Hearts, Hooves, and Hard Liquor

Cheerilee forced a smile. “Yes, Mr. Rich; Diamond Tiara is doing just fine academically. It’s her social behavior that worries me.”

“Oh, posh. My little Diamond is a perfect angel.” The snooty stallion adjusted his tie. “She’s always telling me about how well she gets along with the rest of her class.”

If so, it’s because they’re terrified of getting in her way, thought Cheerilee with an internal sigh. “Mr. Rich, your daughter constantly speaks out in my class, and it’s disrupting the other students’ learning. Last week when we went over the Whitetail War, she interrupted me in the middle of a reading to make it known that one of her classmates was having difficulty flying. It’s gone beyond teasing, Mr. Rich, and it worries me.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll speak with her,” said Filthy Rich, dismissing her concerns with a hoof. “Was there anything else?”

Cheerilee sighed, out loud this time, and shook her head. “No, that will be all.” Not like you’d listen to anything else I had to say, anyway. She was not fond of Parent-Teacher Conference night. What good was it to talk to the parents if they ignored everything they didn’t want to hear?

At least after the conferences were over, she could head out and get a drink. The end of the school year’s third quarter was always stressful, as she geared up to cram as much material into the end of the course as she could before end-of-the-year exams. She needed to relax, have a sip of wine, listen to the Friday night analysis of the Equestria Games tryouts on the radio, and forget about schoolwork for a few hours. Or, she thought wistfully, the entire weekend.

As Filthy Rich left the classroom, Cheerilee idly wondered who would be next. She had yet to see Featherweight’s parents, or Silver Spoon’s—another conference she wasn’t looking forward to—or Scootaloo’s; but then, Scootaloo’s parents never showed up for these meetings. She wasn’t even sure what they looked like.

She was certainly not expecting the large, cherry-red pony who walked through her door and cleared his throat. Cheerilee’s eyes widened and she felt her cheeks burn. “Big Macintosh!” Oh, Sisters, this is going to be awkward. “I, um… here for Applebloom, I assume?”

He nodded. Cheerilee fidgeted, arranging the papers on her desk. “Um, well, take a seat, please.”

Big Macintosh sat on the shabby little chair provided for conference night. He positively dwarfed it, as huge as he was. Despite his bulk, the farmer was a pony of few words—even fewer, to her at least, since that humiliating love potion fiasco two years ago.

Not to imply the shame wasn’t mutual. Avoiding somepony didn’t work very well unless they were trying to avoid you, too. The two ponies sat uncomfortably in the growing silence. I’d have thought time would make me forget the embarrassment. But all she had to do was remember one utterance of the ghastly “schnookums” and her face felt like it was on fire all over again.

Cheerilee was the one to break the silence. “So… I take it Applejack was unavailable?” Applebloom’s big sister usually stood in as her legal guardian on conference night.

Big Macintosh nodded again. “She’s at the Games tryouts with the others.”

It was the longest sentence Cheerilee had heard him say in almost a year. “Oh, yes. She mentioned that.” The silence returned, and Cheerilee began tapping a pen against her lips with her hooves. “And Granny Smith?”

“Still tuckered out from that boatin’ trip with Pinkie last week.” Big Macintosh rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his wooden collar. “So, uh… how’s my sister doin’?”

Seizing the topic, Cheerilee said, “Very well, I’m happy to say. I think she’s finally getting over her aversion to math. She’s been doing very well in algebra. In fact, she’s one of the few in the class who really understand polynomials already.”

“Polly-whats?” Big Macintosh blinked. It was hard to tell, but Cheerilee thought there might be a bit of extra red in his cheeks. “Uh, I mean, good t’hear.” His Is and mys twanged with that Apple family drawl Cheerilee had always found so charming in the four of them.

“I’m looking forward to having her in Trigonometry next year,” said Cheerilee with a smile. It was difficult, being one of the few teachers in a very small town; she had to teach a lot of subjects at the same time, and grading six or seven classes’ worth of work ate up most of her already sparse free time. Still, it was all worth it to see students like Applebloom flourish in the classroom, especially as they began moving on to the more challenging high school material.

“Glad t’hear it.” Big Macintosh shuffled his hooves. The stiff silence descended once more.

Suddenly, Cheerilee felt a wash of irritation at him and herself. She was tired of them dancing around each other, avoiding eye contact. They might not have been extremely close friends before the incident, but at least they’d been close enough to say hello to each other. This awkward mess had gone on too long.

“Well,” she said, “there’s not much else to talk about. Applebloom’s doing well in her classes—though she could be a little more diligent about doing her history homework—and she’s been very well-behaved.” For the most part. She and her two inseparable friends had caused the occasional ruckus, but right now that wasn’t as important as bridging the gap between Cheerilee and the stoic pony in front of her.

