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Enid was used to Wednesday’s midnight rendezvous. She always slept through them, despite being kind of a light sleeper (wolf hearing and all), but honestly, Wednesday was always sneaking up on her during the day, so her level of stealth was unquestionable. It had been a little unsettling to wake up from a bad dream or to use the bathroom and find Wednesday’s bed empty, her sheets in an ultra-rare state of slightly rumpled or simply turned down for her convenience. Sometimes, she even left a few things lying around, like her test tube rack from the junior alchemist kit that lived under her bed or plastic bags with evidence locker labels on them. These sorts of things used to worry Enid, but Wednesday always had it all cleaned up by the morning, and there never seemed to be any sort of repercussions, so the worrying just sort of stopped.

What Enid was not used to was being purposefully woken up, prodded sharply in the small of her back.  

“What the fuck,” she grumbled, rolling over onto her other side.

There was Wednesday, standing over Enid in the dark, the moonlight catching on the slope of her jaw and the sharpness of her right cheekbone. Enid forced herself to ignore how striking she looked, how much the moonlight suited her, so that she could choose rightful annoyance over awe. She propped herself up on her elbow, her hair tickling her face as it fell to one side.

“Why am I awake if it’s still dark outside? We graduate in the morning, and I’m trying to get my beauty sleep in before I have to walk.”

Wednesday eyed her carefully.

“Surely, you don’t think you need any more of that,” she remarked.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Enid said, despite the fact that the compliment, roundabout as it was, was definitely dulling her exasperation. Truly, they both knew flattery always worked on Enid. 

“We need to go to West Virginia,” Wednesday said, answering Enid’s original question. 

As was frequently the case, an answer from Wednesday brought on a thousand more questions. 

“I’m torn between asking about the why and asking about the we ,” Enid said. “What do I have to do with West Virginia?”

“It’s a favor to my Uncle Fester,” Wednesday said, which was hardly the start of any substantial explanation. “He needs us to get a message to the Mothman. You are familiar with the Mothman, aren’t you?”

“That bug guy from the ‘70s?”

“That’s the one,” Wednesday said. Enid said nothing, hoping Wednesday would give her a crumb of context for the whole thing. Wednesday seemed to take the hint. “He and Fester worked a job together about a decade ago. We need to find him and deliver a message. I’m unsure of what it is, but I said I would do it.”

Wednesday pulled a wax sealed envelope out of the pocket of her jacket and held it out to Enid, not close enough that Enid could take it but close enough to prove that it was real, that she wasn’t just waking Enid up in the middle of the night to waste her time. 

“What’d they do, rob a bank?” Enid asked, examining the envelope with as much care as she could muster without rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

“They stole half of a Tyrannosaurus ribcage from Leonardo Dicaprio,” Wednesday answered, always delivering the most interesting of sentences with the most blase of tones

“Leonardo Dicaprio has dinosaur bones?” Enid asked.

“He almost has an entire T. Rex,” Wednesday said. She smirked. “Almost.”

Enid wondered briefly if this was a dream. It all felt so surreal. Mothman. T. Rex bones. Even Wednesday’s Uncle Fester was a mythic sort of figure. Her bed was warm, her comforter so cozy. What if she just laid back into her pillows, shut her eyes, and went back to sleep? 

“Will you come with me or not?” Wednesday asked impatiently. 

Enid widened her eyes as much as she could, fighting off a bout of slow blinking.

“To West Virginia?”

“Yes.”

Enid huffed.

“You couldn’t have waited to ask me in the morning?”

“You’re more likely to say no when you’re conscious enough to overthink.”

That was fair enough. Wednesday gave Enid that particular stare of hers, the intense one with the hard set jaw and the complete lack of blinking. Enid used to shrink under it. Now, she recognized it as the Wednesday version of a temper tantrum, one that wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. 

“If I say yes, can I go back to bed?” 

“Yes.”

Enid sighed. 

“Okay fine.” 

Wednesday nodded, curt and satisfied. She shrugged off her coat and hung it neatly on the rack by her bed. She turned back to Enid sharply.

“I’m holding you to this.”

“I figured,” Enid said, finally laying her head back down, greeted with the pleasant coolness of her pillow. 

She was asleep before Wednesday could say anything more. 

The next morning, they graduated. To Enid’s dismay, they made her keep the robe on and closed when she walked, which completely covered the sheer amazingness of her outfit. She tried to ditch it as soon as the ceremony ended, but her mom insisted on taking a thousand pictures, and then they ran into Wednesday and her family, and her mom insisted on taking a thousand more. Wednesday looked ready to drown Mrs. Sinclair in the courtyard fountain at any given second, and the look she gave Enid when her mom instructed them to “act like you love each other” suggested her restraint was for Enid’s benefit only and would be expected to be repaid somehow. 

“Did Enid tell you we’re going to West Virginia next week?” Wednesday asked.

It was less an attempt to make conversation and more a calculated statement to ensure Enid wouldn’t try to back out of the promise she made under duress (sleep deprivation surely counted as duress). Enid winced. She wondered if Wednesday had thought about the emotional repercussions that this would bring for Enid, as she had definitely not mentioned anything of the sort to her parents. In fact, she hadn’t even known it would be as soon as next week. Fortunately, neither of her parents were the first to respond.

“West Virginia?” Morticia asked. “I don’t recall you mentioning anything of the sort to us.”

“Uncle Fester asked me to go,” Wednesday said. “He has an old friend that he needs me to deliver something to. And I thought it could be fun for Enid and I to have a celebratory trip. I hear Point Pleasant is lovely in the summertime.”

“That it is,” Morticia said.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Wednesday said, looking between her parents, asking for permission. 

“That sounds nice,” Gomez said, nudging Morticia gingerly with the crook of his elbow. “It’s very considerate for her to offer to help Fester. It’s fine with me, if it’s fine with you.”

Morticia linked her arm with his. 

“Yes, I believe you’re right,” she said. “It would certainly be good for her to get a taste of independence before college. And she would have Enid.”

Enid glanced between the three Adamses. Were they trying to convince her parents for her? 

“Now hang on a second,” Enid’s dad said. “How expensive is this gonna be?”

“Uncle Fester said he would pay our way,” Wednesday said. “As I am doing him a favor.”

Enid’s dad had no further questions. Unfortunately, the low low price of free wasn’t quite enough to persuade Enid’s mom about the trip. 

“I don’t know about sending you off alone just yet,” she said in that patronizing way she always seemed to talk to Enid, like she was too stupid to know what was best for herself. 

“Oh, she won’t be alone,” Gomez said. Enid wondered if his misunderstanding was pretense, if he actually knew that alone meant her and Wednesday with no adult supervision, which in Enid’s mom’s mind was even more dangerous than simply sending Enid off somewhere by herself. In this situation, she had a coconspirator. “Wednesday will be with her the whole time.”

“I’ve grown quite used to incorporating Enid into my alone time over the last couple of years,” Wednesday added. “So you can trust that I won’t ditch her due to her chattiness.”

“Enid does love to chat,” her mom agreed. “But still, it’s a big step. How long would you be gone?”

“Five days,” Wednesday answered. 

“A week,” Enid countered. “At least. Maybe a week and a half. We’ll play it by ear.”

Enid’s mom frowned. She pulled Enid’s dad to the side. Enid’s dad exchanged a look with her over her mom’s shoulder and said something softly, and then a little more insistently. Enid’s mom nodded once, and the two folded themselves back into the group. 

“A week,” Enid’s mom said. “But no longer. Are we on the same page?”

“Yes!” Enid said with quite a lot of enthusiasm for a trip she hadn’t been totally convinced she wanted to take at the start of this conversation. Regardless, any stride she could make in pulling away from her mom’s inordinate influence on her life was a victory. 

She grabbed Wednesday’s arms and jumped up and down, squealing in celebration like the teenage girls she had seen on TV as a kid. Wednesday didn’t join in on the jumping and squealing, but to her credit, she did reciprocally wrap her fingers around Enid’s forearms. Over Wednesday’s shoulder, Morticia raised her eyebrows at the display. Enid felt embarrassed. She looked to Wednesday, who was glaring daggers at someone behind Enid, someone who turned out to be Gomez. He didn’t seem to be doing anything other than smiling, but Enid had known Wednesday long enough to be aware that smiling was potentially one of the worst offenses a person could commit. 

“What day do you leave?” Enid’s dad asked, expelling whatever tension seemed to be held between Wednesday and her parents, a tension that Enid couldn’t help but feel like she had somehow been caught up in the middle of. 

“This Tuesday,” Wednesday said.

“That’s three days from now,” Enid’s mom said. “I thought you said next week.”

“This coming Tuesday falls within next week,” Wednesday said.

Enid cringed, sure that her mom still took Wednesday’s straightforwardness as disrespect. 

“That actually works out for the best,” Enid’s dad said to his wife, quietly placating as he so often was. “That way we don’t have to fly her home just to fly her back out here.”

Enid’s mom hummed in semi-approval, a small miracle. The matter seemed to be settled, and with very little time for anyone involved to change their minds. Enid didn’t know whether or not to be comforted by this. Wednesday seemed happy enough, though, even going so far as to hold her chin a little higher and allow her top lip to quirk up around its edges. She decided to place her trust in that, well aware that Wednesday would kill a man before she'd let Enid break a nail. 

The next three days consisted of an ungodly amount of packing and an even more ungodly amount of time in close proximity with both Wednesday’s parents and her own. The Sinclair and Addams family dynamics clashed in so many ways that were nobody’s fault and yet incredibly awkward for Enid to experience, which was only made worse by the fact that Wednesday seemed wholly unaffected by the awkwardness. Still, even if she couldn’t relate, Wednesday put in the effort to be cognizant of Enid’s feelings and did her best to put her at ease, packing her instruments of torture with discretion and steering her parents away from some of their more macabre conversational topics. In addition to this, she always seemed to be right there to open doors in Enid’s way, or to sit on Enid’s luggage when she needed to zip it up, or to come up with excuses for the two of them to slip away for a breath of fresh air. Enid felt taken care of, and considerably less frazzled. 

Enid’s parents never seemed to get used to Thing, despite his best efforts to lend a helping hand. His scuttling startled them. Enid had caught her mom suppressing a growl on multiple occasions when he got a little too close. Conversely, Lurch’s mid-morning arrival on Tuesday was surprisingly welcomed by Enid’s parents. They didn’t seem to find his appearance offputting, which Enid suspected had a lot to do with the way he compared to the sentient severed hand, and they were grateful for his strength and his willingness to help move Enid’s things out of Ophelia Hall and down to her parents’ car. 

“He’s dedicated to helping the family,” Gomez told Enid with a wink. “And if our Wednesday considers you worthy of her companionship, you’re more than welcome to his services.”

The sentiment sent a burst of warmth through Enid’s chest, but there was also a hard edge to the feeling, a stinging emphasis of the absence of this sort of acceptance from her own family. It was strange, the way the Addams forced her to notice how out of place she felt, the way their ease with each other highlighted the difficult-to-navigate intricacies of Enid’s own relationships with her parents. Rather than think about it too hard, Enid trudged through the packing, ignoring her mom’s remarks about her wardrobe and her possessions. 

“That Wednesday girl sure is strange,” Enid’s mom said after the Addamses had left the room to take the last of Wednesday’s things to the car.  

“You always say that,” Enid said, which, ironically, was what she had taken to always saying in response. 

It wasn’t like she could deny it. Still, she resented the judgment in her mom’s tone. Wednesday’s strangeness was something to be appreciated, to be thought of sort of fondly, a silly idiosyncrasy. It served her well. It suited her. 

“Yeah, well,” her mom said. “There always seems to be more strangeness to notice.” 

“I guess so,” Enid said. Even after two and a half years, she still found it remarkable how capable Wednesday was of surprising her. 

“She’s sweeter now, though,” Enid’s mom continued. “Well, not really. Not generally, at least. But to you, she’s sweeter. When I first met her, you’d never have been able to convince me she could be thoughtful.” 

Enid’s heart rate picked up considerably. She almost dropped the pillowcase she was folding before shoving it down into the bin they were packing.

“She’d kill you if she heard you say that,” Enid tried to joke. 

Her mom shrugged and worked on cramming Enid’s bath towels into the bin. 

“All I’m saying is I think you’ve been a good influence on her,” she said. “Some of your sweetness has rubbed off. Although why the two of you have to be connected at the hip, I still don’t understand.”

“Mom!” Enid protested, maybe a little more defensive than she should be. 

“What? It’s true,” her mom said. “You’re practically codependent. Aren’t you rooming together next year at Smith?”

“We are not codependent,” Enid said, though she only half believed it, especially given the circumstances surrounding her acceptance. 

“I can’t believe we’re not gonna be at school together next year,” Enid had said, dramatically collapsing back onto her bed, which did make her feel slightly better.

“Yes, we are,” Wednesday said, glancing over at Enid like she was ridiculous. 

“No, we’re not,” Enid said. “I didn’t get into Smith, remember?”

“You’re on the waitlist,” Wednesday said. 

Enid huffed. 

“Yeah, like that’s gonna work out. I googled it, and my chances of getting in at this point are like twenty percent. That’s lower than the admissions rate.”

Wednesday pondered this. 

“One of my great aunts used to work in the admissions office,” she said. “I’ll have her call them and threaten to come out of retirement unless they let you in.”

“That’ll work?” Enid asked. 

“She was an excellent employee but her colleagues always felt there was something deeply unsettling about her,” Wednesday said proudly, her upper lip curling into a sly smile, if only for a moment. 

Enid allowed herself the same flicker of a grin before deflating at the recollection of her morals. 

“I can’t take that spot,” she said sulkily. “I didn’t earn it.”

She watched a zillion arguments flash in Wednesday’s eyes, sure that each one was as sharp and quick as Wednesday always was; but then something strange happened. Wednesday set her shoulders back, easing out of her combative posture. 

“Then where shall we go?” she asked so matter-of-factly that it caught Enid off guard. 

“What?” Enid asked before she could think of anything good to say. 

“If not Smith, where shall we go?” Wednesday repeated.

“I wouldn’t let you give up Smith,” Enid said. “Isn’t it, like, the most haunted campus in America? You have to go there. It’s perfect for you.”

“Then so do you,” Wednesday said. “If you’re so insistent on my going, take the spot.”

And so Enid did, and that was that. They’d filled out their housing applications together, Wednesday triple-checking that Enid had put her down as her roommate preference (“It would be unbearably displeasing to have to go through the painstaking process of getting to know another person. It’s much more efficient for us to stick together” ). She could just imagine what would happen if by some miracle, Smith decided to fuck with Wednesday’s housing preferences. 

Lurch and Wednesday reemerged, Lurch immediately stepping in to help Enid’s dad make another trip to the car. Wednesday took her place next to Enid and began folding a hand towel. Enid’s mom dropped the conversation immediately. The last of the folding was done quickly and quietly, and then Lurch came back up for the bin, and Enid triple checked all of the drawers in her wardrobe and underneath her bed. Wednesday was just about to follow Lurch out the door when Enid grabbed her sleeve. Wednesday stopped instantly. 

“Don’t you think we should take a sec and say goodbye to our room for the last time?” Enid asked. 

The look on Wednesday’s face revealed that she most certainly did not find that necessary, but she stayed behind nonetheless. Enid’s mom shuffled out of the room, giving them their privacy. Enid stood in the center of the room, her feet straddling where the duct tape used to be. She turned in a slow circle, taking in its barrenness and trying not to feel overwhelmingly sad at the permanent closing of this chapter of her life. 

“Goodbye room,” she said, and then looked to Wednesday expectantly. 

“Goodbye room,” Wednesday echoed begrudgingly and looked at the door. 

Enid sighed, slung her backpack onto her shoulder, and grabbed the suitcase she had packed for the road trip. Wednesday led the way out into the hall. One of the wheels of Enid’s suitcase caught on the doorframe. She stumbled forward a bit before regaining her balance. Wednesday turned back to look at her, which only heightened Enid’s embarrassment. 

“Let me take that,” Wednesday said.

“No, I got it.” Enid waved her off.

Wednesday wrapped her hand around the handle, her pinky resting on Enid’s own, and fixed Enid with her most intimidating of stares. 

“I am being… nice,” she said. “Give it to me.”

Enid didn’t know whether to laugh or to swoon. She settled for blushing against her will. Damn her pale face and her slightly above average resting internal temperature. 

“Okay, geez,” she said and let go of the suitcase.

Wednesday pulled it down three flights of stairs, and if Enid wasn’t mistaken, she did so happily. 

Enid’s parents were waiting for them, parked a ways away from the gates of the school. Wednesday quietly took Enid’s suitcase over to Gomez and Morticia, who were a few yards in the opposite direction, standing next to their signature family hearse, allowing Enid to say her goodbyes in privacy. That was, Enid assumed, what Wednesday would have wanted, and the consideration was very sweet in that regard. However, Enid wasn’t exactly about to relish one last solo convo with her mom when she was about to embark on a week of unfathomable independence. 

The badgering and nagging was intense. Enid was instructed to keep her phone charged and on her person at pretty much all times, though she highly doubted she’d get much more than a couple of texts a day, if her time at Nevermore was any indication. She was also forced to promise to abstain from any underage drinking or drugs while holding up a Pup Scout sign with her right hand, which made her feel totally ridiculous but honestly probably cut short a pointless fifteen minute argument. Finally, she gave her parents their goodbye hugs and one last promise to be a responsible young woman, and she was formally sent off to the Addams’. 

The car parked next to the Addams family hearse was sleek, black, and squatty with a long hood and round white headlights that made it look bug-eyed. Wednesday was standing beside the driver’s side door, a good ten feet from her parents. Enid assumed they had already said goodbye, Wednesday’s embarrassing display of sentiment carefully kept hidden from Enid’s bright eyes. 

“Enid, darling,” Gomez said, stepping forward, his arms opening in a sweeping embrace that Enid quickly found herself caught up in. “It was wonderful to see you, even if it was for such an ill-fatedly short time.”

“It was wonderful to see you, too,” Enid said, barely able to wrap her arms back around Gomez through the strength of his hug. 

The awkwardness of the gesture was overshadowed by the genuine way he beamed at her as he stepped back to allow Morticia to reach Enid. Morticia’s movements were much more reserved, but the manner with which her hands wrapped around Enid’s upper arms was no less affectionate. She held Enid out from her, a little under arm’s length. 

“It truly was a pleasure, my dear,” she said, with a smile that would be saccharine if it wasn’t so sincere. “As it always is.” She cast a playfully pointed glance over at Wednesday, who had folded her arms flat against her chest and was staring at them with the severity of someone looking down the barrel of a shotgun, minus the pants-pissing fear. “Do take care of Wednesday, will you? I know she is the embodiment of self-reliance, but just in case, hm?”

