Chapter Twenty: Special Day
Following a crispy, sweet breakfast, the two friends wanted to do chores first before the big preparation. As Joy washed and hung her nightclothes and refilled the pails under the off-grid sink, Moreau tended to their plates and cups and tossed any empty cans and used matches in one of the refuse barrels outside.
The day was very busy. The first thing on the agenda was, of course, learning how to operate the cast-iron oven. It took some concentration and patience. But ultimately, both the fish-man and the young woman learned how to adjust the heat by using just the right amount of kindling in the left opening of the oven. And Moreau made sure the dark pipe was securely attached so their lodge would be free of smoke.
Joy took out a sizable white bowl, some cups, and spoons from the kitchen cupboard and gathered some things from the food pantry. She was happy to find coco powder for this was one of the focal ingredients to make the cake flavorsome. The recipe was quite simple and only required water and vegetable oil to blend with the flour, sugar, water, and a touch of salt and baking soda to help it rise. Conversely, it required a teaspoon of vinegar which the fish-man found extremely odd since Joy had told him that cakes were very sweet. But if his precious person said the bitter liquid was needed, then it had to be included.
Moreau helped with the cake-making by handing over the asked-for items while Joy stirred them together in the large bowl. She said back in L.A., a mixer would've been used but because there were none in the cabin, they would have to mix it themselves. Moreau nodded, though he wasn't sure what a 'mixer' was. Joy was blending everything so wasn't she the mixer? He observed his friend with her pink tongue prodding out to the side, swirling her mighty little arm with gusto to soften any lumps. Moreau chuckled to himself. Joy was certainly putting in the elbow grease with the mixing!
Soon after, the fish-man took over the role of the mixer as Joy coated the fancy and round bunt pan with a small amount of oil and flour, followed by adding the smooth batter. He offered to put the pan into the oven, but with shining eyes, she requested to do it.
With an anxious yet firm respire, Moreau agreed. He opened the oven's right door but stayed closely behind. With dishtowel-wrapped hands and another tongue poke, Joy gingerly slid the alloy steel-filled pan onto the rack and carefully closed the hot entry.
A wide grin formed on the young woman's rosy lips when Moreau applauded for her carefulness. She checked the temperature dial and was happy to have found an egg timer which was hidden behind some cups in the kitchen cupboard. When Joy went to wash the porcelain boule, she laughed robustly when she found her impatient, risible friend licking the batter-covered spoon in sheer delight.
Secondly was decorating. This was an obstacle for there weren't any party favors to be found. So improvising was in order.
Joy stated that streamers were a must for parties so they'd focus on those. Scratching his bare scalp, the fish-man questioned what streamers were and she said to look for anything thin, colorful, or shiny that they could decorate with. Then, the determined dual disbanded and went on a mission to find the best streamers.
When they met up in the kitchen again, Joy frowned with empty hands. However, with a raised, stretching mouth-line, Moreau held a slender cardboard box of aluminum foil that he found in the food pantry. Joy said it was a brilliant idea since tinfoil was well... brilliant; like her Mama Bear's eyes. The lines around Moreau's eyes and mouth creased more so from the praise and for making his precious person even happier.
While searching for something to make into birthday decor, Joy had located some old metal thumbtacks in the bottom dresser's drawer from where she'd gotten the pad sheet and pencil. Moreau tore the tinfoil into long stands and with the tall kitchen chair, the petite woman on her tiptoes, hung and twirled the handed-over strips with the tiny tacks.
In no time at all, the two friends dangled and looped the makeshift garlands across all seven windows and under the hallway entrance, as well as both the entries of the kitchen.
Thirdly, was picking out party games. Moreau suggested cards. Joy concurred but stated they could also play some new games. She went over some with him as she jotted them down for a to-do list. For every pastime that Joy explained to her friend and asked if he would want to participate in, he would make a short but definite bob of the head. The woman joked and proposed running outside in the snow in their birthday suits. Moreau nodded to that too, which made her giggle for a good while, causing him to blush after realizing what he'd just agreed to.
Lastly, but the most significant task were presents for each other. Cards were out of the question for there weren't any crayons or markers, and according to Joy, penciling cards wouldn't be very festive. She said presents would be enough and they could be anything. She mentioned that a gift could even be a song if he'd like. The fish-man bowed his head but didn't think his slurry and throaty voice would exactly be the nicest gift. With an assuring beam, his friend stated not to worry as they had all day to figure it out.