“Okay, then,” said Big Macintosh, standing up so fast the chair skidded back half a foot. He turned to half-dash toward the door.

“Wait, Big Mac—” Cheerilee swallowed, then smiled. “Listen, after conferences are finished, I’m headed over to that little bar and grill on the east side of town to celebrate the end of the quarter. What do you say we meet up there and have a drink?”

Big Macintosh cleared his throat. “The last drink we had didn’t turn out too well.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’m asking you now,” said Cheerilee, straightening in her seat. “I think it’s high time we put that nonsense behind us. So what do you say? Can we quit dodging each other and be friends again?”

He appeared to consider it for a moment. The smile widened. “Okay, Miss Cheerilee. I’ll see you there.”

“Great! I’ll be there at nine.” She waved as he left the room.

Turning back to the papers on her desk, she began shuffling and reordering them, feeling proud of herself. At least I got something useful done tonight.

The next parent walked in, beaming. Cheerilee gave her a big smile and gestured to the chair. “Good evening, Mrs. Peppermint. Please, take a seat.”

“Evening, Mith Cheerilee. How’th my little Twitht doing?”

* * *

The rest of the conferences passed in a homogeneous blur, and at last Cheerilee was free. As the last parent left, she dumped her weekly stacks of homework into her saddlebags. She pulled the heavy bags over her back, sighing at the thought of spending another weekend sitting by herself behind a desk, grading papers. Her little house was getting lonely these days. Maybe I should get a pet.

It was a fairly long walk from the schoolhouse to Moonshine Still’s Bar and Grill. Cheerilee hummed while she walked, enjoying the calm Friday night. I wonder if Mac will actually show up? She smiled. Nopony had called him simply Mac since high school, before he’d dropped out to work on the farm and gotten as bulky as he was now. I guess we’ve all changed since then.

She reached the bar at last, pushing through the door and hearing the familiar jingle of a bell. A waitress behind a small stand smiled at her. “Can I get you a table?”

“No, just here for the wine,” said Cheerilee, making a beeline for the bar. She was pleasantly surprised to find the bar was reasonably empty tonight. Normally, crowds weren’t a problem, but when she needed some me-time she preferred to be alone. Or with a few good friends.

She set her saddlebags down beside one of the stools, and hoisted herself up onto it. She put her hooves on the countertop, waiting for Moonshine to get to her. The owner and bartender was quick as always, appearing from the back still tying his black apron on. He was a short little gray stallion, balding on the top of his head, but with a bushy brown moustache and a friendly smile. “Evening, Miss Cheerilee. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a Chardonneigh. Nice and tart, please.”

“Coming right up.” He swept across the bar to the wine bottles, swiftly selecting one and uncorking it in one swift movement. A wineglass appeared from beneath the counter, and he poured the rich white from the bottle. With a final flick of his hoof, he sent the glass sliding across toward Cheerilee, who caught it with practice. She smiled. “Showoff.”

Moonshine just winked, and moved down the bar to deal with another customer. Cheerilee put her hooves on the glass’s sides and sipped. “Ooh.” Moonshine had given her a good one tonight. It was like drinking crisp white grapes, with just the barest taste of alcohol—exactly how she liked it. She settled in to wait.

Only ten minutes had passed their appointed meeting time, yet Cheerilee was almost surprised when the bell jingled and Big Mac himself stepped through the door. She beamed and waved. He caught the gesture and nodded, heading over to meet her.

“I’ll be honest,” she said as he sat on the stool beside her, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Big Mac smiled. “Well, I figured y’were right. We’ve been acting mighty foolish, it’s time to move on.”

Moonshine, holding a glass in one hoof and wiping the inside with a rag in the other, leaned on the bar. “Hello, there. What are you having?”

Big Mac tapped his chin, surveying the wall of drinks. “I’ll have a bourbon, neat. Black cherry, if y’have it.”

“That we do,” said Moonshine, whisking away to fill the order.

“Cherry?” Cheerilee nudged Big Mac with a hoof. “Not turning traitor on the Apples, are we?”

He gave a rare grin. “When y’eat apples almost every day your whole life, y’can get real tired of ‘em.”

“Fair enough,” she said, smiling. She took another drink of wine. “So, your family really eats apples the whole year round?”

Big Mac shrugged. “Nope. Jus’ anytime we run outta other stuff, an’ nopony wants to go t’the store. ‘Course, we cook apples all th’time. But we sell most of that.”

“What’s it like, living on the farm? More exciting than suburbia?”

