Chapter 33

A little skip

Junko didn't look up from the egg she was cracking when she heard the door slam. As the runny, mucus-like insides dripped down into the bowl, she couldn't keep a look of disgust off her face, nose wrinkling in disdain. She'd never liked eggs, something about their texture was appalling to her on some primal level, even after they'd been cooked.

And the thought that, one day, she'd crack one open only to find a half-formed fetal chick inside... or the dreaded bloody yolk.

Ugh.

"Mama! Mama!"

Blinking, the purple-haired woman tossed the shells into the nearby trash can. Or at least attempted to. Shit, she thought, bending over to pick up the mess off the floor. Now I'll have to wash my hands. Again! This, after all, was what Tomohisa was for.

A pink whirlwind burst into the room, a swirling vortex of pig-tails and exuberance. "Mama! Mama! You'll never, nevereverguesswhathappenedtod-"

Smiling, Junko turned around, giving the small girl her undivided attention. "Madoka, sweetie. Madoka! Take a breath, dear," she commanded, watching her daughter, brows furrowed with effort, regain some semblance of control. The pinkette let out a long, shaky breath. Junko raised her eyebrows, and Madoka inhaled again, all the while radiating innocent joy and wide-eyed excitement. What has gotten into her, I wonder? At her mother's smile, Madoka began again.

"I had such an amazing day, you'll never, ever believe what happened, Mama!" The pinkette was flushed with excitement, Junko noticed, and there was a spark of the old, excitable girl who'd seemed to disappear a few days ago.

Around the time... Junko could barely contain her self-satisfied smile, continuing to play along. "What happened, sweetie?"

Madoka took a big breath. Here we go, thought Junko fondly. "I was out, out with Homura, like I told you..." the pinkette paused, waiting for questions, but receiving none continued. "We were looking around, shopping, at the mall after school. First we went to the food court to get some-"

"How was school, by the way?" Junko interjected. "How did you do on your English exam?"

"Oh, you know," Madoka muttered, uncharacteristically evasive. "It was pretty much a normal day." Bubblegum pink eyes shifted nervously. "So anyway-"

"Madoka."

The girl hung her head. "I... I'm sorry, I tried my b-best but, but I've been so, um, d-distracted..."

Junko shook her head. "Honey, you know how important English is. I've told you time and again, you can get by without calculus, but you're going to need to develop some other skill instead. Something relevant." The woman felt only a slight pang of regret at her daughter's forlorn expression. "We talked about this. I thought you liked English."

The pinkette's adorable face twisted in an exquisitely cute pout. "I... I did, but... It doesn't make any sense! It's impossible and there are so many conflicting rules and exceptions and-"

The purple-haired woman tsked. "Madoka, I'm disappointed. I know you've been... down lately, but even when life is at its most difficult, you still need to fulfill your responsibilities. When you're all grown up, you may be responsible for people's lives," Junko noticed her daughter start at this bit of hyperbole, "but for now, what you're responsible for is your grades."

"Yes, Mama," Madoka said obediently, feeling better than she had a few moments earlier. I am responsible for saving people's lives! she thought gleefully, reminding herself that she was important. Remembering Hitomi-chan's possession even before she'd Contracted, and the several Witches the pinkette had destroyed, with or without Homura, during the past couple of days. I'm helping people! That's more important that stupid English. No reason she had to tell that to her mother, though.

Junko was once again all smiles, turning back to the mess on the counter before her. The flour, in particular, was everywhere. She sighed. "You're a good girl, Madoka. As always, you have my complete confidence that you'll do the right thing." Realizing she was starting to lay it on rather thickly, the purple-haired woman changed directions. "Now, what were you saying about your day?"

"Oh yeah! Mama, I was at the mall, and I ran into, I couldn't believe it at first, I mean everyone told me... but they were wrong I guess because she-"

"Who, darling?" Junko asked with just a twinge of impatience.

"Sayaka-chan! Sayaka-chan is back!"

Junko raised an inquiring eyebrow entirely for her own benefit, bending over the bowl to crack another egg. She'd been under the impression that the two friends had had a falling out of some sort... or perhaps that the blunette had moved away. That must have been it. "Oh?" she asked unnecessarily, as Madoka had already begun to elaborate.

"Yes, I thought she was gone, but she's back! It was so good to see her..." The pinkette's voice faded, the only sound being Junko cracking eggs and a soft utterance of another curse as she noticed several pieces of shell floating in the slimy contents of the bowl. Madoka continued chattering away. "She'd been on a train and they were eating, she and her friend, in the mall of course because that's where Homura and I were when we ran into them... it was..."

