Chapter Text
Virtue can only flourish among equals. – Mary Wolfstonecraft
The curtains at the flat in the city are in desperate need of replacement. This is the first thought that crosses Judy’s mind as she steps across the threshold and takes in the place. It’s been several months since their last visit, and the age of the place finally strikes her. Nick is a day behind her, choosing to spend one more day of the work week at the bank – ever since it opened, with the help of the Bigs, he had been there every day, morning ‘til dinner. Judy didn’t comment, and she didn’t mind. She joined him on occasion, but only when they were alone. She had not inherited her mother’s savvy for business and numbers, and the men at the bank seemed to think her a sort of decoration for Mr. Wilde’s office.
It’s just the way they are, darling. He would say this often, when she arrived for lunch or to bring him home. It’s just the way they are.
Judy did not particularly care for that excuse, however correct it may be. Bringing it up to her mother, or even Nick’s only prompted a quick, “Choose your battles, dear,” from both women. Her father and father-in-law were completely dumb about the issue entirely – and so, Judy was left to tolerate and accept these terms on her own.
But. She is getting distracted.
“The curtains,” she says, out loud, so as to orient herself. “The curtains need to be replaced.”
“Ma’am?” Nina, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Otterton who had come to work for them some months before, speaks up, carrying her own little bag. “Is there something I need to run out and get for you?”
Judy smiles. “No, not for this. I’ll have someone come by this afternoon and take a look. We shouldn’t need much of anything, really. Except…” She thinks about her little writing desk in the library Nick had gifted her. “Paper,” she decides. “We’ll unpack and take a walk. The weather is lovely right now.”
Nina nods. “Of course. A decent chill now and then is good for the bones, my father always says.”
“Well, I won’t disagree with the cleverest gardener I know,” Judy says, and heads upstairs to her room.
It takes a few minutes for Judy to establish herself, but after a wrong turn or two, she’s found her way to her favorite stationary shop in the city. It’s different from back home – here, she has options, and she prefers to make a few stops when she goes on these sort of supply runs: paper, from Mr. Green; ink, from Mrs. Woolette; and books, from the smaller shop just across from their favorite café. The old sheep who runs the place, Mr. Shear, reminds her of Mr. Humboldt in the paper shop back home. He understands Judy well, now, and whenever she knows she’ll be in the city, she writes ahead to ask him to set aside a few things for her to browse.
He is her first stop today, and he doesn’t disappoint.
“Mrs. Wilde! I wondered if today would be the day.” He carefully steps off the ladder he’s using to shelve a few returned books and gives her a smile. “I suppose you had to unpack first.”
“You know if I could, I’d be here the moment I arrived.” She pulls off her gloves – the air is getting cooler, now, and winter will be here soon. She finds her skin beneath her fur prickles at the thought, the memory of a stolen dance still ruling her dreams. “What did you find for me this time?”
He smiles, holding up one hoof and setting a handful of books wrapped in brown paper on the counter. “These are a surprise, my dear. I think you’ll enjoy each and every one of them.”
“Oh!” Judy peers closely, as if trying to divine the titles through the wrappings, and laughs. “I love it.” She pays for her books and, after a few more moments of small talk, returns to her errands.
Paper and ink in hand, she arrives home just in time to meet the decorator, a rather energetic tiger.
“Serendipitous!” he says, and bows slightly. “Lovely to meet the new Mrs. Wilde. Your elder is a lovely woman, and she had told me so much about you.”
“Mr. Craft, I presume?”
“Indeed.” He allows her to enter before him and takes her coat. “A wonderful place. It was lovely when your husband’s family bought it, and it is still lovely now. But, new tenants, new ideas! The message you had delivered said something about the curtains…” He wanders through to the sitting room, talking to himself. Judy isn’t accustomed to these sorts of things. She only knew to send a letter on to Mr. Craft because Nick’s mother had told her who to meet with when she needed certain things for the flat. Passing on the deed to the two of them had been her new in-law’s wedding gift – one of many, at least. Judy had never thought to really make it a proper home until they began spending more time there in order to negotiate deals for the bank.
Now, it feels like her own. And she intends to make it that way.
Mr. Craft returns to his senses and brings out fabric swatches. It is all rather…dull, in practice. Judy had once thought the duties of making a home would be more interesting, somehow. She isn’t sure why, though. Perhaps because her mother-in-law seemed to come to it so naturally, or because her own home growing up had always had her mother’s charm.
Judy wonders if Nick might be better suited to this, but…
She is his wife, and these are, apparently her responsibilities.
She picks green, a color they both love, and one Mr. Craft adores.
“Impeccable tastes, Mrs. Wilde. The family reputation continues to live on through you.” He folds up the swatches and makes a few notes. “Your husband is in town?”
“Not until tomorrow. He had business back home.”
Mr. Craft nods. “Of course. I’ll send these along tomorrow then, to get his approval and signature.”
Judy frowns. “…Approval?”
