Mother Dearest

by Corejo

III - Housewarming

Shadow sat beneath the train station awning, watching the clouds roll across the distant sky. They flashed with lightning, their swollen underbellies ready to burst. It would be another rainy walk home for him. Them.

He looked down the stretch of tracks that reached beyond the horizon. There the train would peek just above the flattened landscape, its smoke pluming white to join the clouds in the sky.

An old stallion sat on the bench across the station’s entranceway. He clicked his tongue to some song that was probably as old as him. He was really wrinkly, too, like Mother’s dresses when they fell off the line. He even smiled the way she used to. So carefree, and Shadow wished Mother would smile like that again soon. He would find a way.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the clouds drew Shadow’s gaze back across the tracks. They were heading straight for him. Hopefully it wouldn’t rain so hard this time. If only it would clear up and let a bright blue sky welcome Mother home. It had rained a lot lately, and she didn’t deserve to come home to a mud pit. Though, that might make their walk home all the more fun.

As if rising to fight it, a distant whistle pierced through the thunder’s unceasing growl. Shadow glanced down the track, and off in the distance, just beneath the sunset-yellow sky, rose the dark shape of a train. He rose with anticipation, but forced himself to sit back down.

The train rolled closer. Another long whistle, high and mighty between rolls of thunder. The chug of the engine grew to drown out even the thunder, and quickly the screech of brakes drowned out the world. A hiss of steam, then silence. It was a small train, only two cars this time.

The pitter patter of rain on the corrugated iron roof started slow, and built to a drizzle as the car door opened and out stepped the conductor. Behind him filed out the passengers, those with luggage shielding their heads from the rain. The sight brought a smirk to Shadow’s lips. These ponies had no idea what an actual rainstorm was like.

He waited where he sat, patient. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. He counted the ponies, watched the train car jostle with those still on board no doubt rummaging for their belongings. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The conductor nodded thanks to each and every passenger as they passed him by, he alone seemingly unaffected by the rain, which had drenched him to the bone. When the stream of ponies ended, he hopped up to check the car. Back onto the platform, “All aboard for Trottingham!”

More as a formality, really. All the ponies on the platform were either waiting for another train or leaving.

Shadow sighed, then shook his head. She had missed the train again. Mother was so forgetful sometimes. Without reason to remain, he turned for the exit and followed everypony out.

The rain on the rooftop played like a snare drum by the time he stepped out onto the street. The few ponies that hadn’t caught a cab scattered like bugs from beneath an upturned rock, dashing from shelter to shelter.

Shadow didn’t mind the rain. He and Inkling often snuck out during rainstorms to play in the puddles. Mother never approved, but it was one of the few things worth getting in trouble for. The way the rain soaked him from head to hoof, when he looked at his hooves and felt the water run down his face, weigh down his shoulders, chill the warmth from his body. It made him feel alive.

He followed the path home slowly, enjoying the silence in his head. Inkling stayed home to keep the door unlocked for him and Mother, and make sure their surprise was ready. It had taken all the bits left in their piggy bank, but they had just enough to get their hooves on a spool of twine.

Mother grew tomatoes in the backyard and sometimes had trouble keeping the vines around the pickets. It wasn’t much, but it was the thought that counted—something she always said. Mother was really smart.

Shadow opened the door to their house, and out poked Inkling’s head from around the kitchen counter. His large eyes practically shone in the darkness.

“Did Mother make the train?” His voice came across hollow, but hopeful, like he already knew the answer but had to hear it nonetheless.

“No, not this time,” Shadow said. He shook himself from head to hoof, spraying rainwater all over the kitchen. Inkling shielded his face, laughing. “Brother, you’re getting everything wet!”

Shadow smiled, looking around at the pots and pans and cabinets. The first thought that came to mind was that Mother would clean it, and his smile slowly faded. It had been nearly a week since the kitchen had been cleaned.

“We should clean the house for Mother,” Shadow said as he walked over to the towel drawer. Wobbly on two legs, he reached up to pull out a towel. “She’ll love it if she walks in and sees everything sparkling.”