“I’m sure I’ll make myself useful,” Enid said, and, happy as always to neg Wednesday just a little, for the sake of her ego, added, “After all, Wednesday did insist upon my accompanying her.”

“Ah, did she?” Gomez asked, a dangerous twinkle in his eye, one that had Enid feeling somewhat on the outside of the joke. 

She murmured a few more words of farewell, and she and Lurch performed their secret handshake, the one Wednesday loathed and the rest of the family was delighted by. Just as Wednesday’s parents were shutting their respective car doors, Wednesday’s head jerked sharply to the back of the car. She popped the trunk promptly and pulled Enid’s suitcase from its place until it sat flat in front of her. Just as Enid had begun to worry that Wednesday was ransacking her luggage for no reason, she pulled Thing from between several pairs of shorts. 

Thing put up an admirable fight, struggling against Wednesday’s iron grip until eventually going limp and tapping two fingers against her fist, calling uncle!

“I should’ve known you’d try to sneak aboard,” Wednesday sneered. “I told you you were not to accompany us on this mission.”

She tossed Thing to Gomez, who, to his credit, caught him with one hand and set him upon his shoulder like a pirate would a parrot, all without standing out of his car seat. He patted Things knuckles in a consolatory manner. 

“Thing, you fine fellow, you’re supposed to be with us, remember?” he said cheerfully, despite the slump in Thing’s wrist. 

Wednesday huffed, zipped Enid’s bag, and shut the trunk with finality. Enid would call it a slam if it weren’t so graceful. The hearse pulled away, and finally, Enid and Wednesday were alone once more.

It was hot out for New England, upwards of 70. A sudden gleam of sunlight directed Enid’s attention to a glimmer of gold on the hood of the car. She squinted at the hood ornament, which resembled a coat of arms, noting the little black horse in its center. 

“Holy crap,” Enid said. “Is this a Porsche?”

It was an honest question (Enid knew very little about cars), though a closer inspection likely would’ve revealed the word “porsche” printed at the top of the crest, though the lettering certainly wasn’t meant to stand out by any means, at least not in Enid’s opinion.

“It’s a 930 Turbo,” Wednesday said flatly, meaning yes, it very much was a Porsche. “I wanted to take the Packard, but my parents thought it best not to entrust me with a limousine for an 800 mile road trip.”

“You wanted to take a limo from here to West Virginia?” Enid asked. “That you would drive?”

“A car is a car,” Wednesday said. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Fair enough,” Enid said, though she was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that the Addams owned multiple luxury cars, one of which was a literal limousine. She fought the urge to bring up the fact that they could’ve borrowed it for senior prom but ultimately knew it would only start a pointless argument, and she was sure she had plenty of those ahead. “Are we stopping for snacks on our way out of Jericho, or did you grab some already? If you did, did you get any of those Nerds cluster things? If not, can we stop again before we leave the state? They’re, like, my favorite.”

“I thought your favorite was Starburst,” Wednesday said, but changed course before Enid could respond that that was the old favorite and this was the new favorite, at least for now. “What are you talking about? Why would we do that?”

“Wait a sec,” Enid said, so flabbergasted she was almost offended. “You were about to take us on an entire thirteen hour road trip, and you weren’t gonna get any snacks for it?”

“We would stop for meals, of course,” Wednesday said, a cross between a question and a challenge.

“Wednesday,” Enid said, for emphasis. “Snacks are an essential part of the road tripping experience. Especially since this is like our senior trip.”

“This is a favor to Uncle Fester,” Wednesday said. “A mission.”

Enid tried to make her best puppy dog face. She must’ve been successful. 

Wednesday stubbornly jutted her jaw up and out, never willing to appear to swallow any of her precious pride, but said, “Fine. One stop. Leaving town. Five minutes.”

“Seven and a half,” Enid said. 

“...seven and a half,” Wednesday agreed.

Enid thought she might try to shake on it. Instead, Wednesday turned at a perfect 90 degree angle and slid into the driver’s seat of the jet black Porsche, leaving Enid to hurry after her. The seat was low to the ground. Lucky for Wednesday, Enid mused, as she was quite vertically challenged , a phrase Enid had used to describe her once as a joke that she had taken a liking to, which, of course she had; Wednesday loved nothing more than a challenge. 

They stopped at a gas station at the very edge of Jericho’s town limits. Wednesday seemed quite perturbed that they’d only made thirty five minutes of progress, and it was already half-past eleven. Enid decided she would need to find something suitable for lunch rather than attempt to ask Wednesday to stop for a meal within the next hour or so. She settled on one of those protein trays, the adult equivalent of a lunchable. If Wednesday was mildly impressed by her first choice, she was only setting herself up for disappointment as Enid continued to shop.

Enid did not take the responsibility of snack shopping lightly. She made sure to walk down every aisle with even the hint of a food product, though she kept her pace brisk, mindful of her time constraint and not wanting to push Wednesday anymore than she had to, though a minute or two extra may be necessary. She piled chips, and gummies, and those little plastic pudding cups into her plastic basket until she was content, forcing Wednesday to pick out a few items for herself along the way. Wednesday begrudgingly grabbed a 90% cacao chocolate bar, which Enid was pretty sure was for baking but didn’t want to discourage her, and a couple of bags of the blue heat Takis. 

“Last but not least, drinks!” Enid said, situating them in front of one of the tall glass refrigerators. 

She reached for a pink lemonade. Wednesday raised her eyebrows and placed about four more into the basket before grabbing a cold brew for herself a few shelves down. Enid was about to remind her that hydration accountability was a two way street and toss in a couple of bottles of water, but then she thought it would be much funnier to try and force Wednesday to drink something pink several hours into the trip. 

They walked up to the register. Enid dumped her haul onto the counter and was about to reach for her wallet, already dreading the price, when Wednesday practically shoved her out of the way. She thrust a $100 bill at the cashier, a bored looking high school kid who seemed exasperated with even the idea of holding the little UV light from inside the register up to the bill, much less with shelling out $65.29 worth of change. Fortunately for him, Wednesday only wanted $10 back, putting the rest on a pump outside. Enid watched him pack their spoils into the thin yellow plastic bags while Wednesday tucked the bill into her coin purse. 

The first time Enid had seen the coin purse, black velvet with silver balled clasps, Enid had laughed so hard she’d nearly peed herself because of course that was where Wednesday kept her money (or at least her pocket change–Enid was sure a large sum of Wednesday’s money was buried in the ground somewhere, likely marked down on a coded treasure map of some kind); but over time, she’d grown used to it, the way she’d grown used to all of Wednesday’s peculiarities. Still, she couldn’t help the fond grin that spread across her face at the sight of it, always affected by the odd little habits that Wednesday would loathe to label as quirks. 

Wednesday pumped their gas, and soon they were on the highway, making great strides in their journey south. Enid had opened the Nerds clusters by the time they were off the exit ramp, and five miles later decided to at least try and savor them, rolling the aluminum bag shut and stashing them in the center console of the car. She frowned when she noticed a slot for something situated between the volume knobs but no spot for an aux plug in, or a charger for that matter. 

She tried the radio, quickly skipping through every station, hoping to find something that she liked, maybe Taylor Swift. Next to her, Wednesday gripped the steering wheel. Enid watched Wednesday’s lips push out into a line as she grit her teeth, annoyance but also restraint. Enid settled on the least staticky station she could find in the next thirty seconds. 

“The Porsche is cool and all, but I would’ve appreciated some sort of aux option,” Enid remarked, because she couldn’t help herself. 

“I’m sorry this 1979 model of an incredibly rare make from my father’s private collection is not outfitted with the modern auxiliary capabilities that you deem necessary,” Wednesday said. 

“I’m just saying, it would’ve been nice if you had maybe considered a Bluetooth speaker,” Enid said. 

Wednesday was silent for some time, her eyes focused on the road. Enid checked her phone and wished she had notifications to respond to rather than compulsively scrolling through Twitter. 

“There should be a box of cassette tapes in the glove compartment,” Wednesday finally said. “Although, I’m not sure how familiar you are with music released before 2010, so I suppose I have no choice but to stop at a department store and purchase a speaker.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Enid said, smiling nonetheless. 

She opened the glove compartment and found the box Wednesday was referring to, stuffed with at least thirty tapes, all lined in neat rows, their labels facing outward. Her smile faltered as she realized Wednesday may have had a point about her lack of pre-y2k musical knowledge, especially when the people responsible for the tape collection were two eccentric middle aged people who looked as though they had stepped directly off of one of Tim Burton’s more gothic movie sets and were entirely committed to that bit. Wednesday’s eyes darted over to her, catching her reaction. 

“I’m afraid it may be entirely necessary,” she responded. “Though I should tell you that the tapes are organized chronologically, so if you look towards the end of the last row, there should be something you’ll find at least vaguely recognizable.”

Enid ran her index finger up the rows of tapes, starting at the most recent, though most of those seemed to be kooky sounding indie bands that Enid didn’t recognize, and it didn’t take long until she had noticeably reached the ‘80s. She figured the invention of the iPod had something to do with the skewed sample of more modern music. Finally, she came across one she found herself interested in. 

“Isn’t this the band that has that song you like? The one from the Rave’N sophomore year?” Enid asked, holding up a Cramps tape and knowing very well that they were the musical genius behind “Goo Goo Muck,” a song she had listened to probably fifty times since she had first seen Wednesday dance to it, watching her from across the dance floor until Lucas had sidled up beside her and made a remark along the lines of Okay, the oddball has moves , which embarrassed Enid out of her reverie.

Wednesday peered over at the tape in that quick manner of hers, where only her eyes moved and her head remained totally still. Her bottom lip quirked in a way that Enid couldn’t quite decipher. She hoped it was one of Wednesday’s ghost-smiles she was always looking for.

“Yes,” Wednesday said. “But that’s not the right album. ‘Goo Goo Muck’ is track two on Psychedelic Jungle .” 

Enid flipped the tape over and scanned its tracklist. 

“Yeah, well, this one has a werewolf song,” she said before popping it into the cassette player. “We’re listening to it.”

“In order,” Wednesday said in anticipation of Enid’s desire to skip straight to “I Was A Teenage Werewolf.” 

“Fine,” Enid said. “But I reserve the right to five skips.”

“Three,” Wednesday negotiated. 

“Three,” Enid agreed.

The music started. 

“We’ll stop in New York,” Wednesday said, as if to remind Enid about the speaker. It was an effective reminder.

“Can it be at a Target?” Enid asked.

“If we can be in and out in fifteen minutes, it can,” Wednesday said.

Enid noted that this was considerably longer than the five minutes Wednesday had originally offered up at the gas station, so, rather than pressing further, she decided to take what she could get. She popped the cap off of a fresh pink lemonade with the bottle opener Wednesday had found for her in the center console. 

“Absolutely we can.”

The Target off of exit 26 of whatever highway they were on in New York state was in a rundown looking strip mall, sandwiched between an abandoned unit that looked like it had once been a Best Buy and the saddest looking Firehouse Subs Enid had ever seen. It was, predictably, dead inside. Also predictably, Wednesday took off towards the electronics section of the store, barely needing to glance at the signs to know where she was going. Just as Enid started to get distracted by the cute little ankle socks with the otters on them at the outskirts of the miscellaneous clothing section, she felt fingers wrap around her wrist, Wednesday’s fingers, Wednesday’s arm pulling her forcefully along to their destination. 

This sort of leading touch, gently assertive, was not foreign to Enid, but it still wasn’t quite common enough to not send her spiraling back to the first time Wednesday had done it, over a year ago in the Nightshade Library. 

“Wednesday?” Enid said, practically tripping down the steep stone steps as she followed her roommate into the darkened space. “Did you just ask Thing to keep watch? Are we not supposed to be here? Ohmygod, is this the Nightshades’ spot?”

“Relax,” Wednesday said through gritted teeth. Enid imagined she was starting to regret bringing her along. Sure, Enid had insisted, but knowing Wednesday, she probably could’ve just tied Enid up with something and locked her in their closet until she was finished with her business. “I just need a book, a rare one. I know they have it here.” 

“Okay, I really don’t wanna get in trouble,” Enid said. “Didn’t they tell you they were gonna retaliate if you didn’t stop using their resources after you rejected them?”

Wednesday scoffed. She had stopped in front of a large oak bookcase towards the back of the library. It looked darker than the other shelves, and it had ornate stone bookends set sporadically throughout the rows of ancient looking books, some kind of organizational system, Enid assumed . 

“You’ve known me for how long, and some part of you still thinks I might actually be afraid of the Nightshades? There are so many clowns in that club, it’s practically a circus.”

A brief expression of satisfaction flickered across her lips. She grabbed a small, unassuming book from a stack of nearly identical ones on one of the lower shelves. This book looked to be by far the most beat up, a hard crack running through its spine. As far as Enid could tell, the pages seemed like they had been singed at the top, the edge of the leather reflected a somewhat melted past, as if someone had failed to throw it into a fire. Thing began to tap sporadically from above. 

“SOS,” Wednesday murmured as Enid heard him scuttle away. 

There was thumping on the stairs, measured steps down followed by heavy, clumsy footfalls. Wednesday grabbed Enid’s wrist and pulled her into a crouching position behind one of the many shelves before Enid could react. Wednesday’s hand was surprisingly rough, covered in calluses that dotted every single one of her fingertips, from her cello, and ran across the top of her palm, from her gravedigging habit. Enid couldn’t take her mind off the harshness of the press of Wednesday’s hand into her own soft skin, her fingers not bothering to be gentle in their curl around Enid’s wrist. It felt too familiar from someone who’d only give Enid a hug when faced with the possibility of her gruesome death, or at the very least, the imminent threat of teary eyes. 

“Where are we supposed to look?” Kent asked. Enid matched his voice to the clunkier set of footsteps in her mind. 

“It should be on the last bookcase to the left, second shelf from the top,” Xavier answered. “Look for a little baggie sticking out.” 

“I don’t see it,” Kent said. “Plus, I can’t reach.”

“Whatever,”

He stepped closer to the shelf they were hiding behind. Wednesday’s grip tightened around Enid’s arm. A book slid off the shelf–Xavier must have pulled it–and then another, and then another, until finally Enid heard the slight crinkle of a plastic bag being picked up. 

“A-ha,” Xavier said. “Okay, let’s go.”

The pair retreated. Enid moved to stand back up, her calves starting to burn from holding her squat, but Wednesday pulled her back down, a clear call for Enid to wait, to follow her lead. Enid shifted into a kneel.

“I thought you said you weren’t scared of them,” she whispered.

Wednesday scowled. 

“I’m not. But I’m not going to make my life more difficult than it needs to be.”

Enid smirked but let it go, not sure how much teasing she could get away with.

“Are you gonna have to investigate whatever that was?” she asked instead. “It sure seemed suspicious.”

“It’s just drugs,” Wednesday said, and then, anticipating Enid’s burning need for clarification, added, “Xavier buys weed from this sprite in my chem class.”

“Of course you knew already,” Enid muttered. 

They waited in near silence until Thing tapped the all clear. It wasn’t until then that Wednesday let go of Enid’s wrist, and tucked the book under her arm, and Enid tried desperately to memorize all the places where their skin had touched while Wednesday led them back up the staircase and into the main hall.  

Here and now, in this Target, Wednesday had almost reached her goal. Her grip around Enid’s wrist was just as tight, but the force with which she pulled her along was lenient, trusting. Wednesday wasn’t the type to let go without good reason, but Enid knew that if she for some reason wanted to stop suddenly, Wednesday would let her, and would stand beside her until they figured out which new direction they were going. 

There was an entire shelf dedicated to different models of bluetooth speaker in an assortment of sizes, colors, and qualities. Enid picked up a little round pink one with a suction cup on the bottom. 

“Look! 

Wednesday eyed the speaker with disdain.

“You continue to let abject cuteness affect your judgment,” she said snidely. “I’m sure the sound quality will be unbearably tinny.” She picked up a much nicer speaker, sleek and rectangular and rounded around the edges. “This one seems much nicer. And it comes in pink as well.” 

Enid reached for the pale pink variant’s box, noting the price marked underneath it. 

“This one’s like forty bucks!” 

“It’s an investment,” Wednesday said. “I detest the way your phone speakers sound. Now, when you want to listen to your horrendously upbeat music in the future, you can use this. It will make the experience marginally better.”

“Alright,” Enid agreed, recognizing the gift for what it was, even behind the insults. “Thank you, Wednesday.” 

Wednesday scowled. Enid wondered if she resented the idea that she could have generous motivations. If that were the case, she would spend a lot of time resenting things, given how frequently she saved people’s lives, and how luxurious Eugene’s beehive had become since Wednesday had become a Hummer. Suddenly, Enid realized that they’d completed their Target goal far too quickly, that Wednesday hadn’t allowed Enid to get purposefully distracted after all. 

“I thought you said I could have fifteen minutes,” she whined. She knew she was pouting, but she couldn’t decide whether that was a net positive or negative for her self advocacy. Sometimes it worked. 

“You will,” Wednesday said. “I retrieved the speaker in just under two minutes, leaving you with ten minutes to frolic about this department store however you so choose and three minutes for checkout.”

“And you’ll come with me?” Enid asked.

“Lead the way,” Wednesday said. 

Enid grinned. Then, she had an idea. She felt her palms start to sweat, which was not helpful at this time, and wiped them on her jeans before reaching out to Wednesday’s arm, tugging her along towards the homegoods aisle in the same fashion she was used to being tugged, though with significantly more hesitation. Wednesday seemed entirely unfazed and took to being led around the store much more in stride than Enid had expected from a certified control freak. 

They looked at mugs. They read through silly greeting cards. Enid smelled every single candle in the building. She dragged Wednesday to the clothing section and became infatuated with two different skirts, a cute top, and a pair of earrings with dangly strawberry milk colored cows. Wednesday studied her, as if she were measuring her level of excitement, and then circled back for the earrings on their way to self checkout. 

Enid watched Wednesday pull out another $100 bill, which was miraculously accepted by the checkout machine. Wednesday neatly pocketed her change and gathered their purchases into her arms sans plastic grocery bag. 

“How many hundreds do you have?” Enid asked jokingly as they exited the store, though she did seriously want to know. 

“A hundred,” Wednesday said. “Actually, I’m down to ninety eight now.”

“What?” Enid exclaimed. “Wednesday, that’s ten thousand dollars.”

“I’m aware,” Wednesday said, offended Enid had presented the fact like it was something she didn’t know, which was insanely unhelpful when Enid needed some sort of explanation for why they were just casually carrying thousands of dollars with them. Was this some weird rich person thing? 

