She wasn’t sure what was wrong with it. It didn’t look bruised or overripe. The juices trickling onto her hoof from the crescent chunk her teeth had taken out of it gave off a crisp scent, fresh as springtime. Certainly, the mare who had sold it to her cheap looked very pleased with herself. To be honest, though, it wasn’t anything physical about the piece of fruit she had balanced on her sole that bothered her. It was some intrinsic thing she couldn’t place, like there were some deep, unknowable part of her that was disgusted—almost offended—by what she had just willingly put into her mouth. It was good food, a perfectly fine meal for anypony who cared to try it, there was no doubt about that. But it wasn’t… she just couldn’t…
“Well?” the vendor said, her teeth gleaming in the noontime sun. “Whaddya think?”
She worked up some saliva and swallowed down the pieces still left on her tongue, and an involuntary shudder crept down her spine. It was too sour, too sweet, too gritty… too everything. She couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. All she knew was that eating what the vendor had given her had just felt wrong.
“It’s very…” she began to reply, struggling to form words past the oppressive taste—too bitter, she thought—still invading her mouth. “I-I just don’t…”
“G’wan, Miss Pita, don’t be shy.” The salesmare leaned over the counter and propped her chin up on the edges of her forehooves. “Lay it on me.”
She bit her lip, grit her teeth, swallowed again and again, but the taste just stuck in her throat like a bad batch of cough medicine. “Thank you very much for the discount, but I, um… I just don’t think I’m a big fan of pears,” she said. “Sorry.”
The vendor’s grin never faltered, but the light had gone out from behind her eyes. She’d been nothing but charming when Pinkie Pita had stopped by on her way to grab some lunch, but now the mare holding one of her prized pears—”The freshest fruit about!”, if the sign above her stall was anything to go by—was just another customer, another transaction bought and paid for with hard money from a cold purse.
“Well, can’t blame you for being honest,” she said with a sigh. “Or me for trying. You have a nice day now, dearie.”
“Well, I…” Pinkie started to say, but the salesmare had already turned away to flag down a few more pedestrians from elsewhere on the street. “I mean… yes. Thank you. You too.”
She took a few steps back, and another mare with a purple mane and a fluffy blue parka sidled into the spot she’d occupied in front of the stall. Her hoof felt sticky and heavy from holding the pear upright for so long, but she didn’t know what she could do to get rid of it. She couldn’t just throw it away. It’d be awfully wasteful to throw a pear with one bite out of it into the trash, not to mention she’d probably hurt that poor salesmare’s feelings even more. And there was also the fact that she didn’t really have enough bits on her to buy anything else for lunch that day.
On the other hoof, the thought of taking even another nibble of the little green fruit made her stomach turn over, let alone eating the whole thing. She bit her lip again and stared at her hoof till her eyes glazed over, and in the process a smudge of blue mixed up with the faded green and beige blur taking up most of her vision.
In an alley across the street, a little earth colt with a coat the color of the ocean was leaning against the wall and trying to pretend like he wasn’t staring at her. Winter hadn’t come out in force yet, but that didn’t mean the day had been anything close to warm, and the ragged brown jacket the colt was wearing couldn’t have been enough to keep the cold out. A breeze batted at Pinkie’s mane braid, and the colt shivered and crossed one foreleg over the other. His gaze darted back up towards the street for a moment, then dropped straight back to the ground once he saw that she was watching him.
Suddenly, her decision seemed a whole lot easier. Pinkie trod forward and dodged through the flow of passers-by until she was close enough that the colt had to look up at her, then put on a smile and stuck out her hoof. Reflected in the colt’s widened eyes, the pear almost looked appetizing again.
“I’m not gonna eat it,” she said. “It’s got a little bite out of it, but I promise it’s still—”
The colt snatched the pear from her hoof and tore into it before she could finish her sentence. He was halfway through to the core before he came back to his senses, and as his cheeks flushed with visible heat, he looked up at her and gave her a sheepish, snaggle-toothed grin.