“That’s a great idea,” Inkling said. He ran to the pantry. “I’ll get the soap!”

Shadow draped the towel over his shoulder and ran to the bar table, using the chairs to climb onto the table and head for the sink, which he was yet too small to reach. Mother disapproved of him walking on the counter, but he could always clean off his hoofprints when they finished. She would never know.

He turned the knob to hot, and looked over the edge of the counter at Inkling. “Ready?”

Inkling had the large bottle of soap out. “Ready!” He wetted the towel and tossed it down to Inkling, who went straight to work on the floor.

They would make the house shine. Mother would be so proud of them.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Morning Glory stared at the swatch of paint taped to the wall. Sky blue or peach yellow? The foals’ room needed tackling immediately if she were to ever get the house ready in time, and Saturday seemed the best day, since Flue didn’t have to head out until four.

Which meant he could do all the heavy lifting.

She gave him a smile across the room, where he was packing boxes to move into the hallway and from there to any of the other rooms that could temporarily store all the things that awaited unpacking. Her doctor had said nothing over five pounds ever since her belly started resembling the world’s largest watermelon. And she aimed to do whatever it took to keep her little ones healthy. She turned a smirk back to the paint swatches.

Sky blue elicited thoughts of summer days and the outdoors. It was a fresh color, nice enough to enjoy herself yet coltish enough for when they got to the age they started caring. Flue had voted for blue, but that was only because it was his favorite color. What if the colts didn’t like blue?

Peach yellow, on the other hoof, said energy. Brighter, certainly, and it would flow so wonderfully with the goldenrod enamel in the hallway. It would also give her an excuse to hang up the beach-side sunset picture Flue’s mother had gifted them. Sky blue wouldn’t go with a sunset. Sky blue meant a bright morning!

One of her little ones kicked in the womb. It startled her from thought, and she smiled down at them. The one on the left had been really frisky this last week. He made up for the other one, who had been rather shy lately.

“You’re definitely feeling better today,” Flue said as he lifted a box onto his back. He added an “excuse me” as he stepped past her for the door.

“Much,” Morning Glory said. “No flu’s going to keep me down with the house like this.” She gestured nonspecifically into the room, referring more to everything on the other side of the left-hoof wall. Their sitting room had been more of a standing-room-only room ever since they moved in a month ago.

“Unless it’s me,” Flue said, sidling up beside her and planting a kiss on her cheek before ducking out the door.

Morning Glory shooed him away, smiling. “Oh, stop it.”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” Flue shouted from the hallway.

Morning Glory shook her head. Best not try and figure out what he meant by that. No time to waste. Peach yellow, or Sky blue? “Flue?”

There was a thud of cardboard on carpet in the hallway. “Yeah?”

“I like the peach yellow.”

Flue stuck his head in the door. He wore a blank, serious look. “You know they’re gonna be colts, right?”

“I know that… I was there for the ultrasound,” she added with enough zest to hopefully imply an ‘obviously.’ She raised her eyebrow at him just in case.

“Clearly,” he said. “But I still like the blue.”

“It’s not about what you want.” Morning Glory shifted her weight, curling a frown at the swatches. “It’s about what the foals will want.”

In the blandest of voices, Flue said, “A-K-A: what you want.”

Morning Glory huffed and gave him a stare. He returned it with a chuckle. “What the foals will want,” she reaffirmed.

“If you want the yellow, go with the yellow. We can always paint it again later.” He crossed behind her for another box.

She idly tapped a hoof. “I just think the yellow makes it pop. You know?”

“Sure.”

Morning Glory gave him a sidelong frown. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Flue said, shuffling behind her again, head over his shoulder to steady the box with his nose. “I just don’t care as much as you do.”

Morning Glory turned toward him in earnest. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

“What, that’s—” He staggered, managing his hold of the box before setting it down outside the door. “That’s not what I meant. I meant I won’t be bothered as much by whatever color we decide as you will.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but bit her tongue. He always spoke like that. He didn’t mean to come across as callous. She had to remind herself of that ever since she started carrying the twins. Pregnancy had worked hell on her patience. She worked a smile to her lips.

