Chapter Text
There’s a new professor at work.
How should she describe her?
Blonde.
Wednesday enters the shared staff lounge just as the fresh-off-the-boat American professor makes rounds to introduce herself. Laughter buzzes the room. Fitting in already, isn’t she? Not that Wednesday has any intention of joining in. She’s only here for a cuppa since her office ran out of hot water. A stack of essays awaits her markings.
From her peripheral vision, Wednesday catches the blonde’s back. She and Professor Petropolus are deep in conversation, and based on how the master sculptor is fidgeting with his beanie, someone has a crush on the newbie.
Carnation blazer and olive-green trousers. Bright pink and blue ombre. Hints of uptalk in her voice.
Probably Californian.
Definitely a headache.
Despite Wednesday’s gargantuan effort to blend into the background, the migraine-inducing embodiment of a rainbow is already striding towards her. Had it not been for her tea-shades, Wednesday would have been blind.
Does this woman run on a solar-powered battery?
Wednesday had accepted the offer to work at the University of Nevermore, specifically for the wondrous, gloomy weather that Scotland has to offer. Imagine her displeasure at this personification of a sun ray.
Maybe there’s a slider to adjust her level of brightness somewhere.
“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Enid Sinclair, and I’ll be teaching Mythical Zoology!”
A hand extends to Wednesday, each fingernail an obnoxious colour.
Blonde and cheerful.
Woe be her.
“Professor Addams. Plant Science.”
A nod back at the blonde, who doesn’t seem taken aback by being left hanging at all, still smiling cheek to cheek. Some mighty sharp canines does she possess.
At the least, people tend to quirk their eyebrows at such a dismal attitude. Not this woman. Au contraire to what the impressive scars on her left cheek might suggest, Professor Sinclair is, for lack of a better description, bubbly. Wednesday is already contemplating poisoning the blonde if she continues to exude such positive energy every morning in the office. Has Wednesday taken her allergy medication for colour this morning?
“ The Addams professor?! I’m so glad we’re in the same Department! Maybe you can show me the ropes aroun-”
The oaken door creaks. Professor Sinclair is talking to thin air.
Perhaps the essay stack doesn’t make Wednesday seem busy enough for Vice Chancellor Weems. She really should install a plaque that says Do Not Disturb on her door.
Permanently.
“Both Bianca and Eugene are occupied with their classes today, you know I wouldn’t impose this on you otherwise,” the tall woman stands at the doorway, immaculately dressed as ever.
"Merely a conjecture on my part, but I believe Professor Petropolus would be delighted to undertake the task."
“Ajax had already left to prepare for his exhibition. Come now, just for a few hours, and it’s done. I’m sure the marking can wait a bit longer,” Weems replies, her tone exasperated.
By woe does Wednesday take great joy in it.
The tip of Wednesday’s fountain pen continues to glide on paper; the scratchy sound echoes in her office. Decent structure. Good referencing. Perfect grammar. On to the following essay.
“Fine. If you do this, I’ll approve your greenhouse renovation,” Weems relents. “Express renovation if you attempt to be nice to her.”
“Approve my request list of exotic flora as well, and you have a deal.”
The writing halts.
“I’ll allow three species.”
“Six. I’ll give her an hour.”
“Enid is waiting for you at the main hall,” Weems sighs, flicking her chin at the hallway. “The Department appreciates your time.”
Eighteen. That’s how many times Professor Sinclair has exclaimed “ oh my gosh ” and other tedious variations of that phrase within the past forty-five minutes. This tour cannot end soon enough.
Yes, the University is a magnificent, grand architectural masterpiece.
Yes, it is ancient and beyond majestic.
Yes, it is a bastion of history and tradition.
No, the newbie doesn’t need to know Wednesday’s ancestors were amongst the founding members of the University.
“Thank you for showing me around, it’s really kind of you to do so,” the blonde beams at Wednesday, even when all she receives is a curt nod back.
Professor Sinclair radiates warmth. Quite literally. And Wednesday finds it more and more challenging to ignore the blonde by the minute. The warmth is not unwelcoming per se since one of Wednesday’s favourite reading spots is in the tropical section in the greenhouse. It’s the proximity between them that is pestering Wednesday. These corridors feel too small for both of them.
