But that's nothing to party about....
“Thank you so much! Can’t wait to see you again!”
Pinkie smiled as another satisfied customer departed Sugarcube Corner. She hummed a cheery little ditty to herself. With an empty dining area, she headed back to the kitchen. Mt. Dirty Dishes sat by the sink, demanding overdue attention. Mr. and Mrs. Cake stood by the island in the kitchen, giggling and nuzzling, and being a little goofy with the pastry pouch and its green icing. They had a finished sheet cake, with pristine leaves on a depicted oak sapling, for a very special little colt’s birthday. The twins were down for a nap, right on schedule. Pinkie smiled at her employers’ antics. Few in town ever saw this side of them, the happily married couple. Most simply saw hard-working, down-to-business bakers who ran their shop efficiently and, as far as every governmental regulatory agency was concerned, clean as a whistle. Pinkie sighed contently, watching their delight and hoping maybe this would be her and her own fun-loving stallion someday.
They, of course, weren’t the only happily married couple in town. Cranky and Matilda were...well, “happy” rarely fit Cranky, unless Matilda was in the room. Pinkie supposed they were about as happy as they could be, given the jack’s demeanor. Mayor Mare was married too, though her husband usually remained far from the public eye. The latest gossip said Caramel had bought a ring, and was looking for the best time to pop The Question to his long-time marefriend, Sassaflash. The Apples were married to Sweet Apple Acres, though that technically didn’t qualify. Still, Ponyville had many more fine examples.
Then there were the Harvests. Moonlight Harvest took Carrot Top as his bride, and she renamed to Golden Harvest. Their wedding reception was Pinkie’s first big-big party to plan, one with over three hundred party-goers, and she still fondly remembered the smiles to this day. Over the last five years, though, the smiles between Moonlight and Golden Harvest had turned themselves upside-down. Pinkie somehow always found a way to remain optimistic about them, when everypony else thought “Splitsville” was the better option. Sure, every married couple has an argument now and again, it’s just that “now and again” for the Harvests was more frequent than with the others. A lot more frequently. Secretly she worried everypony else may be right, but that would never do. Like, would never ever do, not in Ponyville. “’Til death do us part.” That was how the vow closed, right? Until death, but premature death wasn’t what she wanted, of course. The police had been to the Harvests’ house three times in the last two weeks because of how bad the yelling had been. No violence, thank Celestia, but two days ago, the yelling was so loud it startled Applebloom as she returned home from school, and she was clear out in the road. Just the same, Pinkie was Pinkie, and was absolutely certain they would figure it out, either by themselves, with the help of counseling, or maybe even after the Cutie Map sent a pair of her friends there.
The front door’s bell rang. Pinkie hurried on out, and with a big smile, said, “Welcome to Sugarcube Corner! What can I do you for?”
Pinkie opened her eyes. There stood Golden Harvest, with bags under her reddened eyes and just a touch of a smile on her browbeaten expression. Next to her stood a stallion a few years younger than Golden, with a reddish-gray coat and a pugilist’s cutie mark, but the same eyes and mane. Then Pinkie remembered, he was Golden Harvest’s little brother, Rocky Top. Pinkie’s grin widened. “Hey Rocky Top! It’s been a few years! How’ve you been? Still getting your corn from a jar?”
Rocky snickered, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s the size of it back home, that corn won’t grow. But it’ll always be home sweet home to me.”
“What can I get ya’?” Pinkie beamed.
Golden sighed deeply. She started as if she were about to speak, then stopped. Rocky gave his sister a questioning look, to which Golden nodded. Rocky turned to Pinkie and asked, “Suppose you can plan a party for my dear sister? Things...are getting better now.”
“Ooh!” squealed Pinkie happily. “A we-worked-it-out-and-life-is-grand-now party? I’ve got just the thing!”
“That’s not it at all, Pinks,” Golden said wearily.
Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it?”
“The long nightmare’s finally over,” Golden sighed. “Moonlight and I are getting a divorce.”
