Therapy
Therapy
Admiral Biscuit
Just a quick trip, Cheerilee had told herself, but of course shopping never turned out that way. The trunk of her car was already loaded with purchases, and she still had two more stops. First, Hallmark, and then the grocery store.
The parking lot outside the strip mall was about half full, and rather than be one of those people who kept driving around hoping a spot near the front would open up, she just parked in the first open spot in her row and walked. Even though she was on her feet all day at work, it never felt like she was getting as much exercise as she ought to.
The store was mostly kitsch, although she did love their Hearth's Warming ornaments and bought one each year. Most importantly, though, they had a good selection of Paddywax Candles, which was the purpose of her visit. Last night when she'd been grading homework, her old candle had finally gutted out for the last time.
She was almost to the candle section when she saw a familiar face browsing the racks of greeting cards. At first, Miss Cheerilee didn't recognize her, and almost passed her by. It was one of the drawbacks of being a teacher. Sure, they all laughed at the thought that their students didn't recognize them outside of the classroom, but it went beyond just students—she'd gotten so used to only seeing her fellow teachers at Canterlot High, she never thought of them anywhere else. Of course, just like her, they all had home lives and had to go out shopping sometime. Just like she was.
She fought down a little giggle. “Miss Harshwhinny?”
The blonde woman jerked her head up and set down the greeting card she'd been examining. “I—oh, hello, Miss Cheerilee. I wasn't expecting—“
“I was looking for a scented candle.” Cheerilee motioned to the shelves of candles. “Something to take the stress off when grading, you know.”
“Yes.” Miss Harshwhinny brushed her hands on her pantsuit, smoothing the few wrinkles in it. “I prefer listening to music, but to each her own, I always say.” She glanced over at the shelf. “I never really understood the appeal of candles.”
Cheerilee shrugged. “You really ought to try it sometime. There's something primal about watching a flame dance around, and of course happy scents bring happy memories.”
“I've always preferred a neutral home. But perhaps. . . .” She eyed the shelf of candles. “How do you even go about choosing?”
“I have a favorite scent for grading. They do let you open the candles and smell them, if you're trying to make up your mind what you like.” She walked over to the display and picked a blue sage and lavender candle, then lifted the lid so that Harshwhinny could smell it.
“A little too cloying for my own taste,” she said. “Although I suppose in moderation it would be nice to have a touch of floral in the house.”
Cheerilee glanced over at the racks of greeting cards. “I know it's none of my business. . . .”
Harshwhinny sighed. “I'm looking for a very particular card, and it seems that there isn't one available which quite fits the occasion.”
Cheerilee nodded. Every Hearth's Warming, she found herself facing the same dilemma. There never was a card that felt quite sincere enough for her parents, and then when she was shopping for friends, all the cards seemed to have too much subtext. She often found herself settling on something funny instead, because everyone liked a good laugh when they opened their Hearth's Warming cards.
“Why don't you tell me what the occasion is,” Cheerilee suggested, “and then we can both look together.”
“Do you really want to know?”
Cheerilee plastered a fake smile on her face, the smile she saved for when a bad student in her class suddenly, unexpectedly raised his hand and stated with absolute confidence that the capital of Prance was Bordeaux, and she had to be both encouraging but also correct the misunderstanding.
At least she wasn't a kindergarten teacher. Every year, without fail, some boy would bring in a frog or a snake and reveal it with the same pride as if he'd just painted the Mona Lisa. Nine times out of ten, it escaped before the end of show-and-tell.
The tenth time, it had vanished before the reveal.
“Well.” Miss Harshwhinny crossed her arms. “A couple of years ago, I was dating a man—um . . . well, his name isn't important. We'd been dating for five years. Met at a Friendship Games tournament, in fact. At the time, he was a coach for Crystal Prep, and we kind of hit it off. There was a while where our schools kept competing, you know.”
Cheerilee nodded.
“And things were starting to get serious between us. I'd spend the night at his apartment a couple of nights a week, you know.” A faint blush began to creep across her cheeks, before being overshadowed by a scowl. “So I thought. . . .”
“You thought it was gonna happen. You thought he was going to pop the question.”
“I'd already started looking through Modern Bride, getting an idea of what I might like for a wedding dress. Dropped a couple of hints, and he seemed like he was thinking the same thing.” A faint smile touched her lips, although it was overshadowed by the distant, empty look in her eyes.
“One morning at work, he sent me a text message. Said he'd cheated on me with one of my friends.
“I forgave him. He sounded like he was sorry.” Miss Harshwhinny brushed her hands down her jacket and squared her shoulders. “And I thought that maybe we could move past that, and for a week, I thought . . . but I was just fooling myself. A week later, he broke up with me. On MyStable.
“And then, he had the gall to ask if we could still be friends.”
“No.”
“When I didn't answer that message, he sent me a sad face text message, and a link to Smile, Smile, Smile.” She brushed an imaginary spot of dust off her pantleg.
“Against my better judgment, I didn't unfriend him then and there. Social media will ruin us.” A bitter smile crossed her face. “I would have been better off not knowing what he's been doing these last four years. But for better or worse, I do.
“The two lovebirds went and moved to my old hometown, and then he spent the next year on MyStable complaining about how shitty it was. How it was boring, how there was nothing to do there, how all the people who lived there were ignorant hicks.”
Miss Cheerilee wasn't stupid. She'd already put the rest of the pieces together, but it wasn't her place to interrupt.
“Long story short, time heals all wounds, as they say. I eventually stopped paying any attention to them on MyStable, even though I'd occasionally see something on my newsfeed from one of them, I sort of tuned it out. But they also say a bad bit keeps on turning up, and lo and behold, this weekend my newsfeed was positively flooded with pictures from their wedding.
“One part of me wants to let bygones be bygones, and wish them the best of luck.” She leaned back against the rack of greeting cards. “Because that's what adults do. We had a good five years together, after all.”
“But you're not completely ready to forgive and forget.”
“Hell, no.” Harshwhinny turned back to the rack of cards. “Want to help me find a card that says 'Good Luck, and Fuck You?'”