She needs fresh air.
“Last but not least, the meadows and the greenhouse,” Wednesday lightens her tone. “Personally, nothing beats this.”
Nineteen.
This time, fair enough.
The setting sun casts the vast meadow aglow with effulgent golden light, as crisp breezes carry the sweet scent of heather and lavender in the air. Bright bursts of flower beds grow wild across the rolling hills, blooming still, though autumn has come to fade their petals. Trees accentuate the horizon, now awash in pastel hues. The three-story greenhouse stands proud and tall from afar, surrounded by a mosaic of rowans and wild roses.
A resplendent chateau on its own.
“That concluded the tour. I trust that the information provided has been satisfactory. For any further inquiries, please direct them to the Administrators Department.”
Finally, back to her marking.
“Can we go see the greenhouse, please?”
A timid smile from Professor Sinclair, hands clasped tightly behind her back. “If you pardoned the pun, it’s la crème de la crème of the school, right?”
The blonde’s French is worse than abysmal, given how she butchered the phrase. Wednesday’s eye twitches. And that was not a pun.
“If it’s not allowed, I understand. You’ve already been more than kind enough to walk me across campus today,” the blonde adds in haste.
Due to a plethora of reasons, namely the gigantic flesh-eating flowers and other inhospitable plants, not many people are keen on visiting her greenhouse, except for Professor Ottinger.
But Professor Sinclair doesn’t know that.
The essays can wait just a bit longer. A negligible compensation to almost being blinded by a kaleidoscope reincarnated this afternoon, as Wednesday gets to showcase her proudest achievement here. Wednesday turns her back and begins walking. Her flora requests better be approved without any trouble.
“Are you coming or not, Professor Sinclair?”
Wednesday hopes the question has come out sounding bored, not rippled with excitement. Maybe just the tiniest bit. Enthusiastic footsteps skip after her.
“Call me Enid.”
Twenty.
At the wave of Wednesday’s hand, the Serpent Vine curls back to reveal the door to the greenhouse. Streaks of dwindling sunlight stream through the glass panes, casting long shadows across rows of exotic plants and flowers that fill the space. A heady mix of fresh earth and flora fragrances fills the air, enough to be pleasant.
“Holy smackballs, this is like a giant quad!”
Professor Sinclair hasn’t been able to close her mouth, still taking in the commodious space. Five wings sprawl out from where they stand, the central dome, each housing its unique flora and environment.
“It’s a pentagon.”
“Just. Wow. How do you even manage all of this? This is mega-rad!”
The blonde wanders toward the Aquatic section. “Are you kidding me?! Is that a fricking pond? In a greenhouse??”
Ribbits from the amphibious inhabitants answer her questions.
“I have help, of course,” Wednesday sounds pleased.
Is she pleased?
“Thing, allow me to introduce Professor Enid Sinclair. It is at your discretion whether you wish to acquaint yourself with her or not.”
The blonde yelps, jumping back at the sight of a severed, stitched-up hand dropping down from the railings atop them. The slippery ground doesn’t help. Professor Sinclair trips and-
Wednesday grabs her by the collar. Not the best look ever, but it’s instinct, alright?
Orange blossom. Wednesday catches it as she pulls Professor Sinclair up, their faces inches apart, caught in the momentum. The silvery, jagged scars gleam in the dying sunlight.
Wednesday releases her grip, taking two steps back. She needs to check on the pond.
“I-um, thank you. That was so embarrassing,” Professor Sinclair straightens up and coughs out a laugh, cheeks flushed.
Ribbits.
The blonde takes a deep breath before turning around and extends her hand to Thing, only to withdraw it and awkwardly wave at him when she realises Thing is unable to shake her hand back. “Hi, sorry about that, can we do this again?”
“A pleasure to meet you and welcome to Nevermore University, Professor Sinclair. I’m sure you will love it here,” Thing signs.
“Please, call me Enid,” the blonde insists. “Do you also teach Plant Science? If so, we’ll be neighbours! My Mythical Zoology course starts next week.”
