, where mere slips of silver braid curved around her toes.
Toes…how odd…
"Hey, Kirby!" Ratso called out. "Whatcha think, huh? Ever thought a Toaster could look this good?"
Kirby immediately gave his attention to everything but the one being who watched him closely. He could feel those large eyes following his every move, reading his every thought…
"Oh. Knock it off!" he finally demanded, forsaking the sink-full of dishes to stomp to the freezer.
Lasagna, he decided, remembering the extra one he had made just a few days ago. That's what they would have for dinner. Spinach lasagna, meatless. Meat was too heavy for his stomach…
"Knock what off?" The voice sounded more annoyed than naïve. Kirby dug unforgivingly through the piles of cold bags and foil containers.
"Quit staring at me. I can't think." He grabbed the lasagna and slammed the door shut.
Sandals clicked on the tile. "What do you mean you can't think?"
"I can't think because you are staring at me!"
"You were staring at me."
"That was different."
"How is that different?" Toaster was at his elbow now, trying to peer up at his face.
Kirby was hard pressed to avoid looking at her. "I couldn't help myself. That's why." He fumbled with the lid.
"Stupid container. Sticking together." He stormed over to the sink and flipped on the hot water, grateful even in his agitation for a way of escape. He couldn't do this with her so near right now.
But Toaster persisted. "What do you mean you couldn't help yourself? What's going on with you?"
"What's going on with you!" Kirby slammed a fist against the tray, both smashing and cracking open the lid at the same time. He blinked at his handiwork for a moment, barely registering the hot water that continued to stream over his arm and into the open lasagna.
"What…what do you mean?" Toaster's whisper unnerved him.
"Look at you!" He flinched as the hot water scalded him. "How can you dress like that? Like a…a..." He couldn't even find the right words.
"It's just clothes. I…the Mistress just thought I might…" Toaster's voice faded. "Don't you…you don't think it's… okay?"
A small hand reached into Kirby's view and shut off the water. His hand cried in gratitude even as his eyes drank in the sight of the small brown hand resting on the sink.
"I was just…It was sort of fun," she continued. "The Mistress was so nice the whole time, and we talked about everything that's happened lately. She was never mad at me…she thought I was trying to keep her away from the Master…and I wasn't. Kirby, aren't you even happy that she's not mad at me?" The hand reached over to touch his fingers. "Can't we talk, too? Can't you tell me why you keep avoiding me?"
"No." Kirby swallowed a breath and closed his eyes to block out any picture.
"Why not?"
"…It's unnatural, Toaster," he heard himself saying. "It's is all just unnatural."
You're unnatural. He hadn't meant to say it that way. But even he could hear it in the silence; those sharp, hurting words that stung the closest friend he had ever had. He felt her recoil.
He stood in that silence; a darkness that only elevated the Toaster's existence, feeling the burn that seemed to spread from his hand to places only his human body could understand.
Finally, he heard a rustle of fabric as the Toaster's hand withdrew.
"I'm sorry, Kirby." Kirby stood as still as he could manage until the click of her sandals faded. Only then did he open his eyes and turn on the facet to run cold water over his burn.