“Fanks,” he gargled through a mouthful of pear. Pinkie Pita couldn’t help but let a giggle slip out, and even though her stomach growled as she watched the colt scamper out of sight with his prize clamped in his mouth, she couldn’t really feel sorry for herself. It wasn’t like she really wanted for food anyway. She could just make herself a sandwich once she got back to her shop and put it on her expense report at the end of the day, and the look on that little colt’s face was worth whatever it would end up costing her in profits. Doing something nice for somepony else just felt good, especially when this was the nicest place she’d ever lived in. Sometimes it really did feel like the whole city was her family, just like the motto inscribed on the town hall said: Vanhoover, Equestria, Where Everypony’s Family.
She stepped back out into the street, and her smile seemed to brighten the eyes of everypony she passed. A whole city for a family. She’d always liked the sound of that.
• • •
The sun fell behind a patch of clouds as midday grew into afternoon, and though the chill in the air had grown stronger, Pinkie Pita pushed herself into a jog anyway. Her lunch break from the pita shop where she worked was thirty minutes exactly, and if she didn’t hurry she’d be late getting back. Of course, given that she was the sole proprietor of said pita shop, it probably wouldn’t hurt to spend a couple extra minutes getting back to work, but she liked to be punctual all the same. Celestia knew, she wouldn’t be happy if she found a shop closed at 12:45 with a sign on the door that read “Back at 12:30”, and it had always been her opinion that honesty was the best policy.
Pinkie’s Pita Palace was four blocks from Vanhoover’s market square, and Pinkie reached its front door with ninety seconds to spare. She flashed a hasty smile towards the stallion waiting outside, and was about to explain that she’d be finishing reopening in just a minute when she noticed the cart parked behind him, loaded for bear with food boxes and crates.
“Right, right,” she said instead. “I know, you’ve been waiting. Gimme just a second.”
“Not a problem, Miss Pita,” the stallion said with a smirk and a snap of his gum. “Knew you’d be back on time.”
“I always am, aren’t I?” she breathlessly replied as she fiddled with the key looped around her neck. Sometimes the lock on the Pita Palace’s front door got a bit sticky in the cold, but it clicked open on the first try this time with a gentle tinkle of the bell hanging overtop its frame. Pinkie propped the door open and held it so the stallion could pull his cart inside, then followed him through and let it swing shut behind her.
“Sure is nice to have the heat back on in here,” the stallion said, unzipping his coat a little as he shuffled over and let Pinkie by. The shop wasn’t as big as most of the restaurants closer to the square, but there was enough room inside for a few tables and chairs, as well as for Pinkie’s weekly visitor to park his cart near the register.
“You’re telling me,” she replied from behind the counter. “Thanks again for fixing that, Brussel. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that old bucket of bolts went belly-up.”
Another smirk twitched into view on Brussel’s face, and he shot a knowing glance up towards the ceiling, where a faintly audible hum radiated out from the heating unit that had been chugging away on the roof for nearly two decades. “Eh, machines are like ponies. Just gotta beat some sense into ‘em every now and then.”
Pinkie moved the register to the side and brushed a lock of hot pink hair out of her eyes, cocking her eyebrow at the same time. “I hope you’re kidding about that,” she said as Brussel hefted the top box from his cart onto the counter. Before she could grab it, he crossed his forelegs on top of it and let his smile spread to both corners of his mouth.
“For the heater’s sake, or the ponies’?”
You couldn’t be more charming if you tried.
Pinkie rolled her eyes and yanked the box out from under him, unfolding the flaps to make sure it was full of the lettuce and spinach she’d ordered. Brussel pursed his lips and carried on like he was offended for a bit, but Pinkie could see his lips curling up even as he huffed his way through a few more boxes.
“Busy day so far?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
I met a homeless colt at the square today. I gave him my pear. Apparently, I hate pears.
"No, not really,” Pinkie said. “What about you?”
“Can’t complain. Lots of places to go, promises to keep.”
And miles to go before you sleep.
“Hmm?”
Pinkie paused in the middle of unpacking a box of buttercup blossoms. “What?”
“Thought you said something.”
“Oh… no, sorry. Just… thinking aloud,” Pinkie said.
Brussel chuckled and brushed his hoof over the crate he’d just placed in front of Pinkie. “Can’t hardly blame you. You keep track of all this in your head?”