“Where did you get these?” she asked

“Fester,” Wednesday answered. “It’s our payment.”

They’d reached the car.

“Oh my God,” Enid said, stopping just outside the passenger side door.

Wednesday got in, giving Enid no choice but to follow her. 

“I’m splitting whatever remains after our trip with you. Fifty-fifty,” Wednesday assured her. 

“That’s… not what I’m worried about,” Enid said. 

Wednesday gave her an expectant look. It made her want to scream. Maybe she should scream. 

“Wednesday!” Enid practically screamed. “You can’t just pay for everything with hundred dollar bills!” 

Wednesday blinked at her.

“Why not?”

“People are going to think they’re counterfeit!” Enid exclaimed, bug-eyed. 

Wednesday just blinked again.

“But they’re not.”

“It’s still suspicious!” Enid said, then remembered who was bankrolling the trip. “Didn’t your Uncle Fester commit some sort of crime to get this cash?”

“Enid,” Wednesday said, offended once more. “Don’t you think I’ve considered this already? Fester has assured me that he acquired it from somewhere it won’t be missed for at least a few months, perhaps even years. Unless, of course, he were to pull a similar stunt, but he has promised me his restraint, at least until we’re out of the state.”

“Well, still. It makes us look…” Enid struggled to find an adequate word. “...kooky.”

She could’ve sworn she saw Wednesday crack a smile.

“While I would never describe myself as kooky , is that not the general consensus regarding my, as you say, vibe .”

“Yeah, you do have a kooky vibe,” Enid agreed. 

“So this immediate impression is unavoidable, is it not?” Wednesday said smugly.

“Yeah, well,” Enid said, giving up on the tiff. Wednesday’s logic was frustratingly sound, and it wasn’t like they had any other readily available form of payment. She doubted Wednesday would’ve brought along an emergency credit card with ten grand stashed in the boot of the car. 

Enid had expected the driving to be much more enjoyable with the speaker than it turned out to be. It was her own fault, really. She should’ve just played whatever music she felt like listening to, but she’d wanted to show her gratitude to Wednesday, and she’d also sort of hoped to prove that maybe she was cooler than Wednesday thought she was, maybe she knew at least some music that Wednesday would think was worth listening to. 

So, peppered between quintessential 2010s hits and TikTok songs and Enid’s favorite indie pop were just a few songs that Enid had been naive enough to think might bridge the gap between her own playlist and Wednesday’s pretentious taste in music. She started with what felt like her best idea, slipping some Mother Mother into the cue, but Wednesday didn’t seem to find it any less distasteful than the Clairo she’d had on moments before. She tried transitioning to some depressed female indie artists at varying levels of mentally fucked up, but none of that seemed to stick either. As a last resort, she put on Olivia Rodrigo’s “Brutal,” and she had no one to blame but herself when Wednesday audibly complained about that one. 

By the time they were looking for somewhere to stop for dinner, Enid’s hope at musical bonding had been squashed, and she had resulted to playing Edith Piaf Radio and feeling utterly joyless about it. Plus, she was starting to worry she had spoiled her appetite with peach rings and pudding and Cheetos. 

“Where would you like to eat?” Wednesday asked just as the clock on the dash struck seven. It took Enid by surprise. 

“You’re asking me?” 

“Yes,” Wednesday said, as if it should be obvious. “If you aren’t ready yet, we can hold off until around eight, but I would like to start looking soon.” 

The sentiment was oddly considerate. Enid had half expected Wednesday to get off at a random exit, pull through her drive-thru of choice, and order for the both of them without consulting her at all. It was one of those moments where Enid realized that Wednesday was, against her natural inclinations, trying to cheer her up. 

“Can we get Taco Bell?” Enid asked hesitantly. “And I would appreciate the wait. I did get a little full of snacks.”

“Taco Bell?” Wednesday asked with the beginning of a sneer. Enid wondered if she was about to be offended in Spanish, and if it would be bad to think that was kind of attractive, but then Wednesday took a short breath and said, “Yes, we’ll get… Taco Bell. The name isn’t promising, but I’ll try to keep an open mind, I suppose.” 

It took less than fifteen minutes for Enid to decide she was no longer full of snacks, which totally didn’t have anything to do with her impatience at the thought of the Doritos locos taco, and thus, they began their search. Luckily for Enid, Taco Bell was pretty much everywhere, especially if they were willing to pull through a drive thru at a gas station, which Enid was, though Wednesday’s hesitance did encourage her to look for one that had its own building on Maps. 

Very soon, they were pulling off at an exit that offered a modest array of fast food, gas stations, and budget motels. Enid felt herself start to salivate at the sight of the big purple bell. Wednesday pulled up to the drive thru speaker.

“I would like the Doritos Locos Tacos, please!” Enid said excitedly. “Three of them.”

It took a moment for someone to ask for their order, but once they did, Wednesday relayed this information into the speaker. As the exchange occurred, Enid’s eyes fell onto something else on the very large, brightly lit menu, something very tempting.

“Can I also get the cinnamon twists?” she asked, already knowing the answer was yes before Wednesday even opened her mouth. “Oh, and I want a thing of fiesta potatoes.”

“I’m not saying that,” Wednesday mumbled. 

“Wednesday, you have to!” Enid pleaded. “I really want them!”

“One order of fiesta potatoes?” the drive thru attendant asked, her voice crackling through the speaker. 

Enid flushed at the knowledge that the attendant had heard their bickering, but Wednesday seemed very pleased with the fact that she hadn’t had to resort to speaking the words fiesta potatoes out loud. 

“Yes, thank you,” Enid called out through the open driver’s side window. She directed her attention back to Wednesday. “Alright, now what do you want?”

“I have my snacks,” Wednesday said. 

“Is that gonna be all for today?” the attendant asked. 

“No!” Enid called out again before Wednesday could say anything and then turned sharply back to her argument. “Not gonna cut it. Get something.”

“I suppose I will get a chalupa,” Wednesday said, but she still sounded disturbed. 

“Two chalupas,” Enid called into the speaker, determined to get a full meal’s worth of food into Wednesday. “And she’ll want them supreme.”

“Is chicken okay?” the attendant asked. 

Enid looked at Wednesday.

“Yes,” Wednesday said.

“Okay, $21.13. Pull forward.”

“What’s supreme?” Wednesday asked once they were waiting at the drive thru window. 

“It just means with tomatoes and sour cream.”

Wednesday looked horrified, or as horrified as she could look, her eyes wide and severe and her mouth shrinking into a small ‘o.’ 

“The default isn’t tomatoes and sour cream?”

“...no,” Enid said, wincing a little as she remembered that it was her idea to come here.

Wednesday huffed.

“Well, thank you,” she muttered. “I do want them supreme.”

Enid beamed at her and was just about to revel in this small victory of knowing Wednesday when the window slid open and a very tired looking person held their hand out for a form of payment. Wednesday went for her wallet. Enid remembered the hundreds.

“Hey, no, Wednesday, I got this,” she said, rummaging through the front pocket of her backpack for her debit card. 

Wednesday frowned. 

“No. We discussed this. We’re using Fester’s funds for all travel expenses.”

“We’ll write it down and you can reimburse me,” Enid said, jabbing her card at Wednesday. “Here. Please just give this to them.”

Wednesday took the card, but she wasn’t happy about it. They got their food. Wednesday pulled into the empty parking lot to eat under one of the sparsely installed LED light poles. Enid happily dug through the bag for her Dorito tacos. Wednesday gingerly picked up one of the chalupas with just two fingers and cautiously unpeeled the paper wrapper as if the food might spring forward like some kind of taco monster and bite off her thumbnail with the edges of its shell. Enid was glad to have ordered more food than Wednesday because she had a sneaking suspicion she was going to be a faster eater. 

Halfway through eating, Enid put on some kpop. Then, she had a brilliant idea, so brilliant she wondered why it took her this long to come up with it–she should play BABYMETAL for Wednesday. She loaded up her cue.

“How do you feel about this song?” she asked excitedly as the heavy metal power chords really got going. 

“It’s overwhelming,” Wednesday said, taking a careful bite of her second chalupa. “There’s far too much going on.”

Enid felt her face fall before she even felt the disappointment. She’d burned through her frustration long ago, and the lack of a bite or a sting underneath just made her sadness that much heavier. Wednesday was watching her. She had to shake off the heaviness. Looking into Wednesday’s eyes, Enid could spit a bitter laugh into Wednesday’s face at the hypocrisy in her complaint; she almost always overwhelmed Enid with everything going on behind her big eyes, despite her inhuman stillness, and the worst part was, Enid could never say anything about it because it wouldn’t make any sense to anyone else because of how goddamn quiet Wednesday was. But Enid knew–she knew just how much there was under the surface of every look, every word, every twitch in the muscles around her mouth, every blink of those big, big eyes. 

“May I show you a song I think you’ll enjoy?” Wednesday asked, just when Enid felt like she could sink through her seat, or maybe explode into a million bloody, fleshy pieces, which Wednesday would probably love. 

Wednesday’s eye contact was forceful, and the thing behind her eyes was set in stone. She set down her chalupa. Recognizing this as some kind of olive branch, Enid handed over her phone. Wednesday, who had grown more accustomed to searching for things on Enid’s phone than her own, quickly and efficiently found what she wanted to play. 

The song was in Spanish. It opened with a low, thumping sounding tuba bass line and an eerie blend of a woman’s wispy vocals and a woodwind of some kind, giving it a halloweeny vibe that it maintained throughout the entirety of the first verse, but then fell into a lighter, more pleasant, flowy sort of sound at the chorus, which Enid enjoyed immensely. It felt almost like this weird perfect balance of Wednesday and herself, all wrapped up into one. 

“What’s it called?” she asked. 

“Did you like it?” Wednesday asked in return, as if the name was something unimportant, especially in the face of Enid’s approval. Though she had begrudgingly allowed herself to be swayed by Enid’s opinions in the past, she had never seemed concerned for Enid’s approval like she was now. It was a rather silly look on her, this self consciousness, silly in a sweet way. 

“Yes,” Enid said decisively. She patted Wednesday’s knee in approval. “Very much so.”

“I shall add it to your liked songs.” Wednesday said. 

Enid grinned at the preciseness of Wednesday’s tech speak, being reminded that everything she had picked up about the internet, she had picked up verbatim. They finished their food and began driving again. For all her complaining, Wednesday did help Enid finish off the fiesta potatoes. As they got back onto the interstate, Enid found a tape from the band whose song Wednesday had just shown her, inspiring her to switch back to the cassettes. Wednesday seemed pleasantly surprised by this, which was something they shared as Enid discovered she liked more and more of what Mecano had to offer. 

Eventually the tape ran out, and Enid was forced to rummage through the box for something else she might find interesting. It was honestly really embarrassing how unfamiliar she was with the Addams’ music collection, especially considering Enid considered herself to be somewhat musically cultured. Somewhat. 

“I don’t mind the music you play,” Wednesday said, a subtle suggestion that Enid put down the box. 

“Yes, you do,” Enid said back, remembering all the times that

“Okay, I do,” Wednesday snapped. “But I don’t mind that I mind.”

“That makes no sense,” Enid laughed. 

“Yes, it does,” Wednesday said. 

Enid elected not to respond but chose a new tape anyway. She put it in the player. Wednesday hit the button to pop it out. Enid frowned and pushed it back in. Wednesday popped it out again. Enid shoved it back in, and this time, when Wednesday went to eject it, shoved her hand over the space where it fit into the player. 

“You’re going to break it,” Wednesday said sharply. 

Enid sighed and gave up. It wasn’t worth fighting, especially since she really did want nothing more than to listen to 1989 , the perfect album for driving at night. 

They drove for another few hours, mostly in comfortable silence. The roads were becoming much clearer as it got later, which Enid was grateful for. The charm of Wednesday’s road rage was starting to wear off. Feeling much more at ease, Enid took what she expected to be a short catnap. When she awoke, it was almost one in the morning. She blinked and looked out the windshield at the dark interstate, the little reflective pieces of plastic between lanes. They were alone except for a couple of semi trucks and a sedan going about fifteen under the speed limit. She slowly realized that Wednesday had no intention of stopping somewhere for the night. 

“Don’t you think it’s time we get a hotel?” Enid asked. Her voice was groggy and thick with sleep. 

Wednesday said nothing, just kept her eyes on the road.

“You need to get some rest,” Enid added. 

“I’ll be fine,” Wednesday said. “If we keep going, we can be there in an hour. Go back to sleep.” 

“What about gas?” Enid asked. 

“We stopped thirty minutes ago,” Wednesday answered. 

“And you didn’t wake me up to buy more snacks?” Enid pouted. 

Wednesday side eyed her. 

“You have all the snacks you could ever want.”

Enid shook her head. She could already feel herself drifting off. 

“If you’re lacking anything of importance, I’ll buy it for you tomorrow.” 

“Thanks, Wends,” Enid murmured. 

“Don’t call me that,” Wednesday said. 

It was the last thing Enid heard before she drifted back off to sleep. The second time she awoke, the car was stopped and Wednesday was prodding her in the shoulder. 

“We’re here,” Wednesday said. “Get up unless you want to sleep in the car.”

Enid groaned and hauled herself out and into the night. It was cool out, but not nearly as cold as she had expected, and much muggier. Enid bunched up her nose at the feeling of the humidity on her face. She followed Wednesday into the lobby of the hotel they had parked at. It was only once they had made it inside that Enid had processed just how many other cars were in the parking lot. They stopped in front of a large wood desk with a tall, friendly looking woman behind it. 

“How much for a room?” Wednesday asked, peering up at the woman manning the front desk. 

“$101 a night. How comfortable are you ladies with staying in a room with one bed? We’re all booked up these next couple of days.” 

“Why?” Wednesday asked, making no comment on her comfortability sharing a bed with Enid, which Enid would’ve obsessed over if she hadn’t been so tired. 

“There’s a huge Mothman event this week,” the clerk answered. “Is that not why you gals are here?”

“I thought the Mothman Festival was in September,” Wednesday said.

“It is,” the clerk said. “This is a Mothman Convention. It’s not an official event put on by the town, but every couple of summers, this real big cryptid club all get together and search for Mothman.” 

Wednesday raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Enid wondered if the clerk noticed at all. 

“Have they ever considered he may want to be left alone?”

The clerk laughed.

“Please don’t suggest that to them. This is really good for business.” 

Wednesday didn’t dignify that with a response, just reached out her hand for their room key, which the clerk handed her happily. Enid dragged her feet all the way down the hallway and up a flight of carpeted stairs before they reached their room. Wednesday swiped the keycard and held their door open for Enid. Upon seeing the queen bed in front of them, Enid pulled off her shoes and dove under the covers, travel clothes and all, reveling in the freshness of the sheets. 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Wednesday announced, which only made Enid feel slightly bad about not changing or brushing her teeth, and then took her leave in the bathroom. Whatever. Enid would brush for twice as long in the morning. She was fast asleep before Wednesday got back, which nipped a lot of bed sharing panic in the bud, but even as she relaxed back into her pillow, turned on her side and facing the wall, Enid knew she’d be in for a rather startling awakening. 

Chapter Text

That morning, Enid woke to find the sun shining brightly through the cracks of the hotel blinds and streaming almost directly into her eyes. She squinted, grumbled, rolled over to get away, and was absolutely mortified when she almost smacked Wednesday in the face with the back of her hand. She was equally mortified to find that she had, at some point in the night, inched further and further back into the bed until Wednesday had only a sliver of space on the edge, where she was now sitting, legs crossed at the ankle, reading a book. 

Wednesday didn’t react at all to almost being groggily assaulted. The pillows propping her up in her seated position didn’t so much as wrinkle around her shoulders. Enid noticed that she was already dressed for the day, in a black hoodie zipped up over a black and white striped shirt and a long black skirt, her braids perfectly done as always. Enid wondered how often Wednesday rebraided her hair, and if it was totally for efficiently keeping it out of her face or if there was some aspect of vanity to it. 

Feeling Enid’s bewildered eyes on her, Wednesday finished the sentence she was reading and snapped her book shut decisively. 

“We begin our search for the Mothman today,” she said. “Please get dressed. I’ve been informed that breakfast is complimentary.” 

She slid her legs over the side of the bed, set her book on the bedside table, and promptly left Enid alone in the room to get ready for the day. More than a little worried that Wednesday was going to eat the entire meal without her, Enid brushed her teeth in the shower and threw on the clothes at the top of her suitcase, so very grateful that she packed entire outfits together. She took the stairs two at a time and walked briskly to the dining room behind the hotel’s lobby, noticing its quaintness for the first time. She wondered if it was locally owned. 

Wednesday was perusing the breakfast buffet when Enid spotted her, standing in front of the pastry case and socializing with several of the patrons in the line, which was very unlike her. Enid was tempted to interrupt her conversation, but, deciding it was probably best to let Wednesday do her thing, she grabbed her plate and lined up at the hot bar. Once Enid was seated at a table, Wednesday spotted her and moved to join her. At the little wooden table, she set down a steaming paper cup of coffee and a danish of some kind, a great contrast to Enid’s heaping plate. Enid wondered if she’d even bothered to check what it was when she’d fished it from the display case with the wonky metal tongs. 

“What were you up to over there?” Enid asked, slicing a sausage patty with the side of her fork. 

“Gathering intel,” Wednesday said. “When the convention attendees start their mass search for the Mothman, we’ll have competition. It’s important we know what we’re up against. Fortunately, today is mostly a social day for them, so we’ll have a whole day’s advantage and a much better chance that the Mothman won’t be in deep cover.”

“That’s good,” Enid said. “Maybe we’ll get the mission stuff out of the way, and then we can just chill out.” 

“Or return early,” Wednesday mused, then, after Enid glared at her and maybe lightly kicked her underneath the table, added, “Or make the most of our time in this town that is home to one of the most famous Outcasts in America.”

“Exactly,” Enid said, drizzling a second little plastic packet of syrup onto her pancakes and letting it drip onto the rest of her food. She tapped Wednesday’s leg approvingly with her foot underneath the table. Wednesday offered her an almost smile.

They ate in silence. Enid still wasn’t quite awake, having rushed through her getting ready process after feeling a certain amount of pressure. Wednesday finished her danish in several large bites while Enid was distracted with the pancakes and stood abruptly, her wooden chair squeaking against the cheap tile floor.

“Where are you going now?” Enid asked around a mouthful of food, knowing Wednesday hated it when she talked with food in her mouth but having limited time to ask her question.

“Back for seconds.”

Enid could read the writing on the wall. She gulped down the half chewed lump of soggy pancake. 

“Does this mean we’re not getting lunch?” she called after Wednesday.