However, Joy already seemed to know what she was making; she had started sitting on the bed, appearing to be fully focused on some little square thing that she was huddled over. She implored Moreau not to look... Which only made it harder for him not to look! The woman spiritedly told him to concentrate on making his present, so he wouldn't be so curious. Moreau pouted his way into the kitchen, contemplating what he could give his precious person.
With a heavy furrowing brow ridge, the fish-man peered through the icy window, idly rubbing his wispy wrists. It was then, a jagged, toothy smile quickly surfaced.
In the living area, the Lord of the Lodge sluggishly shifted forward on the couch, rubbing the goopy sand from his tear ducts. The haze of sleep faded from his sluggish mind as he marveled at the many glittering, silver streamers. The reflection of the effulgent rising sun made the curled strips look like shining sterling silver, making their lodge look, indeed... brilliant.
He and Joy had busily prepared all yesterday; only stopping to eat and use the outhouse. Surprisingly, the pair had skipped story-time. But they wanted to retire sooner... to make the next day arrive just a little faster.
Hence, why Moreau had awoken early.
The fish-man perceived the soft humming of a song that Joy had taught him and he grinned excitedly. Obviously, he wasn't the only one keen to enjoy today.
Shuffling to his feet with eager, low chortles, Moreau happily hobbled into the eatery, where his melodic friend was standing by the table.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm! Happy Birthday, Joy!"
"Eep!" squeaked the woman, swerving to face him as she waved a free hand. "Please, no peeky weeky, Mo!"
"Oh!" Moreau tersely wobbled around, covering his tapered eyelids. "I'm, I'm sorry! Does, does Joy need to d-dress first?"
"Huh?"
Joy blinked down at herself. She was sporting her usual ocean-blue sweater and blue jeans. However, the young woman had put on new socks that her mother had stored in her backpack. They were lavender and had a violet, floral design. Joy smiled yearningly. She just felt that it was appropriate to wear them for this special day. For her...
"I'm sorry, Mo. I'm all dressed. I just finished putting da icing on our birthday cake ta surprise ya later." Her curled lips deepened. "And Happy Birthday ta Mo, too!"
Unsheathing his milky white sights, Moreau partly turned.
"Happy Birth-! Can we have Birthday cake-?"
"Later!" Joy finished with a titter. "Right after dinner, alright?"
"Oh, oh all rrright!" replied the fish-man with a surly sigh, keeping his gray-coated, lumpy back fronting her. "I'll probably never get any birthday cake..."
With raised eyebrows and cant of the head, the befuddled woman was ready to explain that wasn't true... until she heard her friend's feigned woes morph into sneaky snickers.
She made a mirthful pout. "You fakey wakey! But don'tcha worry, we'll be having birthday cake before ya know it."
After a bit more pouring of the silky confection mix from the cauldron ladle, Joy enclosed the baked treat with the washed, large bowl that once contained the freshly made icing. She moved to the sink and placed the long ladle within it.
"Ta fill us up a bit, wanna have cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast?"
Moreau swung around so fast, he almost toppled over.
"With lots and lots of maple syrup?"
"Tee-hee-hee! Uh-huh! Lots and lots'a syrup."
Moreau scanned the big appliance at his left, paying close attention to the silvery stovetop.
"I... I think we can use the top cooking part of the oven to cook the oatmeal. It, it would be easier than using the fire in the fireplace."
"Oh!" Joy gasped, hopping to the table. "Dat's a super-duper idea, Mo!"
The prideful fish-man's squinting eyes spied his friend bending to pick up the aluminum foil on the floor, which must've gotten knocked down while they were decorating.
"Oopsie, we forgot ta put dis away. I'll put it back in da food pantry- Ow!"
"Joy!" Moreau took the tinfoil from her and replaced it on the square tabletop. "Wh-What, what happened?!"
Sucking in a small hiss of air, Joy showed him her thumb. It had a fresh red line. The fine, serrated metallic rim of the narrow box had made contact with the fair, supple skin.
"Oh!" Moreau held her hand to examine the minor injury. "Joy's hurt!"
"I'm alright, Mo," said the young woman soothingly. "It's just a'wittle cut. I grabbed da foil box too fast, dat's all." She bent her thumb and winced. "Owie!"
Without a word, Moreau gently guided Joy to the off-grid sink. She watched the grunting fish-man pump the faucet's lever with surprising speed, rinsing the small, wounded digit.
After thirty seconds of flushing, he pressed a nearby dishtowel around the small hand. Joy noticed that her friend was still wordless while his usually fidgety hands worked adroitly.
