“Y’know this is prob’ly unnecessary, sis.”
Applejack grunted and bit down on the handle, pulling one half of the hatch to the apple cellar open. It lay at a slight angle. Moving over to the side, she could see the hinge that caused it.
“It opens just fine,” Big Mac said. “Ain’t no sense in fixing this in winter when frost could make it break again just as easy.”
“Yeah, well, I bet you we won’t have time once spring comes, and then some varmints will figure out how to get in,” Applejack muttered, stepping around to stand on the first steps of the cellar hallway, leaning in close. “Next thing you know, any apples or cider we store here are gone.”
Big Mac sighed. “Now you know that ain’t gonna happen. Not since Miss Fluttershy gave’em a talking-to last time.”
Applejack didn’t answer, mostly because she knew her brother was right, but then, she’d already taken care of the snow that blocked the barn door from opening—despite there being precious little to do in the barn these days—and there’d been little snowfall since last weekend. After she’d mended the roof that didn’t actually leak and shored up the chicken coop that she’d built two months ago, it was hard to find things to do. She knew it was nonsense, and so did her brother.
“I can do this on my own if you have someplace you feel you oughta be instead,” she said, glowering. Being unfair and angry was so much easier than any of the options, and her brother was far too gentle a soul to protest. “That, or you go find me a screwdriver.”
“I ain’t got anywhere to be today.” The large stallion shrugged. “Didn’t Apple Bloom tell you Pinkie Pie asked if you’d like to come visit yesterday, though?”
“Yeah. Yesterday,” Applejack said. “And I was busy. You got a horn you’re thinking to magic over a screwdriver with, or are you gonna get going?”
Big Mac shook his head and started walking towards the farmhouse without a backwards glance, leaving Applejack to contemplate the hinge that needed three twists of a screwdriver. It was good for two more minutes of work, and then she’d need to find something else to do. Anything inside the farmhouse proper was right out. Granny Smith had tossed her out on her flank after the second day of tinkering with everything that would be tinkered.
Pinkie Pie had indeed asked her if she wanted to have lunch, and the day before, she’d thrown a party or other that Applejack had given a miss. It wasn’t that Applejack hadn’t left the farm this week, it was just very hard to do something without risking running into Pinkie Pie. She’d managed a few visits to Fluttershy, and once she’d popped by the library to see if Twilight needed help with anything, but that was about it.
She could see her brother leave the farmhouse, already on his way back. A moment later, soft wingbeats made her scan the skies, spotting a familiar yellow pegasus on the approach. Fluttershy slowly lowered herself to the ground, landing in front of Applejack.
“Sorry, am I disturbing?” Fluttershy asked, her eyes pointedly flitting between Applejack and the cellar. Applejack shook her head.
“You ain’t disturbing nothin’ more than some upkeep. How’re you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” Fluttershy said, folding her wings. “I’m just on my way to Sugarcube Corner for some lunch, and I thought I’d ask if you wanted to come.”
“No thanks, I’m fine. Got some work here on the farm.” Applejack tried to keep her face blank and stay as neutral as she could, but something must’ve shown. Fluttershy may’ve been a gentle creature, but she wasn’t about to be taken aback by a simple “no.” Perhaps her voice had been a touch sour, then.
“Okay. Um. Well. I should probably get going,” Fluttershy said, scuffing the ground. “Are you okay?”
Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder. Big Mac was almost within earshot. She shook her head and smiled. A fake and ugly smile, no doubt.
“I’m fine, but I’m needed here at the farm, I’m sure you understand. Catch you later, Fluttershy.”
Fluttershy said no more, looking at her with big, unblinking eyes for another few seconds before she nodded and took off.
“Got the screwdriver, then?” Applejack asked without turning.
“Yup,” Big Mac said, stepping up to her side. He spat it out, the screwdriver leaving a neat little screwdriver-shaped hole in the snow. Neither of the Apple siblings so much as looked at it. Big Mac followed Fluttershy with his gaze where she disappeared over the treetops in the general direction of Ponyville. Applejack stared at nothing at all.
“You ever talk to Caramel much any more? Since, well. You know.”
Big Mac didn’t move an inch. “Nope. Why?”
“No reason.” Applejack spat.
“Ain’t much for us to say. It’s over and done with.” Her brother scratched the underside of his muzzle. He was unusually talkative today. “Weren’t much friends before, so why’d we be best of friends afterwards? Anyway. You headin’ into town? Want me to do this here fixin’ that you know doesn’t need doing?”
Part of her wanted to take him up on the offer, but she knew where her duties lay. Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder at the farm and at her family. At what she should be worrying about; the things she knew, trusted and could lean on. At that which stood unchanged.
“Nah,” Applejack said, rooting around in the snow for the screwdriver.
