Strange Tales from the Bedroom

Cheerilee swirled her cup of coffee and waited, mulling over Big Mac’s story. The stallion himself had left a few minutes before, leaving her feeling the way she always did when they parted—empty and a bit cold. She needed to get the meal ready, but it was hard to say goodbye to him and then just throw herself at the next task with wild abandon as if nothing had happened. So she had made herself a cup and just sat quietly, thinking.

In some ways she found it a bit silly, imagining him singing some sort of rap song or something. He really didn’t strike her as the sort, but that was part of the fun of getting to know him a bit more. Cheerilee smiled and chuckled softly to herself. Maybe I can convince him to sing for me, the next time we meet.

As she thought it, her good mood turned slightly sour. Big Mac was right; all this secrecy was starting to get to her too, but she still felt reluctant, given her concerns with Big Mac’s younger sister and… well, the whole thing had the potential to be a huge mess. But maybe it would be worth the risk. At least it meant she wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore, or chase Big Mac off when all she really wanted to do is snuggle up closer to him.

She took a sip of her cup, and sat it back on the table before getting up and heading for the pantry. Supper wasn’t going to make itself, and the last thing she needed was half a bunch of complaints. She got enough of that at school, she didn’t really care for it at home too.

It wasn’t a complicated meal, lots of carrots and greens and what not, although she made a point to take some fish out too, just in case. Naturally, for all her efforts and hardship in trying to get the meal ready, she was only halfway done when the kitchen door opened.

The house had two entrances, one in the front, and a door that opened into the kitchen, and of course she always used the rear-most one. Cheerilee hoped she’d grow out of this ‘embarrassed to be seen with mother’ phase soon. For the most part, she played along, even though she knew full well that outside of her cohort, almost everypony in Ponyville knew Scootaloo was her daughter. It hurt to pretend otherwise, and it hurt that Scootaloo was embarrassed that her mother was also her teacher. Cheerilee just hoped she wasn’t embarrassed of her because she was an Earth Pony, and not a pegasus like herself.

“Hi Ms. Cheerilee.” Scootaloo looked tired and more than a little dirty as she dragged herself and her scooter into the house before shutting the door behind her with a kick. “What’s for supper?”

“Can’t you call me mom when it’s just us, Scoots?” Cheerilee tried not to sigh, but it wasn’t easy.

“Fine,” Scootaloo grumbled and flicked her wings irritably, before dumping her scooter and knapsack unceremoniously next to the door and climbing up on the nearest chair. “What’s for supper, mom?”

“Salads—and fish, for you if you want them,” Scootaloo’s inability to fly was starting to worry her, but the only advice her doctor had given her was to feed the filly more fish. The only problem was, she didn’t really like fish—even after Cheerilee had told her it might help her fly.

“Ew, no thanks.”  Scootaloo shook her head and slumped against the table. Her filly had been out all day trying to get her cutie mark, and it was clear she didn’t have one yet. Cheerilee shook her head and went back to her preparations, she had been up and down that road many a time, and she doubted it was worth wasting her breath over, again. There was little point in telling her to be patient. Cheerilee giggled to herself. What if their cutie marks are in being patient? she thought to herself, before immediately feeling bad for it.

“Oh! Hey, Derpy asked me to give you this,” Scootaloo jumped off the chair and rummaged through her knapsack, only to produce a mouthful of crumpled letters. Ditzy had been trying to help her out, lately, even though Cheerilee had asked her not to, by giving her mail to Scootaloo when she saw her. The mailmare meant well, but she doubted it was going to suddenly make Scootaloo open up to her friends about her mother. Plus it made the bills wrinkly.

“It’s Ditzy, Scoots, not Derpy.” Cheerilee said for the hundredth time as she took the letters from her daughter and smoothed them out on the counter. It was the usual fare, a check from her parents, from the government, several bills that would reduce the first two letters to dust, and—

Cheerilee dropped her knife in shock as her heart started to pound. The last letter was from Soarin.