Ok. So, this fanfic is not mine. It's a fic I found a few years ago (like five or four years ago) in Quizilla® -I mean, back when Quizilla was quizilla.com and not .teenick.com-. It was written by user AuroraMist, who took it down, and I don't know why.
She wrote a lot of amazing fan fictions; she's a hell of a writer. But this is definitely my favourite from her, and it is for sure the best My Chemical Romance fan fiction I've ever read. And I've read quite a few. So, I thought I'd share it -again- with the World. Cuz it's awesome, and it deserves to be read.
32
"How many grams would
you like, ma'am?" The overweight man with the ginger walrus moustache
asked me, holding the biggest knife I have ever seen in his left hand.
I stared at him, trying to
figure out both how many grams I'd need to make dinner for nine people and how
many years it had taken him to grow such an interesting facial hair pattern. God,
I hope Frank wasn't serious last night when he said he wants to grow one. I
swear I'll kill him if he does. Awful things... Shit, the dinner. Meant to be
cooking for people I like. People I like which, I guess, means I can't just
pass of anything as edible. Have to keep them around, might need them in the
future. Maybe-
"Ma'am?" The
butcher with the orange fur on his top lip pressed, slowly waving a hand in front
of my face. "How many grams?" He paused after every single word as if
I needed five seconds to figure out what each one meant.
Stuck up asshole. Just
because I don't know how much bacon to buy to make dinner for eight people.
Would have been nine but Frank refused to stop being a vegetarian for tonight.
I bit my lip and
squinted at the scales. "Um .. 2000?"
His ginger furry eyebrows
rose. "That would be two kilograms?"
"I know
that," I snapped and then hesitated at the incredulous look he had on his
face. Is two kilos too much? "Um ... Look. Sorry to bother you and
further hold up the," I turned to look over my shoulder and winced as I
looked back at the butcher, "twelve people waiting behind me, but I need
your help. I'm a shit cook but, somehow, I got roped into cooking for, like,
nine people and I have no idea where to start. My parents are coming and so is
my fiancée's mother so I have to make something edible. So, to-"
"Lady, I don't need
your life story. Just tell me how much bacon you want."
My face fell. I was going
to ask him how much bacon I would need to feed eight people. Obviously that
wouldn't be a good idea; you know, judging by his expression and tone of voice.
"Um. Just two kilos, please."
He weighed out the bacon,
wrapped it up and then passed it over the counter towards me. "That'll be
$29.90."
I stared at him, with my
jaw dropped, and then at the price sticker. Sure enough, it read to amount to
$29.90. For diced pig pieces for fuck's sake. "Fucking expensive
animal," I mumbled as I paid.
After I'd placed the
package into my shopping basket, I entered the nearest super market. Now what
do I need? I wondered as I walked down the aisles, staring at the shelves
and very aware that I wasn't even sure what I'd be making yet.
I'd arrived home, with five
bags of groceries and $143 less than I'd left with, to find a message from
Gerard informing me that he was in the emergency room and that I'd 'better call
him'. I stared at the machine after the message was finished playing. Is
that all the explanation I get? Bloody Gerard.
After finding the piece of
paper which had his cell number scrawled on it, I rang Gerard, who answered
with, "Carrie, finally! Where have you been?"
"What? What about
you?! You're supposed to be at the signing, making fans happy. Why are you at
the hospital?"
"Ray collapsed."
"What?" I
shrieked. "Is he okay? Oh my God, does he-"
"Carrie, calm down.
He's been vomiting a whole lot and he had to have some procedure which I can't pronounce performed-"
"But is he
alright?"
"He has viral
meningitis and has to stay in overnight, maybe more, as a precaution."
"Is he-"
"He's much better than
he was, yeah."
I pressed the palm of my
hand, which wasn't holding the phone, to my forehead and tried to think.
"If I make it quick, I could probably make it down to hospital and then
come back in time to finish dinner. Oh fuck, I haven't even started
dinner. I have to make a three course meal and I have no idea where to start.
If I come and see Ray then I wouldn't have the time to make dessert but they
can go without. I mean, Ray's-"
"Carrie, whoa. It's
five o'clock, your dinner thing starts at seven thirty. You don't have time to
visit Ray tonight but I'm staying with him for as long as I can so it's fine.
You can see him tomorrow."
Breathe in, breathe out... "Gerard, I love you. You
wouldn't happen to know how to make Sformato di Tagiatelle Verdi, would
you?"
"Uh, er - what?"
"Green Pasta Soufflé.
It's my Mom's favourite and it's one of the only recipes I can make with meat
and without it - since, you know, Frank's a difficult vegetarian little
shit."
"No. My talent in the
kitchen extends to the knowledge of being able to make fried rice, you should
know that. Why are you making something you don't know how to-"
"I told you, it's
Mom's favourite."
"Well, why don't you
call her and ask for the recipe?"
"Because she tried to
teach me how to once and I didn't pay attention but now, apparently or at least according to Mom, I know how. She'd kill me if I asked her because she thinks I
cook it all the time."