Some things were fixed and immutable. Certain things, Applejack observed without question simply because she knew that if she didn’t, her world could never be the same. Everypony had these fixed points, she assumed. Maybe Twilight had her morning coffee. That, or a need to ask “why” all the time. Rainbow Dash probably had some workout or training routine. Fluttershy? Maybe she measured herself by her own need to apologise for existing.
Applejack shook her head to clear that last thought, muttering an apology of her own though Fluttershy would never hear it. No need to let her own mood touch upon her friends. She forced herself to slow down to a trot. She’d sped up again. The closer she got to the centre of Ponyville, the faster she walked unless she checked herself, and there was no winning this battle. Either she moved faster than she felt she should, or she moved slower than she needed if she were to be on time.
To Applejack, her word was her anchor. If she said she would do something, she did it, and that was that. A promise wasn’t something to be given lightly. Last week, she promised she’d help Pinkie Pie with her little baking project. Sure enough, in the darkness of her own room she’d tried on a dozen different excuses to justify worming out of this, but even if she could—if she could somehow betray the very way she worked—it didn’t change the fact that Pinkie Pie counted on her.
Applejack raised her hoof to knock on Sugarcube Corner’s front door. The sun hung low on the horizon, and it was well past closing hours. Despite the lack of snowfall this week and heedless of the sunlight, it was especially cold, and there was a touch of wind that made the chill cut deeper.
She never got so far as to knock. The door opened with the merry jingle of a bell, and her hoof tapped Pinkie on the chest instead. Pinkie Pie giggled. “Hi! You’re not early. You’re not late, either. You’re actually exactly on time!” she said.
Pinkie Pie counted on her, and that mattered more than how much Applejack needed to not see Pinkie right now. More than how much she was keenly aware that she’d avoided her all week. More than how much she was sure Pinkie would have noticed.
“Evenin’,” Applejack said, nodding by way of greeting. She didn’t know if she should smile or try not to, but when Pinkie stepped aside, her hooves carried her inside with the same ease with which she stepped inside her own home. Pinkie closed the door behind them and led the way towards the kitchen, bouncing as she was wont to do.
“Come on! Let’s get to bakin’!” Pinkie cheered, her bushy tail disappearing through the kitchen door.
“Oh, there you are! Hello, Applejack,” Mrs. Cake said, poking her head down from the second-floor staircase. “I heard you were going to be helping Pinkie Pie with her charity project, and I just had to say thank you.”
Applejack tipped her hat at the older mare. “Nothin’ to it. I’ll make sure we leave the kitchen cleaner’n we found it for tomorrow, don’t you worry none. We’ll try to keep it down, too.”
“Don’t worry about that at all, dearie,” Mrs. Cake laughed. “We soundproofed most of the rooms when we knew we were going to have foals. As delightful as Pinkie’s songs can be, well, volume can be an issue.”
“Say no more, I completely understand,” Applejack chuckled, giving her a wave and trotting through to the kitchen. Pinkie Pie was already opening cupboards left and right, either at random in search of something, or simply determined to open absolutely every cupboard in the kitchen. Now she she trotted along the ground, now she balanced on a bench to open one of the top cupboards.
Applejack paused just past the doorway. She didn’t really want to speak up for fear of Pinkie Pie stopping. It was oddly fascinating watching the way she danced along and around the room. When Pinkie finally hopped off one of the centre counters, she was smiling wide, pulling two aprons out of a drawer and tossing one over to Applejack.
“Can’t help but notice,” Applejack said, wiggling her head through the the apron and turning her back to Pinkie. “That nothing’s set up. Benches are bare as a newborn filly’s flanks.”
She felt Pinkie’s snout and hooves visit her neck, then her back, tying the knots of her apron. Applejack licked her lips and closed her eyes for a spell, just until the warmth of her breath had faded. Pinkie made no immediate reply, smiling back over her shoulder at her, waiting for Applejack to help her with her own apron.
“Had it been me—” Applejack grunted as the thin cord slipped her hooves. She leaned in under Pinkie and grabbed it with her mouth instead, making a neat little knot, then another. She prodded Pinkie’s backside to signal she was done and trotted further inside the kitchen. “Right. As I was saying, I’d have the ingredients ready, started portioning and all that. I said I’d help, and I will, but couldn’t you’ve at least dug out the muffin trays?”
“I thought maybe we could do it together,” Pinkie said, hopping over the counter that divided the kitchen in half. “You know, because if I started before you got here, then maybe you’d feel left out! Maybe you really really liked counting muffin trays and dividing by six or fourteen or however many muffins there are to a tray. I keep forgetting.”
“Right,” Applejack said, grinning despite herself. “That’d be because you don’t know how many will survive the trip from the oven to the storefront without becomin’ a snack for Pinkie Pie.”
