Buttermilk hovered close to her mother, who laboured at the stove. Butter Fudge was doing something with the breakfast leftovers, adding milk and making a thin, runny paste… a gruel? Buttermilk wasn’t sure if she had ever seen gruel in the traditional starving-orphan sense. The rice cooker—sitting a short distance away on the counter—made faint hissy sounds. On the front of the rice cooker was a golden anchor that emanated a faint but noticeable glow, an indicator that the device was working.
“Esme is starving, Moomy… she’s going to start crying soon,” Buttermilk said as she began to fret.
“Beezy, we want her hungry, so she’ll try this—”
“You’re giving her solids, Moomy?”
“She’s about that age, Beezy. Relax a little.”
Unable to comply with her mother’s request, Buttermilk continued to fret, but she also changed the subject. “Moomy, about you spying on me…” She approached this conversation with a great deal of hesitation, knowing all-too-well the potential for embarrassment. “Were you going to keep watching if something actually happened?”
“Beezy, you’re a silly pony—”
“Moomy, please…” Buttermilk kept her voice down low so Copperquick couldn’t and wouldn’t hear. “Moomy, this is a really confusing time for me right now. I’m scared, I’m terrified actually, and I’m in love, like, really, really in love and I have butterflies in my stomach all the time now and there are so many things I can’t control and I don’t know what is going to happen and I love more than just Copper, but Esme… Esme is mine and if somepony ever tried to take her from me I would probably go medieval pegasus pony on them—”
“Beezy, calm down.” Butter Fudge’s voice was firm, but soft, a comforting whisper. “If things would have heated up, I would have left so you two could have a private moment. You need to understand, my sweet little Beezy, that I like seeing you happy. You’ve been away for so long. You’ve changed, and grown, and you come home and you dumped this complicated life situation on me and I’ve chosen to embrace it, all of it, rather than risk pushing you away. I was only watching because I want to see if Copper over there”—Butter Fudge’s eyes darted over to where Copperquick was trying to keep his daughter from fussing—“makes you happy. I want to see if he’s the right fit for you. You have to let me be a mom, Beezy.”
“I believe you.” Buttermilk’s words came out in a relieved huff and she slipped her forelegs around her mother’s neck. She clung to the much larger mare and watched as her mother stirred the pot, holding the big wooden spoon in her fetlock. “Is he right for me, Moomy?”
“You tell me, Beezy.”
“Moomy, I asked your opinion. I promise not to bicker if you tell me something that I do not wish to hear.”
The big mare grunted and then let go of her spoon, which clunked against the rim of the pot she had been stirring. “Beezy, I don’t know. I hope he is. I want him to be right for you, I truly do. There’s passion there that is more than lust, so that’s a good start. That’s a good foundation, Beezy, and love is like a house. You have a good foundation, and I’ll leave it at that.”
“Fair enough, Moomy… fair enough. Thank you.” Buttermilk squeezed her mother’s neck again, and then kissed her cheek.
“You did well, Beezy. He’s handsome enough to look at but not so handsome that you have to worry—”
“Moomy…”
“A mare is responsible for protecting what is hers—”
“Moomy, you’re being backwards again…”
“Beezy, let me tell you about a sad fact of life. There are more mares than stallions by far. There are mares out looking and it falls on you to protect your claim. You have to keep him interested in you and you have to keep those interested in him away—”
“Moomy, any stallion I have to worry about cheating isn’t the sort of stallion I want to share my life with.”
“Beezy, it happens. It happens and I see it all the time. Marriage gets a little boring, the fire goes out, the bedroom becomes a place for sleeping and little else, or worse, you schedule it for just one night of the week, or the month, or even the year. This happens, Beezy, and then the eye starts to wander.”
Grimacing, Buttermilk let go of her mother’s neck and tried to read her face. “This is so terribly backwards. Really, Moomy, this is horrendous and it just assumes the worst about ponies. I… I just can’t understand these views of yours. It’s like you assume the absolute worst about ponies and just expect all of them to be bad… to be wicked.”