It had been amazing for the pinkette, seeing her friend, the person she'd thought dead... She had so bitterly regretted her absence, her entire outlook on the world turned upside down. She'd made such a scene in the food court! The blunette had looked disheveled and tired, but Madoka had practically lept into her arms, earning a dark look from the red-head she'd also thought was dead. Crying and hugging and laughing... Sayaka-chan had looked happy but confused, and a little embarrassed, but the pinkette hadn't cared. Sakura-san had looked, well, typically grumpy unpleasant, but what had really concerned Madoka was Homura's look of shock. It hasn't been surprise, or amazement, like her own face must have possessed in abundance. It had been... almost appalled. Disappointed, even.

"Grab the whisk, would you dear?" Junko asked, wiping her egg-slick fingers on the apron she wore. "So, Sayaka-san is back? That's wonderful news, wonderful," she muttered absently, taking the utinsil her daughter held out. Careful now. "Where was it she had gone?"

Her blunette friend had been pretty tight-lipped about her experience over the past couple days. It hadn't helped that Sakura-san and Homura-chan had been staring at each other like two strange cats, looming over the reunion. Her friend, her best friend, had given her a few vague details, promising more later.

"Um, I think it was called Motogawa," Madoka began, before stopping. She didn't know how to explain what had occurred without delving into some sensitive topics she wasn't ready to discuss. Luckily, Junko didn't ask for further elaboration, a fraction of her tongue poking out from between her lips as she concentrated on making sure the contents stayed within the bowl as she stirred.

"Can... can Sayaka come tonight, too?"

"Of course."

"And, um, she has this f-friend..."

Something about the way her daughter said friend drew the purple-haired woman's attention. The stirring slowed. "Yes? She has a 'friend'..."

Madoka felt uncertain. Presumptive. "C-can she c-come over, t-too?"

Junko noted her daughter's discomfort. "Who is this young lady I've never had the pleasure of meeting before? Does she have a name?"

The pinkette blushed. "Y-yes, Mama, she's a... senior. I think. Her name's Sakura-san."

"Is there something you're not telling me, Madoka? You look, well, almost like you don't want this girl coming over..."

Madoka continued to blush, now with a distinct twinge of shame. "I... It's just that I don't know her very well." And that, a week ago, she was trying to kill my best friend! she thought to herself. "Sayaka-chan sure seems to, though," she muttered half under her breath, immediately feeling bad for the nebulous implied criticism that comment had seemed to contain. Junko's keen ears heard the remark, but she didn't pursue it.

"Maybe it would be a good opportunity to get to know her better. Yes, Madoka, you may invite this new friend as well. Anyone else you'd care to bring in?" Junko kept smiling, but inside she was starting to feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of cooking for the increasingly large group, something her husband was usually responsible for. Always responsible for, Junko acknowledged, wondering again how this would turn out. She hadn't tried to make any desserts since college. "Perhaps HItomi-chan? Or that unfortunate little girl, the one everyone picks on. What was her name again?"

"You mean Poor-chan?"

"Oh, that's awful! Madoka, I thought better of you-"

"No, Mama, that's her name!" Madoka shook her head sadly. "You should hear what those jerks call her to be mean..." Then she frowned. "No, nobody else." There's only one other girl I'd want to invite, but I'll never see that wonderful person ever again. Madoka allowed herself to feel a few moments of the exquisite agony she felt over the girl's death, the guilt over not having been there to help her, to save her... How Mami-san had been so excited, so happy at the thought of the girls joining her crusade. Of them being together.

Wish for a cake... Madoka watched her mother continue stirring, blinking the tears from her eyes. She realized an abrupt subject change was in order to keep from descending into full blown weeping mode.

"Homura-chan's sure excited to see you!" Slimy, viscous egg goo spilled over the edge of the bowl, covering Junko's hand. Doubleshit. I hate cooking!

"Er," the woman began, eying her daughter out of the corner of her eye.

"She's really looking forward to this sleepover. The way she was talking, I think she wants you to play a game with us! Thanks again, Momma, for letting me have it on such short notice." Madoka paused, a thoughtful expression descending over her. "I think, well, not many people have been nice to Homura-chan. Whatever you said to her, it was really nice." She hesitated, before plunging on. "Thanks for making me give her a chance. I was so mad, I couldn't really see what was happening."

Junko smiled, hoping her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt. "You know you were going to give that poor girl another chance anyway, darling; you're too wonderful a person not to." Junko bent over, kissing her daughter on the top of her head. Still so short, Junko thought. Might be time for those growth hormones the doctor mentioned... "All I did was remind you of something you would have remembered later on." She went back to her whisking. Innocently, she asked, "So I take it your conversation the other night went well?"

Madoka sighed. "Yes, it was... I learned a lot, all I needed to do was take the time to listen." She couldn't help wishing the black-haired girl had come clean earlier... but also realized that her improbable tale would have been impossible to accept before she'd entered into the world of the Puella Magi. In all honesty, it was still difficult for her to swallow. Thinking of something else, a smile lit up her face. "I... I think it was good for her. Talking. We... just kind of, um, shared stuff about ourselves."