“I’ll update my inventory records after I close tonight.” Satisfied with the contents of the most recent crate she’d received, she stacked it next to the others and let her eyebrows shoot up again. “Just making sure you didn’t take anything right now.”
Brussel paused in mid-motion, and his wide-eyed look of surprise made Pinkie wonder if he’d really fixed the heater after all. “I look like a thief to you?”
“I… w-well, no!” Pinkie stammered. “I mean, I was just kidding…”
Brussel’s booming laugh cut her off, and his response left her red-faced and out of breath. “Calm down, I’m kiddin’ too,” he said. “Landsake, you gotta loosen up a little. You ever do anything fun after work?”
Do you want to have dinner tonight?
“I’m usually too tired,” she said. “I like reading sometimes.”
Brussel’s teeth flashed as he grinned, and the heater kicked back on. “Hey, me too! Find anything good lately?”
Do you want to help me look?
“Not really.” Pinkie grabbed one of the boxes behind the counter and pawed through its contents. Three bags of pre-sliced cucumbers and two extra-large jars of pickle slices. She remembered already from the first time she’d checked on them. “I’ll probably stop by the library next week.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Brussel lifted the last box with a grunt and wiped his forehead. “That should just about do it. Anything else I can help you with?”
Do you want to come home with me tonight?
Pinkie dropped the last box behind the counter and smiled. “Think I’m good, thanks.”
“All right, then.” Brussel popped his forehoof up into a sloppy salute and hitched himself back up to his cart. “Have a good… whoa there, Secretariat!”
The earth colt that burst through the door nearly ran smack into Brussel’s ankles, but the stallion stepped back out of the way just in time for the younger pony to skid past him unharmed. “Sorry, mister!” he said breathlessly, his mop of a red mane bouncing around as he whipped his head around towards Brussel and then back up to the counter, which he was still stumbling towards the whole time. Still reeling from the sudden shock of the kid bursting inside, Pinkie worked her jaw up and down, stuttered, and then finally got her tongue untied.
“You too!” she called out. “See you next we…”
The door swung closed, and Brussel was gone. It barely had time to fall back against the bell before it was pulled open again by a smartly dressed earth mare with worry lines cut into her cheeks and a coat the same shade as the colt in front of the counter.
“Honey, get down from there,” she said to the colt, who was gaping at all the toppings and condiments on display with his hooves up against the glass that separated him from them. “Inside hooves.” The colt ignored his mother for a few more seconds, but seemed to feel her glare on the back of his neck without turning to actually see it. He lifted his forelegs off the glass and got back down on all fours, but even then he still balanced himself on the edges of his hooves so he could get a bit of extra height..
Customers. Salesmareship. Focus.
Pinkie put on her best smile and leaned over the counter to address the colt directly. “You hungry, little guy?”
“I’m not little!” the colt immediately argued back, though another glare from his mom shrank him down to size again. “Yes, please,” he added a moment later.
“Well, then far be it from me to keep a polite young stallion like you waiting!” Pinkie donned a pair of sanitary mittens and her mouth guard, then pulled a fresh pita out from a nearby drawer and laid it flat along the chilled stone on her side of the counter. “What’ll it be?”
The colt looked up at his mother, who nodded and gestured him forward. He stood up on the tips of his hooves again, and his nose bumped against the counter glass. “Can I have, uh… lettuce and tomatoes and cheese and pickles and buttercups and mustard and—”
“No buttercups,” his mom cut in. “And mix some spinach in if you’ve got it.” The colt moaned and started to complain, but his mother was having none of it. “Don’t fuss,” she went on before he could start making a scene. “You’ve already had three Canter-Colas and an ice cream cone today. A little spinach won’t kill you.”
“B-but what if it does?” the colt whined. “What if somepony spilled toxic waste at the spinach factory and I eat too much of it and I die and you never, ever see me again?”
“Then I promise I’ll say very nice things about you at your funeral.” The colt didn’t look like he was done talking, but his mom was definitely done listening. “I’m sorry, how much is that?”