When Wednesday came back with two loaded plastic plates, one of which was entirely protein, Enid knew her answer. She decided she’d better get seconds as well. For her general lack of enthusiasm about food, Wednesday could certainly eat if she had something to prepare for. Enid ate until she was well past stuffed trying to beat her, and Wednesday still produced six dirty plates to Enid’s four and, on top of that, seemed unbothered about it. 

Soon, they were back in the car. Enid felt heavy from her fullness and hoped it would take more than a few minutes to drive wherever they were going, not wanting to start what was sure to be a lot of intense walking on a full stomach. Wednesday drove them out to the woods, going a few miles off road and eventually stopping in a clearing. Enid wondered if it was entirely legal to drive through stretches of forest without so much as a dirt path, even if they were clear, but then remembered it was Wednesday, and Wednesday cared as much about legality as she did Taylor Swift, which is to say, not at all. 

They set off into the woods, Enid trailing behind a very determined Wednesday, catching up occasionally when Wednesday would stop to hold a branch of a piece of brush out of the way so that it wouldn’t wack Enid in the face. They walked in relative silence, which was mostly due to Enid’s struggle to keep up, but eventually, as the sun beat down on them, even through the dense trees of the forest, Wednesday’s steps began to shorten greatly, and Enid realized she was sweating. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Wednesday sweat. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was wearing a hoodie in late May, and it was about ten degrees warmer than they were used to, and very, very humid. 

“Don’t let yourself overheat,” Enid said, knowing Wednesday hated taking direction but unable to stop herself from worrying about her comfort level. 

Wednesday frowned and said nothing but furiously unzipped her hoodie and tied it around her waist. It was then Enid noticed that her striped shirt was short sleeved, leaving most of her arms bare. Her elbows were so bony, but it made her look solid rather than frail, like she was something carved from stone. Maybe marble? She was certainly pale enough. Enid thought she remembered a similar knobbiness of her knees, though she rarely got a good enough look to form an accurate mental picture. She had half a mind to buy Wednesday a pair of shorts just to see if that could work. 

Enid tried not to stare, but it was so incredibly rare that she saw any of Wednesday’s skin aside from her face, neck, and hands. The first time she’d even caught a glimpse of Wednesday’s upper arms, despite being literal roommates who were basically expected to change in front of each other (God knows Enid had changed in front of Wednesday enough times), was at the Rave’n, when Wednesday had worn that dress that Thing had picked out for her. Enid knew it wasn’t anything like her style, but that didn’t change how attractive she’d looked. However, here and now, that wasn’t the moment Enid felt herself most called back to. Instead, she found herself thinking about when the Addams had invited her to their lake house in Michigan. 

Enid had just gotten off of a six hour flight and a thirty minute car ride with Lurch that had been mostly silent. She was a little bit mad that Wednesday had not elected to tag along picking her up from the airport. Or maybe hurt was more accurate, but she wanted to be mad. It felt better to be mad. 

Wednesday answered the door in a sleek black one piece swimsuit, the kind that people wear when they’re on swim teams, complete with the little Nike swoosh on the top left side just under the thick strap. It was rather conservative for swimwear, but Enid still had to fight her immediate impulse to ogle, all of her carefully worked up anger dissipating into the blush that spread across her face. Wednesday also looked tan, very tan, which was an odd look for her. Enid admired the way she was able to still look sort of gaunt, even if her face held more color. Her braids were done up, but she was in the process of covering them with a bright white swim cap. 

“Get changed,” Wednesday said, not bothering with a greeting. “We’re going in the lake.” 

Lurch pulled Enid’s bag out of the trunk and led her up the stairs to the guest bedroom, where she quickly ransacked her suitcase looking for her swimsuit and changed hastily, half worried Wednesday would go on without her. When she came down the stairs, Wednesday was still standing in the entryway. She led her out to the yard and down to the dock, where Morticia was sitting out, sunning herself. At the fire pit by the water’s edge, Gomez and Pugsly were engaged in an intense duel with two pieces of soon-to-be-kindling. 

“It’s much better when the weapons are lit,” Wednesday remarked.

It took Enid a second to realize she meant that they typically fought with what would essentially be torches pulled from the fire. She hoped she wasn’t asked to volunteer later. As soon as their feet hit chipped wood, Wednesday took off running and executed a beautiful armstand dive off of the dock, somersaulting twice in midair before breaking the water perfectly with her fingertips, the rest of her body following, the picture of grace. Morticia chuckled. 

“She’s been practicing that dive all morning,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a kind of delight Enid didn’t fully understand. “You’d think she had someone to impress.”

Wednesday popped back up above the water. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her mother. 

“Come, Enid.” She motioned to the water around her, clearly wanting Enid to jump in after her. “Let’s swim out to the island. Perhaps then we’ll be allowed some privacy.”

Enid followed Wednesday’s gaze to a small mass of land a little ways away. She wondered if any part of it was solid enough to actually get out and stand on, or if it was all just mush. If Wednesday really was trying to impress her, it wouldn’t be mush. 

She jumped off of the dock, her arms flailing clumsily, and was fortunate enough to hit the water feet first. The lake was freezing. She swam as fast as she could, both trying to keep up with Wednesday and trying to get out and let the sun warm her back as soon as possible. They reached the island. It wasn’t mush. 

By the time they encountered a large stone structure that sort of looked like an igloo, Enid felt like they had walked ten miles, which probably meant they had actually walked about two. 

“What is this?” she asked. “And please tell me we’re not going inside.” 

“During World War II, the United States government built a TNT production plant a few miles from town. The plant needed somewhere to store the TNT, so they built these bunkers,” Wednesday explained. “Eventually, the war ended, and they didn’t need to mass produce TNT anymore, so the plant shut down, but the government left thousands of pounds of ammunition and various hazardous chemical materials behind because of the sheer effort and cost to remove it.” 

“Isn’t that, like, not great for the surrounding area?” Enid asked. “Can’t people steal this stuff kind of easily?”

“I believe that was part of the appeal of this area for my uncle,” Wednesday said. “And, yes, they discovered in the ‘80s that the earth here is irreparably damaged from the byproducts of the TNT manufacturing. And, yes, we are going inside. I have it on good authority that the Mothman takes up residence in one of these. Does that answer all of your questions?”

“You know you can just say Uncle Fester told you,” Enid grumbled. It did seem rather on brand for him to have an old friend who lived in an old bomb storage bunker and had access to tons of leftover government issued firepower. “And if you knew he lived around here, why did we start all the way over there? My feet hurt already.”

“We began our search where he was sighted by the original two couples who reported his presence to the police,” Wednesday explained. “I was hoping he may be out, and that we could bump into him on more neutral ground as that’s significantly more pleasant than encountering him while breaking into his home.”

“...What do you mean breaking into his home?” Enid asked, eyeing the large sheet metal doors that had been forced open long before they had ever arrived. 

“You don’t seriously think he lives above ground in one of these, do you?” Wednesday asked, like Enid was stupid. 

“Well, I don’t know!” Enid said indignantly. “I don’t have the Uncle Fester insider information.” 

Wednesday pursed her lips together, her eyebrows drawing in, and elected not to respond, instead entering the bomb bunker in silence. 

Inside the bunker, it was relatively empty. The concrete walls were littered with graffiti, and parts of the floor were littered with actual litter. Enid felt the urge to yell something, to hear her voice reflected through the empty space. She was sure there’d be an echo. Wednesday walked silently around the bunker’s edge, practically heel to toe. Enid wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but, feeling more than a little creeped out, she decided it was for the best that she was able to stick so close to the door. 

After some time, Wednesday left the bunker, signaling for Enid to follow. They repeated this process in six other bunkers, some of which, Enid was alarmed to find, still had TNT in them. It felt a little excessive for the government to even have this many TNT storage bunkers in the-middle-of-nowhere, West Virginia, and their military bloodlust was certainly proving to be inconvenient for Enid now, who was slumping further and further over with every step she took. At the fourth bunker, Enid tripped over a rather large rock that she definitely should’ve seen at the entrance. Wednesday successfully broke her fall, steadying her at the waist and maybe holding her there for a little longer than necessary, which Enid was definitely not still thinking about as they entered bunker seven. 

Once again, Wednesday started her walk. Enid, who had become much more comfortable with perusing the space, especially when the bunkers seemed to be bomb free, moved to the center of the dome and took a seat, allowing herself a few moments of rest. Something shuffled under Wednesday’s foot. Enid looked up. Wednesday looked back at her and grinned. She bent down and lifted up the corners of a tarp, covered with dusty grayish dirt and perfectly blended into the stone ground. Enid stood up.

Wednesday rolled the tarp back until she had revealed a narrow hole. Enid hurried over, concerned they were going to have to jump down it. Fortunately, when Wednesday swung her legs over the side, her feet landed on ladder rungs built into the stone. 

“Woah,” Enid said as she watched Wednesday climb down. “This is just like Minecraft.”

Wednesday paid her comment no mind. Enid climbed down after her. When she turned around, her jaw practically dropped at the sight before her. Carved into the earth was one very expansive space, about the size of a studio apartment, a very impressive feat that seemed to be derived solely from tunneling. All that remained was a rickety wooden bedframe, a pickaxe, a shovel, and the concrete lining of two of the room’s dirt walls, proof that the space had once been lived in but that its occupant was long gone. Somehow, to be so close and yet so far from their goal was more disappointing than if they had never found anything in the first place.

Wednesday slumped to the ground, not even bothering to fold her long skirt underneath her, just letting it wrinkle into a clumpy mess. Enid sank down beside her, balancing on her heels in an effort to keep dirt off of the back of her Laura-Dern-in-Jurassic-Park shorts, and waited for Wednesday to say something. She waited quite a while. 

“This isn’t supposed to be this difficult,” Wednesday finally said. “I am more than capable of tracking down a hulking figure with a ten foot wingspan.” 

“Hey, Wednesday, it’s okay,” Enid said softly. “You’re doing a really good job. Being very thorough, and all that.”

She reached for Wednesday’s upper arm, her fingers slipping just underneath the sleeve of her t-shirt, rubbing at the skin in a way she hoped was soothing. To her great surprise, Wednesday leaned into her, allowing her sweaty forehead to come to rest against Enid’s shoulder. Enid felt a rush of something, maybe pride, maybe great anxiety. She was actually comforting Wednesday. Or, at least, she thought she was. She chewed on her lip, contemplating asking for more, straddling a line between sweet and selfish.

“Do you maybe want a hug?” she asked. 

Wednesday looked up at her. Enid worried for a moment that she may have overstepped. She prepared to be rejected, and to not let it hurt her feelings.

“Perhaps I could benefit from one,” Wednesday said. 

She didn’t move to stand up, so Enid had no choice but to wrap her arms around her on the ground. It was certainly an awkward hug, but as Wednesday’s arms snaked through the cracks left by the bend of Enid’s elbows, pulling her tight against her, just for a moment, it was hard for Enid to feel anything but endeared. 

“Are you tired?” Wednesday asked, leaning away from Enid and brushing herself off. 

“Yes, very much so,” Enid admitted, hopping up from her squat. “I am not exactly an active person.”

“No, you aren’t,” Wednesday agreed. “Still, I have come to believe that your company is well worth a lapse in efficiency.”

Enid smiled. Of course, she already knew this because Wednesday would never have taken her along on as many secret missions as she had if she didn’t like her, as she had demonstrated time and time again by ditching Xavier unless his help seemed absolutely necessary, but it was still nice to hear. That being said, she felt she should defend herself somewhat if Wednesday was going to continue to be incapable of giving a compliment that wasn’t partially a roast. 

“A small lapse,” she said. 

“It’s moderate,” Wednesday said. “It may be for the best that we head back. It’s doubtful that he would have retreated to another bunker if he took the care to evacuate this one. We can head back out after dinner. Perhaps we’ll have better luck in the dark.”

Enid made a mental note to argue about this later, preferably when she had a full belly. She started back up the ladder. As she reached the second to last rung, she felt Wednesday’s fingertips trace a particularly nasty scrape on her leg. Enid almost missed her footing with the surprise of it, Wednesday’s cold hand coming to rest on her bramble cut. 

“You’re bleeding,” Wednesday said.

Enid peered down at her. She was frowning.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what happens when you wear shorts to go trek through the woods,” Enid said lightly. She had noticed the sting in her legs several times throughout their walk, her skin snagging on bramble she hadn’t noticed or the low, skinny branches of younger plants. “I’m sure it’s all dried now, though.”

She tried to tug her leg away from Wednesday’s grasp, but Wednesday held on tight. Enid hissed as Wednesday’s upper palm pressed into the thin line of her wound. Wednesday released, but not all the way, still holding Enid’s leg gingerly. 

“I’m going to dress it when we return to the hotel,” Wednesday said. 

“It’s fine,” Enid said. “Really. It’s not a big deal.”

Wednesday’s look was stoney, unflinching. 

“At least let me disinfect it.”

“Sure,” Enid said, suddenly finding herself very eager to stop resisting Wednesday’s intense determination to take care of what was basically just a deep scratch. “When we get back, you can disinfect it.”

Wednesday seemed satisfied and finally let go. Enid missed her cool grip almost immediately. They climbed out of the hole. This wasn’t the first time Wednesday had reacted very strongly to a potential threat to Enid’s wellbeing. In fact, Enid had grown accustomed to her overreactions over the years, which included attempting to inject Enid with B12 shots in her sleep when she decided Enid wasn’t eating enough leafy greens and threatening Ajax many, many times during what had turned out to be a relatively brief relationship.

One of the most memorable of these overreactions–aside from the literal injections, which had been followed with a stern talk about bodily autonomy–occurred at Wednesday’s 18th birthday party earlier that year. 

Enid had been surprised when she had shown up to the restaurant Wednesday’s parents had booked, a little Italian place about fifteen minutes from town, to find she was the only person there who was not a part of Wednesday’s very large extended family. Her initial reaction was an internal emotional war between flattery and anger, especially since she had never met any of these people before, aside from Wednesday’s immediate family unit, and Wednesday hadn’t warned her about any of this. Fortunately, Wednesday had seated her right beside herself. Unfortunately, as it was Wednesday’s birthday, this meant she was in the very middle of the long table. 

The restaurant’s entire terrace had been taken over by Addams, who were quite a lively bunch. They ate and drank and laughed and talked jovially amongst one another, boasting about their latest schemes and ventures in a way that would seem arrogant if it weren’t so charming. They all complimented the cake Enid had made, which felt very validating considering she had slaved away in the student kitchens for several hours trying to make it as dark chocolate as possible and brainstorming decorations that would be understated enough that Wednesday liked them and still suitable for a party. Apparently, she had hit the mark. 

Then it was time for presents. From across the table, Aunt Ophelia passed a small parcel to Wednesday. Wednesday untied the ribbon delicately and took the lid off of what seemed to be a jewelry box. Inside was a beautiful silver chain, delicate and not too feminine with a small pendant hanging from it in the shape of some sort of rune or hieroglyph. It was real silver, too. Enid could feel it. She leaned away from the box, finding it difficult not to feel nervous around something so uniquely dangerous to her. Suddenly, just as Aunt Ophelia was explaining what the symbol meant, Wednesday grasped the necklace in a closed fist and chucked it off of the restaurant’s balcony, as far from Enid as possible. 

Everyone stopped eating, or laughing, or talking, or whatever they had been doing before Wednesday had decided to throw her birthday present. Gomez was the first to break a silence, with a chuckle no less, which broke into an uproarious laugh, good spirited and full bodied, one that Morticia couldn’t help but join in. Other guests laughed as well, some nervous or confused, others just delighted to partake in an expression of joy. 

“Her roommate’s a wolf!” Gomez exclaimed. 

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry!” Aunt Ophelia said earnestly, looking at both Wednesday and Enid. Enid could feel her face turning red. “If I had known, I never would have brought it. I just know how you used to have quite a collection of silver.”

“I should have warned you,” Morticia interrupted before Ophelia could over explain herself. “Don’t worry, Ophelia, darling. It was an honest mistake.”

“Yes,” Wednesday agreed. “And I do quite enjoy throwing things, so you can trust that it didn’t go to waste.”

Ophelia smiled broadly as if this made it all better. Enid would truly never understand this family. 

“Whatever you’re daydreaming about, I’d appreciate it if you would stop,” Wednesday said, jarring Enid from her reflections on all of the times Wednesday had shown she cared about her. 

Enid blushed furiously. She hoped that Wednesday hadn’t learned to read her quite well enough to have an idea of what was on her mind, that her innocence wasn’t an act, or it would probably be a rather awkward car ride. Fortunately, the silence was comfortable as Wednesday drove them back towards the hotel. 

“What would you like for dinner?” Wednesday asked. 

“You pick,” Enid said. 

“Okay,” Wednesday said easily, and Enid had half a mind to be offended that Wednesday hadn’t insisted on letting her choose. “There is an Italian restaurant in town that has horrible service, or so I’ve heard. Apparently the waitstaff is rude and ignores you, but there are no complaints about wait time or bad food.”

“So basically they won’t make small talk and will leave you alone?” Enid said. Wednesday had a habit of scanning Yelp reviews for this specific kind of negative feedback. “Sounds perfect.”

“Yes,” Wednesday agreed. 

They arrived at the Italian place. Wednesday had a difficult time parking, which did give Enid a pretty good view of some of the town’s kitschy, touristy Mothman features, but unfortunately, the waitress greeted Wednesday with a warm smile and delivered the seating information with a lot of enthusiasm, so they ended up getting their orders to-go. 

Back at the hotel, Enid sat on the bed and ate lukewarm fettuccine alfredo. Wednesday tried to room service some coffee but was informed it wasn’t a nice enough hotel for room service, so she ended up going down to the lobby in search of the complimentary coffee pot only to come back with decaf and a bad mood. She was not having the best night. Enid wasn’t quite sure how to cheer her up. She tried making fun of the hotel clerk, which made her feel a bit guilty. She tried asking questions about Wednesday’s novel. She even tried offering Wednesday a bite of her fettuccine and “accidentally” stabbing her with the fork, but even this brief moment of physical pain didn’t seem to shrink the dark cloud that had settled over Wednesday’s head. 

“I give up,” Enid said, setting her takeout box on the floor and collapsing back into the pillows. 

“What are you talking about?” Wednesday asked. 

“Nothing, dummy, just c’mere.”

Enid opened her arms wide. Her right hand smacked the TV remote on the bedside table. She grabbed it and flipped through the channels. 

“Seriously, get over here. We’re watching Jaws .”

Wednesday reluctantly lay down beside Enid. She didn’t accept the embrace or the cushion of Enid’s chest, but she allowed Enid to curl up into her side and rest her chin on her shoulder. Within half an hour, Wednesday had settled considerably. She watched the movie with what was the closest to contentment she could get. Enid laughed a short snorting laugh before she could stop herself. 

