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Nerves. Wednesday was uncharacteristically riddled with nerves. It was a colder evening than she had anticipated when she had set off on her flight earlier that morning, but Northern California was heading into a healthy Autumn and these… nerves had her disoriented. Unprepared.
It’s not as if Enid was a stranger, or someone she encountered by chance whilst out at a coffee shop and now she was meeting her in a shady part of town.
They were room mates, meeting up at one of their childhood homes, surrounded by their entire family and—
She grimaces at the swell of anxiety in her lower abdomen.
They were close friends, after all was said and done. They had hugged, which had inadvertently sealed their fates as such but.. friends didn’t get that awful fluttery sensation in their stomachs when visiting each other. But then again, maybe they did. Enid was Wednesday’s first friend, but according to the answers found on Reddit and Quora this feeling was more of a… romantic reaction.
Going to visit someone without prompt, let alone having and visiting a crush certainly wasn’t something Wednesday would do normally. So really, something must be desperately wrong with her. A poisoning, if she were so lucky.
Romance and death were so commonly intertwined, that you couldn’t have the suffering agony of a broken heart less you feel love and vice versa.
They’d messaged frequently over the break, Wednesday much preferring phone calls where she didn’t have to guess tone indication or see those god awful emoticons Enid favoured. If she hadn’t wanted Wednesday there, she wouldn’t have inadvertently invited her.
Perhaps, it was to be a seen a bit stalkerish. Enid had sent a photo of the garden that had half the house number blurrily displayed off in the distance. So what, if Wednesday had super imposed the image and done a bit of editing and sleuthing online to find where the werewolf lived? It was good to know the company you kept.
With her jacket wrapped firmly around her, she approached the scarlet red door.
Enid’s house looked predictably homey, with a light cream Dolly Varden exterior. The roof was slanted and a pale blue, with a wide wrap around porch littered with a barbecue, a seperate grill, a fire pit and some workout equipment. The home sat proudly in the middle of a wide acreage, a few ATV’s, some water vehicles all caked in mud and other sporting equipment dotted around the unkempt field.
It was truly the all-American dream. Wednesday shudders at imagining herself- with wild, short brown hair and colourful clothing on a raft in the large lake nearby.
That was a completely different, and utterly unappealing world. She much preferred the desolate world of her own making.
She had spent the better part of the hour wandering the grounds to try and find the freckle-spotted blonde. There were people scattered around everywhere, mostly blonde and blue eyed but a few darker outliers. Likely, siblings and cousins as Enid had briefly explained the packs importance at having a constant close proximity to one another. It sounded more like a case of codependency to Wednesday, but she’d never been to keen on family gatherings.
The only fun ones were funerals. It was a foot race to see who got to lay next to the coffin and dig their way out first.
Wednesday, scuffing the toe of her boot against the porch, still isn’t entirely sure what lead her to be standing with a bouquet of flowers at Enid’s home in San Francisco in the first place.
Truly, she will testify until the day she dies that she was living in a fever dream. Because why else would she impulsively buy a $600 airline ticket at 4 in the morning just to stand— nervously- in front of a door that vibrated with the energy of a dozen wolves. For fun? Ew.
The lead up to the aforementioned fever dream, was months of poorly-internalized agonizing suffering from being away from Enid. Perhaps she’d developed that same awful codependency the werewolves all had. Or maybe she was truly losing her mind.
Flickerings of quizzes and anonymous posts swept across the back of her eyelids. Am I in love, how to know if they like you back, what flower besides the innocuous rose is romantic, how to make someone swoon, vegan cookie dough recipe.
Well, the latter search had been a much needed break over her existential crisis. Could 16 year olds have a midlife crisis? Much to ask her therapist when she gets home.
But from her research, along with the prickling needle feeling in her blood that seemed to boil at the absence of the werewolf, she had come to the consensus.
That she, Wednesday Friday Addams, had found her true love in Enid Sinclair.
Oh, how torturously thrilling, young love.
