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Dark clouds loom over the distant treetops outside of the Nevermore Principal's office window. Larissa Weems leans against the window frame as she contemplates the possible significance of the incoming weather. A loud school bell rings in the background, drowning out the crackle of the fireplace and the soft, unaccompanied cello coming from the record player across the room. She observes as a sea of violet school uniforms fill the courtyard. Students switching classes, nonchalantly walking arm-in-arm, some rough house, and others walk briskly avoiding the larger groups.
It has been so long since she was in their shoes. A time in her life so transformative, and paramount to the person she is today. Years of memories flood her mind as she gazes out the dusty window. Years of superfluous classes, fun with her friends, disappointing dances, exhilarating Poe Cups, and years of sharing a room...with her.
As her mind travels through a timeline of nostalgia, it settles on images of the popular, morbidly beautiful woman she shared all four years of Nevermore with. She remembers falling asleep some nights, admiring the moonlit contours of Morticia's heart-shaped face. Visions of Morticia's tentative hand reaching for hers under the desk in Calculus. Passionate longing squeezes her heart as she remembers Morticia sneaking into her bed and laying her head on her chest.
Few things were as comforting to Larissa as lying with the person she most longs for. Few things were as disappointing as losing her to some coiffed, heart-eyed goof, such as Gomez Addams.
Larissa looks down and away from the window. She massages the bridge of her nose, not to soothe a headache, but in an attempt to rid her mind of images of Morticia and Gomez together.
Those experiences at Nevermore; past voices and conversations haunted her memories, like fleeting pain from a recovering wound. That past seemed to goad her constantly, eliciting unintentional physical reactions, such as grimaces for cringe moments, growls for the anger, and sour arrhythmia from intimate moments.
The tranquil quiet of her office seemed to be the most inviting space for the constant memories that plagued her. Especially on days like today, when the distant thunder growls menacingly; a warning for the dark clouds that will rain a storm in her mind.
As she closes her eyes to massage her faintly pulsing brow, memories begin flashing in the darkness of her mind.
*
Their shared room, a perfect depiction of its two inhabitants; one side off-white, clinically clean, and minimal, with scattered simple decorations for a hint of personality. The other side, dark with accents of burgundy, and plant foliage growing up the walls. A cello and harp duet of Le cygne from The Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns softly plays on a record player beside Larissa’s bed. She had never shared her very niche love of the cello with anyone prior to her time at Nevermore. Nervous energy related to the Ball threatened to consume her. The combined song of a harp and cello felt like a good way to ease that energy, and Morticia had learned to love it as well.
The door to their shared bathroom opens and Morticia enters their room with a flourished twirl. Her pin straight, jet black hair flares around her, sparkling in the dim light of the room. She twirls her way towards Larissa, who is rigidly sitting on the edge of her bed, arms on either side of her thighs, clutching the edge of the mattress. She was visibly tense, seemingly trying to hold herself together.
Morticia’s Nevermore Ball outfit clung to every curve of her body. A black full-body jumpsuit flared at the legs and arms, for optimal fluidity while dancing. The low collar was adorned with black ostrich feathers, giving it a ghostly, yet fashionable vibe.
Morticia is decadent.
Larissa could feel her eyes taking the other girl in; committing every dip and curve to memory, almost hungrily. Larissa was fully aware that Morticia knew what she was thinking. The slight crooked smile on those dark red lips said it all. Morticia offered her arm toward Larissa beckoning her to join her. The cello on the record player was beginning to crescendo, leading into the more emotional part of the piece. Larissa stood tentatively, she smoothed down her shimmering gold dress. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor with each cautious step. Morticia’s arms snaked around her neck, sure and sultry….
*
The ringing of her phone snaps her out of her daydream from the past. She wills her heartbeat to slow and turns toward the phone on her desk. An unknown number blinks menacingly on the screen. She adjusts her elegant white dress coat and clears her throat before cautiously swiping up on the screen, accepting the call.
"This is Larissa." She speaks into the phone as she leans against her desk.
"Larissa!" A contained excitement in a woman's voice comes through the speaker, "It's been far too long, dear." That voice is unmistakable. The sultry timbre of Morticia Frump washes over her like an ocean wave in winter.