“What?” Wednesday asked. 

“Nothing,” Enid tried to say.

Wednesday glared at her. She was not going to accept two non-answers in a row. 

“It’s just… did cuddling and watching a movie really cheer you up?”

Wednesday bristled. 

“I just enjoy watching people be eaten by a giant shark,” she said dismissively. “That’s all.” 

When the credits began to roll, Enid got up to change and brush her teeth, and when she came back, Jaws 2 was starting. She settled back into Wednesday’s side, this time underneath the covers, careful to keep her bare legs away from Wednesday’s, even if all she was avoiding was skin-to-sweatpant contact. She didn’t make it to Jaws 3D , drifting off long before Wednesday got bored and turned the television off. 

When Enid woke up the next day, Wednesday was, again, already dressed and reading next to her. It was even more jarring than before, considering she had fallen asleep with her back pressed up against Wednesday’s abnormally cold side. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Wednesday said, slipping the velvety bookmark ribbon into place and closing her book. “If you get ready quickly, we may be able to beat the crowd.”

“Please tell me we’re not doing that again,” Enid groaned. 

She kicked her heels against the mattress several times in protest. Wednesday almost raised an eyebrow. 

“This is what we came here to do,” she said stubbornly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Enid muttered. “But all those convention people will be out looking today. He’s probably in, like, deep cover or something. Can’t we just spend the day in town, and try again tomorrow?” 

To her great surprise, Wednesday seemed to consider this. 

“Alright,” she finally said. “But only because I do not wish to try and blend in with those ridiculous convention goers.” 

“Your breakfast bar conversations yesterday were enough?” Enid teased. 

Wednesday nodded solemnly, as if Enid didn’t know the half of it, which Enid supposed she didn’t. She grinned widely as she remembered that they were getting somewhat of an actual vacation day, kicking the covers off of herself in her eagerness. 

“This is so exciting!” she said, trying not to squeal. “We’re gonna do all kinds of touristy things, and you may hate it a little bit, but I think ultimately you’ll have fun.”

“I have a place I’d like to show you as well,” Wednesday added, seemingly resigned to her fate as Enid’s traveling partner.

Enid wondered if she felt a little bad about the day before, or at least was considering their trip to town to be some kind of retribution for all of Enid’s hard work, and the fact that she could’ve complained way more than she ultimately did. 

“Great!” Enid said. “I’ll add it to the itinerary.”

The start to their day was as leisurely as possible with Wednesday there, who carried a permanent sense of urgency with her everywhere she went. Enid managed to make her slow down at breakfast, and almost successfully convinced her to let her drive the Porsche into downtown. They went into a cute bookstore and hit up a local coffee shop with a bunch of Mothman inspired treats. Enid felt her heart skip a beat when Wednesday ordered her coffee for her just the way she liked it. She only made one snide remark about the overpowering sugaryness of it, and she even waited until after she’d placed the order to make it, having learned after many months that Enid got very upset about being roasted in public. 

Fortunately, Wednesday had also begun to pay for things with the smaller bills she had collected so far as change, which was of particular relief at the coffee shop as their total was under $10. They sipped their drinks slowly and spent a good while chatting. It was mostly Enid prattling on about anything and everything on her mind while Wednesday made occasional comments or switched the topic entirely, to which Enid quickly adapted, always having something else to say. Still, it felt unbelievably special to know that Wednesday kept every other interaction she had purposely short, and yet she was willing to sit here with Enid for hours and listen to her talk. 

They ended up sitting in the coffee shop for so long that they stayed put for lunch, ordering pasta salad and pastries and talking extensively about the Hugo poetry Wednesday had lent Enid, which Enid found to be strikingly similar to several of her favorite Hozier songs, a connection that meant nothing to Wednesday but that she seemed to appreciate the sentiment of regardless. Enid felt that she and Wednesday helped to round out each other’s cultural knowledge, and she chose to believe that Wednesday had come to respect what she had to offer in that vein. It felt like she did, at least, and if not that, she valued Enid for something, something that had proven to be irreplaceable. 

“Then, where will we go?” Wednesday had always said when Enid put her foot down about something. “Then, what shall we do?”  

She tried not to read into it too much, not wanting to fall even deeper into this feeling that she had for Wednesday, this winged creature inside her gut who was becoming harder to calm every day, its fluttering wings harder to pin down where they should be tucked, especially when they were about to live together for another year, especially when Enid needed Wednesday’s help staying grounded at a whole new school with whole new people who maybe wouldn’t like her very much at all. 

For dinner, Enid dragged Wednesday into a little pizza parlor. She was delighted to find that they also had a Mothman special, a pizza with toppings arranged to look like what the townsfolk believed his face probably looked like. 

“This is kind of offensive,” Enid remarked, taking a huge bite from her slice of pizza and stretching the cheese out as far as it would go, trying not to take the whole top off at once. 

“It is,” Wednesday remarked. 

She was eating her pizza with a fork like a psychopath. Enid had grown to find it quite cute.

“But… it’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Enid said conspiratorially. 

Wednesday made brief eye contact with Enid before cutting another strip of pizza with precision and rolling it up onto her fork like she was making a pastry. 

“I suppose I can find some enjoyment in the overenthusiastic banality of it.” It was her turn to lower her voice to a register reserved for public secrecy. “Enough to perhaps feel a slight touch of envy towards the creature who has inspired it with simple enigmatic lurking.” 

Enid smiled broadly, so hard it hurt to try to reign it in. 

“If you’re suggesting that there should be a Wednesday themed town, I can’t say I disagree.”

Wednesday’s eyes widened ever so slightly, her lips puckering into a little “o” of flattery, and she refused to look back at Enid for several minutes. Enid felt the beginnings of a blush coming on at just the notion of catching Wednesday off guard with a compliment, which was so unfair. Why did she have to be so emotive? Why wasn’t Wednesday ever the one to blush? She didn’t have long to curse her easy-to-read face before Wednesday added,

“You aren’t quite elusive enough to provoke an Enid town, as impressive as your wolf is.” Enid started to stutter out a thank you, but Wednesday cut her off. “That being said, you can be enigmatic. There’s much more to you than most people seem to realize.”

“Is that so?” Enid asked. 

“I would know, wouldn’t I?” Wednesday answered. “I have enough information on you to write a report.”

Then, she asked for the check, like she hadn’t just said the most swoon worthy thing Enid could imagine. She would love nothing more than to be the subject of a bonafide Wednesday Addams report, or better yet, an extensive field study. 

“You said I could show you a spot,” Wednesday said as they left the pizza parlor. 

“I did,” Enid said, eyeing the Mothman statue in the center of town, her eyes catching on his weird sculpted body armor. “Are you wanting to do that now?”

Wednesday apparently didn’t feel the need to dignify that with a response. Her finger found their familiar place wrapped around Enid’s wrist, and she tugged Enid forward, sharp and sudden. 

“Where are we going?” Enid asked as Wednesday dragged her along, though she should’ve known better than to expect an answer. 

Wednesday came to a hard stop in front of a small brick storefront squashed between a hippie crystal shop and a second quaint local coffee shop. It was unclear what the storefront was for from the outside, and Enid wondered for a second if it might be abandoned, but she didn’t have time to think much about it before Wednesday was pushing open the door, jingling a little silver bell that looked far too polished for something so rundown. Inside were rows of antiques, mostly furniture and kids toys and cookware. Along the back wall were shelves of old dusty old books, and at the front of the store, near the register, sat several plastic tubs of old penny candy.

“You took me… antique shopping?” Enid asked.

Wednesday just smirked. This was quite a drastic expression for her. Enid felt herself hanging on Wednesday’s every move in anticipation, on the corners of her lips, on the slow blink of her eyelashes. Wednesday approached the counter. 

“My Uncle Fester sent me,” she said assertively.

The woman behind the desk looked up over the frames of her glasses.

“Fester..?”

“Addams.”

The clerk lit up. She scurried around the desk to let them in, her legs clopping across the creaky hardwood floor. Only then did Enid notice she was a satyr. She wondered what it was like to be so visibly Outcast in a town obsessed with folklore. The clerk led them to the back of the room, to the bookshelves. She reached for an old book on the third row of shelves, which just reached the height of Enid’s ribs. One of the bookcases slid open, revealing a whole host of people packed into what appeared to be a dive bar. 

The patrons all appeared to be Outcast as well. Scanning the array of tails and scales and fangs, head wrappings and dark glasses and other Outcast accommodations, Enid felt more at home than she had since they’d arrived in Point Pleasant. Wednesday sidled up to the bar and made startling eye contact with the bartender, who was filling a busking tub with dirty glasses which he immediately abandoned, perhaps out of some kind of fear at the intensity of the stare this very small but very capable looking girl was giving him. Enid often wondered how other people perceived Wednesday, especially for the first time. It had to be kind of funny, though she supposed it also had to be kind of scary. Serial killer vibes and whatnot. 

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Wednesday said.

The man nodded and looked to Enid, who immediately floundered. 

“She’ll have an Aperol Spritz,” Wednesday ordered for her. 

“You can’t order alcohol!” Enid whispered harshly once the bartender had turned away to make the drinks, fully aware that they were three years underage and therefore committing a federal crime. 

In response, Wednesday stepped on her foot. Their drinks were made quick, and Wednesday opened a tab. No one ID’d them. Enid wondered if the cops even knew how to find what was basically an Outcast speakeasy. She told herself they didn’t, which calmed her down enough to enjoy herself, enough to appreciate the fact that she was here at this bar and Wednesday Addams was buying her a drink.

 Her Aperol Spritz was slightly more bitter than she was anticipating, but ultimately quite easy to drink, which she appreciated. Still, Wednesday ended up finishing the drink for her after her own, and when she returned from the bar for a second time, she brought Enid a Cosmopolitan instead, which Enid liked much better. 

They drank and talked, with each other and with different patrons at the bar. Two drink Enid was a bit loose lipped, and soon, she had told many, many people about their mission to find Mothman, which Wednesday was very disgruntled by, having somewhat wanted it to be kept on the down low. But when she refused to ask Enid to keep it on the down low, or even to keep it hush hush, out of some weird lexical dignity thing, Enid found herself feeling much less guilty about spilling all the details to strangers. 

“Wait, you’re looking for Mothman?” a woman Enid had been talking to asked. She was probably in her mid forties. The side of her head was shaved, revealing a pointed ear. “He’s in the back room. Did nobody tell you?”

“What?” Enid asked, still sipping on the last of her Cosmo. “No. What? Where is that?”

The woman laughed and looked over Enid’s shoulder at Wednesday. 

“C’mon. I’ll show you.”

The woman led them deeper into the dive bar. 

“How freaking big is this antique store?” Enid wondered aloud. 

As they walked into the back room, sure enough, a large, hulking creature with bright red eyes and a hawkish face turned to stare at them. He was sitting on a worn out old armchair in the corner of the room, his huge pair of wings folded neatly behind him, wearing a rumpled brown suit and working on some sort of puzzle that appeared to be a word search. 

“Woah,” Enid said. “You’re, like, the Mothman.”

Mothman made a short, clicky sound in the back of his throat that Enid took to be an affirmative. 

“You look more like a bird than a moth, or really any insect,” Enid said, still fascinated with his outline, especially under the dim colored lights of the bar’s back room. 

Mothman made another short clicking sound followed by a series of high pitched squeaks. 

“He’s inviting us to join him,” Wednesday said. 

Enid turned back to face her. The stranger woman was gone. The back room was empty, save for them, Mothman, and a couple of crates of beer. There was a couch opposite Mothman’s armchair, even more frumpy looking. Its hinges squeaked as Enid sat. Wednesday took her own seat with much more control. 

“I’m Wednesday Addams,” Wednesday said. “And this is Enid. I believe you know my Uncle Fester?”

Another clicky affirmative. 

“If I may, how do you two know each other?” Wednesday asked, and Enid was really glad she was taking point on this conversation. “He never did tell me much about the nature of your relationship. I assume you’re not still in touch.” 

The Mothman squeaked out an answer, then looked at Enid expectantly. Wednesday nodded. 

“He says he and Fester used to work together,” she translated. “Doing odd jobs, making the most of the firepower the government left behind.” 

“We looked for you yesterday,” Enid said, the mention of abandoned U.S. bombs reminding her instantly of the stone igloos. “Where were you?”

Mothman squeaked and clicked. 

“He says he moved all of his things to his… tree fort…” Wednesday said, seeming unimpressed with the concept of his housing situation. “Apparently, it’s quite nice. Nicer than he could accomplish underground, anyway, even with his tunnels, and up high enough that the Normie search parties are highly unlikely to find him.” She turned back to Mothman. “Why did you and Fester stop working together?” 

Again, Mothman squeaked and clicked. Again, he looked to Enid. Wednesday shook her head and argued back in her own series of squeaking sounds. Enid held back the laugh that bubbled up in her throat, trying to be respectful but also finding it deeply amusing that Wednesday spoke Moth. Or Man. Or whatever. Finally, Wednesday turned back to her. 

“He doesn’t want to leave you out,” she said, and Mothman nodded. “So I have to explain everything to you. Essentially, the risks he and Fester were taking as they pulled off more and more heists became quite substantial, and they were responsible for an explosion of some raw materials in one of the igloos about a decade ago. The government shut the whole area down for weeks, and he decided their operation posed too much of a risk to his privacy and the security of his home, so he called it off. Fester was deeply unhappy with him. They parted ways, and they haven’t seen each other since.” 

She turned back to Mothman and reached for the letter that Enid knew was tucked into the waistband of her pants. 

“Fester has been trying, though. He’s asked me to deliver this to you.”

She set the letter on the coffee table in front of them. Mothman eyed it. He didn’t move to pick it up. 

“You don’t have to open it in front of us,” Wednesday assured him. “In fact, you don’t even have to open it at all. I was merely sent to deliver it.” She stood. “We’ll be going now.”

“It was nice meeting you!” Enid said as she followed Wednesday out of the room, grinning when Mothman squeaked out his own farewell. 

Wednesday settled the tab quickly, and they left the bar. Enid felt a rush of accomplishment as they walked out onto the street. 

“We found him!” she exclaimed. 

“We did,” Wednesday said with what appeared to be a genuine smile. 

She was standing effortlessly tall, her shoulders up and back, her gait wide, her hands stuffed into her pockets with a kind of carelessness that was quite rare for her person. Enid loved to watch Wednesday be proud of herself. She felt her own grin soften. Wednesday’s smile started to slip, but her face didn’t darken. She was thinking about something. Enid watched it flicker behind her eyes. And then, Wednesday stopped her thinking and looked into Enid’s eyes, dead on. Enid tried not to squirm under the severity of Wednesday’s gaze, under the weight of all that a look could mean. 

“Thank you,” Wednesday said, and Enid noted that they had stopped walking. “For all of your help.” 

She leaned forward. Enid closed her eyes. She felt Wednesday’s lips brush against the skin of her face, giving her a quick kiss of the cheek. Enid had thought moments ago that anything less than a proper, if somewhat short and chaste, kiss would’ve been earth-shatteringly disappointing. Now, however, it was all she could do to start walking again, to take even a modicum of her focus off of the feeling of Wednesday’s eyelash fluttering against her temple. 

After a few steps, Wednesday took her hand. Enid imagined she had been timing the swing of it, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Wednesday’s fingernails scratched softly at Enid’s palm as she intertwined their fingers. There was something possessive about her grip. 

Enid could feel her heart beating out of her chest. She wondered if Wednesday could sense the tension in every muscle in her arm. She fought her every urge to fidget, worried that it would only take one wrong move for Wednesday to let go, not knowing when she would take hold of her hand, not her wrist but her actual hand, fingers all wrapped together and everything, again. 

The moon was just a sliver above them, the farthest from full that it could be, which meant the restlessness in Enid’s chest was all because of Wednesday; Wednesday who was looking straight ahead, the line of her nose and her cheek so picturesque, so still it may as well have been etched in stone; Wednesday, whose hair was tucked so neatly into her braids, not a strand out of place, taking on a silver edge just along the ridge of her skull under the moonlight; Wednesday, who maybe, just maybe had snuck the quickest, most furtive of glances at Enid, who maybe was making all of these observations about Enid and how she fit against the night sky. 

That night, in their shared bed in their hotel room, Wednesday initiated the cuddle. It wasn’t much. Enid wouldn’t have wanted it to be much, not when it was Wednesday, who operated almost entirely in subtleties and often relied on Enid’s clumsiness to hurry things along. It was just a scoot, a small scoot that left Wednesday’s waist grazing Enid’s side, their shoulders touching so lightly it was almost imperceptible. And then, when Enid froze up, far too awkward to find any sort of concrete meaning in that, it was a press, arms flush together, Wednesday’s hipbone digging sharply into Enid’s abdomen, an insistence that she make some kind of move, that she come closer. 

So Enid came closer, opening her arms, always opening, and wrapping herself around Wednesday, laying her head on her chest, weaving their legs together until they felt like a blanket, or a sloppy homemade potholder. They had cuddled before, but not like this. This felt heavier, more tender. Perhaps Wednesday was finally opening herself. 

They didn’t say anything, just lay there together and breathed in the dark. After several minutes, maybe ten or so, Enid felt fingertips brush hair off of her forehead. She wondered if Wednesday thought she was asleep. On the off chance she did, Enid said nothing and lay as still as possible while Wednesday ran her hand through her hair for the better part of an hour until she actually drifted off. 

The next couple of days blended together in a sort of haze of tension. Like Jericho, there wasn’t all that much to do in Point Pleasant, but Enid was pretty content to just sit outside of a coffee shop and people watch with Wednesday, Wednesday judging them severely while Enid provided more lighthearted commentary and potential excuses for whatever faults Wednesday seemed to find. 

They went on walks around town and strolled through shops, mostly just browsing. Enid forced Wednesday to take selfies with the Mothman statue more than once. They visited the West Virginia Farm Museum just for the taxidermy section, and, despite being surrounded by dead things, Enid let them stay for over two hours, giggling as Wednesday gave the animals tongue-in-cheek backstories in her always very serious voice. 

The latter half of the trip truly felt like a vacation–a sweet little trip between two friends who loved each other so well, maybe so well they crossed a line into something else. Enid felt it. She couldn’t stop feeling it, not when Wednesday would put a baseball cap on backwards for her in a general store, or brush a speck of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth, or disappear for five minutes while Enid was trying on clothes only to return with a strawberry lemonade from a man with a drink cart she saw crossing the street.

And so, despite this whole lot of nothing, Enid found the time slipping away much faster than she wanted it to. On the last night they were there, Wednesday made them return to the hotel room before they went to dinner. 