"I love you, Carrie, I
really do, but you are an idiot. Why did you agree to cook in the first place
if you're so bad at it?"
"Because Frank's out
until seven o'clock. I can't disappoint them-" I paused when hearing a
beeping noise. "Is that your phone or mine?"
"What?"
"Must be mine. I've
got another call, wait a minute." I pressed the 'hold' button.
"Hello?"
"Carrie?"
"Daisy?"
"Carrie, guess what?
I'm in New Jersey!
Josh and I just came out because his sister, Megan, has a baby - a girl.
They're going to call it Emily; I have to talk them out of it."
"You're in Jersey? Ahh! We have to catch up-"
"Exactly what I was
thinking. Josh is at the hospital or out buying chocolate or flowers - I don't
know - and I'm stuck at his sister's place, bored as hell. What're you doing
tonight? Let's go out, I-"
"Actually I'm having, um,
a 'dinner party' in my apartment tonight so-"
"Oh okay. Same
apartment as last time I visited?"
"Yeah."
"What time?"
"Seven thirty."
"Okay, I'll bring the
wine. See you there."
Oh shit. "No Daisy - Daisy! I didn't
mean - Oh fuck it, she hung up." I took Gerard off hold, raising my
eyebrows when hearing him humming the Gilligan's Island
theme song. "Gee, help me."
"Why, what's
happened?"
"I have an extra
dinner guest and - just, ugh. Tonight is going to be a failure."
"Don't think like that
or it will be. Go into Frank's apartment and check the cupboard above the shelf
where the sugar and flour is. In there will be Mikey's collection of recipe
books, see if you can find that green thing in there. I have to go, Ray's woken
up. Good luck Carrie-bear."
"No Gerard, I need
you! Don't you hang up on me too!" Gah, he hung up. Here I was talking to
no one.
Scowling, I set the phone
down and looked at the clock on the oven, realizing I had hardly enough time to
make all three courses and the Havana
almond drink Frank said his mom loves.
After pulling out the recipe books I'd found the drinks, hors-d'Oeures and
dessert recipes in, I hurried over to Frank's where I found those meal-idea
cards that supermarkets all displayed, one thankfully having the right recipe I
needed for the main course. By the time I was done burning the bacon, I had
finished off two glasses of red wine and was coming to the conclusion that the
chicory stew was not meant to be black and that using icing sugar instead of
flour, finely chopped cabbage instead of parsley and that shaving my legs while
I was meant to be watching the stew, so it didn't burn, wasn't a good idea
really.
And, to top it all off, there was a thick smoke filling the air in my kitchen
and a splatter of white gunk all over three of the bench tops from where I'd
forgotten to put the lid on the blender.
"Carrie, are you in
here? I went to mine but you weren't there and I-" Mikey came into the
kitchen and started coughing. "God, what is that smell? It's
putrid-"
I glared at him. "It's
what dinner smells like, thank you."
He wandered over to the
stove, as I watched from my place at the table, and leant over to look at the
pot of stew. "Ah, well. Um, don't worry about it Carrie. I'm sure it's not
too bad-"
"Mikey, it looks like
charcoal! Can you please pass me that wine bottle, I think I need another
glass."
"No, no, no Carrie.
Once we scrape off the top layer, it'll be fine and look edible. You'll
see."
I rolled my eyes at him but
smiled nonetheless. "You're sweet."
"What do you have left
to do?"
"Desserts and drinks.
I think I don't have enough time to make them so we'll have to all go thirsty
while surviving on charcoal and burnt bacon. Can you please pass me that wine
bottle, I still think I need another glass."
"You go get dressed
and I'll make the drinks. Then, when you're not wearing something with white
shit all over it, we'll both make the desserts."
I stood and walked into my
bedroom to search for something appropriate for the night. I remembered Mom
telling me to always wear a skirt or dress when dining with company and knew
she'd sure as hell have a cow over it if I didn't, so I dug around until I
unearthed a black skirt. It had a chocolate stain on the front but I covered
that with the white blouse I decided to also wear. I fastened the last button
and slid my feet into a pair of ridiculously strappy shoes before straightening
up and exhaling slowly.
That's it, calm down. Inhale, exhale. I turned to look in the full
length mirror in the corner and cringed. You look awful. When was the last
time you even brushed your goddamn hair?!
Moving quickly so that
Mikey didn't feel obligated to do too much without me, I shuffled into the
bathroom so I could plug in my ceramic straightener and try to do something
about my appearance. While waiting for the iron to heat up, I quickly applied
some eyeliner, concealer for the bags under my eyes and some very scarce
bronzer to try to liven up my sallow complexion. I looked up at the cabinet
mirror hopefully after clearing up the cosmetics but frowned. Gah, it's no
use. I still look like I've been locked up in solitary confinement for three
years, But ,I suppose, it's as good as it'll get, I thought, shrugging.