Rubbing his sister on the withers and preventing himself from grimacing, Rocky said, “She’s free from that loser at last. No more screaming, no more drama, it’s done and behind her.”
Pinkie blinked slowly. Her mane and tail both visibly slumped some, as if they deflated, to the point one could have sworn there was the sound of air being let out of a balloon. Pinkie emptily mumbled, “...what??”
“Yeah!” said Rocky, beaming. “Now she can sleep without feeling angry enough to scream, or worry if he’s gonna lose his temper, or so on. And she doesn’t have to bring her earnings home for him to waste on...whatever. The sooner everypony calls her by her birth name again, the better.”
Golden, or effectively as of now, Carrot Top, did not show the same joy as her brother. Her exhausted, relieved small smile seemed to Pinkie that she had enormous burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Pinkie blinked twice as she looked between them, and started, “You...want me to plan a party...because—”
“Her divorce, yeah,” Rocky said with some tentative surprise. “Haven’t you planned such a party before?”
“Well, no, I’ve never—”
“It’s okay, Pinkie,” Carrot interjected soothingly and demurely. “He’s just been very worried about me since last Hearth’s Warming.”
Rocky asked, “Aren’t you about the best party planner in the history of, well, ever?”
“I am, but—”
“Great!” Rocky interrupted. “I’ll get you the deets as soon as we know how many’re coming. You’re the best, Pinks!”
The two siblings turned to leave. Pinkie began, “But—”
“I trust you, Pinkie,” said Carrot. “But I can’t stay right now. We’ll see you later.”
“But...!”
The door closed. Pinkie stared at it for a moment. Her shook her head slowly with her expression stuck how it was before they left. She turned back toward the kitchen, and muttered sadly, “...but this isn’t a reason to party at all....”
Mr. and Mrs. Cake were still giddy and lovey-dovey when Pinkie returned to the kitchen. Mt. Dirty Dishes still loomed beside the sink, but Pinkie did not acknowledge its presence. She ambled forward toward the chair by the stand-up mixer. Mrs. Cake’s eyebrows scrunched when she saw her employee’s sullen demeanor. “Pinkie, what happened?”
“Oh...,” Pinkie started, “...I just was asked to plan a party, but I don’t want anything to do with this one.”
Mr. Cake looked back in the nursery a moment. Satisfied that Pound and Pumpkin were sufficiently zonked, he asked, “Don’t tell me it’s a...naughty party, is it?”
Pinkie shook her head. Her words were much slower and lower-pitched than usual, “No, no, no. That’s not the problem at all. Planned at least a dozen and a half of those.”
“Pinkie Pie!” Mrs. Cake admonished in shock and disgust.
Mr. Cake merely frowned. “That aside, I’m concerned. What has you all out of sorts?”
“It’s just that ‘to death do us part’ doesn’t mean what it used to,” lamented Pinkie.
“The Harvests, right?” Mr. Cake asked.
Pinkie looked up at them, both having lowered their shoulders and exhaling longer than usual. Pinkie said, “That obvious, huh?”
“Well, I’m just glad it’s not something unsightly and disgusting,” vented Mrs. Cake. “I sure hope you don’t have any of those coming up.”
“What she’s trying to say, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake swiftly inserted with as diplomatic a tone as he could manage, “is that we were braced for something much worse than that.”
Pinkie didn’t even look up. “How can it be worse than the death of true love?”
Mrs. Cake slowly walked over to her. Tapping her shoulder, she gently said, “We’re glad to know you want what you feel is best for everypony, and feel it deeply, but you’re not in the right mind to work right now. I think you need to take the afternoon off, and gather your thoughts. We can handle the shop.”
Pinkie slowly nodded, and trudged out the back door.
Twilight sat in her library, enjoying some “light” reading. The fourteen-hundred plus page tome sat open with about two-thirds of the pages flipped. Pinkie plodded into the room at an unhurried pace. Twilight looked up, and her shoulders sank slightly. “What’s wrong, Pinkie?”