“I’m more of a full-time assistant for this one over there,” Thing points at Wednesday, who has found an extreme interest in the lotuses today, examining them with great deliberation as she ignores the conversation beside her. “It’d be nice to have someone else around. It gets lonely out here.”
Wednesday makes sure Thing feels her glare at the back of his hand. Professor Sinclair is laughing. It distracts her from the lotuses.
The sun has dipped below the horizon, relinquishing its cloak of orange and purple hues and welcomes thousands of celestial lanterns. Nightfall descends upon the greenhouse, enshrouding it in darkness.
Wednesday snaps her fingers twice, beckoning rows of plants that hang from the walkways above them to glow, casting a luminous warm sheen across the entire space.
“Shut the front door right now,” Professor Sinclair gasps. “This is literally my childhood dream. You can’t be serious, oh my god.”
“Your childhood dream is to have… glowing plants?” Wednesday didn’t mean for the question to come out sounding sarcastic.
For once, genuine curiosity piques within her.
“Well, kind of. Silly, I know. The Secret Garden is one of my favourite books ever, but we didn’t even have a proper yard, so I used to press flowers instead.”
A wistful look on the blonde’s face. “But uh, kinda stopped after a while.”
“Why?”
Wednesday believes flower pressing can be an educational activity, especially for children, as it fosters patience and trains one’s attention to detail. She has several collections herself. What’s the downside to it?
“Well, for one, my mother thought it was a waste of time and a useless hobby that would encourage me to stray away from certain family activities.” Professor Sinclair looks away, shifting the weight from one leg to another. “I remember coming home from the last day of fourth grade to find all my daisies crushed in the trash can. My brothers did it as a ‘prank’ and my mother agreed the flowers were garbage anyway.
“Killed it for me since then, I guess,” Professor Sinclair finishes with a defeated shrug.
Wednesday frowns. She can envision a smaller version of the blonde standing in front of her, dejected and helpless, unable to salvage even a single petal from the wreck.
Is it empathy?
No, how could she? All that insipid cheerfulness.
Still, Wednesday knows all too well the crushing weight of losing something cherished. She still visits Nero, her once glorious pet scorpion’s grave at home during the holidays. But Wednesday has only met Professor Sinclair today. She can barely tolerate the blonde’s infectious exuberance, let alone empathise with her.
However, Vice-Chancellor Weems did promise an express renovation if Wednesday attempts to be nice to the newbie. Several leaks need to be fixed before her students return next week. In for a stem, in for a bouquet.
Whatever.
“I need to check on something. Stay here. Do not move,” Wednesday directs Professor Sinclair as she walks away.
The blonde exchanges a look with Thing, who only shrugs in response.
Ten minutes later, Wednesday returns and hands over a small carton box.
“Consider this a welcome from our Department.”
Professor Sinclair looks inside to find the box filled with flowers. Buttercups, cosmos, violets, pansies, marigolds. And daisies. So. Many. Daisies.
“I don’t know what to say.”
The blonde sounds small. Like when she asked if they could visit the greenhouse just a few hours ago.
“Common flowers don’t pose the most significant challenge to cultivate. Start with these, you should make up for lost time.”
Wednesday contemplates for a second. No harm in it, she guesses. That renovation better be lightning quick.
“The garden is open most days, so feel free to visit if you’d like. The only off-limits area is the basement. Anything that falls on the ground in the Common section is free for the taking.”
Professor Sinclair only smiles at Wednesday. It feels private, burrowing straight into her chest. A hawthorn blooms.
“I’m getting a vibe you’re not a big fan of huggies. Butttt maybe-”
“Absolutely not.”
The essay stack will have to wait until tomorrow.
Unlike most living beings, plants don’t talk. And Wednesday appreciates that. Students who choose her class thankfully also possess similar mindsets, as they prefer to concentrate on the flora rather than making idle conversations. For the past five years, the vast meadow that borders the Caledonian forest of Nevermore University has been Wednesday’s sanctuary. Her classes enjoy regular outings to collect specimens, analyse the environment, or observe wildlife in peace.