“Beezy, I hate to do this, I hate to say this, but your little friend Ripple Rusher, she gives a lot of married stallions what they’re not getting at home from their own wives. Now, I am not saying that Copper is the cheating type, but it doesn’t hurt you to hedge your bets. Mighty Midge knows where and how his bread is buttered, and he comes home to me without the stink of other mares on him. I’ve never given him a reason to stray and he does the same for me. We stay satisfied.”
“Moomy…” Buttermilk shook her head but didn’t break eye contact.
“You’re young, Beezy, and you want to believe the world is a certain way. I’m trying to tell you how the world actually is. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but this is wisdom and age speaking, and you’d do well to listen for once. This is the world as I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen a whole lot more of it than you have. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to be your ally. Right now, I am trying to be more than your mother because you’re all grown up now and I want to be your friend, Beezy. Friends warn each other about danger and things that might hurt them.”
“Fine, Moomy… I will keep these things in mind and take them into consideration.” Buttermilk heard the rice cooker ding and when she turned to look, she saw the golden anchor dim a bit as it went into warming mode. It galled her that her mother might have a point on this issue, or worse, might even be right. She also felt sickened and disgusted by what her mother had said about Ripple Rusher and didn’t want to believe that it was true.
It was a dangerous truth to acknowledge, because doing so allowed cracks in the floodgates, and cracks in the floodgates led to raging torrents if ignored. Frowning, Buttermilk flew off to set the table, frustrated that her mother had somehow successfully managed to prove her point without actually having proved her point, or so Buttermilk felt.
“I think,” Copperquick whispered into his daughter’s ear, “that those two mares are plotting against me, Esme. I’m doomed. Doomed, I tell you.” He lifted his head when he heard a ding and hoped that both his lunch and his daughter’s lunch was just about done, because Esme was getting stormy.
The kitchen smelled wonderful—spicy, fragrant, exotic even—and while he had no idea what had gone into the rice, he couldn’t wait to eat it. Something about the smell reminded him of home, of curry dens and kebab shops, but this was also different… distinct somehow. Glancing over in Buttermilk’s direction, he could see that something was bothering her, and his scalp tightened as his ears rose.
Just what were they talking about over there?
There was still no bottle, a fact that Copperquick was baffled about. He looked down at Esmeralda, saw her stormy eyes, and gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile when she scowled up at him, furious about the delay. He wondered if her pacifier might keep her happy, but he doubted it. Esmeralda had just one thing on her mind.
“Set the dishes on the floor, Beezy.”
“What, Moomy?”
“On the floor, Beezy,” Butter Fudge said again. “Trust me. Over there where Copper and Esme are.”
“Okay, fine, Moomy.”
Copperquick felt an electric spark when his and Buttermilk’s eyes met for a moment. She was within his reach as she put bowls down on the floor and he could see that she was now upset and baffled. For a moment, he thought about catching her for a quick peck, but taking a moment to think was the undoing of his plan—she flew away to get other things, leaving him wanting.
“Ugnug!” Esme blurted out and this exclamation was followed up with a shrill whine.
“Um, I think that translates into, ‘hurry, call foal services,’ or something like that.” Copperquick smirked a little but was still worried. Still no sign of a bottle and Esmeralda was becoming more than a little distressed. Copperquick began to feel the mild frustration of parents everywhere as his daughter reached her breaking point.
It was Butter Fudge who came to the rescue. Carrying a colourful bowl in her teeth, she set it down in front of Esmeralda, and then sat down beside the upset, starving filly. In the bowl was malted wheat from breakfast, but thinned down with milk. Ears twitching, Copperquick looked down at the bowl placed in front of him on the floor, and he began to understand what was going on here. Buttermilk returned, bearing a serving bowl filled with fragrant, fluffy rice that was almost orange with seasoning.
“Look Esme, food.” Copperquick dropped his head down to be closer to her and he touched the edge of her bowl with his hoof. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. Food.” Lowering his head down even more, he sniffed her bowl and waited, wondering what might happen next. Much to his relief, Esme also sniffed the bowl, and he heard a confused burble coming from his daughter.
“Oi, Esme, have a go at it.” Butter Fudge let out a husky chuckle and sat back to watch. “She looks keen, she does. I think she will, if she sees us eating. Horsey see, horsey do.”
