Stories from the Savvy Simmer - Chapter 6: Dangerous Little Differences

Stories from the Savvy Simmer

Pinups' Place: Emily Doll

Chapter Six: Dangerous Little Differences

Norman took three days off after the wedding so that he and Emily could spend quality time together. He'd said he loved when she baked, so she whipped up a quick plate of pre-mixed brownies and spent a little time out in the backyard with her entry-level baking book, Let's Mix! It wasn't a hefty volume; by the time she was finished she understood how to make bagels, tarts, muffins, and pies.

Reached Baking Level 3!

Norman joked that she was going to make a glutton of him and ruin all his hard training for yet another promotion at work. He did not seem satisfied to remain at one level for too long, and to a homebody like Emily, she wondered how he could do it all. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she still wanted to be her own boss.
"I hate the idea of a nine to five," she told her new husband as they sat out in the front yard together in front of the campfire one late afternoon. "But I'm not a very good writer."
"Bull," Norman said instantly. "I've read your fan fiction. The Werewolf Sim Strikes Again, by Emily Doll."
"You read it?" She laughed and rolled her eyes. "I'm going to have to protect my documents with a password! Don't tell anybody I write Werewolf Sim stuff."
"You're such a freaking geek," said Norman with a chuckle. But there was love in his eyes; she could plainly see it. She privately thought that she might just let him continue to read her silly fan fiction, if he wanted. That was why she beamed at him instead of punching him in the arm.
"I like your stories," he insisted. "Don't stop writing them. They're interesting and detailed. I want to know if Jasim Statham gets out of that crazy bind with that ogre. And why there's an ogre in Desiderata Valley in the first place."
"Something interesting," she said with a shrug. "It's not really that good." But she was proud of herself, of Norman's opinion of it. Truth be told, Emily missed writing, but she stopped because she never really thought she'd get anywhere with it. She was pulled from her memories of pessimistic people telling her she'd probably never achieve her dreams when she realized her husband was speaking to her.
"...stories, you know."
"Er...what?" She quirked a finely arched brow and tried to look innocently sheepish, as if she'd at least heard some of what he said.
He shrugged it off in that easy, carefree way of his and repeated, "I write my own stories, you know."
"Oh, yeah?" That eyebrow lifted. His admission surprised her. It seemed there was no limit to surprises with the man she loved. The alien she loved. She was still coming to terms with her everyday life.
"Uh-huh." He nodded his red head and skewed a fat marshmallow on the end of a long stick, holding it into the crackling orange flames that leaped from the fire pit.
"How come I've never seen any in your documents on the computer downstairs?" Emily asked.
"It's in my tablet. That stays on me."
Before Emily could think of something to say to this, Norman said, "You wanna hear it?" without waiting for a reply. "Once upon a time, okay. There was this young Sim who survived a terrible attack as a baby. He was dumped on his aunt and uncle's doorstep with a message after his parents died. His aunt and uncle didn't want to take him in. The boy's aunt and mother had fallen out of touch over the years and didn't like each other. Still, his aunt took him in out of pure obligation, and do you know where she kept him?"
"Let me guess." Emily pursed her lips.
"Under the stairs!" gasped Norman, his voice hushed.
"...That's Henry Puffer and the Enchanted Chalice, Norm," interjected Emily.
"No, come on. Okay, so he's eleven years old now, right? This Sim."
"Yeah? What's his name?"
"...Harold."
"Harold?"
"Yeah. Harold...Palmer."
"Give me a break." Emily snorted and started to laugh.
"As it happens," said Norman, frowning and pressing on stubbornly, "Harold is eleven years old and..."
"...and he goes to a fantastical boarding school for witches and wizards?"
"No! You didn't let me finish."
"Harold is eleven years old and he's taken from his unkind aunt and uncle's house by a grizzly giant-Sim, who takes him to a magical zoo. Okay, and at this magical zoo, there's a black zebra with white stripes."
"Zebras are white with black stripes," said Emily.
"This one was black with white," insisted Norman. "And he told Harold that he could have anything he wanted if he only wished for it."
"This story sucks," said Emily with a laugh.
"Hey, I didn't make fun of your story!" Norman mock-frowned and shoved Emily's shoulder.
"Ahh! Norman!" Emily's hazel eyes bugged as her pale arm shot up in glowing orange flames. She screamed and flailed her arm wildly, then stopped, dropped, and rolled in the grass. By the time she caught her breath to scream at Norman, she realized he was running for the house, giggling.

She screamed and flailed her arm wildly...

Giggling? "What the FUCK, NORMAN?!" Emily tore after him. She half wished her arm was still on fire so she could beat him with it. She could swear she had just heard laughter. 

Yes. He was laughing as she cornered him against the wall in the kitchen, shoving a finger into his chest. "Why would you shove me into the fire?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I'm sorry," he gasped in between peals of laughter. "I'm...sorry. It was just...hilarious...the way you...screamed and dropped...to the...ground like a...gravity...dependent...OOMPH!"

He lost all breath to laugh or to taunt her as she sent a petite foot straight into his groin. 

"It's hilarious that you set me on fire?"

He didn't answer her for a few minutes. He couldn't. He was too busy holding himself, and rolling around on the kitchen floor just as she had been rolling in the grass. She stomped away from him before she could think of something worse to do. What a way to begin a honeymoon. 

When he came to their room, he found her seated on the edge of their bed. "I...guess that didn't tickle," he said weakly.

"Tickle?" Emily turned to stare at him in astonishment. "Burns hurt!"

"They hurt?" Norman actually sounded dubious. 

"What, you've never seen someone catch fire in the movies?"

"Yeah, but...those are actors. I don't hurt when I get burned."

"Well, isn't that good to know," snapped Emily. "I do!" 

He had a weird flashback to their recent wedding vows and sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Em," he said in a muffled voice. "I feel so stupid." 

"I'm going to go make spaghetti sauce," she growled in response, pushing past him. Living with an alien was a lot more than she'd bargained for. 

So was cooking. She spent an hour and a half in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and swearing as the sharp blade sliced into her once or twice. Norman just busied himself with his basement blueprints and decided he'd build himself a man cave down there. 

"I'm gonna learn how to make ice cream," she growled when she finally presented him with a plate of spaghetti for dinner. Norman thought he'd better shut up and eat it, even though it tasted like feet. He said, "Sounds great, babe!" even as he wondered whether her ice cream was going to be horrible, too.

"Might even take up gardening." 

"Awesome."

"Will you make space outside for some fruit trees?" Emily asked with a resigned sigh. She might as well accept that while she was a decent baker, she'd probably always be a terrible cook. She could see the way Norm's human mouth puckered up in disgust when he ate the forkful of spaghetti he'd spent five minutes twirling around on his plate until she said something. When he saw her watching him he quickly tried to hide it, and she spent a brief moment wondering why he tried to hard to please her. She was moody and irascible at her worst, but mellow-mannered Norman seemed to be able to handle it. More than that, he did so with a smile and a good attitude most days. 

"Sure, babe. Whatever you want."

"I want apples," she said. "And plantains. And Norman?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for putting up with me the way you do. But I swear if you ever push me into the fire pit again, I'm going to punch you right in your human junk as hard as I possibly can."

"Yep. Okay."

"You can stop eating that," she added.

"Thank you," he said with his mouth full. He took her plate, too, and went to scrape them both into the garbage. 

Emily dialed up Cherry Dollface and headed to the living room to watch the cooking channel. Maybe her good buddy could teach her how to make Goopy Carbonara without wanting to hurl.