“Can I ask you a question?” Pinkie said. Twilight nodded. Pinkie took a deep breath, and asked, “Has anypony asked you to use your talents for what you don’t think it should be used for?”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. After a moment of chin scratching, she said, “I’m sure I’ve been asked many times to use my magic for ends I didn’t agree with, but I get the feeling that’s not quite what you mean.”
“No, I guess it’s not,” Pinkie mumbled, scratching the floor half-heartedly.
“What kind of party were you asked to throw?” Twilight asked, frowning.
Pinkie snorted to herself, then met Twilight’s gaze. “I guess I really am that obvious, huh?”
“Only when you’re bummed out. The rest of the time, you’re nearly as random as Discord,” said Twilight, giving her a hug.
Pinkie gladly returned the embrace, perhaps holding her friend for a bit too long. As she flopped into a half-sitting position, she said, “The Harvests are getting divorced, and Golden wants a party for it, though she’s back to being Carrot Top now. It’s gonna take a bit to get used to calling her that again.”
Twilight patted Pinkie on the shoulder. “So they’re finally calling it quits. Cadance was right.”
“Huh?” Pinkie blurted perplexed as she shot upright.
“Last time she was here in Ponyville, she noticed them in the market. She seemed...down, at the sight of them. I asked her why, and she said their love was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it,” said Twilight with a touch of sadness.
Pinkie’s jaw actually hit the floor, looking as though the mandible bone detached entirely, and something replaced her skin and fur with silly putty. She gasped, “Not even Cadance could save it!?”
“It was too far gone,” explained Twilight. “When neither one wants it anymore, there’s nothing that can be done.”
Pinkie choked on sobs, trying to hold them back, markedly easier by her mouth returning to normal. She sputtered, “B-b-but why do-o-o ponies ge-e-et ma-arried if they wo-o-on’t stay togethe-er forever?”
Twilight sighed through her nose, shaking her head. “I seriously doubt anypony marries with intent to divorce...well, maybe except ruthless business ponies, and a few in books.”
Pinkie had regained some control of her breathing. “It’s still so sad, and it shouldn’t be celebrated!”
“Pinkie, I don’t know why they asked for a party. Maybe it’s because the fighting and screaming is at an end?” Twilight shrugged with sagging eyelids and expression.
“It’s still not right,” protested Pinkie.
“At the same time,” Twilight said matter-of-factly, “if two ponies can’t get along, they ought to be apart. I really don’t think I can help more than this; I don’t know love anywhere near as well as my sister-in-law.”
“It’s not your fault, Twilight. Thanks for trying anyway,” said Pinkie sans enthusiasm, and she headed for the door with her hair becoming even flatter.
Pinkie returned through Sugarcube Corner’s back door. She ambled to the sink and began the ascent of Mt. Dirty Dishes at a pace that suggested she didn’t care if she finished today or not. She muttered to herself, “I can’t plan this party. I’ll just have to tell them no. Hopefully they understand, but if not, oh well. Hopefully this doesn’t mean others won’t come to me for parties, but I just can’t. It’s not right.”
“Pinkie?” Mrs. Cake said tentatively.
“Yes’m?”
“One, I thought I told you that you have the afternoon off?” Mrs. Cake scolded.
Pinkie stopped washing a whisk. “Sorry, force of habit.”
“That’s fine; I’d rather you be that way,” Mrs. Cake said. “And two, this came for you while you were out.”
There was a business envelope. Pinkie tore it open and began reading the letter within:
Dear Pinkie Pie,
Thank you again for helping my sister with this. I know it’s an unusual party request, and maybe not something you’d normally do at all, but it means so much to us. Trust me, had it been one of your sisters, and if you knew what all went on behind their closed doors, you’d be in the same boat. Since you said you’ve never done a party of this sort before, we added extra to your usual fee to accommodate needing supplies you simply would not have in stock, especially with the necessity for rush orders. We hope the attached check is sufficient; let us know if you require more for the materials.