And she feels her composure faltering at the smattering reminder of obnoxious smiles her parents had given her the day they met Enid, because of course they knew before her— and she only realized she was doing a piss-poor job of shoving everything deep down when Pugsley had thrown open her bedroom door, Bluetooth speaker in hand blasting Friday Im In Love.
The rigidness of her spine slacking the longer she’s forced to wait in the biting chill, that did nothing but aggravate her growing tension. Her tongue presses against the back of her teeth to stop the ignoble speech for the wooden panels to hear instead of the blonde, because that swell of anxiety is now a wave washing over her and slowly filling her lungs.
Her feet are restless with the need to pace back and forth. But instead digs her heels into the porch, because maybe it will cave in and some monstrosity will chew her slowly, savouring her agony like syrup in the line of your gums.
It would be a much more pleasant death than the urge to act like one of those fools in movies awaiting their lover in the rain, or to drive anxiously for a Holiday meet-the-parents. Allie, coming to Noah’s door after their loss of contact, or Johnny Castle stilling his adrenaline to hoist Baby into the air.
Something bitter waters in her mouth.
God, the fact she could compare this to the genre that completely ridiculed cinema in its entirety was disturbing to say the least.
She could throw up like the critically acclaimed The Exorcist scene.
Smiles coyly to herself when the bile quells. Yes. Much better.
Really, she hadn’t needed to be so nervous (and if the word crosses her vocabulary one more time she swears to give herself a lobotomy). She hadn’t even knocked, for heaven’s sake. But then, the furious reminder that Enid- amongst many other territorial beasts- could smell what she ate on the plane and hear the faint pattering in her chest, would make everything feel so stupid.
This was a mistake. She glances down at her death grip that’s wilting the life of a flower petal, the brown cresting the brilliant purple. She’d spent two hours in the floral shop TripAdvisor had claimed as best in the city forcing the florist to rearrange the pre-made bouquet arrangement with dozen others so it wouldn’t be flawed.
She should have stuck to her instinct and foraged for a bouquet herself. But time simply didn’t allow it, and the best flowers were grown in the Addams family greenhouse. So she had settled for store-bought, and despite the exasperation of the aged worker that they were as fresh as picked, they weren’t good enough. Because they were already rotting.
And Enid deserved better. Deserved beyond what the earth could provide. She deserved the fruits of every heaven and earth scalable.
Wednesday was rotten. She knew that as though it were in her marrow. Enid must, as well, because why else wouldn’t she be opening the door?
Right. Knocking. Most people didn’t just open the door without some kind of formal salutation.
Two perfunctory wraps of her knuckles against the door pane. Two incredibly shallow breaths. Two foot taps, and then the door opens to reveal Enid with her hair freshly tinted her usual pink and blue.
“Wednesday! Oh my god, hi!” She says, smiling brightly and stepping forward with her arms spread. Wednesday sighs in resignation, leaning into the embrace.
She’s assaulted by the scent of apple cinnamon, like a freshly baked pie mixed with the smoky notes of cedarwood.. It’s rather lovely, she thinks idly, while they rock back and forth. Doesn’t hate it as much as she would have liked to have been able to.
Enid pulls back but keeps her hands steadied on Wednesdays shoulders, her grin broad and eyes flickering incessantly from the left to right eye. “It’s so good to see you!”
Wednesday does a shoe-to-head sweep with her calculated gaze, glaring at the offensive orange tank top worn loosely, but noting the sun-kissed tan on taut muscles. Enid had also grown an inch or two over the break, and bounced on her heels with that glowing smile ever present.
There’s something black and shiny smeared on a freckled cheekbone. Her hair hangs wet by her chin, and yer Wednesday hums with an eye roll, she hadn’t been thorough enough in washing, reaching up to clean it off with the pad of her thumb.
Enid flushes brilliantly at the smudge that Wednesday’s studying carefully against her fingertip like it’s a foreign entity, “Uh- oil, from the diesel cart I use to drive around the grounds.”
Wednesday arches an eyebrow, eyes as dark as the oil staining her skin fixing on soft blue. “You drive?”