“May I select your attire for the evening?” Wednesday asked.

Enid stuttered out an affirmative. Wednesday rifled through her bag and pulled out one of the two dresses Enid had packed knowing full well she probably wouldn’t wear either of them: pale pink with thin straps and a skirt that flared out around her legs and stopped about mid thigh, perfect for spinning in circles and going out on cute little dates. That thought alone made her incredibly nervous as she got changed in the bathroom and did her makeup at the little sink and mirror set up on the left side of their room. She had a kind of anxious energy that was unique to situations where one felt both incredibly excited and like the very stars they had often wished upon were aligning as well as increasingly worried that they were being totally and completely delusional. 

They left promptly at 7:15 for their 7:30 reservation. Wednesday, dressed sharply–a white collared shirt with a skinny black necktie and one of her infamous long black formal skirts–took them to a hibachi place that must’ve been the nicest restaurant in town, a situation she didn’t seem particularly happy about, though Enid supposed she was never particularly happy unless someone was suffering. They were sat at a table with two other couples, but after being the victim of Wednesday’s death glare, they both asked to move, and the restaurant didn’t dare try to seat anyone with them again. 

Their hibachi chef was absolutely bombing. It was clear he was nervous to be working at their table. With all of the reseating, Wednesday had already established somewhat of a reputation within the twenty minutes they had been at the restaurant. He kept knocking over his stack of onions while trying to make the volcano and spilled almost an entire bottle of sake onto the table in his haste to move on with the trick, barely avoiding being burned.

“Could I perhaps borrow those?” Wednesday asked, almost painfully polite, reaching out towards the chef’s metal spatulas. 

He handed them to her with almost no hesitation. Without bothering to ask, Wednesday grabbed an egg from the pile of ingredients sitting behind the grill. She proceeded to juggle it between the two spatulas with a kind of expert precision that made Enid wonder if she’d practiced before or if she was just so naturally good at anything that required hand eye coordination.  

Eventually, she bounced the egg off of the crook of her elbow and caught it between the two spatulas before tossing it one final time into the air and bridged the spatulas together, forming a triangle, so that the egg fell down on the point they made, cracking clean in half, bits of white and busted yolk running down the sides of the spatula and onto the pan, though miraculously never dripping onto Wednesday’s hands. After the egg finished trickling onto the grill, Wednesday flipped the spatulas up into a flat bridge of sorts and used them to toss the egg shell into a garbage can fifteen feet away before finishing scrambling the egg on the grill to mix in with the rice. The hibachi chef looked at her in awe.

“I have seen a guy catch fifteen shrimps in a row to impress his date, but I have never seen anything like that,” he said, trying to seem joking but unable to hide his honest to God shock. 

Wednesday looked quickly and sharply at Enid as if, after doing all of that, what she had been most caught off guard by was the word “date.”

After a few seconds of purposeful eye contact, she asked the chef, “So you think I was successful in impressing her?”

The chef grinned, seeming significantly more relaxed at the tongue in cheek sentiment that Wednesday’s words carried with them, much more familiar to him than her stoney silence from before. 

“I mean, yeah,” the chef said, smiling brilliantly at Enid. “If I was her, I certainly would be.” 

“I sincerely hope you’re right,” Wednesday said, her upper lip curling into a grin, one that felt almost conspiratorial. “I’m always trying to impress her.” 

Enid felt Wednesday’s eyes boring into the side of her face. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look back, too busy trying to stay a normal color, trying not to be too dazzled, too eager for the attention. She was also rapidly recontextualizing every move Wednesday had made since they met with this new idea, this notion that Wednesday let Enid’s perception of her actions affect them in the slightest, especially in this way, which was almost arrogant, but sweet arrogant, selfless arrogant, if that even made sense, and in many ways, a little bit insecure. Insecurity was supposed to be Enid’s thing. It was certainly Enid’s thing now. 

“I’m gonna go get you two a couple of mocktails,” the chef said, leaving them in each other’s company with loaded plates of egg fried rice. 

Wednesday slowly rested her knee against Enid’s under the table. 

“Are you serious about trying to impress me?” Enid asked, her voice small, worried for a second that she was about to be ridiculed for even entertaining the thought as anything more than one of Wednesday’s quips. 

“Do you think that I’ve been inviting you along on somewhat dangerous missions that I definitely could’ve handled myself just for the hell of it?” Wednesday asked back. Then, when Enid didn’t say anything, she added, “I’ve been trying to impress you since we were investigating Laurel Gates’ home.”

“How so?” Enid asked, which was stupid, to ask that of all things in a moment like this. 

“By being a show off and acting like I know everything,” Wednesday said like it was obvious. 

“So you don’t know everything?” Enid said, cracking a smile.

“I certainly didn’t say that,” Wednesday said. 

She was scowling, but there was a glint in her eyes. Their hibachi chef returned moments later with complimentary Shirley Temples and renewed confidence to finish his delicious dinner theater. Enid thoroughly enjoyed the rest of their meal, which included the look on the chef’s face when Wednesday tipped him 40%. 

After dinner, they decided to take a walk. The little town had become somewhat familiar over the last few days, to the point that they could walk comfortably back towards their hotel without GPS directions. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Enid said. 

Wednesday said nothing, just turned her chin down ever so slightly, the gesture an ambiguous question, propelling some signature Enid word vomit.

“I know you’ve bought me dinner every night we’ve been here, but I don’t know, tonight felt different. Like… I don’t know. Was it supposed to be different?”

Wednesday thought about this. 

“I wanted it to be nice,” she said, which was frustratingly noncommittal. “You should have something nice.” 

It started to drizzle. The drizzle quickly turned into a pour before Enid could even react to the sudden rain, the darkness of the night sky obscuring how heavy the clouds had become. Enid wanted to run, to take cover, to prevent the rain from soaking through her dress and into her bones, turning her cold and shivery, but Wednesday had a different idea. She grabbed Enid’s wrist, wanting Enid to look back at her, then cupped her face, her thumb futilely swiping a raindrop across her cheekbone. Then, she kissed Enid, desperate and wet like The Notebook , grabbing at her face and holding her against her lips at the nape of her neck. 

Enid kissed back before she processed what was going on, which gave her a few precious moments of silence before she began to scream internally, pressing up against Wednesday with vehemence, physicalizing her desperation, the strength of her desire, because how could Enid be cold when Wednesday could keep her so warm, even with her below average internal temperature? 

They stopped kissing eventually. Wednesday kept her hand on the small of Enid’s back as they ran to shelter under a nearby awning. The store behind them was closed. Nowhere to go to wait out the rainstorm, Enid pulled Wednesday back into her and kissed her up against the darkened display window. It would’ve been a sight to behold if there had been anyone around. Enid almost wished there had been. It might have been nice to have a witness to her kissing Wednesday Addams. 

The rain let up soon enough, and they made their way back to the hotel, dripping all over the carpet as they walked briskly back to their room. As soon as they got there, Wednesday spun around and used Enid’s body to shut the door, holding her firmly against the thick painted wood. Enid felt every single inch of every single point where one of Wednesday’s fingers touched her sides, thumbs resting against the edges of her stomach, just above her hip bones.

“Wednesday…” Enid trailed off, trying to exhibit some restraint, even pressed up against the door of their hotel room. 

Wednesday cocked her head to the side. She said something with her eyes, something along the lines of a question. Enid’s eyes must’ve said something back, subconsciously at least, because a kind of realization dawned on Wednesday’s face.

“You are what I want, Enid,” she said. “Not anything else. It’s you.”

Enid nodded. It felt like that was what she needed to hear, confirmation that this wouldn’t be like the last time something like this had happened. This was real. They were on the same page. This was real. She leaned eagerly into Wednesday’s space. Wednesday reacted tenfold, surging forward, almost knocking Enid’s head back into the door, cradling it with her hand just before it could hit too hard, her entire self flush up against Enid, pinning her in place. Wednesday kissed her with a needy sort of strength, like she wasn’t the one who had been holding out, like she didn’t know that she just had to speak and Enid was hers, or like she didn’t quite agree with the side of herself that kept the perfectly measured space between the two of them. 

It was all Enid could do to keep up. She rested her hands gingerly around Wednesday’s waist, her fingertips meeting at the small of Wednesday’s back, trying to be delicate in case the moment was somehow breakable. Unconsciously, though, as the kiss deepened, her hands began to ball into fists around Wednesday’s dress shirt, wrinkling it, tugging it out from where it had been expertly tucked into her skirt. Wednesday’s hands were not so still, running up and down Enid’s sides, clutching at her shoulders, grazing her jaw, tucking behind her neck. 

As her lips started to slow, so did her hands, settling firmly on Enid’s hips, weighty for something so small and careful, capable of dismantling tripwire unnoticed and yet so purposefully noticeable now. Enid felt the beginning of a pullback. She wasn’t about to accept that. 

Somewhat frantically, Enid wrapped one of her legs over Wednesday’s hip, pulling her back in, taking her turn to hold them together. It was such a successful move, she didn’t even have time to feel silly about it, Wednesday’s hand coming to rest immediately across her thigh, holding it there, leaning back in. 

She started to move towards the bed, careful to keep her mouth on Enid’s this time, stumbling a bit, not quite tall enough to maneuver how she seemed to want without Enid’s help. They fell back onto the bed, Enid narrowly avoiding squashing Wednesday under her weight, propped up by just her elbows, their chests pressed together, the heaviness of their breathing meeting at a point. 

Their position felt subversive, Enid above Wednesday, the one with the choice to back off. Enid couldn’t help but remember that when they had been here before, she hadn’t been the one with the choice. She never had. But now, now Wednesday was looking at her with big open eyes, waiting. Enid shifted her weight and reached out to run her thumb across Wednesday’s bottom lip, which was already looking a bit swollen from the ferocity against the door. Wednesday let her.Wednesday would probably let her do whatever she wanted, Enid realized.

She reveled in it, running two fingers up the edge of Wednesday’s jaw, brushing the hair that had fallen out of her braids back from her forehead. She slowly began to undo the knot of Wednesday’s tie, trying not to be too clumsy, trying not to need help, and when it was undone, unbuttoned every button of Wednesday’s dress shirt that she could reach. 

Wednesday was beginning to grow impatient, her jaw setting, the muscle popping sharply under her skin. Enid figured she’d better hurry up and kiss her. As soon as Enid leaned down, Wednesday’s hands were back on her, like it was permission. As it turned out, their position was incredibly convenient for unzipping Enid’s dress, and soon, Wednesday was digging her nails into Enid’s back. Enid could hardly believe this was happening. It was a lot to be happening, so fast it was overwhelming and also an incredibly long time coming. When Wednesday’s hands slipped under the top of her dress, it became even harder to believe. 

After some time, stripped all the way down to their underwear, everything else strewn across the cheap carpet of their hotel room, they had worn each other out. They slept that night in a state of partial undress, all smushed together on Enid’s side of the bed. Enid felt more content than she had in the longest time, never more confident that she had Wednesday completely, never less scared that she could scare her off somehow with all of her wanting.

However, when she awoke the next morning, Enid discovered she had been so unbelievably stupid to think that this wouldn’t be exactly like the last time something like this had happened.

Chapter Text

The only redeemable aspect about that morning was that Wednesday wasn’t already dressed and reading when Enid awoke. She was in just as bare of a state as Enid, though she was hardly a romantic about it, unwrapping herself from Enid as soon as they both were awake, rising quickly and preparing to start the trip back home. Enid hadn’t exactly expected a wake up kiss and a “Good morning, sunshine!” but this was making her feel insane. Were they not, like, halfway in love now? Was the previous night not a super big deal?

Wednesday barely spoke to her at breakfast. She had insisted on bringing their luggage with them so that they could check out promptly after they finished eating, so Enid was stuck eating soggy complimentary bacon with her large, baby pink suitcase wedged behind her chair. 

“If we start early, we can be there by midnight,” Wednesday said as they finished eating.

She stacked their plates together, brought them to the self-bus station, and headed towards the front desk, expecting Enid to follow.

“Now is a time where it makes sense to pay with hundreds,” Enid said lightly once she had caught up. 

Wednesday said nothing. She paid their bill, and they left, all of the bright excitement of their task falling behind them, the flush of success numbed by the sting of what felt like rejection. 

Just as they were leaving town, they were overtaken by a large swooping creature. Mothman touched down, the flap of his massive wings coming gradually to a stop, but he didn’t tuck them in. Instead, he stood in front of the car, his massive wing span blocking either lane. Wednesday huffed in annoyance and put the car in park, hopping out to see what he was up to. Enid watched from the passenger seat as he handed Wednesday a letter, no doubt a response to Fester, before deciding it would be impolite not to say goodbye. 

The second Enid stepped out of the car, she could’ve sworn Mothman lit up, his bright red eyes twinkling, his wings twitching a little, as if pleasantly surprised. It felt good to know she must’ve made a relatively good first impression. Then, as quickly as he’d brightened, his expression changed to something akin to… disappointment? Frustration? He turned to Wednesday and looked at her sharply, squeaking angrily. 

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” Wednesday said, never one to back down, even at the ire of a hulking batlike figure. 

Mothman squeaked something again, this time with even more urgency. Wednesday’s jaw clenched as she squeaked back. Mothman let out one final pitchy series of squeaks, which Wednesday didn’t dignify with a response, turning on her heel and walking back to the car. Enid cleared her throat and stepped forward. 

“It was nice to meet you,” she said awkwardly.

Mothman nodded and extended and clawed hand. Enid took it, finding the pads surprisingly soft. It was less of a handshake and more of a handhold. Mothman looked deep into her eyes, and Enid briefly considered that he may be trying to apologize for Wednesday, that he’d somehow sensed what an asshole she was being. She quickly dismissed this and tried to turn away, but Mothman gripped her hand tighter. He pulled a pen out of the breast pocket of his suit and turned Enid’s hand palm up. On it, he wrote, Read the letter. She’s making a mistake.  

It was a very cryptic message, but unfortunately, there wasn’t much space left on Enid’s hand for any kind of an explanation. Before she could offer up her forearm, Mothman croaked out a goodbye, the former syllabic half garbled in his mouth, which was hardly equipped for English, giving him the most warped accent Enid had ever encountered, and shot back up into the sky. Enid got back in the car even more muddled down than she had been. Wednesday eyed the ink on her palm and reached out to try and read it, but Enid jerked her hand away. Wednesday’s eyebrows drew in, her lips puckering into frustration, but she said nothing and began to drive once more. 

Enid was in hell, stuck in the car with the one person who had hurt her more than she had realized anyone was capable of. She made Enid wish that caring was tangible, that there was some sort of physical proof that she could rub in Wednesday’s face that showed that Wednesday undeniably cared about her. 

Clearly, Wednesday was equally upset, though she leaned more towards agitation. Her driving had been pretty aggressive on the trip down, but it was nothing compared to what it was shaping up to be heading back up. She was swerving in and out of traffic, passing people left and right, tailgating anyone she got stuck behind going under 80 miles per hour and grumbling to herself about turn signals. It was not at all comforting when they were passed in the right lane by a significantly more modern sports car and Enid glanced over to see Wednesday quietly seething behind the wheel. She wondered if Wednesday was trying to explode the very fast man with her mind, or at least manifest a speeding ticket in his near future, the latter of which would be pretty hypocritical.

Ultimately, Wednesday’s road rage was only so distracting, and Enid couldn’t help but find her mind wandering back to that first time something like this had happened, its lasting sticky residue left hanging in the air around like some sort of repressed makeout memory mist, thickened into a fog by this new time, this longer time; this time that felt much more purposeful, as though it had been planned out by Wednesday, step by step, which made it even more ridiculous that she was choosing to ignore it.

After all, the first time had been an accident. The first time Enid had simply shuffled into their room, fresh off a break up, ready to complain. Really, it had been more Ajax’s fault than anyone else’s, or at least, it felt better to implicate him if they weren’t going to talk about it, since he was old news. 

“He’s just… not very good at kissing,” Enid had mumbled, the end of her sentence

dropping off into auditory obscurity.

She was laying back on her bed, her knees pointed upwards, staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the wood beams. Ajax had just pulled her aside in the courtyard to tell her he regretted the way they left things, and Enid was slowly realizing just how little interest she actually had in him. 

“What?” Wednesday asked.

“He’s not very good at kissing!” Enid said. 

“Oh,” Wednesday said. 

“Oh?” Enid asked. “Just oh?”

Wednesday crossed her arms.

“What do you want me to say?”

Enid worried her lip with her front teeth, conscious of the way the ever-so-slight appearance of her canines drew both sharp pinpricks of her blood and Wednesday’s attention. She decided to ask her question even though she was sure she already knew Wednesday’s answer.

“Well, should I get back together with him?”

“No,” Wednesday said, quickly and predictably. “Tell him you’ve moved on.”

“That feels mean,” Enid whined. 

Wednesday looked at her pointedly. Their gazes locked. 

“You don’t date someone to be nice, Enid.”

Enid frowned. She sat up, feeling self conscious.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Wednesday’s eyebrows arched up in that way that meant she was displeased, causing Enid to correct herself. 

“I mean, I know.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stomping her feet lighty on the ground, which did make her feel better. Wednesday went back to working on her novel. Enid assumed the conversation was over and went back to her phone, but after a few short minutes, Wednesday said something. She hadn’t bothered to look over at Enid, making it unclear if she was talking to Enid or simply out loud to herself. 

“I should’ve known he’d be a poor kisser,” she mused. “What, with his general aura of mediocrity.”

“Don’t say that,” Enid said lamely, embarrassed that Wednesday thought so little of her boyfriend of nearly six months. 

Wednesday swiveled around, looking at Enid sharply, not backing down from her mild attack of Ajax’s character. 

“I’m sure even I would perform better, even though I typically find myself disinterested in these sorts of things.”

“Prove it,” Enid said, her tongue quicker than her brain. 

She had been teasing, of course. But then Wednesday looked at her, her big eyes seeming even darker than usual. She stood up from her writing desk and crossed the room, Enid counting each of her carefully measured footsteps, until she was standing in front of Enid’s bed. 

“As you wish,” Wednesday had said, bending down with a kind of grace that should’ve been impossible, given their position.

Enid’s knees parted subconsciously, allowing Wednesday to shift even closer into Enid’s space. She ran her fingers smoothly across the slope of Enid’s jaw, almost to her neck. Enid was frozen, unable to do anything more than stare at Wednesday’s face as it drew closer and closer to herself. It took the fluttering of Wednesday’s eyelids for Enid’s to remember that closing your eyes was something you were supposed to do when you were about to be kissed.