A cold shiver runs through her body as she recognizes the rhythm and tone of the voice on the other side. Her mind short circuits and all she can muster is a throaty gasp in disbelief.
More images from that night rush through her mind.
*
She remembers towering over Morticia and shyly snaking her arms around her waist. They begin to move to the music. The warm cello tones wash over them as they move around the room. Larissa wasn't sure if the goosebumps came from the music or if they were from Morticia’s fingers twirling the loose locks of baby hair, on the nape of her neck.
“I love the cello…” She whispered into Morticia's ear, scared to speak but needing to break the silent tension.
“I think I love it too.” Without looking, Larissa could tell she said it with a smile, “Thank you for introducing me to it. I never would have appreciated the cello if it weren’t for you.” She whispered low and breathy.
*
"Larissa dear? Is this a bad time?" Morticia questions hesitantly.
Larissa blinks out of the memory again and composes herself quickly. She is determined not to lose her professional calm just because Morticia is on the other end of the line. Many years ago, she made a promise to herself, never to let Morticia have the satisfaction of being the one that could get into her skin. She refuses to go back on that promise to herself, even if the memories are plaguing her and making it ten times more difficult.
"I apologize. I had another call come through." She says as she adjusts her knee-length pencil skirt before she sits in her office chair. "Who is this?" She does her best to sound calm and nonchalant as she feigns not knowing who is on the other line.
"...Oh. I'm sorry." The slight delay before the response is the initial indication of the pained surprise from Morticia. "I shouldn't assume that you would remember my voice, now that we're older. We have not seen each other for years. It's Morticia, dear." Her voice seems to take a more careful approach after not being remembered.
Larissa cautiously lets herself be pleased with her deception and for hurting Morticia. Even after all these years, she does not like knowing that she hurt her, but it doesn't compare to what Morticia put her through.
"Morticia. What can I do for you?" Larissa says distractedly as she busies herself with adjusting paperwork on her desk, attempting to make herself sound somewhat unavailable. She would rather get to the reason for her call than to catch up and prolong conversation with the person that hurt her so much.
This catches Morticia completely off-guard. "Well. I-…My daughter-" She cuts herself off and pauses, seemingly trying to gather her thoughts. "I would like to send my daughter to Nevermore. I know it’s the middle of the semester, but she needs to be at a school where there are…others like her. She’s not doing so well with the…normal crowd.” She pauses briefly, then her voice returns with a more pleading, cheerful tone, “Is that something that you can allow?”
Larissa grips the phone as Morticia finishes her request. A million thoughts race through her head in the span of seconds; Morticia’s child attending Nevermore? How can I deny this request? Would that mean Morticia visits during events? However, that would also mean the rest of her family joins too.
Morticia’s voice interrupts her spiraling thoughts a moment after her initial question, “I have submitted a copy of our request. It should make it to you today. She is an excellent student and very diligent about getting the best grades.” Her sultry voice trails off at the end, letting the “s” linger over the last word.
Larissa collects herself again and digs through the fresh pile of mail on the corner of her desk. She finds a black folder with pristine handwriting in silver ink, addressed to her, at Nevermore. A black wax seal with the letter “A” imprinted into it, secures the envelope shut. There is silence between them as she uses her finger to rip through the seal. The first thing she notices upon opening the envelope is the strong scent of Morticia’s perfume, a concoction she knows the macabre woman makes herself. The scent alone brings more memories to the forefront of her mind.
*
The cello slows down and softens as it reaches the resolution of the song. Larissa pulls Morticia in closer and softly, cautiously, buries her face into the smaller girl's neck. Roses fill her senses and heart. She never wanted this moment to end.
*
She pushes through the spiraling memories and unfolds the papers as she pulls them out of the envelope. One is a formal request written to the Nevermore Board of Directors. The next document is an official court order, for Wednesday Friday Addams to attend therapy sessions, with a detailed description of an incident. Skimming through the court order, a few key words jump out at her; brother, bullies, school pool, piranha, water polo athletes, mass panic, and testicle mutilation.
