Work Text:
———
The last scene of The Tale of Despereaux unfolded on screen before Gabriella. All the characters Despereaux had befriended in the previous acts gathered for soup, as the other mice watched in hiding. Hey eyes blurred over at the tender closure—all the royal family, Mig, a mouse, and a rat were all sat at the same table.
Although the book and film were meant for children, Gabriella never let that stop her from enjoying it. She was a firm believer that "children's media" should hold up under scrutiny from adults. A solid story should be able to be enjoyed regardless of age—French shows and books were particularly good at this. She didn't grow up watching much television except for figure skating, but she loved to escape reality by reading. Her favorite books growing up included Histoire de Babar, Le Petit Prince, anything by Jules Verne, The Three Robbers. She also devoured the Arsène Lupin books in one month at the tender age of twelve—perhaps not recommended, but she certainly had a hell of a good time.
Her French friends with children, few and far between as they were, told her there were many suitable shows and books that had released on this side of the century. Of course, they also exposed their children to the books and shows they had grown up on as well. Fairytales and folk myths were timeless and immortal, after all.
Her American friends, especially Madison, spoke affectionately about Mister Rodgers' Neighborhood, Sesame Street, Reading Rainbow, Between the Lions. Books included Anne of the Green Gables, Winnie the Pooh, Mary Poppins, Peter Rabbit, Paddington, and The Tale of Despereaux. On Madison's personal recommendation, Gabriella had read the original book by Kate DiCamillo and then watched the movie.
The book was much, much better than the movie—DiCamillo's writing style had such richness and a distinctive voice that the visual media failed to capture. Despite that, she found herself rewatching the movie whenever the Canadian weather was dreary and grey. As rain had tapped against her window, she had set up her laptop on her folding desk and pulled up her folder of films.
(The joys of the high seas, as Madison was fond of saying. Yarrr.)
And that was how she ended up holding back tears at the story of a little mouse. A very adorable little mouse.
In a effort to keep the tears from escaping, Gabriella forced her mind to think of something else. she kept going back to the soup that the Chef had presented—she wanted to try it for herself. What better time would there be, if not now? She had a day off tomorrow, so no need to sleep. Surely someone on the internet had a recipe. Gabriella had gone shopping at a farmer's market yesterday, so her food stores were stocked. It was certainly soup weather.
Without glancing at the time, Gabriella pulled on her socks and headed for the kitchen, laptop in hand. Huzzah! As a matter of fact, several people had figured out a suitable recipe for the Chef's soup. She wasn't the only one thinking about it. In her dim kitchen, Gabriella checked her fridge and pantry. She had the right ingredients for one of the recipes. Well, not exactly a recipe—more like suggestions and a list of ingredients. Her cooking skills were good enough that she could riff off this, however.
Gabriella pulled a tub of chicken stock, a head of garlic, an onion, leeks, celery, watercress, and carrots. She skipped the bacon, but pulled out some peeled chicken breasts.
First, to make a mirepoix. Gabriella pulled out a cutting board from a cabinet rack and checked the knives in her roll. Her chef's knife could use some sharpening, but it would do for tonight. She could run it on the whetstone tomorrow. As she peeled an onion over a plastic bag, the kitchen light suddenly came on. Gabriella's heart jumped in her throat and she almost dropped the precious white onion.
"Babe, what the hell are you doing?" Madison rubbed her eye as her creaky voice traveled across the small kitchen. Her hair was a mess and her pants hung low on her hips, fresh from starfish-ing on the guest bed.
(She was the most breathtaking woman Gabriella had ever seen.)
Gabriella froze. In her excitement to make the soup, she'd forgotten she had a house guest tonight. Madison had come over to hang out with her for the weekend. "Erm. Making soup?"
"At three in the morning?"
"Is is three?" Gabi was taken aback. She hadn't realized it was so late. But her vegetables were already washed and her onion was peeled now, so she decided to continue. "Sorry for waking you. I'll keep quiet." She originally had planned to turn some music on, but she was willing to work in silence so that Madison could get some sleep. By changing the angle and strength of her cuts, the thumps and thunks of the knife blade were muted.
Madison sidled up to her and leaned on her shoulder. Her slightly taller frame was a comforting weight. "What brought this on?"
"I was rewatching Despereaux…" Gabriella trailed off when she heard Madison's knowing chuckle. The other woman had been on the receiving end of past-Gabriella's tearful voicemails and blubbering over the phone. The first time Gabriella read the book, she'd sent live voice memo reactions per Madison's request. And there were always certain beats in the film that pulled tears out of her on a bad day. A few times, Gabriella had just sent SOUP via text with zero context or preamble.
(Madison always sent back a soup emoji. It was cute.)
Madison stepped back. Gabriella assumed she was heading back to bed, but instead the other woman asked her for a cutting board.
"You don't have to help, you know? It's three in the morning." Gabriella put her knife down and scooped the diced onion into a bowl.
"If you're up, I'm up." Madison had the sleeves of her pajama shirt already hiked up to her elbows. "I've always wanted to taste the soup, too."
Gabriella could only give a soft chuckle at the curiosity. She was secretly relieved that Madison decided to stay. Making a soup with four hands instead of two was much easier. She divided the vegetables between them both, then clicked her radio on. Might as well make a memory of it.
———