And then she was being kissed, and it was like she was being thawed out by the press of Wednesday’s lips, tentative for no more than a millisecond before becoming fervent, confident, as purposeful as everything else Wednesday did, the only way she knew how to be. It would’ve been easier if Enid had kissed back on instinct, but the way she moved her lips against Wednesday’s, the way her hands wrapped around the backs of Wednesday’s thighs, holding her in place, was such a deliberate choice that Enid knew she would never be able to unknow these things about herself. 

As the kiss began to become shallower, Enid found herself struck with something almost akin to fear, so strong that she pulled Wednesday back into herself a little too hard, sending Wednesday tumbling down on top of her. Wednesday, who would never allow herself to be caught off guard, took Enid’s carelessness in stride, her knees landing sharply on either side of Enid’s hips. She steadied herself with Enid’s arms, outstretched from a last minute attempt to try and catch her, eventually pushing them up and back until she had pinned Enid’s wrists down next to her head. 

She rewarded Enid’s boldness with a renewal of her original fervor, kissing her until she was lightheaded. When she finally pulled away, Enid was breathless, a condition that was not helped by the sight of Wednesday perched on top of Enid’s abdomen, her weight shifting back onto Enid’s hips. 

Wednesday let go of Enid’s hands and crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn’t get up. 

“Have I proven my point?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” Enid managed to say, still trying to force the air back into her lungs with as much subtlety as was possible. 

Had Wednesday’s lips always been that pink? Could her face really be that sharp when kissing her could be so unbelievably pleasant?

“Good,” Wednesday said, finally scooting off the bed and resuming her place at her writing desk. 

They didn’t talk about it, not that evening, not the next day, not within the week. And if Enid came out as a lesbian two weeks later, they didn’t talk about that either. Enid felt a few marbles away from insanity every second she spent in their shared room, which was quite a lot of seconds, but over time, she regained some of her marbles, and things had just carried on how they were. 

But they couldn’t do that now. They couldn’t just leave this giant thing that had happened, this thing that felt like it could change Enid’s life, behind in West Virginia, especially considering that this newest development had the concept of how things were bursting apart at the seams. Enid tried to muster up the courage as they merged off of the exit ramp. She put on her studying playlist to try and calm her nerves, to give her something familiar, something she couldn’t distract herself with to avoid this dreaded confrontation. After a few miles, it seemed like Wednesday couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“What?” she asked, though her tone made it more of a statement, an, I know something’s bothering you , just not in so many words. 

“We should talk about last night,” Enid said all in a rush before she could stop herself. 

Wednesday stiffened, her posture so impeccable that this further straightness seemed unnatural. 

“Why?” she asked, and Enid was hit with the realization that just one word could be so unbearably painful. 

“Why do you think, Wednesday?” she spit, subconsciously aware of her claws, how they sat just below the surface of her skin, wound up like springs, ready to pop. “We just spent the last three nights in a hotel with literally only one bed, and not only did we cuddle, which I know is a huge deal for you given how you generally feel about physical contact, we did… things . Like, dating things. Physical dating things.”

“I simply acted on how I felt in that moment,” Wednesday said, so short and fast, like she had known what Enid was going to say and prepared an official statement ahead of time. It made Enid want to hit something, or curl up into a ball and cry, or just yell and not stop until she’d filled up the whole space of the car, so that Wednesday couldn’t ignore her and everything that was so pent up and bursting through her chest, her lungs and her heart. 

She didn’t know any of that. Still, she couldn’t hide the sob in her throat when she asked, “And you feel differently now?”

Wednesday refused to look at her. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel just a hair. 

“I don’t know.” 

A sudden bolt of lightning flashed above the hills some ways away from the stretch of highway they were on followed closely by one of the loudest booms of thunder Enid had ever heard, a huge crash that almost shook the car with its force before rumbling lowly into oblivion. Then the rain started, falling in a sheet all at once, just as startling as the lightning and the thunder, engulfing their car. Wednesday slammed on her breaks, surrounded by dozens of cars who all did the same. Enid didn’t think Wednesday could even hear her if she tried to speak, not over the rain that sounded like marbles crashing against the windshield and the roof of the car. 

Enid felt claustrophobic, trapped between a guardrail and another lane full of cars, trapped between the cars and Wednesday, really, who wasn’t any less scary than the harsh metal railing to their left. They were coming up on an exit, Enid thought. She could barely make out the big blue sign through the rain, let alone the restaurant pictures or the little number in the top left corner, but she knew it meant they could get away from all of this if they could only get to it. 

“Don’t you think we should get off here?” Enid yelled, pointing towards the sign.

“I’ve got it,” Wednesday said, not bothering to raise her voice, practically forcing Enid to read her lips, which was very rude considering it was not a good time for Enid to be looking at Wednesday’s lips. 

Enid watched anxiously as they passed the exit, jealous of the hoard of other cars that pulled off there. 

“Shouldn’t we at least get over?” Enid shouted.

“Fine,” Wednesday shouted back, more out of agitation than necessity, merging into the other lane, which was looking much clearer now that many of the cars had decided that they didn’t want to keep driving without being able to see more than two feet in front of them. 

Enid was in hell. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so sensorily overwhelmed. The bursts of thunder seemed erratic and louder every second, a particularly harsh environment for a werewolf. Everything around them smelled like rain and only rain. The familiarity of the car was doing nothing to help Enid ground herself. 

One of the few cars in front of them pulled over to the side of the highway. Wednesday took this opportunity to speed up, squinting out of the blurry windshield. Enid wondered if she was trying to make things harder on herself, to use up every ounce of brain power on the task in front of her, leaving nothing remotely emotional to stew on. She seemed desperate to get back in the fast lane, but she kept them right where Enid had requested. Even in this weird fight they were in, Wednesday couldn’t help but listen to Enid when she voiced her discomfort, quietly backing down, always moving the murder board out of their room. 

Enid didn’t have much time to ruminate on this, to see the glimmer of hope in it, before spotting a barrelling funnel of wind in the distance. 

“Holy shit,” Enid breathed. “Is that a tornado?” 

Wednesday glanced up and over to the far left. 

“It appears so,” she said.

“Are we gonna die?” Enid asked. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her chest. 

“It’s just wind, Enid,” Wednesday said flatly, just as hail the size of golf balls began to smack against the body of the car.  

Wednesday cursed under her breath. She was probably thinking about the damage the ice was doing to the very expensive car. Enid didn’t understand how she could possibly think about that when faced with a literal tornado that was rapidly approaching their vehicle, which felt so incredibly small all of a sudden. Enid looked at Wednesday with big eyes, willing her to know what to do, wondering how bad it would be if they turned around on the interstate and went the wrong direction. 

Instead, Wednesday sped towards the tornado. Enid screamed. Wednesday took an exit Enid hadn’t even known they were coming up on, turning off of the interstate at well above the recommended slower speed, and she didn’t slow down until they reached the parking lot of a grocery store and parked so fast she left skid marks on the asphalt. 

Wednesday unbuckled her seatbelt. 

“Let’s go,” she said, her hand hovering over the door handle. 

“Are you crazy?” Enid exclaimed. 

“We can’t stay in the car,” Wednesday said. “The wind should push the storm towards the east soon, so there’s a good chance it won’t get worse here, but if the tornado does reach us, we cannot be in the car. Unless you want to die.”

Enid bit her lip, mustering up all of her nerve, and pushed the door open, sprinting to the front of the store. Wednesday was close behind her. As soon as she reached the glass doors, she banged her fists against them, hoping someone was there who could let them in. Quickly, an anxious looking employee appeared from somewhere back in the store, unlocked the doors, and ushered them inside. 

He led them to the bathrooms near the back of the store, where several more employees and a few patrons were gathered, sitting on the ground, their backs against the walls inside the alcove.

“Sit down,” he said. “Wherever there’s space.”

 A few people were spaced out and sat along the large meat fridges. Enid expected Wednesday to put them there, knowing how she hated physical contact with strangers, but instead, Enid led them into the alcove. A couple of people made space for the two of them. Enid ended up squished between Wednesday and a middle aged woman who was holding a child in her lap. 

“I’m Matt,” the employee said. 

Enid introduced herself shakily. Wednesday just glanced pointedly at his name badge, as if to say, “I already knew that,” before her features hardened once more into that patented Wednesday Addams dead stare. No one else tried to speak to them directly. Enid couldn’t blame them. 

There was a sort of nervous chatter around them. The kid was oddly calm in his mother’s lap. She played iSpy with him like nothing was wrong. Wednesday looped her arm through Enid’s, taking Enid’s hand and holding in her lap. Enid was too scared to jerk away, to be petty, or to be hurt. She needed the comfort. She wondered if Wednesday was even scared at all. It was unlikely. 

The power went out. Matt pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on, as did several others. 

“The tornado has officially passed us,” he announced just a few minutes later. “By quite a little bit, actually. I wouldn’t leave quite yet if I were you, though. It’s probably still really ugly out there. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

The group of people got up. The kid ran ahead to play hide and seek. Matt led a small group of employees to find the backup generator, hoping to save most of the refrigerated goods, despite the blackout. 

Wednesday had her own plans it seemed. She led Enid to the freezer aisle, pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, pulled a multitool from the pocket of her sweater, and used the bottle opener as a spoon before offering it to Enid. Enid took it but stared at her blankly.

“Isn’t this, like, stealing?” she asked, not wanting to take advantage when Matt had been so nice of them. 

“It’s already melting,” Wednesday said. “If they can’t get the power back on, this could be considered waste management.” 

Enid decided this was a good enough argument, especially when her compliance meant ice cream. To make matters even sweeter, Wednesday had selected the flavor with care–strawberry cheesecake, Enid’s favorite. They stood in the freezer aisle eating ice cream until the power came back on. Wednesday shoplifted a few more snacks, “for their troubles,” and then they headed back into the parking lot. The hail had long since stopped, the sky looking much clearer than before. 

The calm only lasted for a minute. Then, they saw the Porsche. 

“Shit, Wednesday, your parents’ car,” Enid said, eyeing the dents and the chipping paint. 

“We have insurance,” Wednesday said flatly. She almost shrugged. 

They got back into their now banged up car. Wednesday turned the key. The car roared to life, but only for a second before the engine sputtered and stopped. Wednesday frowned and attempted to start it again. Hardly anything happened. Again. Practically nothing. Frustrated,  Wednesday aggressively unloaded the stolen snacks from her pockets and into the car’s center console, hopped out of the car, and popped the hood, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. Her efforts were in vain; after a mere few seconds, she closed the hood and climbed back into the car. 

“The engine took some damage from the hail, even under the hood. The intake manifold is crushed in several places and the head gasket is dented,” Wednesday explained like there was even a sliver of a chance Enid would know what that meant, then added, “The engine has backfired, which means the car has broken down. Let me attempt to contact my parents and see what we should do.” 

She pulled out her phone and typed in her ridiculously long alphanumeric passcode. Enid heard Gomez answer in French on the other line. Wednesday responded to him in Russian. They went back and forth, each in their respective language, for about four minutes. Enid watched the clock on the dashboard. Finally, Wednesday said do svidaniya and hung up. 

“My parents are renting a tow truck. Lurch will come and fetch us,” she announced. “But in the meantime, we need to find somewhere to stay for the night. Due to the storm, he won’t be able to safely arrive until tomorrow. We’ll be in touch in the morning to discuss specifics.” 

And so, they found themselves back at the front desk of a hotel, or rather a motel in this instance, one within walkable distance of the grocery store parking lot, in need of a room. 

“What kind of room would you like?” the clerk asked, a little too cheerful for a woman who’s town had just narrowly missed a tornado. 

“Two twins,” Enid said before they could even be offered a double bed, remembering her anger now that their lives weren’t actively at risk. 

The woman looked between the two of them. It was short, just a glance, but it made Enid feel a little too seen. Still, the woman shrugged it off easily, more than used to being a partial witness to things that weren’t any of her business. She gave Enid their key. 

They lugged their bags into the room. Wednesday, who had previously unpacked all of her things into the hotel dresser in Point Pleasant, seemed as though she couldn’t be bothered to do more than push her suitcase up against the wall by the bed furthest from the window. Enid dragged her own bag to the other side of the room. She sat on her bed and flicked through the channels on the tiny motel tv. Her back pressed against the headboard, she held both of her hands in her lap, crossed at her wrists, the tv remote angled upward, trying to be casual, trying to pretend like she wasn’t hyperaware of Wednesday reading her book a few feet over, her short body as stretched out as it could be. 

After a couple of boring episodes of a sitcom she didn’t particularly care for, Enid grew bored of cable television and left the room, wandering the weird concrete inside-outside halls that are quintessential to the motel structure until she found herself in front of the vending machines. Someone had purchased a packet of skittles that they had abandoned when it got stuck in the plastic holder. Enid smacked the side of the machine until the skittles dropped, her superhuman strength knocking several other snacks down into the retrieval slot. Sheepishly, Enid collected them, using her shirt as a bowl to carry them back. 

After adding her contribution to the modest pile of pilfered snacks on top of the nightstand, Enid absently scrolled through TikTok and debated whether or not to text Yoko about all the wonderful, terrible things that had unfolded over the last several days, or Divina, or even Ajax. In the end, she settled for journaling in her notes app, worried that Yoko would call and disrupt whatever tense faux-peace she and Wednesday had created. 

Eventually, Wednesday finished her book, after which she promptly got up and left. Enid didn’t try to stop her, wondering if she too would find herself at the vending machines. She was gone for over an hour, and when she came back, she had takeout. Wordlessly, she tossed Enid the bag. Enid couldn’t help but be hurt at the knowledge that she’d gotten dinner without her, but at the same time, she couldn’t really be surprised. Wednesday’s absence had also been somewhat of a needed reprieve from the soul crushing awkwardness. 

The dance around each other while getting ready for bed was perhaps the most awkward moment of all. They shuffled past each other on the way into the bathroom like cell mates. Enid brushed her teeth while staring at the curtains just to avoid standing next to Wednesday at the sink. When they turned the lights off, Wednesday said goodnight, the way they always did back in their dorm, the way they had since Wednesday’s second semester at Nevermore. Enid didn’t respond, just turned over onto her side so that she was facing away from Wednesday’s bed. She heard the covers rustle and assumed Wednesday, in her rejection, had done the same. 

Sleep did not come easy, and when it did, it didn’t last. When Enid awoke, it was not to the songs of earlybirds, but rather to the sound of something heavy being pushed across cheap carpet. Blearily, she blinked open her eyes to find Wednesday almost comically frozen in place, clearly having just finished shoving her bed as close as it could get to Enid’s with the nightstand still in the middle. 

“Where’s the letter?” Enid asked, rubbing over the place where Mothman had scribbled into her palm. 

“In the drawer,” Wednesday said.

Enid felt around for the drawer handle with one hand, slapping against the wood of the nightstand. She yanked the letter up into her bed and ripped it open, not even bothering with forming some sort of plan to hide that she was going to be looking at Fester’s mail. Wednesday didn’t protest. Instead, she wordlessly hopped into Enid’s bed, pushing her almost to the edge of her twin mattress, the two of them scooted up against the headboard. She flicked on the bedside lamp. They read silently beside each other. 

Dear Fester,

You’re right to point out that it has been quite some time. Perhaps I am ready to forgive you after all. I am feeling much more secure of the safety of my home after all these years, and with this security comes a certain level of clarity. I see now that my reaction to my fear has resulted in the destruction of something that no part of me actually wished to lose. 

To put it plainly, I miss you. I miss what we had. And perhaps your miscalculation was not enough to warrant my ending it and the near decade of no contact. If you would be up for a visit, I would sincerely appreciate the company as well as a chance at rekindling what once was. 

Yours truly and fondly,

-M

“Damn,” Wednesday said. “I wanted to know if he refers to himself as Moth-man .”

“Hold on a second,” Enid said, her jaw spiritually dropping as the realization washed over her. “Did your Uncle Fester and Mothman used to date?”

Wednesday shrugged. 

“I suspected that as soon as Fester handed me the letter. He sealed it with his best wax stamp.” 

Enid felt she needed a minute to process this. Wednesday, however, looked as though she’d rather not process anything but the most clear cut and basic facts of the matter, which was bizarre given that she was near constantly hard at work solving some sort of puzzle in her mind based on seventeen thousand implications that only she had the foresight to pick up on. Her active passiveness reminded Enid of the original scene she’d woken up to.

“What were you doing just now?” she asked, though the answer seemed obvious. 

Wednesday seemed more than a little uncomfortable with nowhere to go in the twin bed, squished as they were, though it was her own doing, and Enid, even in her grogginess, was still vaguely mad, so she didn’t have much empathy for her discomfort. 

“I can’t say,” Wednesday said. The flatness in her delivery had never seemed so practiced. “It will seem utterly ridiculous.”

“It can’t be any more ridiculous than it looks,” Enid said. Then, when Wednesday said nothing, she added, “What it looks like is that you, the person who has now rejected me for the second time, is regretting that I, the person who wanted nothing more than to be with you, somehow took offense to your weird silent treatment thing and, feeling very betrayed, didn’t want to sleep right next to you, you selfish dickhead.”

“Dickhead?” Wednesday repeated.

Enid hated the amusement in her voice.

“Yes, dickhead,” she said angrily. She had half a mind to push Wednesday out of her bed and onto the floor. “You’re acting like a dickhead right now.” 

Wednesday’s lips quirked up into that all too familiar almost smile, the closest she ever got to a smile unless taken by immense surprise or planning the demise of an enemy. Her face dropped harshly all of a sudden, as if she had lost count of something important, or perhaps unthinkingly broken an internal promise to herself. Disappointment faded into a scowl. Enid watched the way her mouth twitched and curled in ten different directions. Her eyes were wide,  unchanging in openness or direction, but the sentiments swimming in them were changing by the nanosecond. 

“I didn’t expect for things to be this difficult,” Wednesday finally said. It was vague, but it was also one of the more vulnerable statements Enid had ever gotten from her. 

“Me neither,” Enid commiserated. “This is way worse than last time.”

“It is,” Wednesday agreed. 

“Why is that?” Enid asked. She was trying to be earnest, to be curious and encouraging, to let go of some of the unproductive hostility, warranted as it may be, she was holding towards Wednesday. Maybe they could have some kind of breakthrough. 

“I don’t know,” Wednesday said, just as she had in the car when Enid had confronted her with her own emotions, try as she might to pretend she didn’t have any. 

“How are you feeling?” Enid asked, pressing forward.

“I don’t know,” Wednesday said again.

There was something in her voice, something rough. It was so unlike Wednesday, who always spoke sharply and smoothly, who never backed down, who had an opinion about everything. It was fear, Enid thought. She had never seen Wednesday feel fear. 