Peace being the keyword here.
Wednesday’s treasured sense of tranquillity flies straight out of the greenhouse window when the Timetabling Service decided to overlap her classes with Mythical Zoology three times a week. Serenity is swallowed whole by, so far, harpies, imps, and Chupacabra.
It’s not that Wednesday doesn’t enjoy vicious mythical creatures; she even thinks it wasn’t the worst idea ever for the University to introduce the subject this year. Often, what’s considered beastly or brutish is more humane than the vainglorious self-proclaimed human race itself.
But one’s patience may only stretch so far. Wednesday now has a valid concern. Because no fewer than five times now, her class has been disrupted by Professor Sinclair’s “guest lecturers”.
Last week, one of her students was startled and cut off the bud of a Middlemist’s Red as a harpy’s shrieking laughter pierced the air. The neighbouring Mythical Zoology class, no doubt, was having a grand time. Wednesday could only close her eyes and take a deep breath.
The student gulped.
Professor Sinclair even had the audacity to pop into the greenhouse, oblivious to the catastrophe she had just caused, and asked Wednesday with glee if she and her students would like to meet Hilarion, the comedian harpy.
A glare was enough of a message.
A well-respected expert at the top of her field, who found the antidote for aconitum, a.k.a. wolfsbane poisoning, Professor Wednesday F. Addams has the highest expectations for her pupils. Her uncongenial and strict demeanour in class might be construed as arrogance, but Wednesday is nothing but a dedicated scientist. And when scientists make mistakes, people die. Simple as that. Regardless, Wednesday allows a margin of error in her class, provided one is willing to learn. That incident fell under this category.
Even so, it took Wednesday a whole year.
One whole year.
To grow and clone fewer than a dozen of Middlemist’s Red. Not to mention the ten bazillion legal hoops through which Wednesday had to jump just to bring one here in the first place. Initially, she wasn’t going to bother with the bureaucracy and planned to smuggle the flower into the greenhouse. However, after the fiasco with Dr Crackstone last year, which resulted in his firing, the University had enforced an exhaustive administrative system.
Who’d bring illicit necromancy tombs onto a school ground to practice on students anyway?
Amateur.
The subject ought to have expired in the first place. However, it would be too great an expectation to think Dr Crackstone could read at all; the man was a fossil. Still, it was entertaining to see him swear vengeance against the University as security escorted him out.
Though the Admins Office was deeply apologetic about the Middlemist’s Red incident, there was little they could do. It wouldn’t be feasible to alter the entire timetable this late in the academic year, and there is no policy against inviting guest lecturers on site, provided they meet security criteria. The Admins did promise they would send an email to Professor Sinclair at some point, once they’ve cleared the backlog. Something about prestigious institutions and utter management incompetence seems to go hand in hand.
This week is no different.
Her class is attempting to extract Dragonfire Essence, a highly volatile and reactive substance, when the greenhouse’s wall vibrates. The jötunn has provided a brief demonstration of how they’d create an earthquake in the old days.
A vial explodes. Probably from overheating. Someone must have looked away from their experiment a second too long.
The bright orange liquid begins to sizzle, and before it has a chance to engulf the entire place in flames, a fire extinguisher is already dousing it.
Enough of this nonsense.
If the Admins won’t take action, Wednesday will personally have a word with Professor Sinclair herself.
Just because Professor Sinclair managed to tug the slightest at Wednesday that evening in the greenhouse, doesn’t mean Wednesday will let her off for these distractions.
Class dismissed.
A light mist hangs in the air as the sun begins to set, casting a reddish glow over the school grounds, now ablaze with vibrant hues of foliage. Wednesday crosses the familiar meadow in haste, with crisp breezes stroking her cheeks. It’s getting colder by the day.
“May I have a word, Professor Sinclair?”
Wednesday catches up to the American, who’s just finished packing up.
“Again, it’s just Enid, we’re colleagues!” The blonde turns around, pleased to see Wednesday. “I wanted to discuss something with you as well, so this is perfect!”
“Really? Please do go on, then.”