There was a long pause as Junko added the flour, then the sugar. Stirring, she added the stick of butter, which was still cold from the refrigerator and thus remained an uncooperative lump she kept moving around the bowl. Making a noise of disgust, she reached in and squished the ball of butter with her hand, feeling it ooze out coldly between her fingers.

"Ummm, Momma?"

Looking back in mild embarrassment while shaking the clinging mess from her fingers, Junko looked down into the wide, troubled eyes of her daughter, a shade of pink reminiscent of sunrises and tropically-flavored adult drinks. "What is it, Madoka? Is something the matter?" she asked, a little concerned at her daughter's far-off stare. The girl nodded, looking lost and scared.

"Can, um, can I ask you a question?"

"Anything. You know that, sweetie. You can come to me with anything."

"I... I know. I need some, ah, advice. It's just... um, I don't know how to... that is, um. I think... I think Homura-chan likes me."

Junko chuckled to herself, keeping her face innocently blank. "Of course she does, if she comes to visit you to apologize for something... she could have just waited until she saw you at school. It sounds like she really wants to be your friend."

Madoka blushed. "Um, yeah, well it's... She said some stuff and... I think she, um, likes me in the... other way. Like like. You know?"

"Oh!" said Junko with her best surprised voice, which in her opinion was pretty damn good. "Well, I see... how interesting." She kept one eye on her daughter while began pouring the batter into a long pan. Conflicted, certainly, but not freaked out or completely disinterested. My baby's growing up! "I have to ask, honey... do you have any, um, opinion about that?"

Again, the pinkette sighed, but to her mother's discerning ear it sounded more exasperated than anything. "It's... I don't really know. There's a lot of, well... I haven't really-"

Junko snorted. "Madoka, you're prevaricating. Don't make it so complicated. How did it make you feel when she told you that?"

"Ah... a little, I guess, breathless? And, um, it was exciting in a weird way..." Madoka broke off, looking embarrassed as Junko began to laugh.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she went into damage control mode before her daughter could get worked up. "Oh Madoka, you are just too cute. I don't mean to laugh, I know your problems seem like a matter of life and death, but really. What a wonderful problem to have." She smiled encouragingly. "I can't tell you what to feel, though. That's one of those things you have to figure out for yourself." She hummed a little as she slid the pan into the oven, giving the pinkette time to mull over the situation.

"Momma?"

"Yes?"

"I..."

"Spit it out, sweetie."

"I think something's wrong..."

Junko's attention was suddenly focused, laser-like, on her daughter. "What is it?"

Madoka pointed.

The bag of sugar that she'd almost emptied lay on the counter. Junko looked at her daughter, shrugging. "Madoka, what's..." Then she noticed. Something's wrong alright. Shit! That Tomohisa would choose this of all weekends to visit his insufferable parents, leaving me to do all this stupid fucking cooking-

"Mama!" Madoka's eyes were wide with shock, appalled by the grumbling Junko hadn't realized she'd vocalized towards the end. Junko had the decency to blush with a faint sense of embarrassment, or possibly disappointment in herself. She's the only one in the world who can make me do that, the woman reflected.

Junko tried switching subjects, eying the emptied bag of salt ruefully. "Well," she sighed. "That will teach me to pay attention to the labels." Another sigh, this time more exaggerated. Madoka giggled, and Junko added, "God I hate cooking."

Madoka giggled again. "It's baking, Mama! And we need to make something, you know, for the sleep over!" Junko knew this, obviously, but the clock was ticking since all these adolescents would begin arriving on her doorstep in about two hours. The pinkette considered the matter for a few moments while Junko turned off the oven and threw the pan into the sink with a loud clang. Madoka knew that the pan, encrusted with the salt-laden batter, would sit in the sink until her father came home. Unless, of course, she did something about it. She filed the thought away for later, and it disappeared into that strange place where good intentions go to fade, never to be heard from again.

"With the other girls, we'll need a real feast!" Madoka said excitedly, her mind running through a host of possibilities. "We could have a theme of some kind, some kind of sushi platter with all sorts of colorful garnish, maybe make up special little bento boxes with personalized-"

"Madoka, go put on your shoes." Junko's voice brooked no argument. She wiped her hands carelessly on a delicate, bright white decorative towel. "We're going to the store."

Madoka walked to the car with a little skip in her step. As Junko backed out of the driveway, some of the shrubbery scraped the window the pinkette stared out of from the back seat. She wasn't allowed to sit up front; she was still too short. Supposedly the airbags would kill her, at least according to her father. Sometimes, that made her fume, having to sit in back like some little kid, but the thought never even crossed her mind this time. She was too busy trying to think of things she could do with her friends that evening. Make everyone have such a good time, they couldn't help but be friends.

Or at least, she thought as she recalled Sakura-san's fierce sneer and Homura-chan's narrowed, upset eyes, at least we shouldn't be enemies.

They were all Puella Magi now, and Madoka was convinced that, more than anything, they needed to work together.