The party is to begin the night after tomorrow at 8pm sharp, with a total of 35 guests, most of them unattached mares. No beer or hard liquor, please, but a few bottles of a demi-sec or doux would not go amiss. My sister tells me you have extensive knowledge of the party tastes of Ponyville’s residents, so I took the time to attach a list of those who RSVP’ed; it’s on the back.
You’re the best, Pinks. We really owe you one big time for this.
Sincerely,
Rocky Top
Pinkie briefly skimmed the list of names on the back while a smaller slip of paper fell to the floor. Mrs. Cake picked it up and squawked, “Three hundred and seventy-five bits!? That’s how much you make per party!?”
Pinkie sighed, “It’s usually not that much, but I have decorations and game supplies to buy that I don’t have on hoof, maybe have to custom order, Prench dessert wines as well, and the cake to make and give Sugarcube Corner its cut of the fee.”
“You better not have made cakes here for one of those...hedonist parties you hinted about,” Mrs. Cake growled.
“Certainly have,” Pinkie said flatly. “And the following few weeks after those ‘hedonist’ parties, the shop usually brings in an extra two hundred to five hundred bits from increased traffic, depending on how many attended.”
Pinkie’s face showed no emotion as Mrs. Cake sputtered, “Well, it’s...that’s not...you should...of all the...how...really? An extra five hundred after the bigger ones?”
Pinkie nodded, still expressionless. Mrs. Cake leaned in close, and threateningly whispered, “Don’t you dare tell my husband I said it’s okay for you to prepare for those parties here. And don’t you dare bake or decorate an obscene cake while Pound or Pumpkin are awake or could be. Got it?”
Pinkie nodded again. Mrs. Cake pressed, “Promise me.”
“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” Pinkie promised, with its usual hoof motions, though none of the tone of voice.
“Good,” said Mrs. Cake firmly. “Now I think you should get to your party planning.”
Pinkie frowned with some pain behind her eyes. “Um...about that...I was going to decline this job....”
Mrs. Cake shook her head. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
Mrs. Cake held up the check. This one had more writing on it than Pinkie was used to seeing. Mrs. Cake said, “Pinkie, this is a bank cashier’s check, not a regular personal check.”
“Okay...?” Pinkie said slowly, looking between her boss and the check.
“Personal checks can be voided,” Mrs. Cake explained, “but under Equestrian law, you can’t do that with a cashier’s check. The money’s already out of their account, and they cannot get it back. And it’s in your name, which means they hired specifically you, not Sugarcube Corner. I’m sorry, Pinkie, but before you ask, that means I can’t throw it for you. You’re stuck.”
Pinkie raised an eyebrow enough to challenge Applejack’s claim. She spat, “That law’s ridiculous! Why would Princess Celestia let that stand?”
Mrs. Cake huffed, “Many others have said the same thing, and never got an answer. Maybe the Bank Coalition bribed her?”
“Can’t I just cash it and send it back the same way?” Pinkie asked.
Mrs. Cake shook her head. “Technically, yes, but you’ll have to pay for your own cashier’s check, plus wait for this one to clear, and so on. That’s not to mention how such a move will badly damage your business reputation, and Sugarcube Corner’s as well. I’m sorry, Pinkie, but the party is a go, like it or not.”
“My own ‘business reputation,’ and yours too...fine. This really stinks...let me figure this out...,” sighed Pinkie in defeat, as she made for her party planning cave.
That night, Pinkie Pie lay awake in her bed, staring vacantly at nothing in particular. Even after a full twelve hours of turning it over, she found no way to bridge the gap between the death of true love and celebration. Sure, the end of arguments, fighting, and possibly getting somepony away from where something truly horrible could happen were good things, but did that counterbalance against the end of something so beautiful? And unable to back out?
Gummy ambled up the blanket. He stopped beside Pinkie, less than a foot between their muzzles, and he licked his eyeball. She murmured, “I don’t know what to do, Gummy. I don’t want to plan this party, but I’ve been paid for it already. What do you think?”
Gummy licked his other eyeball and slowly blinked, showing a toothless grin for a brief moment.