Maybe Professor Sinclair is going to apologise for the frequent disruptions she has caused to Wednesday’s classes. Perhaps Wednesday should have more faith in others. Maybe she ought to be more welcoming to the newcomer.
“I was thinking if you’d like to have a joint field trip with my class sometimes, since you know, fauna and flora co-evolve, and a picnic in the woods would be hella tight!”
“Apology accep- excuse me, do you mind repeating that?”
The apology acceptance speech skids on its track.
“Our students could learn a lot from each other, and I would love to hold a class with you! I mean, you know the forest and its inhabitants best, so who else better to give me pointers around here other than you? It will be a fantastic opportunity for our Department!”
Where’s that brightness slider again?
Wednesday adjusts her tea-shades. “Actually, Professor Sinclair, I’m-”
“I literally would die happy if you called me Enid and stopped being so formal. I know you enjoy being addressed as Professor Addams, and I respect that, but I swear I’ll make this request every single time whenever I see you from now on.”
The prospect of the blonde letting this go is close to zero. Most likely, never.
It’s going to be a long time before Wednesday retires, and unless Professor Sinclair messes up phenomenally like Dr Crackstone, who has set a pretty high bar, the University has no reason to fire the blonde. Wednesday might as well save herself from a headache.
“Fine. Enid Sinclair. I would like to have-”
Wednesday trails off. Enid is wrapping her arms around herself, doing her best to hide the shivers while listening with intent to whatever Wednesday has to say.
Wind’s howling.
With just a pink floral button-up and blue chinos trousers, Enid is not dressed for the weather.
Something tells Wednesday that her lament can wait just a bit longer, especially not when the blonde is looking at her like that . Like back at the greenhouse. Eyes all doey and filled with warm hope.
“Here.”
A black cashmere scarf is all but thrust at Enid’s face. “This isn’t San Francisco. The highland winds will blow you away. Literally.”
“How did you know I’m from San Francisco?” Enid hesitates.
After the greenhouse tour, the two barely interacted, let alone shared personal details. Wednesday brushed by Enid a few times in the crowded corridors, saw her twice during Department meetings, and caught her leaving a pressed daisy on Wednesday’s desk once. But Wednesday never stayed for conversation. Things to do, places to be. Or perhaps she’d like to avoid that faint tang of orange blossom whenever Enid is nearby.
It distracts her.
“I don’t make the same offer twice. Take it,” Wednesday ignores the question.
No one needs to know she has researched Enid’s background after their first meeting. Something about the blonde piqued Wednesday’s curiosity, and it wasn’t the abominable radiant personality.
“It would reflect poorly on me if you caught pneumonia, provided I was the last person to see you.”
Again, things to do, places to be.
“Thank you, I’ll return it tomorrow!” Enid calls after Wednesday, who is already making her way back to the greenhouse. “Wait, what did you want to tell me again?”
Clouds roll in low, hugging the rugged mountains as rain patters her office’s window. The breezes are cool and damp. The smell of fresh earth permeates the air. Perfect weather.
Wednesday finds her scarf neatly folded in wax paper on the table, accompanied by a hyacinth blossom and an olive branch. She turns to the back of her new, yet unfortunate officemate, Enid, who has been engrossed in the title page of a research paper on the monitor for the past five minutes.
Admins had found it more than appropriate to assign Enid to Wednesday’s office. Just her luck.
Why?
Because Enid’s temp office until yesterday was an old storage room. Because all the other offices were occupied by two staff already. And, because Vice-Chancellor Weems’ email stated: I think it’d be nice for you to make a new friend. Enid was beyond excited to hear the news .
Resistance is futile. Wednesday had replied with a strongly worded email the moment she read the announcement, but the Admins refused to budge. How embarrassing. Wednesday had just given her scarf to her new officemate. She couldn’t have people thinking she was going soft.
Murder sounded tempting. Nothing a poisoning accident couldn’t fix. That’d be too obvious though, she would be Suspect No. 1.
Unfeasible.
And it’d be too much of a fuss to go out of her way to buy the University just to have her office back. Wednesday’d rather be stabbed than be on the University’s board of members.
Fine.