"Ummm... Mo's so quiet..."
Moreau flittered his lash-less lids a few times and finally looked up.
"Oh... I'm, I'm sorry. I wanted to fix Joy's thumb." He chuckled for a moment. "I guess I was pra- preocki... preocupee...
The woman puckered her lower lip in thought. "Preoccupied?
"Yes... preoccupied... Tricky word."
"Tee-hee! Thank you-! Ow!"
"Please, please, stay still, Joy!"
Joy bowed her head curtly as Moreau clinched his spindly fingers around the bundled hand. Her sights briefly averted to nothing in particular.
"Ummm... Mo?"
"Hmmm?" hummed her friend, heavily regarding her hand.
"Will it still be alright if I do things?"
Moreau's cloudy pupils arose. "'...do things?'"
"Y'know... using da oven, help boil water, carrying da lamps... dat kinda stuff."
Moreau blinked deeply. "Of... of course. I'm always with you, so it's all right for you to do them. Uhhh... Why does Joy ask?"
The young woman took a long breath, causing her shoulders to rise and fall.
"'Cause... whenever something like dis happens, my mom would make sure dat I wouldn't do dat something again so I wouldn't get hurt... even if it's a'wittle cut like dis one." She bit the corner of her lip. "...And Mo looked just as worried as Mom gets..."
Moreau droned lowly for a minute as his friend patiently stood.
"Well... yes, Mo was worried... But... But you really like doing things on your own. ...And I think that... taking those things away would hurt Joy more. ...No one can stop accidents... But... I trust Joy to avoid them."
Bright green orbs shined with incredulous wonder.
"Wow... Really?"
The fish-man gave her a reassuring nod and smile.
"Really, really."
After another minute, he allowed her to continue the compressing.
"Just, keep it tight for a bit longer. It will stop the blood flow and the cut will start to heal."
The woman beheld her friend in pleased awe.
"Thanks, Mo... Dis's exactly what my mom does whenever I scratch my arm or hand!"
Moreau's ashen lips pulled up with pride. "And it's a very small scratch, so Joy won't need a dressing. Just keep it clean."
"Alright, Mo... Umm... dressing? How d'ya dress up a scratch?"
The fish-man's hidden shoulders wiggled from his chortles.
"He-hee-hee... No, no, no! Dressing just means uhhh... wrapping up a wound with a bandage."
The woman partly lifted the rectangular cloth to find the tiny scratch was already drying.
"It worked!" she remarked with a small grin. She moved her thumb. "And it doesn't really hurt dat much now."
Joy laid the white dishtowel in the sink and ran some water on it. With a growing smile, she stepped toward Moreau.
"It's so great dat I got a bestie who's a retired doctor. I'll never have ta worry about getting hurt." She leaned forward. "Thank you, Mo."
Moreau closed his eyes while lifting his head the best that his hunched posture would allow.
"Hmm-hmm! Joy is most wel... come?!"
Unblinkingly, the fish-man had gasped when those comforting small hands clung to him, while flutters and soft skin brushed the side of his surprised face.
His cheekbones rose higher. He would never tire of hugs and butterfly kisses. Never!
Beaming, Joy took a step back, her lowered hands politely folded in front.
"Thank you for fixing my thumb and for helping me with getting ready for our party." She idly rubbed her held right hand. "Dis really means a whole lot ta me..."
Moreau matched his friend's warmed cheeks and merry mien. "Joy is most welcome... And this means lots and lots to Mo, too." He wiggled in place. "I, I can't wait to have my, my first birthday!"
"So..." Joy revealed her pearly whites. "Can... Doctor Salvatore Moreau recheck our list while I begin breakfast?"
Quietly, Moreau blinked for a few seconds. Enamored that the woman still recalled and pronounced his old title so properly. He wriggled and flapped his hands with a robust nod.
"Yes, yes. YES! I CAN!" The fish-man composed his exhilaration and his voice. "U'hem, and... it's Mo."
Joy hummed to herself. "Ummm... how'bout Doctor Mo?"
"Hmm-hmm!" Moreau swayed his head briefly. "It's Mo... Just Mo..."
"Tee-hee! Mo it is, bestie!"
The young woman put out a hand. And feeling a little flushed, Moreau demurely gave her his. Enfolding the bony knuckles, she gently tugged him towards the kitchen table to where their little list lay.
With brighter beams and happier eyes, it was very apparent to the best friends that they were more than ready to commence this very special day.