Larissa feels her mouth twitch into a half-smile after discerning the situation. Interesting.
The next document is a transcript for Wednesday’s scholarly career thus far. The words multi-lingual, aspiring author, and extremely talented cellist jump out at her.
Larissa pauses on one word, cellist. Even more interesting. Could that be an influence from Morticia and their young years as roommates?
The final document enclosed is a Personal Statement on cream parchment that seemed to be typed on a manual typewriter. Attached to the corner of the Personal Statement is a photo of Wednesday.
Her amused smile straightens into a fine line as she inspects the photo. It is a black and white portrait of the young woman. Her angular facial structure and large, dark eyes bear a striking resemblance to a young Gomez. Her full lips and deadpan expression, a signature of Morticia.
“She is the perfect amalgamation of you and Gomez, Morticia.” Larissa says through a tight jaw as she lays all but the last document on the desk.
“Perfect grades and a strong penchant for getting into trouble?” She utters nonplussed, leaning back in her chair. Morticia’s amused chuckle scratches an itch in her soul she didn't know she had.
Larissa grimaces and lays the statement down and scoots the documents forward on the desk away from her. The strong perfume was worsening her headache.
“What do you need from me, Morticia?” She says a little stronger than she meant to, as she massages her temple with her free hand.
“I was just hoping to…in a way...put a bug in your ear before they called a session. Maybe so you wouldn’t be surprised, and so you had more time to think it through.” Morticia’s tone is calm and hopeful.
It takes Larissa a second to reply as she attempts to placate the worsening headache.
“Thank you for the advance notice, Morticia. I will have a look at this request and see if we can…figure something out.” In the back of her head, she knows that it will be quick for the Board to make their decision. Anything to help an Outcast that is struggling in the Normie world. Especially for a Legacy. That is something they are always willing to do. However, she can’t help but try to make it seem like it would be more difficult for Morticia.
Larissa knew how easy Morticia had it. Not only was she good at everything under the sun, but she was beloved and coddled by everyone. Larissa would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that there was a slight jealousy toward her old roommate, but the infatuation with her always overcame that darkness.
“I look forward to hearing from you then.” Morticia’s voice comes through soft and expectant, as if she was waiting for something more.
“Have a good day.” Larissa utters as she lowers the phone from her ear. She taps the red button just in time to hear a distant “You too, dear.”
She sets her phone to the side and picks up the personal statement again. The statement seemed to be typed on a typewriter due to the courier font and slightly raised texture of the letters on the backside of the parchment. She reads through it carefully, intrigued by the Addams family daughter.
To whom it may concern,
I’m not sure whose twisted idea it was to put hundreds of adolescents in underfunded schools run by people whose dreams were crushed years ago…but I admire the sadism. All schools are the same, public and private.
Education is nothing but a game to me. Students strive to achieve the highest marks and few attempt to become the best in class. It’s futile to think anyone could out mark me in grades. I refuse to play a game with haughty, self-absorbed teenagers that are incapable of identifying the literary difference between Shirley Jackson and Mary Shelley. Just because mother was the top student when she was there, does not mean that I desire to follow in her footsteps. I refuse to subject myself to the constant comparison to her.
In closing, I don’t need to go to a special outcast boarding school to flourish. Do not take this, my personal statement, as groveling to be accepted. Take this as a warning. You don’t want me at Nevermore. I am not like my mother and I won’t be stimulated by your “stellar” curriculum.
Dreadful regards,
Wednesday Addams
Larissa scoffs and sets the letter aside.
She dejectedly slumps into her office chair letting herself feel unkempt for a moment. She lets the chair slowly turn towards the open window. Raindrops hit the glass and slide down into each other. She watches the droplets dance and become one to the cello still playing softly in the background. Lightning flashes through the dark clouds and thunder rolls encompassing the school in a dreary performance.
In a moment of weakness and longing, Larissa closes her eyes and lets the memories wash over her.
*
They dance confidently now. The music was reaching its peak and beginning its descent. They twirl around the room, in a world that is just them. Just them and the warm embrace of a melancholy cello and sultry harp. Two instruments so different in appearance and use, but together, make such ethereal sounds that are the epitome of everything that is beautiful in the world.