An officemate it is. Provided Enid remains on her respective side and does not become a nuisance, Wednesday will tolerate it. For now.
“What are you saying sorry for, Prof- Enid?” Wednesday picks up the hyacinth, its heady fragrance lingers on her hand.
The chair swivels around at breakneck speed, as if Enid’s been waiting for Wednesday to say something. The wooden floor groans under the sudden pressure.
“Well, I received an email from Admins last night and… I didn’t know I’ve been causing trouble for your class. I’m so so so sorry! I know it doesn’t justify anything, but I thought the guest lecturers will keep my students engaged! I’ll do anything to compensate, I promise! And no more guest lecturer, ever!”
The words fly out, strung together, almost blurry.
Big, round, sad eyes implore Wednesday. It’s supposed to be a serious conversation. Alas, vindication. The cause of her migraine is apologising without prompt. But it doesn’t bring the same satisfaction as when she wins a debate against Professor Barclay.
Why does Wednesday find this, as bizarre as it sounds, amusing instead?
Wednesday rests against her table, arms crossed. Who would have thought the newbie could get more… interesting? It’s a slow morning anyway. Might as well make it entertaining.
“Keep the guest lecturers, I wouldn’t want to deprive your students of such a unique learning experience,” Wednesday puts down the hyacinth to remove her black blazer. “But, anything? Are you sure about that, Sinclair?”
Her gaze falls on Enid’s face. A faint blush creeps on the fair skin.
“I- yes, I am! All yours and you’ll never want to let me go!” Enid almost squeaks. “As a friend. Because we’re friends, right? And I’ll be the best assistant ever to the brilliant Professor Addams!”
Wednesday Addams doesn’t find anything cute.
No, never. Not at all.
Whatever is unfolding before her is, at most, intriguing.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Sinclair,” Wednesday feels the corner of her lips twitch. “Grab your boots and raincoat, we’re leaving in ten.”
“Wait, we’re doing this now?”
“You have neither class nor office hours today,” Wednesday states as a matter of fact. Of course, she knows her officemate’s schedule, whatever it takes to avoid unnecessary social interactions. “Or have I misjudged the extent of your commitment ?”
A quirked eyebrow for extra emphasis.
The way Enid dashes to her closet almost does it for Wednesday. Pure comical. Who said Wednesday Addams doesn’t know how to have fun?
At least the rain and mist help to tone down the offensive neon pink raincoat and boots. Such eyesores they are.
Enid has made a point that for her own safety, she prefers to be as visible as possible in hazardous weather. Wednesday agrees with that. Although this principle only applies to her students, her black raincoat helps Wednesday blend into the environment better. Doesn’t scare the plants away.
Enid also insisted that pink is the best colour. That, Wednesday disagrees.
The forest hike was pleasant enough. Enid is now worse for wear with mud splashes all over, while Wednesday is primed for some specimen collection.
“Damn, that’s a long way down,” Enid peers over the cliff edge.
“It’d be counterproductive if you fell to your demise now,” Wednesday extends a collapsible pole with a hook on one end and pulls out a translucent net from her backpack.
“Would make a hella fern-tastic icebreaker story,” Enid wipes the rain from her face as she kneels by Wednesday. Irredeemable. “Though people may not find it be-leaf-able.”
“I should do myself a favour and kick you off the cliff,” Wednesday exasperates.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop stem-barrassing you,” Enid snorts at her joke.
There really is no end to this, is there?
What a distraction.
Wednesday hands the net to the blonde, ready to explain what they are about to do. “I’m starting to regret this.”
Enid pouts.
A branch snaps. Why is she pulling a blank?
Get yourself together, Addams.
Wednesday clears her throat and points at the mist below the cliff. “See those flowers? They’re Cloud Orchids. Only show themselves in this weather and, as the name suggests, grow exclusively on clouds.”
“Wheeere…?” Enid squints her eyes, following Wednesday’s directions, letting out a small aha as she spots her targets. As if shying away, the delicate, crystalline orchids float among the clouds like a dream.
“Flying attempts would be futile since the orchids disintegrate into mist upon any human contact,” Wednesday answers the question before Enid could ask it.
