The rest of the meal had just as many particularities.
The muffins from the Food Gryphon were too chewy, the sprouts from the produce aisle not springy enough. The sprouts had to come from Saddlethorne farm, and the muffins were purchased from the bakery in town. The avocados were normal avocados, and those could be purchased with the rest of their groceries, not requiring any special machinations. He’d whooped dramatically at the news.
“Well, thank Varbok for small favors, Bluebell. You sure you don't want me to buy a few hectares of land somewhere tropical, keep you in avocados that meet your approval?”
She had laughed, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him down until he met her mouth with his own, his thick tusks nearly getting caught in her hair. She was well aware of the concessions he was making to his ego to even prepare this dish for her, the only thing she was craving, a menu item from Clover Bistro, one she simply referred to as ‘Tate’s egg sandwich,’adding a heap of insult onto Khash’s injury in learning to make it.
“I don't know what kind of finicky little flower-pickin’ princess you're cooking up in there that all she wants to eat is somethin’ dreamt up by that slitherin’ snake, but she’d better come down off her cloud eventually, Bluebell. Breakfast can’t require three separate shopping trips forever. We can’t be livin’ high on the hog until she’s in college.”
She’d laughed in outrage, pausing only long enough to take a bite of her perfectly dippy egg. She didn’t care what he said. It was the perfect breakfast, fresh and comforting and well worth the multiple stops around town. “Like you’re not going to spoil her rotten every day of her life. Excuse you, who’s the one who was looking at fancy tricycles ‘just to put away’ the other day? Right before he had to special order his prime rib from a specific out-of-state farm because he ‘can’t abide a butcher who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.’ If this is a princess, she’s inheriting your crown.”
Pressing the back of her knuckle to the concave dome of her egg, Lurielle hummed in satisfaction to find it still warm. Yes, she knew what it had cost him to swallow down learning to make this dish perfectly, mumbling about Tate and hound dogs not changing their spots throughout the entire learning process, but she had her breakfast every morning.
Most importantly, Lurielle had discovered her husband could withhold his judgment and keep a secret when it counted.
Beside her splatter-guard-covered egg sat a small dessert plate covered in a paper towel.
For my princess and my queen. Have a good day.
XOXO Big Daddy
Her laughter caught in her throat, the kitchen blurring in tears for a moment before she wiped them away. He’d been callinghimself that for the past month, a small taste of what she had to look forward to for the indefinite future, not that she minded.
The bacon was cooked exactly the way she liked it, crisp without being burnt, the white streaks of fat going creamy in her mouth, rather than being too chewy. Another byproduct of Tate’s kitchen, one Khash had to choke down as he learned to prepare it the same way at home after she’d sampled a slice from his place, the last time they stayed at the cabin.
Lurielle was convinced it was the orc growing inside her that made her crave the salty meat, not something she could admit to any of her friends or co-workers. She was half-convinced her mother would be able to smell it through the phone, would begin wailing that Lurielle had been corrupted by her chosen partner, turning her back on her Elvish ways.
It seemed fitting that the first time she’d tried bacon was at Clover, its missing owner having been the one who’d snarked that Elves being obligatory vegetarians was asilly,modern affectation.
The baby wanted it. She was going to be a good mother. It was her job to provide for her child’s needs in any way she could, Lurielle told herself, eyes fluttering shut as she dipped the illicit meat into the split-open egg yolk. And no one outside her home needed to know about it.
Junie growled at her feet, tired of waiting patiently for a taste.
“Oh, stop it,” Lurielle admonished. “Are you finally going to learn to be a good girl when your new brother or sister is here? Because naughty girls definitely don’t get bacon.”
He made four slices every morning, exactly the way she liked them. Two for her, and one each for Junie and Ordo.Equitable parenting. He really is going to be the best dad.
All too quickly, it was nearly time for her to get dressed.
That morning’s conversation with her mother replayed in her head beneath the spray of the shower, along with every call and text from her during the past few months.
I’m just thinking about you, dear. I just wanted to hear your voice, darling.You need to take care of yourself now. You have different priorities now. You actually matter now. Now. Now. Now.
Lurielle had always known her mother’s love by its conditions. She saw glimmers of it when she managed to fit in and when she earned the praise of others, but it had always arrived painted over with a wash of disapproval. It had never come unprompted. It had never beenunconditional.
Love that’s conditional is not love you need to make room for.
It wasn’t and sheknewthat . . . but that didn’t keep the little elf she’d once been from desperately wanting it. Didn’t keep her heart from desperately wishing it were genuine, even as her brain demanded she hit the brakes.
She knew her mother well enough at that point, knew that no matter how manyI’m just thinking of youcalls she made, she would find fault in the end. She could forget that her grandchild would be half-Orcish when it was still an abstract concept, but once they were here . . .nope. You’re not even going to give her the chance to make them feel the way she made you feel.
A small part of her that she didn’t like to acknowledge still desperately craved her mother’s approval and was enjoying this acceptance without effort, butthatwas something she could work out in therapy. Allowing it to happen to herself all over again was something she could take steps to avoid. Allowing it to happen to her child was a non-option.
She was going to be a good mother. And that meant keeping her own mother’s toxicity at bay.
Lurielle paused before the third bedroom, once she was dressed.
When she had bought this house, the notion of having even one additional bedroom outside the one she’d be occupying felt luxurious. The third felt almost wasteful. As foolish as buying a house on an ogre and minotaur tract, one designed for larger species, like her neighbor. She’d reconciled herself to a future of having to use a stepladder in every room, and that concession had been so great that the additional, unneeded bedroom had barely registered as worthy of notice.