Larissa tightens her hold on Morticia’s waist, pressing her into herself more. Then leans back to look at her face. Morticia’s eyes are closed, a serene expression overtakes her features. Larissa takes one hand and glides it up the smaller girl's side. Her fingers graze Morticia’s arm, then they dance across exposed collarbones with goosebumps, and land on her jawline. She cups Morticia’s face, and studies every feature with passionate fervor. She feels Morticia tense against her. Her eyebrows furrow and lips part in anticipation. The cello drops out and all that is left are the final sparkling notes of the harp, urging her to act on her instinct. Larissa complies and on the final notes of the song, she presses her lips against Morticia’s. A sea of passion and radiant heat bursts from her heart. Her other hand leaves Morticia’s waist and cups the other side of her face desperately. The kiss deepens and Morticia’s hands clutch Larissa’s shoulders. Even through the thick coat, she can feel the tremulous strength in those fingers. After what seems like forever, they separate. Foreheads touch as they catch their breath.
Larissa’s heart feels like it's exploding. She contemplates the rest of the evening and how they would have to be surrounded by pompous fanfare instead of here, in the quiet of their room, together.
“Don’t go to the ball. Stay here. With me.” She pleads. She can feel Morticia’s lipstick smeared over her own lip gloss.
Larissa’s words seem to snap Morticia out of their shared real reverie.
“I…I can’t. I’m sorry.” She recoils from Larissa’s space, breathless and distressed. “I have to go.” She says panicked. She turns to grab her clutch and makes a beeline for the door.
“Morticia. Please don’t leave like this.” Larissa pleads, “I…I-lo”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Larissa.” Morticia stares directly into her eyes with certain finality. The fear in her eyes, a fast acting cement, pouring into every aspect of her soul. Morticia reaches for the door handle, opens the door and briskly walks out, letting the door click closed behind her.
The only thing left in the room was the liminal crackles of the record player needle indicating the end of the record, and the sorrowful drip of a tear hitting the hardwood floor.
*
The memory fades and Larissa opens her eyes, the documents from the Addams’ request are scattered in front of her, mocking her. The record player across the room just happens to shift to the end of the record as well, leaving pops and crackles to fill the room, just like in her memory. After all these years, the memory doesn't bring tears anymore. It only brings more disdain. She closes her eyes again and silently prays that she survives whatever is coming.
---------------
As expected, the Board makes a quick decision. Wednesday Addams is to begin classes at Nevermore, as soon as possible. Larissa smiles genuinely and thanks the Board for their kindness. She is instructed to call the Addam’s to give them the news at her earliest convenience. She puts it off to the very last second that evening.
The call was quick. She instructs Morticia on what school supplies & equipment Wednesday would need as well as a time to arrive. Morticia is ecstatic to hear the news and immediately lets the family know, hanging up promptly after Larissa finishes giving them the information.
Larissa breathes deeply and leaves to sort out Wednesday’s rooming situation with Thornhill.
---------------
That weekend, at noon, the Addams roll up to the front steps in their antique 1938 Pontiac. Larissa meets them at the front steps, doing her best to be as welcoming as she can be. Gomez flamboyantly offers his arm to his wife as she exits their vehicle. Larissa’s eyes meet Morticia’s for a moment. An excited warmth emanates from Morticia’s eyes, although her rigid, elegant posture shows otherwise. Larissa bows her head and without a word, gestures toward the entrance and leads the Addams family to her office.
----------------
“Wednesday is certainly a unique name.” Larissa states cheerfully, directed toward Wednesday, “I’m guessing it was the day of the week you were born.”
The younger girl doesn't skip a beat in response. “I was born on Friday the 13th.” She says deadpan and matter of factly.
The young woman sits rigidly, arms close to her body, her hands are clasped together resting on her knees; a seemingly impenetrable wall of macabre, teenage arrogance. Or maybe the arrogance is inherited from the Addams side of the family as well.
Morticia chimes in, happy to offer more context, “Her name comes from a line from my favorite childhood nursery rhyme, ‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe.’” She smiles tentatively. Morticia seems to be treading cautiously with her expressions.