Moonshine arrived with Big Mac’s drink in a stout glass tumbler. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”

Big Mac nodded thanks and pressed his hooves to the drink’s sides, taking a draught. He paused, swallowed visibly, and blinked. “Been a while since I drank whiskey.” He set the cup back down and turned to Cheerilee. “Not sure I’d call farmin’ excitin’, exactly. Y’work all day, mostly buckin’ apple trees, an’ th’plowin’s the real kicker. This collar ain’t jus’ fer show.” He tugged on it. “An’ then there’s th'money. Most of what we make goes right back into th’farm, buyin’ equipment an’ the like.”

Cheerilee nodded, sipping her drink. “Applebloom certainly loves it, though. She’s always telling us how much fun applebucking season is. She can’t wait to start working full time, she says.”

Big Mac shook his head, a sudden fierce flicker in his eye. “Applebloom’s not gonna spend her life workin’ in an orchard. She’s gonna be a mayor, or an architect, or somethin’—not another farmhoof. Me an’ Applejack are makin’ sure she’s got the money fer college.” He relaxed, and the flicker vanished. He sipped from the tumbler. “That’s why she’s got to know polynomials, and all that.”

Cheerilee raised an eyebrow. “Polynomials, hmm?”

“Yeah, I remembered ‘em almost as soon as I walked out the door,” he said, giving a sheepish smile. “The equations with all th’exponents, right? Felt awful silly. Y’must’ve thought I was an idiot.”

“I’m impressed, actually,” said Cheerilee between drinks. “I mean, Sisters; it’s been what, fifteen years since you’ve had to use a quadratic equation?”

He shrugged. “I help Applebloom with her homework. Keeps me sharp enough fer the high school stuff, anyway. ‘Sides, Applejack is hopeless with numbers, an’ somepony’s gotta keep track of the farm finances, right?”

Cheerilee felt a new respect growing for Macintosh. She’d always assumed Applejack was the de facto leader of Ponyville’s Apple clan, but there was clearly a lot of behind-the-scenes weight resting on Mac’s shoulders.

Big Macintosh took another drink of the whiskey, closing his eyes as his brows shot upward. “Whoo! That’s powerful stuff.”

Cheerilee gave him a teasing smirk. “I’d always figured you for a pony who could hold his liquor.”

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her. “Says th’pony drinking th’mildest wine on the menu.”

She gave an airy wave. “I never claimed I had any tolerance for alcohol. Sisters, no, I was terrible in college. Three shots and I’d be dancing on tables. It’s a miracle I graduated before falling off a balcony somewhere.” Cheerilee glanced down at her glass, which was now half-empty. Her head was buzzing pleasantly by now, but she hadn’t even begun approaching the oh-Celestia-I’m-gonna-fall-over phase yet.

Big Mac snorted. “Is that all y’do in college?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “It’s mostly a lot of hard work, boring classes with a few interesting ones nestled in between, and desperately switching majors trying to figure out what you want to do in life.” Cheerilee shook her head and took a lengthy drink. “I always knew I wanted to be in education, but I started out gunning for a professorial position. I was going to teach physics at Mareon Tech or Trottingham U.” A little unintended sarcasm leaked into her voice at the end, and she hurriedly took another drink. “You know how twenty-year olds are. Think they can change the world, and all that.”

“You’ve done more than most,” said Big Mac, smiling. “Applebloom might like farmin’, but before she started hangin’ around with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, class with you was about all she’d talk about at home. Th’kids love you.”

Blushing, Cheerilee swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Well, that’s kind of you to say.”

“Ain’t no kindness in simply sayin’ the truth, Miss Cheerilee. You make ‘em want to learn.” He raised his glass to her with both hooves before taking another drink. This time, his face barely twitched. “Ah, gettin’ a taste for it now.”

Cheerilee finished off her wine, giving a satisfied “Mmm.” She made to put the glass back on the countertop, but her hooves slipped and it fell to the floor. Moonshine had long ago learned the value of investing in quality glassware, so the vessel landed without shattering, but it rolled away from her seat. “Shit,” she muttered, before clapping her hooves to her mouth. “Uh, shoot.” She giggled. “Sorry, reflex. I try not to swear in front of my students.” Clearing her throat, she leaned over to pick up the glass.

Suddenly, her balance tilted, and she started tipping forward. Oh, guess I’ve reached ‘falling over’ after all. Before she could complete an undignified faceplant, a steadying red hoof intercepted her torso and pushed her back upright on the stool. She couldn’t help but notice how strong Big Mac was, with those huge muscles from working on the farm for a decade and a half.

Blushing, she said a demure “Thanks,” and got off the stool to simply pick the glass up with her mouth. Setting it back on the counter, she readjusted her haunches to sit more comfortably—and stably—on the stool.

“Weren’t kiddin’ about dancin’ on tables, I see,” said Big Mac, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ahem. I might be drunk enough to have told you about that, but I’m not drunk enough to have to listen to it.” She gestured toward his nearly-empty tumbler. “Mind if I have a taste?”