Grimacing, Pinkie slowly said, “I dunno...that seems kinda mean....”
Flashing the same grin for the same length of time, Gummy stood firm. Pinkie complained, “No, I’m not denying that’s how I feel about the whole thing. I just don’t think that’s wise, or would be well-received.”
Gummy licked Pinkie’s eye this time. She sat up and gave him a long look. “That’s even worse!”
Shaking her head at Gummy, Pinkie exhaled a long sigh. He licked both of his eyes in quick succession. She sighed again, flopping her head haphazardly onto her pillow, and rolled over. “Okay, okay, if you’re that certain. Not sure what you’re playing at, Gummy, but you’ve never let me down before....”
The very next morning, Princess Celestia graced Ponyville with the best sunrise the town had seen in a decade. Mrs. Cake awoke before her children, but still later than she would’ve liked. Noises came from the kitchen, noises indicative of Pinkie busting her hindquarters, and that her husband was nearly done with stocking the shelves before the first ponies came for their morning fix. Coffee wafted gently in the air. She walked in and found that Pinkie was finishing up a sheet cake, with the usual curliness in her hair. She looked up at her boss. “Hiya Mrs. Cake!”
“Good morning, Pinkie. How are we doing, sweetums?” asked Mrs. Cake, turning to her husband.
Mr. Cake answered, “Right on schedule, honey bun. Full set of doughnuts, danishes, muffins, bagels, turnovers, and croissants. Daily cakes are almost done cooling, and the fondant and icing are already mixed and ready to go. I’m about to open the register and load the shelves.”
“Okay, good,” she sighed in relief. “Sorry I overslept. Weird dreams.”
“I know, dear. You usually don’t talk in your sleep unless you’re in an intense dream,” her husband answered. Mr. Cake took a tray of long johns, bismarks, and kettle danishes with him out to the counter.
Satisfied, Mrs. Cake turned her attention to Pinkie. “Feeling better, I see.”
“You bet!” Pinkie said happily. “Gummy gave me a suggestion on what to do! I wasn’t sure if he knew what he was talking about, and I’m still on the fence, but he hasn’t led me wrong yet!”
“Right...,” said Mrs. Cake doubtfully. Then she gasped in shock and horror.
The cake was expertly done. Pinkie had indeed learned very well from Mrs. Cake’s instruction on the art of fondant and cake decoration. The fondant was perfectly even, white as snow, and the corners were turned smoothly, with no hint of folding nor a seam. The edging frosting was pink, smelled like she balanced the almond and vanilla extracts perfectly, and looked as though she braided the confection. Then there was the frosting decoration just left of the very centre of the cake top, masterfully drawn and placed...but the subject matter...there lay the trouble. It’s not that Pinkie made it shoddy-looking, or amateurish, or that she lay the frosting too deep. No, the problem was that she had drawn a heart with a knife through it, depicting it as bleeding profusely its decorative icing-blood toward the closest side of the cake. Pinkie even took the time to darken the edges of the decorative icing blood trail, such that they had the sheen and hue of mostly congealed blood. This icing smelled of strawberries, correctly balanced so that it would not simply taste like jelly nor had any seeds in it. Words were in the same buttercream as the braided edges, but dyed black, and to the right of the heart. Complete with using the wrong word, they read “Congratulations! True love lays brutally murdered in its own house!”
Pinkie Pie had just finishing warming up a knife, and was shaving thin strips off of a block of chocolate so that they curled. She had put two of these cocoa curlicues on the side of the cake when Mrs. Cake’s larynx came back online. “Um, Pinkie...about this cake....”
“Yes?” said Pinkie after placing another of the chocolate spirals. “Standard party cake: left side white, right side chocolate.”
“That’s...not the issue,” Mrs. Cake said, still stunned. She had not blinked in about half a minute at this point.
Pinkie set down the cooking implements and looked at her boss. With a frown forming, she asked, “Did I mix up ‘lay’ and ‘lie’ again? I can never keep them straight!”