“You bet I do.” Enid puffs her chest out, crossing her arms to lean against the door jam. She misses entirely, and nearly goes barrelling onto the ground if not for Wednesday’s quick reflex, stabilizing her.
Her blush deepens to a pruce shade. “But mostly I just clean the cars and fix them and stuff…”
Wednesday hums. A silence blankets them, Wednesday touching the twitching muscles under Enid’s forearm before, “Oh my god! I’m the worst! Come in, please!” Enid is pressing herself back against the door jam, and Wednesday nots curtly, entering and slowly undoing her laces.
The interior is as homey as she’d imagine. All big furniture with clothes strewn about and video game cases picked apart lining the living room floor. The wallpaper is a touch outdated, but isn’t peeling. It’s a well lived in home, if the creaking of the floors beneath footfalls and scribbling of heights on the wall say anything.
Enid seems shy, saddling up beside Wednesday with a whisk of her arm, before she’s tugging her fingers anxiously in front of her.
“So? What do you think of my humble abode?”
Wednesday blinks, tilting her head. “It notably lacks the wet-dog scent.”
Frowning. “You thought my house would smell like a dog?”
Wednesday’s lip twitches at the slight pinch to Enid’s eyebrows, because it’s rather adorable when she pouts. She nods once.
Enid rolls her eyes, fixing her with that soft glare that teeters on the most stubbornly decadent smile, her hands holding out in front of her expectantly. “I can take your coat for you.”
“Hm. How oddly kind of you.” Wednesday sheds her jacket without further ribbing, only remembering the bouquet in her hand when the coat fabric almost squishes them. She brandishes them like a blade from its scabbard, thrusting it forward like the drop of a gauntlet. “For you.”
There’s rustling from the black tissue paper bonded by a dark red bow, and
Enid’s eyesbrows rise to her hairline, her nose twitching at what must be an abundantly sweet scent. But she’s grinning, and her tawny skin takes on a rosy glow that’s incredibly pretty.
Wednesday feels her own cheeks flush in response, averting her gaze to the flowers that were arbitrarily overpriced for some long stems that were likely taken from the back of a delivery truck. To her, they have a stench like a rotting corpse, but that was mainly due to the fact they weren’t grown with a patient love and care.
And perhaps, her own passion for everything rigor mortis was something positive. But there was something she had slowly learned to adore, to be emblazoned by— Enid’s happiness. It was as forceful as a gale.
She was a protégée for many things. Flowers was the one hobby she kept hidden. It had bud when she’d insisted on aiding her grandmama in the greenhouses, and continued to flourish as she grew. The grit of dirt beneath nails, the pruning, the warmth when something you have spent a good chunk of time raising stands proudly amongst its lessers.
The first time she had ever understood her parents’ cloying affection over her, was when she stood beside a sunflower twice her height with the prickling of tears in the corners of prideful eyes.
The array of imperialist purple orchids and deep red dahlias compliment each other well, for a normie’s shop. They twine around each other in a swirl that clings to her skin with the soft warmth of a muggy garden shop.
When Enid reaches out to take them with horrid warm yellow nails, her fingers brush overtop Wednesday’s and leave little trails of blazing heat in their wake. She braces for the tingle of an allergic reaction from colour, but it never comes. Just as it never did with her beloved flowers. She stares wide eyed at the silent realization, her eyes growing wider still at the other girls blatant obliviousness.
“You’re- this- Not that I don’t love them, because I really do but I haven’t done anything to deserve them-“
She finds herself drawn to the wild blithering rant. Enid had become an ordinately graceless, coltish and headstrong person since they had first met, and yet was now reverting to a nervous wreck.
Nerves. Apparently they also affected werewolves. How curious.
She tries to refuse the flowers, but Wednesday doesn’t allow it. They hang precariously between them, like a silent affirmation of things unsaid. Wednesday looks down at the strongest flower that’s peeking out from the middle, and tugs it from its binds. Snaps the spine of the stem as she speaks.