“What about demi-humans, though? Like, um, in general ya know,” Enid clasps her hands behind her back. “For research, of course, if I ever held a class with you. So, I’d know whether to, uhh… for my guest lecturers and stuff.”
Wednesday knows that’s not why Enid asked the question. Her due diligence expertise in investigative skills has never let Wednesday astray. But she would never push the topic. No. It is Enid’s choice whether to share such intimate details with anyone, let alone a colleague who’s making her trek up a mountain in the middle of a downpour.
Wednesday had snapped the folder closed a second too late the moment her eyes reached the Cautionary section.
It felt violating.
Her heedless curiosity had gotten the better of her once again. Wednesday no longer felt like giving the blonde grief after that. She hates having a conscience.
“I never agreed to a joint class, Sinclair. And the human factor at any level will have that effect on the orchids,” Wednesday extends the hook pole. “Here’s how we do it. I’ll use this long hook to detach one orchid at a time from the vines, draw it in, and you’ll catch it with the net, which has been enchanted to dampen the flower’s sensitivity. Any questions?”
Enid gives Wednesday the thumbs up and a big, goofy smile. One day, Wednesday will figure out how to adjust that brightness slider.
Better be soon.
An hour and two successful Cloud Orchids later, Wednesday's arms are sore and strained, though she must give it to Enid for remaining quiet and concentrated the entire time.
Like pancakes, the first try was a mishap.
And it wasn’t Enid. No. It was Wednesday, whose hands slipped as she caught Enid’s eyes. Just for a second, blue met brown. And Wednesday didn’t feel the cold on her face anymore.
The hook cut too deep, and the orchid withered.
It didn’t help that Enid was so supportive despite the disgraceful performance. Thing would have been rolling about laughing at such a shoddy execution.
“We can always try again, no one can do it better than you!”
Wednesday didn’t sign up for the personification of a self-help book. Technically, she never signed up for any of this in the first place. But then again, in for a stem, in for a bouquet.
When the first orchid fell into her net, Enid did a little celebratory shoulder shimmy in response to Wednesday’s Not-Bad look.
“Told you I’m the best assistant ever.”
“I see you’re attempting to remove Thing from his employment forcibly,” Wednesday replied as she continued manoeuvring the hook, this time determined not to look Enid’s way again.
“Naurr, I wouldn’t dream of it! But if it’s a crime to enjoy spending thyme with my friend, arrest me then, officer.”
“We’re colleagues, Enid. And if I could, you’re going straight to prison for those god-awful puns.”
And for distracting Wednesday.
“Tomato, to-mah-to. You say colleagues, I say friends.”
Wednesday could feel the warmth emanating from Enid. The rain had supposedly muffled out the orange blossoms, but Wednesday could’ve sworn she caught it in that moment. She wasn’t going to ruin another orchid.
It isn’t until they are packing up that Wednesday turns to Enid. The heavy downpour drenches them both, disregarding the little protection the raincoats provide. Lights are dying. The flowers ought to be sufficient for now.
“For a first timer, grape work,” Wednesday says it quickly enough to sound confident, and immediately gives herself a mental smack.
This is ridiculous.
“Was that— Oh my god, did I just hear Professor Addams make a pun?!”
“No, you did not,” Wednesday places the wrapped net into her duffle bag and throws the tool backpack to Enid, who lugs it over her shoulder as if it weighs nothing. “And just Wednesday is fine, save you a mouthful.”
They are colleagues, nothing more, nothing less.
But no colleague has ever accompanied her for specimen collection, not even Professor Ottinger, despite his multiple requests. Even though Wednesday likes to think they have an amicable work relationship, still colleagues.
Enid is an outlier.
Why?
Halfway down the mountain, Wednesday turns to Enid, who has somehow managed to get even more mud on her raincoat than before.
“I’ll give the excursion a thought. No promises.”
“Aww, I’ve really grown on you,” Enid bumps her shoulder at the slightest at Wednesday’s.
Too tired and can’t be asked to push Enid down the cliffs, Wednesday refrains from committing murder today.
“Like a pestilent vine.”