Pinkie blinked and flicked her eyes up at the mare. For a second, she could’ve sworn she’d been looking at the little colt from the alley, the one who’d devoured her pear. Why on Earth did she hate pears?
“Six-fifty, please,” she said. The mare reached into her purse and started counting out change, and as Pinkie began to make the colt’s pita, her hoof slipped and a few coins bounced out of her reach and rolled across the floor. The colt stuck out his hoof and stopped the one closest to him, but even after his mother thanked him and went chasing after the others, he still wore a heavy, disappointed frown on his face.
After watching the mare trot off and thinking to herself for a moment, Pinkie caught the colt’s eye and gave him a wink, then reached back into one of the boxes behind her, pulled out a single buttercup bud, and tossed it into the pita. By the time his mom straightened back up and turned around, the pita was all wrapped up and ready to eat, and the colt was biting his lip to keep from beaming.
“Appreciate it,” the mare said as she passed over her hard-won bits. “What do you say, honey?”
“Fank you!” the colt mumbled through a mouthful of pita.
Pinkie Pita nodded and gave the pair a cheery wave as they exited her shop, and as she began to sort through the boxes behind the counter again, she kept an eye on the picture window that gave her a view of the street outside. The colt and his mother had stopped a few feet from the door to meet two other stallions, one of whom had a wispy goatee that matched the color of his and the colt’s mane, and the other of whom looked more like a teenager with the mare’s mane color and eyes. The older stallion and the colt’s mother talked for a moment in voices too quiet to penetrate the glass, and while they spoke the teenager pointed at something down the street and then stole a bite of the colt’s pita when he was distracted.
The colt’s complaints were loud enough for even Pinkie to hear them, and his mother quickly rounded on the teenager, his angelic look somewhat tarnished by his bulging cheeks and the spinach leaf sticking out from between his lips. The stallion stepped in before things could escalate, though, and once he said something to the mare, she laughed and allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. The colt grimaced and displayed a mashed-up pita lump on his tongue, and the teenager wrinkled his nose and said something to make him shut his mouth again before reaching out and tousling his mane.
Pinkie Pita had never really been very social. She’d been an only child growing up, and if she had any cousins or aunts and uncles to speak of, her parents had never introduced her to them. Solitude was in her blood, she reckoned, and most of the time it suited her just fine. Every now and then, she wondered whether it might have been nice to have another pony around the shop, maybe just to help her with keeping the place orderly or with the five o’clock rush from the Financial District. As far as companionship went, though, she didn’t need much. Talking to customers gave her enough pleasure as it was, and besides that, she didn’t have enough bits in the budget to take on another employee and pay them a fair salary each week.
One flap of the box she’d been rooting through shifted and fell back against her foreleg, and for the first time since the colt had left, Pinkie looked down. Cucumbers and pickle slices. One hoof was buried inside the packing peanuts, and the other was moving in an absentminded circle on top of them, rubbing back and forth in a firm, almost affectionate way. For a reason she couldn’t quite place, she began to think about Brussel again.
Pinkie sighed and glanced back out the window. The colt and his family were gone. She hadn’t seen them leave. What she did see was another pony heading towards her door from across the street, wallet already out and floating in the magical haze emanating from his horn. He was a regular customer of hers, an accountant at a firm two blocks east of her shop. He’d gotten married a year and a half ago. His wife had just given birth to twins.
The stallion reached the door and grasped the handle, and Pinkie pushed the box aside. The pickles would keep for a little while longer, at least until the lunch crowd thinned out around three o’clock. She could handle the stocking just fine on her own. She’d just take care of it later. When the doorbell jingled, Pinkie Pita already had her trademark smile on, ready to welcome another member of the Vanhoover family to her Palace.
• • •
The only thing Pinkie Pita really wished she could change about her life was the time at which the sun set. She always missed it while she was at work, and just once in a while she thought she might like to watch as the giant glowing orb faded from blinding yellow to burning orange, then disintegrated into pink and red smears as it splattered against the horizon and spread across the evening sky. Other than that, she figured she was pretty well off. She had a comfortable apartment with a balcony right across the street from the business she owned, she never went hungry or without basic necessities, and her two cats… well, she was pretty sure her cats liked her, as much as anypony could be sure of how a cat’s brain worked. They at least knew she was responsible for providing them with food, and occasionally they’d curl up in her lap while she was reading or sitting close to the radiator.
