Read Online Letters to Zell by Camille Griep - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Camille Griep
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trouble down the road?
I think if we just explained ourselves, we could make people see we’re being responsible. There are lots of people who know they do want to be parents. Like Rory, who’s been trying to get pregnant since she woke up. I wish it would happen for her. Maybe the problem stems from an excess of sleep. Maybe it’s Henry. Maybe she’s trying too hard or not hard enough.
Come to think of it, maybe we can ask Figgy to help. It’s the least she can do. Whether or not you believe Bianca’s claim that Figgy’s addendum of Henry to Rory’s Pages wasn’t binding, Figgy owes Rory for saddling her with that idiot. I’ve had my quibbles with Figgy. (Rory and Bianca keep telling me that the birds she sent to help me prepare for Edmund’s ball were a lovely gesture. But they didn’t have to clean up all the bird shit afterward. And don’t even get me started on the starlings that attacked Darling and Sweetie at my wedding.)
But I’ll forgive and forget for Rory’s sake. We need some sort of potion, and Figgy knows how to make one.
Love,
CeCi
Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
Onyx Manor
West Road, Grimmland
Z,
So, I’m sitting at Shambles with a couple of the dwarves and we’re reminiscing over old times in the cabin in the wood, arguing over who folded the best origami napkins and how Ben was constantly nailing “No Soliciting” placards onto the house for my benefit. CeCi stomps in looking purposeful. Max and Tripp finish their martinis and excuse themselves so they can head off to pick out a new end table at Three Bears Antiques.
CeCi barely registers their departure, sliding into a stool on the other side of me and brushing the peanut shells from the table. I pour her a cider from my pitcher and she drinks it down in two big gulps. She shovels a few pretzels into her mouth, drinks half of another glass, and lets go a rather large belch.
“Bianca,” she says. “You’ve taught me something.”
“Certainly not table manners.” I drop a pile of paper napkins in her lap. “But do tell.”
“It’s good to be proactive.”
“Okay,” I say, eyeing her cider. “How many of these did you have before you came over?”
“It’s good to be brave, Bianca. To keep moving.” She draws a line in the air with her palm. “I worked my whole childhood and, even though I was miserable, I knew my purpose. Now, I’m not miserable. Fine, I’m a little miserable. Because I have no purpose. Yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell anyone how much Cordon Bleu means to me.”
I am momentarily relieved that her behavior seems to be some crisis of gratitude. “It’s no big deal. You know, I wanted to explore Outside, anyway.”
“I’m serious, Bianca. Your being brave helps me be brave.”
“Seriously, stop it with the gushing or I’ll cut you off.” I slide the already empty pitcher of cider away from her.
“You know how I hate kids?”
“There we go,” I say, slapping the table. “That’s more like it.”
She gives me a shove. “You know what I’m saying, like how I don’t want kids?”
“Yes. I am acutely aware.”
“You know how Rory really wants kids?”
“Are we playing a game of Twenty Questions We Already Know the Answer To?”
She flaps her hands in frustration. “Come on, Bianca.”
“Then yes. I’d have to be deaf not to know both yours and Rory’s stance on child—”
“I can help. We can help.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how sex works, CeCi.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. We can go to Figgy.”
Neither of us is a big Figgy fan, so I am less than enthused. “How’s Figgy going to help?”
“Fertility potion,” she says, and sweeps the pretzel crumbs into a neat pile. “Figgy saddled Rory with Henry, so she should make things right.”
I grit my teeth. I’ve tried, for Rory’s sake, to drop the subject of her revised Pages. Seems to me Fred’s banishment more than paid for his mistake,
I think if we just explained ourselves, we could make people see we’re being responsible. There are lots of people who know they do want to be parents. Like Rory, who’s been trying to get pregnant since she woke up. I wish it would happen for her. Maybe the problem stems from an excess of sleep. Maybe it’s Henry. Maybe she’s trying too hard or not hard enough.
Come to think of it, maybe we can ask Figgy to help. It’s the least she can do. Whether or not you believe Bianca’s claim that Figgy’s addendum of Henry to Rory’s Pages wasn’t binding, Figgy owes Rory for saddling her with that idiot. I’ve had my quibbles with Figgy. (Rory and Bianca keep telling me that the birds she sent to help me prepare for Edmund’s ball were a lovely gesture. But they didn’t have to clean up all the bird shit afterward. And don’t even get me started on the starlings that attacked Darling and Sweetie at my wedding.)
But I’ll forgive and forget for Rory’s sake. We need some sort of potion, and Figgy knows how to make one.
Love,
CeCi
Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
Onyx Manor
West Road, Grimmland
Z,
So, I’m sitting at Shambles with a couple of the dwarves and we’re reminiscing over old times in the cabin in the wood, arguing over who folded the best origami napkins and how Ben was constantly nailing “No Soliciting” placards onto the house for my benefit. CeCi stomps in looking purposeful. Max and Tripp finish their martinis and excuse themselves so they can head off to pick out a new end table at Three Bears Antiques.
CeCi barely registers their departure, sliding into a stool on the other side of me and brushing the peanut shells from the table. I pour her a cider from my pitcher and she drinks it down in two big gulps. She shovels a few pretzels into her mouth, drinks half of another glass, and lets go a rather large belch.
“Bianca,” she says. “You’ve taught me something.”
“Certainly not table manners.” I drop a pile of paper napkins in her lap. “But do tell.”
“It’s good to be proactive.”
“Okay,” I say, eyeing her cider. “How many of these did you have before you came over?”
“It’s good to be brave, Bianca. To keep moving.” She draws a line in the air with her palm. “I worked my whole childhood and, even though I was miserable, I knew my purpose. Now, I’m not miserable. Fine, I’m a little miserable. Because I have no purpose. Yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell anyone how much Cordon Bleu means to me.”
I am momentarily relieved that her behavior seems to be some crisis of gratitude. “It’s no big deal. You know, I wanted to explore Outside, anyway.”
“I’m serious, Bianca. Your being brave helps me be brave.”
“Seriously, stop it with the gushing or I’ll cut you off.” I slide the already empty pitcher of cider away from her.
“You know how I hate kids?”
“There we go,” I say, slapping the table. “That’s more like it.”
She gives me a shove. “You know what I’m saying, like how I don’t want kids?”
“Yes. I am acutely aware.”
“You know how Rory really wants kids?”
“Are we playing a game of Twenty Questions We Already Know the Answer To?”
She flaps her hands in frustration. “Come on, Bianca.”
“Then yes. I’d have to be deaf not to know both yours and Rory’s stance on child—”
“I can help. We can help.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how sex works, CeCi.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. We can go to Figgy.”
Neither of us is a big Figgy fan, so I am less than enthused. “How’s Figgy going to help?”
“Fertility potion,” she says, and sweeps the pretzel crumbs into a neat pile. “Figgy saddled Rory with Henry, so she should make things right.”
I grit my teeth. I’ve tried, for Rory’s sake, to drop the subject of her revised Pages. Seems to me Fred’s banishment more than paid for his mistake,
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