Larissa straightens her back against her chair and reaches for the documents on her desk as she reminisces, “You always had a unique perspective on the world, Morticia.”
Morticia hums in amusement at the remark. Larissa turns to Wednesday and speaks directly to her, “Did your mother tell you we were roommates back in the day?” She smiles and shifts a condescending, yet coquettish gaze toward the other woman.
Morticia’s face twitches almost indiscernibly, but even after all these years, Larissa knows that the memories are flashing through the other woman's mind.
In a miniscule show of emotion, Wednesday leans forward, ”And you graduated with your sanity intact? Impressive.” She immediately leans back to her previous position.
Wednesday’s words seem to poke Morticia. It appears that the mother daughter relationship here was strained at best. This little fact brings a smile to Larissa’s face.
The tension between mother and daughter pleases her, but she decides to move forward with the in-processing, “You’ve certainly had a very interesting educational journey. Eight schools in five years.”
She didn't get a chance to question further, as Wednesday is quick to comment, “They haven't built one strong enough to hold me. I bet this place won't be any different.” She says arrogantly, with a slight grimace on her face.
“I believe what our daughter is trying to say is that she greatly appreciates the opportunity.” Gomez pipes up, his ever present optimism and peppiness always an annoyance to Larissa.
She doesn't dignify Gomez with a response.
“Nevermore doesn't usually accept students mid-term, but given Wednesday’s perfect grades and your family’s long history with the school, I’ve spoken with the board and we’ve made an exception.” She addresses them all as she clasps her hands together on the desk.
Gomez and Morticia reach to hold each other's hands, in joy, upon hearing the good news. Behind Wednesday’s careful mask, Larissa can tell that she does not share the same excitement as her parents.
They continue quiet conversation as they plan out the therapy sessions to comply with the court order. Once they settle on a plan, the only thing left is to take Wednesday up to her new dorm room to meet her new roommate and to get settled in, but Larissa was curious about one thing, and she let herself indulge.
“I read that you play the cello, as well.” She smiled towards Wednesday, expectant, “Cellos are truly wonderful. What drew you to it?”
“I’ve mastered many different types of instruments, but none of them were fulfilling.” The young woman pauses, seemingly contemplating how open she wants to be with her new principle.
Morticia shifts uncomfortably in her chair, knowing exactly what her daughter is going to say.
“Mother suggested it,” is all Wednesday offers.
Gomez, once again, inserts himself, “‘Tish has always been passionate about the comforting, warm timbre of a good cello performance. Right ‘Tish?” He turns to his wife with a goofy, loving grin on his face. He continues, “She has incredible taste with a whole library of Cello records, and scores! She began playing them for Wednesday, the day she came home from the hospital after being born! Wednesday never cried, but putting on those records was the only way we could get her to smile. It’s almost as if those passionate strings spoke to her very soul. ¿Verdad mi tormentita preciosa?” Gomez lightly grabs his daughter by her shoulders and leans forward to place a loud kiss to the top of her head.
Wednesday stays rigid but lets her father show her affection. Larissa did notice that several times, Gomez shared physical affection with his daughter but Morticia had not. That was another little observation that she files away against her old roommate.
Morticia makes eye contact with her across the desk. Larissa forces a smile and eyes Morticia knowingly, then shifts to acknowledge Wednesday, “Should we go meet your new roommate?”
---------------
After introducing Wednesday to her roommate, Enid Sinclair, Larissa sends them away to introduce Wednesday to the school layout. Gomez excused himself to get Lurch and Pugsly’s help with Wednesday’s bags. Morticia and Larissa are left alone in the girls’ room. Larissa stands tall, observing the other woman as she saunters around the room, inspecting it.
Morticia speaks first, “It reminds me of our room, …from our Nevermore days.” She reminisces as she picks up a large sparkly pink unicorn from Enid’s very colorful bed. She turns it around as if its the most interesting thing in the world.
Larissa takes a deep breath, “Does the cello remind you of those days as well?” She asks directly, without emotion.
Morticia slowly turns to face the taller woman. Her face is full of too many emotions, its impossible to pick out just one. She drops the stuffed unicorn onto the bed and clasps her fingers together over her midsection.