“If you like blue, we can do blue,” she said.

He gave a disarming smile and a half laugh. “Well, we don’t have to go with blue. Yellow would look nicer.”

“You’re just saying that because I said so.” She cocked her head, awaiting the inevitable smartass comment.

Flue stepped back in. “Well, yeah. It’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” The snarkiest grin swept his smile aside, and all of today’s ‘points’ with it. “But seriously,” he added before she could react. “Yellow’s fine. Was my grandma’s favorite color.” He smiled past her for a moment, then set it upon her.

Damn those blue eyes. Okay, fine, he could have his points back.

Flue trotted over for the final box in the room. “You think you’re gonna do one of those border things like you did in the dining room?” He hefted the box onto his back.

Morning Glory ‘hmm’d. “You mean the chair rail?”

“Uh, sure?” Flue made his final trip into the hallway. He set the box down with a thud and sighed relief.

She certainly could. Peach yellow on top, white chair rail, and use the rest of the goldenrod they had somewhere in the basement on the bottom. Or maybe swap the colors. A waist-high chair rail would leave more space in the top half than the bottom. But then that might make the room feel too samey with the hallway.

Oh, heavens, no. What was she thinking? Not nearly enough contrast between the two colors. She scrunched her face, looking aside. As hard as it would be to admit, she could only do a chair rail if she went with the blue. But then she would have to admit the blue would look better.

No chair rail it was, then.

Flue wrapped his hooves around her head, covering her eyes. In her ear, he whispered, “Guess who?”

Morning Glory smiled. So he was going to be like this today. “Umm… Is it Money Bags, come to sweep me off to his mansion and feed me grapes as I recline on a million-bit sofa?”

“Ahh,” Flue said, soft, coy. “You and I both know Money Bags is much too surly for that sort of romance. Guess again.”

“Is iiit Love Affair, finally here to woo me like all the other hopelessly romantic mares with his flashing smile and long, flowing locks?”

Still in his airy, playful voice: “The last thing Mr. Affair needs is yet another beautiful, young mare with a disturbingly vivid memory of his physique chasing after him. But warmer.”

“Hmm…” Morning Glory smirked. Three was always the magic number. “Is it that handsome stallion I met just over a year ago? The chimney sweep I almost killed on accident?” She could feel Flue sidle closer, the side of his face brush against the back of her neck, his warm breath tickling her just below the ear.

“Whether or not it was an accident is still a hot topic for debate, I’d assume this most certainly good-looking stallion you’re thinking of would claim. But more important than his devilish good looks and unparalleled sense of humor, what is his name?”

Stay coy. Keep him waiting. “Oh, I don’t know. I can see his face but can’t think of his name.”

“I believe it starts with an ‘F’, my fair maiden.”

“An ‘F’? What a silly letter to have at the beginning of a name.”

“No sillier than an ‘M’ or a ‘G,’ I’m sure he’d say.”

Morning Glory giggled. “If my handsome captor says so. So, an ‘F,’ huh? Fer, feh fee foh… Fuh” —an unknown pain lanced through her stomach— “uuuck.”

A small chuckle behind her ear. “While that’s always something I’m game for, we might want to move to a room with something we can lay down on.”

“No—Celestia! It’s… ngh!” The shooting pains came quickly, and she grit her teeth, doubling over.

He stared at her, brows furrowed in confusion, until his eyes found themselves gravitating to her belly. Realization loosened his jaw. “Oh… Ooh! Um, crap. Uh, come here.” He motioned her out of the room. “Come here come here come here.”

He escorted her down the hallway to the living room, where he helped her onto the couch. Panic ran more rampant upon his face than his eyes about the room, his hooves unable to stay still. “What do I do what do I do? Uh… wait here. Don’t move. I’ll go get the doc!”

Well no shit she wasn’t going anywhere. “Get Candy Stripe next door before you go!” she gasped.

“Right right.” He dashed for the door. “I’ll be right back!” He left the door wide open, and she collapsed backward, clenching her eyes to weather the wracking spasms.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the long delay between chapters here. Should get a more consistent schedule going shortly!

Onward and Downward!