“And maybe,” Pinkie continued, forelegs up on the counter, leaning towards her as she spoke. “Maybe I also remembered that if there is more to do, then we have to spend more time together, and I don’t think that’s all that bad.”
Applejack knew she shouldn’t smile. She shouldn’t laugh, and she shouldn’t feel flattered. She tried to erase the mirth from her face, remembering exactly why she hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place; already she felt too comfortable, too relaxed and familiar. The few walls upon which she balanced her life wobbled, sturdy though they were.
It was impossible. She was trying to keep from being swept up in the floodwave of Pinkie’s being, and she was failing. Pinkie clopped her forehooves together, her smile becoming more strained by the second. Applejack needed to say something.
“Yeah. I mean, no. That ain’t such a bad thing, I suppose.” She smiled back, and the battle was lost. What could she do? Avoid her forever? Tonight would happen no matter what. Later, she could ask herself if she’d have been better off breaking her promise. After this, she’d go back home to where she belonged and think this over. Right now, she had a promise to keep.
Pinkie Pie beamed and ducked under the counter for a second, reappearing with a bag of sugar in her mouth. Applejack trotted over to the nearest cupboard and pulled out Sugarcube Corner’s muffin trays one by one.
“Twelve,” she said. “There’re twelve to a tray for the big ones y’got, and six for the small, so we’ll just make—oh for Pete’s sake, Pinkie!”
Pinkie’s head resurfaced from one of the sugar bags, her muzzle frosted white. “Oh. Hi! I was just sampling. Sampling is important!”
“Sampling raw sugar, right,” Applejack rolled her eyes.
“Well, this sugar’s good at least,” Pinkie said, patting the bag in question while she eyed the other two bags.
“No it ain’t. That’s gross, and you put that bag away right this instant.”
“Aw. Fine. How much more sugar do you think we’ll need anyway?” Pinkie asked, licking her hoof, dipping it in the opened bag, and licking it again.
“Depends. They asked for three hundred, right? We’ll make it thirty of the big ones and we’ll have a few to spare for the Cakes too, assuming you can keep your muzzle shut.”
Pinkie tilted her head. “Ask for? They didn’t ask. I just thought I’d grab a cart and surprise them tomorrrow!”
Applejack blinked. “Oh, well okay then. That’s awful nice of you. Right, you were saying about sugar? I guess how much we need depends on which recipe you’re using.”
Pinkie stared at her, entirely unblinking. “Recipe? I—”
“It’s a joke, sugarcube,” Applejack laughed. “I ain’t ever met the earth pony who needs a recipe for simple baking.” She squinted at the bags of sugar arrayed on the counter, trying to assess their size. “One more bag should cut it, but grab two to be sure.”
“Okie-dokie! I’ll have to get them from the cellar, I’ll be back before you can say liquorice strawberry doughnut jam! Don’t go anywhere!”
“Strawberry what?” Applejack asked, but she scarcely had time for that before Pinkie was out through the kitchen’s swinging doors. She knew Sugarcube Corner well enough to recognise the sound of the cellar door being torn open, soon followed after by a louder “whoops!” and a series of arrhythmic thuds with an abrupt end. Applejack winced, just about to head on over and see if Pinkie was okay when she heard rapid hoofsteps on the approach. Pinkie Pie burst through the kitchen doors, two large of bags of sugar balanced on her head. While that in and by itself wasn’t odd for Pinkie Pie, the way she cast her gaze about the kitchen looking positively fearful until they settled on Applejack, that was new.
“You’re still here!” Pinkie said, reaching up to rub the side of her head. “Whew.”
“Uh. Yeah.” Applejack shrugged. “‘Course I am. Shouldn’t I be?”
Pinkie Pie shook her head. “No-no, that’s great! Right. So, how about a baking song, maybe? Some codas about soda? Some rhymes about, um, thyme? I’m sure we can come up with something!”
“As long as you’ll do your part while you do it, you can do a full circus act if you want,” Applejack said, grinning around the rim of a plastic bowl. “Let’s start with mixing a test batch to see if we can make some muffins worth their batter, hm?”
“Hm. Fine. But you’re joining in on the refrains!” Pinkie said.
Applejack laughed. “Fine. Let it never be said I ain’t a pony for compromises. Now get your butt over here and help me.”
If she never saw a muffin again, it would still be too soon. Applejack groaned and rubbed her belly, wincing at her own hoof’s touch. One song had led to another, and Applejack was all too happy to keep baking so long as Pinkie Pie sang and danced around the kitchen, helping in her very own way. Sometimes it meant mixing up more batter. Other times, it meant accidentally eating key ingredients.