“Well, yes you did, but, uh,” Mrs. Cake hesitated. “I...would like to hope this is your audition for doing the Nightmare Night cakes, but we both know that’s not what’s going on here.”
“Ooh! Does that mean I can decorate the cakes for the Haunted Orchard, the Corn Maze, and the Haunted Courthouse!?” Pinkie nearly squeed.
“...we’ll talk about that come October,” Mrs. Cake started. “Pinkie, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea for Carrot Top, do you?”
“Honestly, no,” Pinkie admitted. “But it’s honest about what they want to celebrate. I tried telling Gummy that, both last night and before getting started this morning, but noo-o-o, he insisted—”
Mrs. Cake rubbed between her eyebrows as she interrupted, “Just...just give me a few minutes, okay? Go wash up, and chill out for a moment.”
Pinkie’s hair went slack again. She meandered out of the kitchen, saying, “Okie dokie lokie....”
Back upstairs, Pinkie sighed angrily as she lifted bedsheets, the mattress, end tables, nightstands, the chest of drawers, and her bed, putting each back down lightly. She stepped into the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain, and said, “Ah ha! There you are!”
Gummy sat in still the water, blinking slowly. Pinkie picked him up, scolding away. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea! I said so last night, and this morning, and again before mixing the food colouring into the frosting! But you’re so insistent! And now Mrs. Cake has sent me away from my shift again!”
Pinkie set Gummy down on her nightstand as he licked the end of her nose. She growled for a moment, then almost yelled, “Don’t you give me that!”
He slowly blinked, and showed his toothless grin again. Pinkie’s shoulders slumped as her face and tone turned incredulous. “And exactly how do you propose that’s gonna happen!?”
Gummy slowly blinked and licked her nose. She scoffed, and screeched, “‘Wait!?’ Really?! I need to wait and it’ll get better!?”
Yet again he grinned. Pinkie picked him back up and went toward the bathroom, grumbling, “Uh huh, that’s been working so well today....”
Pinkie dropped him back into the water with a splash. She huffed all the way back to the bed, flopped down irritably, and sulked, sitting in that odd posture Lyra Heartstrings often assumes. She looked at the end of the blanket and her pillow for a number of minutes. As she pulled at the blanket and started to lie down, a knock came at her door, unlike the way either of the Cakes knock, or her closest friends. Pinkie raised an eyebrow, stood up, and slowly walked to the door. Upon opening, she blinked three times, and a fourth time after a slight pause. She blurted, “Carrot Top??”
“May I come in?” she asked.
Pinkie gestured inwards as she continued her confused blinking. Carrot Top stepped in, still with sagging eyelids and even, slow, relaxed breathing. The two walked over to the bed. Carrot laid down on the rug, with her feet below her, while Pinkie sat on the bed in a similar posture to her guest. Carrot fidgeted with her hooves and a loose strand in the carpet. Pinkie sighed, and started, “I’m sorry, Gol—Carrot. I don’t know how to do this party. I just have no idea.”
“I know,” said Carrot Top dryly. “It’s mostly my brother’s idea, anyway. I’d just like the whole matter to be done with quickly, but there’s no way Moonlight will let that happen. He’s already vowed to fight it out in court for every single thing, right down to the last packet of bread yeast.”
Pinkie buried her face in her hooves. “Oh my Celestia, Carrot...is he really?”
Carrot Top sighed and gave Pinkie a long, hard, serious but not stern look. She said, “You never knew the stallion well, did you?”
“I remember what I saw at the reception,” Pinkie said with a hint of defiance. “You two were so happy then! So in love! But then it came to this....”
“That explains the cake,” said Carrot with a mixture of irritation and masked amusement.
Pinkie closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, I didn’t—”
“Don’t. Just don’t,” said Carrot much firmer. “I don’t care whose idea it was. It was a terrible decision. Mrs. Cake said she debated if she should come talk to me about the party plans, but that cake! She dropped her morning routine and found me after she saw it!”