She heard paws thumping across the floor the second her key slid into her front door, and she entered her apartment with one hoof stuck out so Cinnamon and Nutmeg couldn’t bolt out to greet her. “Hey, guys,” she said as twin mewls for attention met her ears. “Right, right, you’re hungry. Gimme just a second.”
As she kicked the door shut behind her and hung her key lanyard on a peg just inside the living room, Cinnamon wove his way between her hooves and rubbed up against her ankles, leading her towards the kitchenette where his empty food dish surely lay waiting for her. By the time she got their food bag out, Nutmeg had joined his brother, and both of them reared up on their hind legs and pawed at her sides until she’d gotten the bag balanced under her foreleg and poured out a generous evening meal for both of them. With her two hangers-on sated, she made her way back across the room to the couch and laid down across it, pursued the whole way by the familiar medley of crunching kibble and contented purrs.
She may have missed the sunset before, but the sky had been clear the whole day and was even clearer now that night had fallen. Little white pinpricks dotted the patches of black she could see past the skyscrapers downtown, not a great number but enough to know that there were more hiding just out of sight. She’d heard that out in the country, ponies could see hundreds of stars every night, even distant galaxies and planets sometimes too. Her parents had always discouraged her from traveling out there one day to see for herself, and to be fair, they’d had a point. Organizing a day trip out of the city would’ve meant closing down the shop, saving for months, making and double-checking an itinerary and finding somepony to ferry her there and back. Not to mention, she’d have to stay in some drafty old bed-and-breakfast unless she wanted to risk running into bandits and beasts lurking in the darkness just so she could get back by the next morning. And all that just to look at some stars?
It was a nice idea, but in the end they were right. She could see the stars from here just fine. It might’ve been easier if she could’ve found somepony to stay with or visit for a while, and of course she’d entertained the thought, like all young fillies had at one time or another, of being secretly related to a royal king and queen from a faraway land, or a famous explorer charting unknown territories across the Eastern Sea. Actually, her own fantasy had been rather simpler than that—even now, as a full-grown adult, she hadn’t quite shaken the hope that somewhere out in the wide world of Equestria was a whole clan of ponies with whom she somehow shared blood, who held humungous reunions and celebrated and danced and did everything she imagined a bunch of lively, loving relatives might do together.
But in her heart, she knew it was just that: a fantasy. She was an only child, her parents were only children, and if there was any family that big with any ties back to her, she’d certainly have found out about them long before now. And she was okay with that. She had her books, her cats, her job, and Vanhoover. There really wasn’t much else a pony in her position could ask for.
Maybe she could get to know Brussel a little better, though. Maybe just that. Maybe just ask him if he’d like to try a pita sometime.
Pinkie watched the stars glisten for a while, until Cinnamon started batting at her tail and inspired her to get up and get them all ready for bed. She ducked into the bathroom to wash her face and chew on a mint leaf until her teeth felt clean enough to sleep in, then drank a glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. Nutmeg followed her the whole way, and meowed once before hopping up next to her on the bed. Cinnamon usually preferred the couch, but Nutmeg always chose to spend the night with his owner. If she was being perfectly honest, Nutmeg was her favorite.
Her sheets were a little cold at first, but after wiggling around underneath them for a bit, they warmed up to a comfortable temperature. There was enough light from her bedside lamp to read a few dog-eared pages out of the poetry book she’d left next to it, but it wasn’t long before her eyes grew too heavy to continue. She cut the light out and scratched Nutmeg behind his ears, then lay back against her pillow and fell asleep within minutes.
In the middle of the night, she dreamed about pears.
For some utterly unfathomable reason, she absolutely despised pears.
Author's Note
Right after watching the episode yesterday, I made a joke somewhere in Skype: "Somewhere in Vanhoover, there's a pony named Pinkie Pita who hates pears and has no idea why." Thirteen hours and a couple NFL Playoff games later, I had this. It was fun while I had the time.
