Tonight it was only Babs, Gramma, Poppy, and the tree.
Alicorn Night was the last day in the Hearth’s Warming season, celebrating the arrival of the two Princesses, Luna and Celestia, in Equestria, and the beginning of their harmonious rule. The traditional celebrations included a special cake, fireworks that lit up the night sky, and parties that lasted until morning. Fillies and colts were permitted to stay up as long as they wanted. The day afterwards, the decorations came down, school and work started, and everything returned to normal until Winter Wrap Up.
Anisette Seed had retired to bed early, announcing that she had spent the last month cooking and baking, that she was done, and that anypony who woke her up would get a hoof to the ear. Nopony thought she really would do this, probably, but nopony wanted to try it.
Babs’ older sister Avocado was at work. Alicorn Night was the best night of the year for tips, and she wouldn’t be getting home until early the next morning, with a saddlebag full of bits. Coconut would be leaving for work just as she came back. Milk runs, he informed them, didn’t stop just because everypony else was taking a holiday, and he would be doing what he did every morning: getting up in the small hours, wrapping a scarf around his head to keep off the cold, and pulling a cart full of heavy metal milk cans. So with one member of the family at work and two who had gone to bed, the only ones up this Alicorn Night were Babs, Gramma Seed, Poppy, and the tree.
It wasn’t much of a celebration, but everypony seemed satisfied with it. The room was lit only by the tree and two lamps, which cast their glow on the worn red carpet. The Alicorn Cake sat out on the table, along with a few plates that Poppy would clean up later, probably licking off the last almond-laced crumbs. Poppy had his hooves up and was reading the New Yoke Post from cover to cover, something he seldom got to do. Gramma had her bobbin pillow out and was making hoof-crafted lace, while smugly reflecting that, judging from the party guests earlier in the month, at least she hadn’t let herself go like other mares her age. Babs, meanwhile, had crawled under the tree and was enjoying herself in a quiet way.
Poppy had put some soft holiday music on the gramophone, punctuated with some booming noises from #3, the twins screaming in #4, and the occasional sound of giggling and cider bottles breaking in the alley. For the Broncs, it was practically silent. Then the tree said, “So how come we didn’t have, like, the whole family over for Hearth’s Warming?”
Poppy jumped and bit his tongue. He’d forgotten Babs was under the tree. Gramma Seed looked up from her lacemaking and asked, “What was that, Babsy-Bits?”
Babs groaned. “Ah, Gramma, not Babsy-Bits!”
“Very well, Nutmeg Myristica.”
Babs slapped her hoof to her forehead. This was the problem with being the youngest in the family. They’d already used up all the sensible names, like Coconut and Avocado, and gave you a dumb name, like Nutmeg Myristica. Then they realized that they couldn’t go around calling you “Nutmeg Myristica” all day, either, so they gave you a really dumb nickname like “Babsy-Bits,” because you were too young and too small to fight it. One good thing about the new school was that she’d left “Babsy-Bits” behind her. She was stuck with “Nutmeg,” but by gosh, they were not going to pin “Babsy-Bits” on her again. She’d made Coconut and Avocado promise not to call her that, and they never did, except when they really wanted to bust her chops or when they forgot. “Couldja please just call me ‘Babs,’ Gramma?”
“You’ll always be my Babsy-Bits,” Gramma Seed said serenely.
Babs knew when grown ponies were trying to change the subject, and simply asked the question again. “So, Poppy, why didn’t we have, like, the whole family over for Hearth’s Warming?”
Poppy put his paper down and gesticulated wildly with one hoof. “What are you talkin’ about, Babs? We had the Seeds, the Pepitis, the Semillis, the Samens, the Zoymans—the house was packed. I thought your ma was gonna go nuts there for a minute or two. If we’d of had anymore family over, we would of had to break the windows.”
The brown filly stuck her head out from under the tree, pink hair flopping over her face, and fixed Poppy with a one-eyed glare. “That was all the Seed side of the family,” she said accusingly. “There was prac’ly nopony from the Apple side of the family.”
“They live a long ways away,” murmured Poppy, retiring behind the Post, which he was now using as a shield. “Your ma sent cookies.”
“Not to the Pears, the Persimmons, or the Oranges. She didn’t send ‘em nothing. I saw the list, and they didn’t get even a card.”
“And what, young filly,” asked Gramma Seed, sliding her glasses down her pale golden nose, “were you doing meddling with your mother’s Hearth’s Warming list?”
“Meddlin’? I wasn’t doing no meddlin’.”
“You weren’t doing ANY meddling, dear,” Gramma said patiently. She had not yet given up hope that her son and his children would lose the thick Broncs accent they had acquired, and speak with a cultivated Baltimare accent instead.
“That’s what I said. I wasn’t doing no meddlin’. Ma was having me address everything with her 'til my mouth hurt. I know, ‘cause I hadda cancel two Cutie Mark meetings in a row and I dunno when we’ll get a chance to practice with the railway signals again. The Persimmons, the Pears, and the Oranges didn’t get nothin’. And the Oranges live in Manehatten, which is practically next door, so I just wanna know why they wasn’t even invited.”
Poppy froze. Gramma Seed placed the lace pillow down and shifted uncomfortably, making her support saddle creak. Nopony said anything for a moment. Then Gramma Seed said, “Poppy, get the book.”
“Are you sure, Ma?” he said uncertainly.
“Poppy,” she repeated firmly, “get the book.”
Poppy rose from his chair and trotted out of the room, shaking his head. The matriarch of the Seed family gazed down at Babs with such a wistful look in her grass green eyes that the filly slid out from under the tree and trotted over to her grandmother, who placed her hoof under her chin.
“Babs, you never met your Grandfather Pepper.”
It was a statement, not a question. Nopony ever mentioned Grandpa Pepper, who had died before Babs had been born. Gramma Seed sighed.
“I think it’s time you met him now.”