Pinkie nodded slowly. “I know...I know...and I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have—”
“Pinkie,” Carrot Top interrupted, but gentler. “I should also apologise. I should not have let Rocky make any of the decisions, or do the talking. He assumes ponies are already on the same page as he is before he opens his mouth. It’s gotten him in a lot of hoof-fights.”
Pinkie snorted, “And his cutie mark.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Carrot, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I reamed him when he told me he sent you the payment by cashier’s check. I should have told you what I wanted and why.”
“Okay,” said Pinkie, shifting into a down-to-business tone. “Let’s just start this all over, from the beginning. You want a party because you’re getting divorced. Why does that make you happy, and how do you want to celebrate it?”
“The divorce isn’t what’s being celebrated, and it’s not ‘true love laying brutally murdered in its own house,’ easily mistaken words be damned. Sure, there was love, maybe even true love, I don’t know. But it wasn’t a brutal murder. It wasn’t even a murder at all,” Carrot Top said slowly, and tapping her hoof to her nose. “It...fizzled. A long, gradual death, without either of us seeing it happen until it was too late. I don’t know where we went wrong, and neither does he, but I haven’t had a happy feeling about him in close to a year.”
“Oh,” said Pinkie in sad surprise. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Carrot Top sighed. “Looking back, I don’t know. There’s many things we did that don’t make sense in retrospect.”
Pinkie nodded. “I see. So, what are you celebrating?”
“Freedom,” Carrot said wistfully. “Freedom from feeling trapped and angry all the time. Freedom from constant arguments. Freedom, that a terrible situation is finally put behind me.”
“I just have to ask one thing, because it’s been bugging me from the get-go, and it just doesn’t make sense,” Pinkie declared. “Why did you get married, if it wasn’t going to last? What became of ‘until death do us part?’ Why would you make such a solemn vow if you can’t carry through with it?”
Carrot Top closed her eyes, a few tears escaping. She shook her head as Pinkie watched with a fixated stare and expression. A sigh, and Carrot slowly opened her eyes, and looked into Pinkie’s. Quietly she said, “The mare and stallion who said their ‘I Do’s’ that day are no longer around. There was no way to know how we would grow and change. We grew apart, and very badly. We have both said and done horrible things to each other.”
“Both of you? Really?” Pinkie asked, mystified. “You’ve never seemed to me like you could do anything horrible to anypony.”
Carrot said, “Three nights ago, I made him hit me.”
Pinkie gasped, “You can’t say that! Don’t even think it! If he hit you, you can’t blame yourself, Gol—Carrot! You just can’t!”
“But I did. I baited him,” Carrot confessed. “I was looking for a reason to call the police and get him arrested. When I realised I’d rather get him locked up than still have him in the house, I couldn’t hide from it any more. I knew we had to divorce.”
“Oh my...,” Pinkie breathed.
“I’m not gonna get into what all he’s done, because I don’t want to relive any of it,” Carrot Top lamented. “Now I want you to listen to what I’m about to say very carefully, so that you understand what I’m going through: even knowing how he and I changed, even knowing we would never have foals, even with all the fighting, even with all the screaming, even with being scared he would hurt me or worse without me baiting him, even with everything we’ve done to each other, even with the visits from the police, even knowing there was no hope for it to get better, even knowing how much better and safer I would feel, even with knowing it would be better for everypony both in the short and long terms...even with all of that, going in Town Hall, getting those papers and filling them out...it felt like I was trying to take all my skin off with sandpaper.”
Pinkie’s hair had remained flat after returning to her room, but somehow it seemed to sag and worsen beyond its current state. Pinkie stared in shock as the tears slowly and silently leaked from her eyes, falling to her comforter. Carrot Top looked down, resuming her previous nervous tic. Time passed. Five minutes, maybe? Neither one was sure how long had gone by when Carrot broke the silence. “I should also say, the other thing we’d be celebrating is peace of mind for my family, because I’m out of that situation. I’ve since learned my parents lost sleep over me for the last two years.”