Lunch breaks are not for socialising, according to Wednesday at least. As if spending all day interacting with others isn’t enough, some people crank it up a level during this fleeting period of solitude.
Enid is one of those people.
On most days, Enid takes it upon herself to set food out on the coffee table and beckons Wednesday to join her on the sofa in their office. To chat and have lunch together.
Dreadful.
Not that Wednesday has ever said yes.
When Enid first discovered that Wednesday didn’t usually eat lunch, but instead spent her break researching with a hefty cup of tea, the blonde flipped.
“You need to eat, Willa!”
“Lunch is the third most important meal of the day! Please come here for five minutes and have something.”
“How can your brain give its best if you don’t feed it?!”
Enid had settled on a moniker for Wednesday, as if calling each other by their first names was not enough. It didn’t matter that Wednesday’s stomach flipped whenever Enid addressed her this way, as if it could persuade her to alter the way Wednesday lived her life.
The blonde had underestimated how stubborn Wednesday could be. Those puppy eyes almost worked on her. Almost. Because if Wednesday took Enid’s offer and sank into that forest green sofa with its velvet upholstery and soft cushions by the crackling fireplace, that familiar orange blossom scent would distract her. And no work would get done.
So, no.
No, thank you to such a woeful offer.
Enid didn’t take the rejection personally. But Wednesday had also underestimated Enid’s determination to get Wednesday to take care of her health. No longer is Wednesday’s desk merely filled with books and documents; Enid now leaves a plate there whenever she’s in the office. Usually accompanied by a handwritten note or a pressed flower. She left a buttercup the other day. Best not to think too much of it.
But at the same time—
Is it questionable that every spare moment on campus, they are near one another? Perhaps. They are officemates, after all. Though Wednesday blames this on Enid for following her everywhere—a tail, albeit not unwelcome.
Is it disconcerting that Wednesday finds the obnoxious K-pop blasting from Enid’s headphones more tolerable than that of any other colleague? Possibly. The way Enid easily jams to whichever piece Wednesday plays on her gramophone in their office must have contributed to her extended tolerance for the blonde.
Is it baleful that Wednesday finds herself increasingly fixated on Enid by the day? Maybe. Americans are rare around these parts, and the blonde provides an excellent opportunity for cultural research.
Then, her stomach churns at the thought of Enid discovering what Wednesday has done, as she had brutally violated Enid’s privacy.
It felt wrong, akin to those fairy tales in which the beautiful, enigmatic queen asks the king for only one thing: to never look at her in the evening when she transforms into a monster, and the king breaches that promise anyway, simply to satisfy his contemptible curiosity.
To this day, Wednesday still fails to see what is so terrible about marrying a monstrous beast. That fact alone should cost the king another fortune for ruining the mother of all potlucks. Never mind that. The lesson here is about mutual trust, something they have cultivated for the past month, yet the root was rotten from the beginning.
The guilt gnaws at her.
What is Wednesday afraid of? Enid is just another person. An annoying, loud, and bothersome colleague.
Wednesday needs to focus on the present. Her dilemmas can wait just a little while longer.
Enid possesses impressive cooking skills, whether it be an elaborate black olive pesto focaccia, a substantial kale salad, or a slice of extra-dark chocolate cake. And if Enid notices the pressed flowers that she has given Wednesday are now bookmarks, then thankfully, the blonde doesn’t mention it.
Occasionally, some of those bookmarks find their way to Enid’s desk, along with bags of roasted coffee and several tins of Walker’s shortbread. Introducing the blonde to local culture is one thing, but her contrition also contributes greatly to it. Wednesday knows that such inane gifts cannot compensate for what she has done, but Wednesday is only human; anything to hinder the mastication of the guilt from within.
Wednesday digresses.
And their breaks are like that, with Wednesday sitting at her mahogany desk, typing up notes for her research, taking a bite out of her plate now and then; while Enid lounges on the sofa and talks about her day, her students, and whatever gossip is going on at the University while having her fifth coffee of the day.
Doesn’t matter that the blonde seldom gets a reply out of Wednesday.
Wednesday can’t say she hates it.