“You have left an indeligble mark on me. Quite like that oil on your cheek that lingers like a poison,” she stands on her tippy toes, one hand bracing against Enid’s sternum and relishes in the catch of breath. She tucks the orchid behind blonde hair, lingering her touch that fixes Enid’s hair at the soft flutter of eyelashes and warm puff of air against her skin. “You are far more deserving of these than I am your mere affections. And yet you give it to me in spades.”
She steps back, her hand on Enid’s chest moving to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing idle circles against the pink blossoming. “I would grow you an estate of flowers filled with every colour you could imagine, for your attention.”
Enid’s jaw falls, her tongue forming around words that come out as bated breaths. Wednesday smirks, “Use your words, mi amor.”
“You- like me?” She seems to spit the words, her face flushing as pink as the ends of her hair and she fidgets around.
Wednesday blinks, her lips turning. “Yes, to put it dumbly. And I understand if you do not reciprocate. I sprung this on you in your own home, after all.”
Her spine goes rigid once more, her defences wavering despite her best attempts to keep the shields down. She could offer Enid a glimpse of vulnerability. Forces herself to relax with a sigh that feels as painful as the broad smile Enid mirrors darting forward on long limbs to press a quick kiss places innocuous: Wednesday’s forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her nose, right between the eyes...
“Of course I like you! I’ve been hinting at it for months! Duh!”
Wednesday inclines her head, the cogs in it feeling inordinately slow. Flickers of lingering stares, Enid stealing Wednesday’s clothes under the guise of hers all being ‘dirty’, flustered murmurings and the handful of times the blonde had ran face first into a wall simply because Wednesday had smiled at her…
Oh.
“I am an idiot.”
Enid giggles, soft and melodic. She shakes her head, however, when Wednesday looks like she might start banging her skull against the closest surface. “No! You’re so sweet!” Enid reaches forward, her hand curling into itself when her claws pop out.
Flushes again. Wednesday feels it’s burn like the ring of fire around the shadow of the moon. An eclipse.
Dark and light. A beautiful convocation of two different worlds crashing together in a display that could leave you blind in its wake.
Enid calms herself with a steadying breath, “Um… so… what now?”
“I would very much like to take you on a date, before I go home.”
“Home?!” Enid squeaks, “No way! You’re staying with me for at least a week!”
It’s Wednesday’s turn to blush, her eyes glueing to the scuffed toe of her boot. “I couldn’t possibly impose.”
Enid scoffs. “You wouldn’t be. I want you to know my life.”
Wednesday goes to refuse again, but
something putrid wafts through the house then, like an invasion of noxious gas, and Wednesday grits her teeth to stop the low growl building on the tongue of a veteran vegetarian. “What is that awful smell?”
Enid looks up, affronted by the rapid switch in cadence. “It’s… smoked salmon? My family’s making dinner.”
Wednesday nods absently, swiveling to face the other wall, sneering at the smell but tilting her head curiously at the doorway where ramboncious laughter peels from.
Enid gnaws on her cheek, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Her shoulders twitch like she’s ready to run at any minute.
“Would you… like to join us?”
Wednesday glances back at Enid, but her eyes settle on a blonde headed boy that looks about their age watching with a shit-eating grin from the stairwell. He waves what appears to be a photo album like a carrot on a stick. Her own sneer turns to a dead-eyed, devilish grin that Enid looks comically horrified by. “On second thought, you have that devious look that never means anything good-“
“Oh, my sweet girl. I’d adore meeting your family that has plenty of horrible stories to share about you.”
She shuts her eyes when the scent of something fried hits her. “I will not eat, however. I surprisingly happen to enjoy my organs from slowly decaying .”
Enid digs her heels into the ground. “I take it back- leave right now, because you’re here when my entire family is and nope-“
She falters, with a groan that doesn’t quite land with the way her smile widens when Wednesday laces their fingers together, tugging her toward the door where smells and sounds were overstimulating,
But with Enid’s bright eyes that watch her so tenderly, and the enveloping warmth of the werewolf’s sisters and brothers, she can’t find it in herself to freak out.