Enid looked at Wednesday, at the way her usually challenging gaze was lowered to the crisp edge of the bedsheet, so concentrated that Enid could believe she was attempting to count the threads. The walls weren’t down per se, but maybe there was a drawbridge that was starting to lower, a steep slant that Enid could climb. 

“So what do you know?” Enid asked. The way she knocked her knee into Wednesday’s calf was no accident. “Walk me through it.”

“I know that we came here together,” Wednesday said. “Because I invited you. Because I wanted you to come.” 

Enid said nothing, just looked at her, acutely aware that looking was one of the most effective ways to communicate with Wednesday. Wednesday’s eyes narrowed at the silence. Enid held her breath for a second. 

“I know that I haven’t been… nice,” she finally said. “I think that I’m sorry.” She paused, glancing at Enid in her peripheral. “I am sorry.”

“Keep going then,” Enid said. It was all she could say. 

Wednesday nodded sagely. Enid knew it meant she was going to actually give this an effort, actually take the time to process everything she had been repressing, that she was ready to try so hard she would do it out loud.

“I know that I think about you so much that it hinders my productivity,” Wednesday said slowly. “I know that I consider how my actions will affect you. I know that I prioritize keeping space for you in my life, because I know that I want you in my life, so desperately that I don't understand it, that I don't think I'll ever understand it, and that frustrates me to no end. You frustrate me to no end.” She risked another glance at Enid, almost head on this time. “But I don't know how I feel because I don't know if I can feel the way you’d want me to.”

“And what way do you think that is?” Enid asked, feeling a little bit silly, like she was pretending to be a therapist. 

“I don’t mean to say I’m incapable,” Wednesday said rather than provide a straight answer.  “I’m more than capable. Too capable, perhaps. I’m actually concerned that I’ll…” 

She trailed off. Enid did her best to seem encouraging. Wednesday looked at Enid once more, but this time, she held her gaze. 

“That you’ll..?” Enid questioned.

“That I’ll lose myself in it,” Wednesday said. “That I’ll become it, and that there will be nothing left of me.”

This was one of the most intense moments of Enid’s life. She must have looked confused because Wednesday took it upon herself to elaborate. 

“What I’m trying to say, Enid, is that I love you so dearly, so tenderly, that I feel as if I am under love’s influence. I love you so profoundly that it interferes with who I thought I was.” 

Enid felt like she might faint. She mustered up all of the practicality she had left in her body, knowing Wednesday needed a response before she waxed so poetically that she would send Enid into cardiac arrest. 

“You love me,” Enid said dumbly. 

Wednesday’s brow furrowed, the most expressive she had been all day. 

“Of course I do.” 

“Well, I love you too,” Enid said.

“Naturally,” Wednesday replied, ever the egoist. 

“So then… What is the problem?” Enid asked. She could feel all of her subdued frustration seeping back into herself, all the way to the tips of her fingers. “Why have we been fighting all day?” 

“We’re not fighting,” Wednesday said, her tone patronizingly even. 

“Bullshit,” Enid said. “Bull. Shit. If we aren’t fighting, why did you go eat without me?”

“I have a healthy appreciation for solitude,” Wednesday said. “And I brought you back something. Were you not satisfied with it?”

It had been exactly right, probably exactly what Enid would’ve ordered. That in and of itself, that Wednesday knew her so well and continued to push her away, was so utterly dissatisfactory that Enid didn’t even know how to unpack it. Overwhelmed, she just shook her head. Angry tears began to well in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself, her rapidly emerging claws sinking into the bare flesh of her arms. Wednesday took her hands, took the sharp pressure of her nails right in her palms, like stigmata. 

Enid struggled to take her hands back, but Wednesday held firm. Enid accepted it, allowed herself to feel the strength of love so self sacrificing it was scaring the shit out of someone unshakeable. She swallowed hard. 

“Did I do something wrong? Did I come on too strong, or too needy, or kick you in my sleep so hard that you couldn’t… Am I too much?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wednesday said firmly.

“Then what’s happening?” Enid asked, choking on her own emotion. “Why are you treating me like this? What is this?”

“I’m telling you that I don’t think I can be with you,” Wednesday said.

No matter how much practice she had with the cool mask she wore, she couldn’t keep all the cracks from Enid, all the shards of doubt and fear, that fucking overwhelming, inexplicable fear. Enid jerked her hands away from Wednesday’s grasp, tearing at her flesh and feeling an instant sympathetic regret. She rushed to the bathroom and came back with all of the hand towels, wrapping them tenderly around Wednesday’s hands, stopping the bleeding. Wednesday took that, too, with barely any reaction. 

“How can you be so sure of everything,” Enid breathed, a delicate accusation, “and yet so unsure of me?”

Wednesday said nothing. She was back to not being able to look Enid in the eye. Enid found she could hardly stand to be in the same room as her. She left before she could think. 

The hotel stairwell was dark and cool, the concrete structure providing some semblance of shelter from the summer mugginess. Enid didn’t know where she was supposed to go, overcome with exhaustion from all the emotional heaviness she had felt trapped under. She checked the time on her phone. Barely past midnight. Hoping for the best, she headed towards the lobby, her bare feet on the cement sending shivers up her spine. She crossed her arms over herself and found herself reminded of the places she had been ruthlessly poked by her own nails. 

The woman who had manned the desk before was still there, though Enid was catching her on her way out the door. Upon seeing Enid, the woman stopped what she was doing, pulling her key from the lock. 

“Can I help you, hon?” she asked, looking mildly concerned. 

Enid hesitated. She tried to discreetly wipe at her eyes with her fist.

“Do you… have another room maybe? I don’t have much money, so whichever is your worst one, if something like that would be possible.”

The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. It was clear she remembered her and the state she had arrived in. Enid also felt that there was something familiar about the woman, something she had missed when she’d first met her. 

“We still have a couple of vacancies,” the woman said. “I’m not making anything off of them anyway. You can stay in one for free if you’ll strip the bed for me in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” Enid said. “I really, really appreciate it. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” the woman said, moving back into the lobby to grab a room key. 

Enid followed her in. The woman handed her the key, then caught sight of her upper arms, angry red marks skirting the edge of her shirt sleeve. 

“What happened here?” she asked, gentle and without judgment. 

Enid looked at her sheepishly. The woman held out her hand. Enid almost took it but was instead startled by the sudden unsheathing of claws just like her own. 

“It’s okay,” the woman said. “It happens.”

She led Enid to her room and said goodnight. 

“We take care of our own,” she said.

Enid thanked her once more. As soon as she was inside, she collapsed on the bed. She was back asleep within minutes, despite the infinite possibilities of intrusive thoughts, the ache in her bones and her mind far too powerful to be dissuaded by any of that. 

She slept soundly through the rest of the night and was woken by a knock on her door in the midmorning. Blearily, she pulled herself to her feet. There was a microwavable burrito left outside her door but no sign of Wednesday. 

The burrito was actually delicious, especially coming from a crinkly plastic package. She supposed anything with chorizo, peppers, and potatoes was going to be tasty, and her mother had always said that hunger was the best seasoning, but regardless, it really was the start to her day Enid felt she had needed, especially if she was going to go back to the room and face whatever Wednesday had to say to her. 

She tried to prepare a speech in her head as she stripped the sheets from the bed and shook the pillows from their cases, but nothing she could think up seemed good enough. In the end, she decided just to wing it. Maybe she could simply never speak again. 

When Enid finally made her way back to the hotel room, she found Wednesday sitting on her own bed, reading, just the way she always did in the morning. Wednesday didn’t even look up from her book. Enid was caught a little off guard, half expecting to come in and immediately start fighting again, but the more she thought about it, she didn’t know why she had expected that at all. Of course Wednesday would just simply do her Wednesday thing, no matter the circumstances. 

Enid couldn’t help but to be on edge, her nerves only heightened by the anticlimax of her return. Enid also couldn’t help but feel a little stupid for thinking that Wednesday would have ever been capable of being with her. It felt like if she had asked anyone around her if Wednesday would be a good romantic partner, they probably would’ve laughed at the idea and then become very concerned for her. After all, even Yoko, who had originally found the idea of them together to be an unlikely kind of ridiculously cute, had started to encourage her to get over Wednesday after a couple months of moping over the secret makeout debacle. 

It was so unbelievably frustrating that Wednesday was just so incredibly Wednesday. It was the reason she could never be with Enid, and yet it was also the reason Enid couldn’t help but hang on to every word she said, every ghost of a smile. Sometimes, she thought Wednesday was a mess, but maybe that was just because her own feelings towards Wednesday were such a murky, muddled puddle of emotional goop that seeped through every fold of her brain. At any rate, if Wednesday was a mess, she was the most organized mess in the world. She was complicated that way. 

Proving once more that she was more than capable of surprising Enid, Wednesday was the one to break the silence.

“I didn’t sleep much,” Wednesday said as Enid picked an outfit from her suitcase.

She looked at Enid like this was a big deal, like sleep deprivation wasn’t a staple of her regular routine. 

“I’m sorry,” Enid said. 

Wednesday pursed her lips into a slight frown. She closed her book. She didn’t get up. Enid sat down on the bed. The fight she had anticipated was coming. She was sure of it. She stared at Wednesday, her legs crossed at the ankles, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, waiting for Wednesday to start the shit. 

“I’m not as sure as you think I am,” Wednesday said. Her words were careful, but they didn’t feel particularly prepared. “You may mistake my stubbornness for certitude. Many people do. And I don’t like to admit it, but I can be… rash. And I owe you more than rashness. And I owe myself more as well.”

Enid wanted to say nothing. She really, really did. But, she could feel another fight building up in her chest, blossoming like a bruise over her heart. She just couldn’t stop herself. 

“What you’re failing to understand is that not being with me is just as much of a choice as being with me. Pretending nothing happened, or saying that nothing should happen, especially after so much has happened, is an action that you are taking, Wednesday. You can tell yourself you’re not ‘being rash’ or whatever, but the reality is that the way you’ve handled this situation is just as impulsive as literally every other thing you do.”

Her words came out rushed and shaky, expecting Wednesday to jump in and try to cut her off, but Wednesday was patient. Even after she finished speaking, Wednesday was still and silent. When she did speak, it wasn’t any sort of argument for herself.

“When you met me, did you think I would be the sort of person to fall in love?”

Enid thought back to when they had first met, Wednesday’s initial rejection of her dripping with bitter irony. She thought of how everyone else at school had perceived her, how quick everyone had been to joke that they expected her to smother Enid in her sleep, and even then, undeniably the most at risk if Wednesday did fly violently off the handle, Enid had defended her. She had defended her because she had seen something in Wednesday, after mere weeks of knowing her, something genuine. Sure, she had a morbid fascination with anything, well, morbid. Sure, she was a self-described strict utilitarian, a narcissist with both sadistic and masochistic tendencies. But Enid saw the way she wore sardonicism as a mask to shroud her good heart. 

She swallowed and decided to take a risk. It was, after all, what Wednesday would tell her to do.

“Not initially, no,” Enid said. “But very quickly, I saw you as the sort of person to fall in love with.”

Wednesday looked at Enid as though she had been insulted. Not knowing if that made her want to laugh or cry, Enid persisted.

“You are thoughtful, and perceptive.”

“I’m calculating and vigilant,” Wednesday countered. 

Enid found herself taking a step forward, the gesture familiar, a staple of their stubborn roommate squabbles.

“You’re selfless and protective. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, and the lives of everyone at Nevermore, including kids you didn’t particularly like.”

Wednesday followed suit. 

“I’m a control freak. I have to do everything myself if I want it to be done right. I only help because I want everything to go my way.”

“You’re earnest.”

Enid took another step.

“I’m obsessive.”

Wednesday did, too.

“You’re genuine.”

Step.
“I’m a master at subterfuge.”

Step.

“You’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Step.

“There are only so many people I can stand.”

Step.

“And I’m one of them,” Enid said. 

There was no counter argument from Wednesday, nothing she could say contrary to that most obvious fact, that truth that they both felt in their guts. The mark was indelible. Enid was indelible. 

Wednesday surged forward, her hands reaching out to grasp the back of Enid’s neck, fingers twisting into and tugging at the hairs at the nape, brushing the bottom of her scalp. They were kissing in no time, Wednesday taking a strong and forceful lead, as if the kiss were her argument, or perhaps, a way to admit defeat without explicitly saying anything. Enid allowed herself to get lost in the kiss for probably longer than she should’ve, but she finally remembered herself, remembered her frustration and her hurt, and drew back. 

Wednesday’s hands remained on her face, cupping her cheeks. Enid placed her own hands over Wednesday’s, holding her there, holding her attention. 

“You have got to stop shutting me out, or I am going to walk away,” she said quietly. 

Wednesday nodded slowly. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was very rare to get an apology from Wednesday, particularly a verbal one. She usually just tried her hardest to be nice for a few days, which was honestly kind of eerie to witness. Still, Enid had probably gotten more than anyone else in the history of the world, and this one felt especially weighty. 

“You’re going to talk to me about how you’re feeling instead of just trying to figure it all out in your own head?” Enid asked. 

“Yes,” Wednesday agreed. 

“Okay. Then I forgive you,” Enid said. They looked at each other for a moment before Enid decided to try her new superpower out. “What are you thinking about right now?”

“I’m… pondering.” Wednesday said. She took a moment to properly articulate her question. “Are you sure I’m enough for you? Even if I can’t allow myself to fully give in to my love for you?”

“How much would you say you gave into your love for me in West Virginia?” Enid asked. 

“About 60%,” Wednesday said, deathly serious. 

Enid laughed. 

“I think I can manage. That is, if you can.”

Wednesday took one of her insanely long pauses. She was lucky that Enid had learned to be patient. 

“I spent a lot of time thinking last night,” Wednesday admitted. “And while I’m not sure I’ve come to an exact conclusion, the conclusion I’m seeking may be that there is no exact conclusion. I’ve discovered that I simply will not know what it would be like to be with you until I am.”

“It could completely ruin our friendship,” Enid said, voicing some of her own fears. “And we’ll live together next year.”

“Precisely,” Wednesday said. “But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I’ve loved you for some time now. Any ruining has likely already occurred, if it’s going to.”

“You’re probably right,” Enid said. 

Running over the events of the last few days in her mind, it was hard to keep the twinge of defeat from her tone. Things certainly had seemed to fall to ruin, at least a little bit. 

“Then it’s clear that allowing our relationship to develop its full romantic potential is not a rash decision after all,” Wednesday said. 

Enid turned that over a few times in her head. She licked her lips just once, quick and short, needing to clear a physical path for her words. 

“Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Wednesday frowned.

“That’s an awfully unromantic way of putting it.”

“Says you,” Enid said. “Here in the 21st century, that question can be the height of romance.” 

“You should raise your standards,” Wednesday said. “Especially as the object of my affections.” 

“So we’re together then?” Enid asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Wednesday said.

Enid decided this was enough. Eventually, she would get Wednesday to say the word girlfriend , or at least significant other , though Enid liked that less, but for now, object of my affections was more than enough. She smiled to herself, able to think about everything that had been revealed throughout their 24 hour argument in a different light. 

“Wow, I thought I was down bad,” she said. “But you--that was another level.”

“Down bad?” Wednesday questioned, the words sounding foreign in her mouth. 

“Y’know, like when you really, really, really like someone,” Enid explained. “And you’d do anything for them and stuff.”

“Three reallys feels egotistical,” Wednesday remarked, which was highly ironic coming from her. 

“I think it’s warranted,” Enid said. “Given what all you said. Especially when you said, Oh, Enid, I love you so much –so profoundly, actually, is what I believe you said– that I don’t know who I am anymore. ”

“I will never repeat anything of the sort,” Wednesday said sharply, clearly not appreciating having her own words used against her, even in jest.

“Yes you will,” Enid said back. “You’ll say it a thousand times. I’ll make you.”

Wednesday said nothing, which was much more promising than Enid had expected.

They spent the rest of the morning lounging on Enid’s twin bed, waiting for Lurch to arrive with the car. Wednesday read allowed to Enid from the grim collection of short stories she had brought with her. Enid decided she didn’t much care for Kafka, though she did appreciate the slight lilt in Wednesday’s voice when she read, a painstaking care for tone that came from a certain desire to capture the essence of the prose. Enid lay in Wednesday’s lap as she read, one of Wednesday’s arms draped across her stomach, holding the book by its spine in her other hand. 

“Do you know Ocean Vuong?” Enid asked once she’d decided she’d had enough Christ figure imagery for the day. 

“I do not,” Wednesday said.

She was usually gruffer when she had to admit that she was unaware of something, more defensive, but Enid felt her words flit across a drawbridge under her tongue, their descent from her mouth smooth and forgiving; willingness. Enid grinned and reached up to trace the softness under Wednesday’s chin, her fingertips broaching the sharpened edge of jaw as Wednesday jutted her face out. 

“I have a poem I want to show you,” Enid said. 

It was nice to share. Shared words, shared time, shared spit. Enid thought it could be best described as lovely. They got lunch at a little diner in town, one that Enid suspected was a southeastern chain of some kind. Wednesday ordered for her, always knowing precisely what she would want. Enid ordered for Wednesday and was perhaps a little bit less on the nose, but Wednesday ate without complaint and simply offered what she didn’t want to Enid. Shared food. They held hands on top of the vinyl tabletop. 

Lurch arrived in midafternoon. The woman at the motel allowed them to stay a few hours after checkout free of charge, a kindness Wednesday reflected in her very handsome tip. She also seemed entirely unphased by Lurch’s presence, something Enid had seen from very few people. He carried their bags easily and hooked the Porsche up to the tow truck the Addams’ had rented. 

Enid texted her mom that they were on the way, and that she would miss her flight, and that the only ticket back to San Fran she had been able to rebook had been one for a flight two weeks out. This was far from the truth, but she knew her mother would hardly bother to look into it, probably just glad to have one less kid to worry about. Enid wondered, if she really pressed the issue, if she might be able to just stay at the Addams’ all summer. It was a nice thought.

When they reached the car, Thing jumped out of the passenger seat. Enid should’ve known he would come. He signed emphatically at them, expressing all of his concerns about their wellbeing, both physical and emotional. 

“Guess what?” Enid asked, unable to hide her excitement. 

She reached for Wednesday’s hand, threading their fingers together and lifting their hands into the air, showing off. Thing pretended to faint for a moment and then signed his disbelief at both Wednesday’s amorous capabilities and her failure to make a move before. 

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree , he mimed. 

“Careful,” Enid said with a smirk. “That’s the thing she’s sensitive about.”

As they set off for the Addams’ estate, Wednesday reached for Enid’s hand. She didn’t let go, even when Lurch eyed them in the rearview mirror.