Today, Sugarcube Corner’s ovens had worked full-time, muffin trays in non-stop motion. Somewhere along the line, either Pinkie Pie or Applejack herself had multiplied everything by six or twelve one time too many. It was hard to decide who to blame. They’d both known what they were doing, and they both pretended not to notice, stopping counting somewhere around six hundred muffins and counting trays instead—except that didn’t work when they realised they were using the small trays and the large trays. Still they didn’t care.
“Another muffin?” Pinkie asked, and Applejack barely managed to shake her head. Pinkie let the spongy treat roll down her foreleg, flicking it into the air. Applejack laughed and looked away. She couldn’t even watch somepony else eat muffins right now.
Though the hour drew late before they were even done, Applejack meant to make good on her promise to leave the kitchen as they’d found it. Cleaning up was a simple task, but the real problem was that there was nowhere to put the muffins that wouldn’t fit in displays, cupboards, closets, and in one case, drawers. The darn things were everywhere, now, and whoever needed a fork next would get a muffin instead.
It had been deep night when Applejack helped Pinkie Pie ferry the last muffins up to her room, and even then, there were limits to how creative one could be in decorating a room with fresh baked goods. Chocolate muffins on her nightstand, pistachio muffins on top of her wardrobe, and a huge pile of vanilla frosted muffins in front of the closet Pinkie Pie refused to open. Still a huge pile of muffins rested on Pinkie’s bed, between the two ponies. Applejack had eaten nine, while Pinkie Pie had alone devoured the peak of Mount Muffin.
Outside, the moon hung high in the deep night sky, the walls of Pinkie’s room creaking ever so slightly to protest the wind outside. Inside Pinkie’s bedroom, it was warm and bright, so infinitely comfortable, but Applejack couldn’t even pretend she dreaded the long walk home. She’d heaped excuse upon excuse on herself, delay upon delay. She’d danced far too close to the fire, and every minute she stayed made it worse. Every second risked her mouth running ahead of her brain. Risked everything changing.
“I should probably get going.” Words Applejack should’ve said hours ago. She looked to Pinkie, and Pinkie’s smile faltered, bit by bit. It never became anything that wouldn’t be called a smile on any other pony, but it hurt to see.
“Maybe you want to help me deliver the muffins tomorrow?” Pinkie asked. She sounded hopeful, and it was a kick in the gut Applejack had hoped to avoid. This time, she had a choice, and she knew which was the right one to make.
“Afraid I’m a bit busy. You’ll have to take all the credit yourself,” Applejack said. Her laughter sounded dead to her own ears.
“Oh. Okay.” Pinkie grabbed another muffin from the heap, holding it up on one hoof. Neither of them moved, both still flat on their backs on opposite sides of the bed. “Maybe we could meet up in town sometime this weekend? Rainbow Dash said the ice skating rink was fixed, and she really wanted to go.”
“Think that’s a no-go. I’m busy that day,” Applejack muttered. Pinkie hadn’t said which day. “I got things what need doing next week.”
She imagined Pinkie and herself skating and laughing, a simple and appealing thought. Next, she tried in her mind to place the pink pony in the apple orchards. As ridiculous as it was, she plopped a cardboard cutout of Pinkie into the south fields. Even if she pretended it fit, that there was no problem, it lasted only until she removed her again. Suddenly the orchards lost all their appeal. The apple trees were grey, now, bearing ashen fruit.
Pinkie Pie nodded mutely, tossing the muffin back into the muffin sea to swim among its own kind. Applejack grunted, finally managing to get herself upright, hopping off the bed with an absolute minimum of grace.
“It’s just that you didn’t come to my ‘hurray, winter is actually here, no cheating this time’ party. We missed you. I missed you,” Pinkie said, not moving at all.
“Yeah. I know. Twi told me.”
“And Apple Bloom told me she totally didn’t forget to ask you if you wanted to come visit.”
Applejack nodded. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” She wished she could muster up something better than these half-truths. She almost envied those who could lie their friends full in their face. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. The barn fell over. I had to raise it back up again. Also, timberwolves. A whole heap of them. Yup. It sure beat another “Yeah.” She moved for the door, and she couldn’t tell if it was the muffins or her own reluctance that slowed her step.
“I’m not a soap bubble, you know.”
Pinkie was oddly quiet, bereft of lilt or cheer. Applejack knew she should ask what she meant. She wanted to ask because she was genuinely curious whether there was some nugget of wisdom to be plucked, or perhaps a funny story. She wanted to ask because she cared, but she couldn’t. The best she could do for both of them right now was to leave.
“I’ll catch you later, Pinkie. Thanks for—” she paused and sighed. Her tongue had ran ahead of her brain again. “Thanks for lettin’ me help out. Was fun,” she finished, slipping out the door before Pinkie could say something to make her want to stay for just another five minutes, and then another ten.