There is a long pause, with so much floating between them.
Larissa glares at her, waiting for her response. She sees Morticia’s shoulders and chest rise as she takes in deep, careful breaths. She can see her heartbeat in her long, slender throat. It appears to be racing strongly.
“It does.” The certainty in her voice is true but fragile. She continues, “I miss those days. Our room.” She pauses and swallows a lump in her throat, “Our time together.” Her voice trails off as she stares out the window.
Larissa tenses at the implication of those last words.
Morticia cautiously takes a single step closer toward her. Larissa maintains her straight posture and remains as still as possible, afraid if she moves even a single hair, that she would outwardly convey some sort of emotion.
“I miss you.” The words seem to glide truthfully out of those dark red lips. Morticia takes another step closer. “The night of the ball was our last day of senior year, because of Garrett’s death. It was the last time we saw each other and I shouldn't have left our room the way I did. I’m so so-”
Larissa cuts Morticia off as she takes a step toward her. She looks down at her, that heart shaped face slightly different than what she sees in her memories, older, wiser, but it still has that same hopeful light. “Don’t finish that sentence, because it’s far too late. I don't need an apology from you, Morticia. Not anymore. All of that is in the past. It never meant anything to begin with.”
Morticia fidgets with her fingers against her midsection. She seems taken aback by the sudden closeness.
Larissa leans down closer to Morticia, failing to hold back a sneer, “I haven't missed you. I have been perfectly happy not knowing about you.” She whispers, then leans back. “So let's keep this professional and forget most of what happened. We were roommates once but we weren't that close. And I didn't introduce you to those cello records you love so much. If anyone asks, you loved them well before you knew me.” Larissa desperately blinks back tears. “I was nothing to you then, and I am nothing but your daughter's principle now.” She takes a step back toward the door.
Morticia’s hands fell limply at her sides. A single tear fell down her cheek. Her rigid posture now broken and deflated.
Larissa takes another deep breath and folds her hands in front of her, in a polite manner, “I look forward to having your daughter here with us. I am sure she will find her place here with all the other Outcasts. Should you need anything relating to your daughter, please feel free to contact my assistant. She will be glad to assist you.” Larissa turns away and doesn't bother to take a last look, she doesn't want to have Morticia’s distraught face etched into her mind. She crosses the threshold into the hallway confidently, with her head held high. “Have a good day, Mrs. Addams.” She punctuates the goodbye with an emphasis on the “Mrs”. She excuses herself assertively and with finality.
---------------
Larissa takes long strides to her office. She stops by to see her assistant and excuses herself for the weekend.
She pushes the large wood doors open, slips inside and locks them closed. She leans against the closed doors and exhales a breath from deep within, that she had no idea she was holding.
After a few moments of staring at nothing, her eyes land on the record player next to the fireplace. She pulls open the doors of the cabinet it sits on, and pulls out an album. She knows exactly where it is. She always makes sure that it's the first one on the left.
It’s the same record from that night.
With trembling hands she lays it onto the platter and sets the needle over the area that she knows is the third track. A soft hiss and a pop emanate from the speakers as the needle finds its path. Finally, the harp & cello duet of Le cygne by Camille Saint-Saëns fills her large office.
Larissa makes her way to the other side of the room to the small bar and pours herself a small amount of scotch into a glass. She swirls it and brings it to her lips, tentatively. She pauses in a tiny moment of clarity and asks if she should let herself do this again. Not just the drink…but the escape into the memories. The cello begins to crescendo behind her and it gives her the courage to not let herself think about it. It calls her with its nostalgic voice. She quickly gulps down the shot, pours herself another glass, and brings the scotch filled decanter with her.
She walks over to the plush chair where Morticia sat earlier. She sits and makes herself comfortable in it. The other woman’s perfume lingered strongly in the fibers of the upholstery. Larissa slumps back, letting herself be surrounded by it.
She sits there most of the night drowning in the tears that she dares not cry. Drowning in the alcohol that numbs her mind and body. And most toxic of all, she lets herself drown in Morticia’s perfume and the ghosts of the memories that never leave her mind or heart.