“Be m’guest,” he said, pushing it toward her.

She took a sip of the brown liquid, not sure what to expect—the last time she’d tried whiskey, it had felt like her throat was burning. This, however, went down smoothly, with the unmistakable flavor of cherries. “Hey, it tastes like candy.” She took a bigger drink, and nearly gagged as the alcohol hit her throat and nose. “Wow.”

Moonshine paused by them on his way toward another customer. “Careful there, Miss Cheerilee. That’s eighty-proof; you’ve been drinking sixteen.”

“More of that,” she gasped, blinking furiously. The blast of alcohol was strong, but it passed quickly enough. And that flavor deserved some more exploration. “Mac, what do you say to splitting the cost of a bottle?”

“Sure, Miss Cheerilee.”

She beamed. “Oh, just call me Cheerilee. No need to be so formal.”

He shrugged and nodded with a bemused smile. They waited for Moonshine to finish down at the other end of the bar, and then asked for their bottle. Cheerilee took it a bit eagerly, but managed not to spill any as she poured glasses for Big Mac and herself.

Balancing the glass on one hoof, she raised it toward him. “To farming!”

He raised his to hers. “To schoolin’.”

Cheerilee paused for a moment to think. “To getting really drunk!”

They clinked glasses, and took their shots. Cheerilee felt streams of warmth go trickling out from her stomach, tingling into her limbs and head. “I like this.”

With a glass of bourbon in his system already, Big Mac was looking more relaxed than Cheerilee had seen him in quite a while. “I hope you weren’t planning on doing anythin’ tomorrow.”

“Nooope,” she said, shaking her head, which had suddenly become rather heavy. “Just got to grade a bunch of papers this weekend. I can get it done Sunday if the hangover’s too bad to work.” She swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “Not like I do much most weekends, though. Just sit around the house, mostly.” She looked down at her hooves on the countertop. “Honestly, Mac, my life is kind of boring. I need a hobby. Or somepony to go out and do things with.”

“Really?” Mac raised an eyebrow. “I always thought you weren’t interested in datin’.”

Cheerilee took another drink, smacking her lips. “Wheredjyou get that idea?”

“I jus’ figured if you wanted somepony, you could get ‘em. I mean, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re pret—” Big Mac stopped and stared down at his glass. “Uh, I think I may’ve had too much of this.”

“Nonsense,” said Cheerilee, slightly slurring the syllables. “By all means, continue the compliments.”

He laughed. “No need to go getting’ drunk on words as well as whiskey, Cheerilee.”

“It’s funny, really,” she said, taking another long drink. Wow, that stings. She shook her head and blinked. “Back in high school, I had something of a crush on you, actually. Before you left.”

Now it was Macintosh’s turn to blush. He took a drawn-out sip instead of answering.

“Lots of the girls did, y’know. We’d squabble about it between class periods. I had all these fantasies about you asking me to dinner, and… things.” She paused. I think it’s possible I’ve become a little more inebriated than I meant to. She tried to surreptitiously test her motor skills by spinning the tumbler around between her hooves, only managing to spill a little whiskey over the side.

“’Fraid I don’t remember high school that well,” said Big Mac with a hint of melancholy. “Been a long time since I was a kid.”

Cheerilee felt a pang of sadness. Mac hadn’t been a kid since the day he’d dropped out, she realized. Taking over the farm in his parents’ absence had taken more maturity than she’d ever realized before.

To lighten the mood again, she smiled. “Maybe it has, but the way I hear it you’re still quite the market item. Just last week I heard Lily Thistlewood saying she plans on getting you alone somewhere for indecent purposes before the summer starts. ”

Big Mac's blush deepened. “’Spose that’s what happens when the mares outnumber the stallions three-to-one in a town.”

“Well,” Cheerilee said, stepping off of her stool and managing to stay upright, “I think that is about as far as I can go without putting my hoof even further in my mouth. So perhaps we’d better call it a night.” She looked at the clock and was amazed to see the hands pointing almost toward midnight. “Goodness, how the time flies.”

“Yeah, guess I should be gettin’ back t’the farm,” said Big Mac, standing unsteadily.

Cheerilee’s brows knit with concern. “You sure that’s a good idea? I’ll be lucky to make it back to my place, and that’s just ten minutes away. You’ve got an hour-long walk.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Mac, taking a step and wobbling. “Or…” he swayed, putting out a hoof to the bar to steady himself. “Maybe not.”

Cheerilee shook her head slowly, suppressing a drunken whee as it swung back and forth. “You can sleep at my house, Mac. I don’t want you wandering off into the woods on accident and getting eaten by a timberwolf.”

“Timberwolves’d be bad,” he agreed. “All right. Let’s pay our tabs and head fer your place, then.”

“Right. And bring the bottle.”