At this, Buttermilk covered her mouth with her hoof and let out a reserved giggle.
Esmeralda leaned a little too far in and her snoot got dunked into her bowl full of thin porridge. She pulled back in a hurry, panicking, trying to breathe through her nostrils but couldn’t because they were clogged with porridge. Even though her mouth was open, the filly struggled, making little sniffle-snorts, and then with a mighty blast, she cleared out the blockage.
Copperquick, who was at the receiving end of the explosion, tried not to think about the fact that he was now covered in snot and malted wheat. He could feel it dripping down into his ear canal and into his eyes, which he blinked. The sound of Butter Fudge and Buttermilk laughing echoed in his ears, and little Esme was still sniffling, no doubt trying to get the last bit of the blockage free from her nose.
“Beezy,” Butter Fudge wheezed between blurts of laughter, “go fetch Copper a towel. Or better yet, go help him wash his face in the sink. He’s a mess. I’ll help Esme try to eat.”
“Dada?” Esmeralda looked up at her father and her eyes blazed with such innocence that it was impossible to be mad. With very little warning—only a rapid expansion of her barrel—she sneezed, blasting out the last of the blockage in her schnozz, and for the second time her father was coated in goo.
Undaunted, Copperquick persisted through the unpleasant moment and smiled to let Esmeralda know that she wasn’t in trouble. The very same moment that she saw that everything was fine, she resumed sniffing her food once more and stuck out her tongue to have a taste. Copperquick watched, hopeful and filled with anticipation, knowing that this was a milestone in his daughter’s development. If he went to wash his face in the sink, he would miss this, and he didn’t want to miss this.
Esmeralda seemed confused, befuddled about the bowl and its contents. The little filly licked her lips, catching a little dribble from her nostril, and continued to check out the thin, runny porridge. It wasn’t until she stuck her tongue into it that she had a reaction, and what a reaction it was: she froze up, unmoving for a time, and then had a full body quiver. Gurgling from her efforts, she pushed her muzzle into her food, soaking it, and then began licking it off with her tongue.
“You were a hoofer, Beezy.”
“Moomy?”
Butter Fudge’s face was aglow with happy-sadness and her eyes were distant, out of focus, perhaps because she was gazing into the distant past. “You were a hoofer, Beezy. You’d dip your hoof into your food and then you’d lick it off.” The big mare paused and a bittersweet smile spread over her muzzle. “In the beginning, you just wouldn’t eat, you wanted our time together when you’d suckle and you put up quite a fight when I started trying to feed you. After a rough day… I lost my patience with you… I was quite put out by the whole situation and I spent the afternoon just bawling my eyes out because I felt like a failure.”
Eyes glistening, Buttermilk listened with rapt attention.
“Your Daddums came home, he saw the state that I was in, and with the way you were screaming at the top of your lungs, I honestly thought that he was going to turn around and head back out the door. But he didn’t. He flew over, booped me on my nose, and then flew off to deal with you. He never even got a chance to rest after coming home from work, and I know he works harder than I do. Made me feel a little guilty, it did.”
While the story was being told, Copperquick’s messy face dripped while his daughter continued to lick her chops clean.
“But Midge, he took you into the kitchen, sat you down upon the counter, and when I followed him in there, I saw him sitting on the counter with you, sticking his hoof into your food and showing you how to lick it off. You watched everything he did and then, after you calmed down for a bit and stopped crying for the first time in hours, you tried it yourself.”
With a turn of her head, Buttermilk watched as Esmeralda dunked her muzzle into her bowl of thin porridge once more. Copperquick felt himself choking up with emotion as he thought about all of the times he had returned home to Esmeralda crying her eyes out and Buttermilk somehow hanging by a thread. He experienced a profound sense of understanding that made his eyes misty and his vision lost a little focus for some odd reason.
“After he took care of you, he fixed me hot, buttery cheese toast and then he took care of me.” Reaching up with her foreleg, the big mare rubbed her eyes and then sniffled a bit. With her barrel rising and falling from her deep breathing, she watched as the little filly tried to figure out how to eat, and the smile that was now on her face could only be described as ‘contented.’
Reaching out his hoof, Copperquick dipped the edge of it into his daughter’s bowl…