After spending fifteen minutes taming all the layers my head of hair consisted
of, unplugging the straightener and storing it away, I re-entered the kitchen
to find that Mikey had made enough of the Havana
almond drink for twenty people and was in the process of serving it all into
tall glasses. I squeaked to alert him of my presence and he looked up, alarmed,
pushing his glasses up his nose again.
"What, what's
wrong?" He asked nervously. "I swear I followed the recipe
exactly-"
"No, not that. They're
perfect, thank you!" I drew him into a hug of appreciation but he stiffened uncomfortably and then pulled away quickly, a red tint coloring his cheeks.
"You're welcome. Now
we have to make the," he looked at the recipe book for desserts and the
title of the page I had it opened to, "caramel custards. They don't sound
as if they're going to be too hard to make."
Thankfully, they weren't as
difficult as the first two courses were but I'm pretty sure that was only
because now I had Mikey's help. We were still cleaning up my mess from the
earlier blending incident when there was a knock on my apartment door. Mikey
and I looked at the oven clock to see it was seven twenty p.m.; it was probably
Frank (late, as usual). When I glanced back at Mikey he nodded for me to go
ahead and answer whoever it was.
"Frank?" I asked
as I opened the door only to be pounced upon by someone who was most certainly
not my fiancée.
"No but hopefully I'll
get to finally meet him tonight," Daisy answered as she released me and
held me at arm's length. "Damn, Carrie, look at you. You got
skinnier."
"Please, save the
lecture," I said, rolling my eyes. "Oh and hi to you too."
"Oh yeah, hi."
She hugged me again. "Am I early? Sorry if I am; like I said, I was really
bored at Megan's house."
"Who's Megan?" I
asked, leading her into the kitchen.
"Josh's sister. God,
don't you ever pay any attention when I tell you these things?" She looked
at Mikey who was now sitting on a chair at the kitchen table with a paper
towel, trying to clean off the front of his shirt. "Hi."
Mikey looked up at Daisy,
then at me and then back to her. "Hi?"
"Mikey, this is Daisy,
the tenth dinner guest and my best friend. Daisy, this is Mikey, the guy
who lives with Frank and I in his and Frank's apartment - not this one- and
another one of my best friends," I introduced them, causing Mikey to
blush. "Mikey's brother, Gerard, was going to be here tonight but Ray,
another friend, is in hospital so he's staying there with Ray."
Daisy was looking at Mikey
with a curious expression, obviously trying to remember something. "So ...
are you the bass player or drummer?"
"Right," I turned
to Mikey to explain, "I made her listen to your albums when you guys were
on tour and I was staying with her."
"Um okay. I play
bass."
Frank arrived soon after,
to Daisy's delight, a couple of minutes before Linda, my parents and
grandparents, and Frank's cousin, Arabella showed up. After I spent five
minutes in the kitchen scraping off the top layer of the stew like Mikey had
suggested, while everyone else talked in the tiny living area, the meal didn't
go as badly as I'd expected. Of course, there were Mom's mumbled complaints
every so often but everyone pretended not to notice.
It wasn't until Linda cleared her throat and mentioned that she and Mom were
going to move the wedding up a week sooner that Frank and I both choked on the
olives from our martinis.
"Frank," I
whispered into his ear the next morning, standing over his bed and pushing his
shoulder. "Frank, come one, wake up. Stop pretending to be asleep; I know
you're awake; I need to talk to you. I went for a run earlier-"
"Carrie, what're you
talking about, you don't exercise anymore," Frank said, sitting up and
rubbing his eyes.
I glared at him.
"Okay, so I went out to get some more bagels and ice cream. That's not the
point. The point is this," I threw down a tabloid into his lap and pointed
somewhere near his crotch.
He hit away my hand and
held up the paper, murmuring quietly to himself, "Hey look, we made page
4," he kept on reading. "Shit... When did this happen?"
I nodded. They'd printed a
huge picture of us outside the last location I'd been on for a shoot and a
small article about our wedding and the 'speculation surrounding it's date'.
"I know. How do they find out about this stuff so quickly?"
"I don't know but what
are we going to do? I don't want to get married in front of all of Jersey and
the half of New York
that could be bothered to travel for it. But what could we do? I mean, it's not
like we could elope or anything. Your mom- Carrie, why are you looking
at me like that?"
"Why couldn't we
elope?"
"Well, firstly,
there's this woman who is your mom and, well, she hates me enough already as it
is. And then there are the plans everyone's made for the wedding-"
"We wouldn't need
those plans if we went out of state, I don't know, to Las Vegas or something, and eloped. Then no
one would know and there wouldn't be this huge fuss over everything."
"But I thought you
liked the huge fuss?"
"No," I answered,
pouting at him. "I'd like it much better if we just got it over
with."
"Yeah me too
but-"
"No, not buts. We
should just do it!" I bit my lip and looked at Frank who was staring at
the blankets. "What do you think?"
"Are you sure?"
"Only if you want
to."
"I want to but only if
you're sure."
"You're going to make
me decide this aren't you?" He nodded. I shrugged, grinning, "Fine,
let's do it!"
xo-
~ My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. ~
.gif)