“Ohh-h...,” Pinkie said way too drawn out. Some of the curliness returned to her mane and tail, but nowhere near all of it. “That’s what this is about. I was thinking about it all wrong. I’m sorry. Now that it’s coming together, I have a thought of what we can do for the party. But there’s something else I need to do first.”
Pinkie marched into the bathroom. She rooted around in the bathwater, and pulled Gummy out. Her eyes were pleading, but it didn’t show up as much in her voice. “I’m sorry, buddy. You were right. It did work out, because that cake made her come talk to me and set the record straight. I’m sorry, Gummy, I never should’ve doubted you.”
She kissed the little gator on the head. Gummy licked his eyeball again, to which Pinkie snickered, “Yes, yes, that’s what I was thinking! You’re the best, pal!”
Pinkie hummed to herself as she returned to Carrot Top, her head ablaze with a series of excellent party themes, plans, decorations, games, etc., to run past her client and prepare the right way for the occasion.
It was well after midnight when Pinkie returned to Sugarcube Corner, tugging her cart of decor and her party cannon. Carrot Top’s divorce party went well. The party had garnered the attention of one of Canterlot’s finest divorce attorneys, one who reduced his fees for mares who had been through too much. Rocky Top kept his calm through all the comments and banter, and Carrot Top was in good hooves for the coming property battle. Everypony left satisfied, and confident that Moonlight would be stopped in his tracks should he try to take more than his share.
Pinkie quietly entered the back door, moving the cannon in first, then the decor. As she slid the banners, etc., down the chute to the cave...a task better left for the afternoon...she started toward her room. Mrs. Cake was there, nursing little Pumpkin. Pinkie softly said, “Needed a midnight treat, or...?”
“I think she was having a nightmare,” said Mrs. Cake.
Pinkie shook her head. “Aw, you shouldn’t do that, silly! No more nightmares, okay?”
“She’s so close,” Mrs. Cake said, gently rocking her daughter. Pumpkin’s eyelids drooped and shut, and slowly reopened, and shut. Mrs. Cake looked up and asked, “How was the party?”
“It was good,” said Pinkie. “I can’t say great, because of the sadness underneath of it, but it was good. Carrot Top is feeling ready for the coming court hearings.”
Mrs. Cake nodded. “Good to know. And the second cake was much more appropriate. Always being able to rely on your family is a nice theme.”
“Yeah.”
“Any other parties I should know about?” Mrs. Cake asked, as she lowered Pumpkin back to her crib.
“Well yeah, I’m booked for Sunday night,” said Pinkie as turned for her room again.
Mrs. Cake let go of Pumpkin, the infant laying on her back. She murmured, “Okay, thanks for the heads-up. Good night, Pinkie.”
“Good night, Mrs. Cake.” As she left, Pinkie’s neck stretched out, to the point that she could and did whisper in Mrs. Cake’s ear, “Better tell Mr. Cake to have more doughnuts ready next week. You’ll probably have higher traffic....”
As Pinkie’s neck retracted, Mrs. Cake facehoofed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pinkie....”
Fin
Author's Note
My parents split when I was ten. It's a surprise they made it as far as they did; had they done what we say people ought to do in relationships nowadays, they would've never married, and m' brother and I would never have been born. Dad got custody, and mom was placed on supervised visitation only, if that gives a clue how poorly she handled herself through the proceedings. Nearly twenty-five years later, it's still the worst, most vicious, and unbelievable divorce case and custody battle m' home county has ever seen.
Some years after growing up and moving out, dad told me that bit about filing for divorce, what Carrot Top said about it. Slight alterations to the situations described, and a bit of paraphrasing, but the point remains conveyed, I hope. I cannot relate, and hope it remains so.
All of that said, what inspired the fic was one evening watching Family Feud (m' daughter turns her head when she hears that theme song, or Steve Harvey's voice 
). During the introductions, one lady said she was "happily divorced," and they mentioned having a party for it and everything. Somewhere in m' head heard that and asked, "How would Pinkie plan such a party?" After letting m' brain turn it over for a number of weeks, this is what came out.
Hope you liked. Thanks for reading.