“Well, the money is Mr. Wilde’s, as is the home. He’ll have to sign for any fabric we purchase or have made.”
Judy laughs. “My husband is…rather busy, at the moment. I’m not sure he’d remember to even get dressed these days if I wasn’t there to remind him.” She reaches for the pen. “I’ll—”
Mr. Craft pulls back. With a smile, of course.
“I understand what you mean, Mrs. Wilde. I hardly understand how my own wife puts up with me. But the costs will technically be incurred by your husband, and so I must get your husband’s approval to transfer funds and make purchases. But you did the important part! That color is wonderful, Mrs. Wilde, you truly have an eye for decorating. Now, perhaps we could discuss this furniture.” He stands, turning to the couch. “It is in dire need of reupholstering.”
Judy only stares, and the conversation quite literally moves on without her, as she attempts to reconcile her situation and her emotions.
It proves to be a challenge.
The first thing Judy plans to do when Nick walks through the door is ask him quite plainly why she was so elegantly rebuffed yesterday by a decorator.
What they actually do is for more interesting – she finds that she doesn’t mind too much.
“It’s been an entire day and a half since I saw you last,” he says, adjusting his position in their bed. “I was distraught.”
“And somehow, you managed.” Judy presses a kiss to his cheek. “My brave, brave husband.”
He smiles. “And what did my clever wife get up to while I was away?”
She laughs. “A bit of this, a bit of that. Mr. Shear gave me a few new books, but they’re surprises, apparently. I haven’t had to time to look them over.” And then she remembers: “There are papers for you to sign. I picked out new fabric for the curtains in the sitting room.”
“Mother was always planning on getting around to that.”
“Perhaps she didn’t have your father’s permission,” Judy says blandly, without thought.
Nick stiffens beside her. “Did something happen?” An immediate question, because Judy hardly says startling things without cause.
“I…no. No, of course not.”
Nick reaches and tips her chin up, raises a brow. “Judith.”
She sighs. “Well. Mr. Craft helped me pick out a design, and then wondered when you would return. He said…he said it was your money, and your property. You need to approve the purchase. I thought it was rather ridiculous, of course. You and I share everything, and you weren’t even here—”
Nick suddenly kisses her, and Judy stills.
“I understand why it would bother you.”
“Well of course it bothers me.”
“But our paying a business to do work on this house is a little different that you taking money out to buy books, Judy. It’s more expensive, for one.”
“I’m aware of the costs, Nicholas.”
“And it’s a legally binding relationship. We’ll sign a contract for the work, for the funds. This is the first time we’ve done this, together.”
“I negotiated most of the work on our home in the Burrow,” she argues. “I planted the roses, Nick!” She sits up in bed, arms folded over her chest. “How is this different?”
“You negotiated that work with people who know your father, and you. If you’d been a stranger to them, they’d have defaulted to me. And don’t,” he adds quickly, “act like that wouldn’t have been the case. Judy, please. This isn’t something to become enraged about. It’s not like the college, or the wedding, or the bank—”
“It is to me!” she insists. “I am your wife, and your partner. Why should we be unequal in the eyes of a man who is only going to order cloth and hang it from a pole! It’s ridiculous! It’s utterly ridiculous, and I won’t—”
He kisses her again, and this time she doesn’t resist.
She is really going to have to ask him to stop doing that. But, later. When they’re finished. And when she’s had time to think it all through.
After lunch, Nick disappears from her again. She is left with the lingering warmth of his paw on her cheek, and only the company of tea and her stack of unopened books.
The first is a book of poems that she has had her eye on for some time, and she is grateful to Mr. Shear for the chance to have it. The rest are novels, exactly her taste, exactly her preference, and she likes that she can trust that sort of thing to someone, when it is so difficult for her to choose just one book, let alone four or five.
The last book is…not a book at all. It is a leather bound journal, plain on all sides, with a note tucked inside it.
My dear Mrs. Wilde – I look forward to the day when I set aside one of your own novels for my customers. Until then, happy reading.
–S.
Judy’s paw curls over the spine of the journal. How long had it been since she’d written something of substance, something that she truly loved? Since she’d been married, but that was only her own fault. Nick had given her a wonderful space in both the flat and the house in the Burrow. He often inquired about her writing, and Judy was always willing to speak on it – but lately it had become…stale. Stagnant.
She realizes with a jolt that she’s lost a bit of the fire, and it frightens her.
Hadn’t her goal always been to be published? Didn’t she want that? Had marriage dulled her desire? Shifted it elsewhere?
No, she thinks. I am still a writer. I am still Judith Hopps, still precisely who I am. Only married, with a different name, a different house, and better ink.
She opens the journal, admiring the wide margins and quality of the paper.
And then -- a smile curls over her lips. Her story. The thought of it gracing the pages of her journal makes her giddy with excitement. After all – she is a girl who crossed lines and married into the impossible. She came from little and now lives with plenty. She married for love, into another species, another family, supposedly her enemy. A laugh bubbles up –
This is her book, and her life.
What better story to write than her own?