Chapter Text
“So you plait your hair now, Agnes?”
“Mom,” Agnes smiled, nerves fraying. The bonnet felt like a mistake now.
Her father, who was cradling her younger sister, frowned. “Your height hasn’t grown an inch, either.”
“You need to eat more,” Her mother needled, “Not too much, of course, or you’ll gain weight.”
“Have you been studying properly?”
“You haven’t spent too much time meandering with friends, have you? You shan’t get distracted during your formative years.”
“And your dorm. I hope you aren’t giving your roommate any trouble.”
“Those heels are atrocious–who’s teaching you to dress like this, hmm?”
They were entirely in tandem as they hit her with question after accusation after affront. They didn’t like her braids, or how wide she smiled, or how black she dressed. Another failed personality, then.
Agnes just wanted to hug her sister.
“Hi, Agnes! Good evening, …?”
“Colette De Mille,” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s Francois Monet. And you are?”
“I’m Enid Sinclair,” Enid offered her brightest smile. “I’m Agnes’ mentor.”
“Mentor?” Her father prodded.
“You haven’t told us of any mentor, Agnes,” Her mother sniffed. “Being careless is a folly.”
Agnes hesitated, unsure of what ploy Wednesday’s werewolf friend had in mind. “I-”
“We have a voluntary mentor-junior programme,” Enid lied smoothly. “It’s student-run and volunteer based. I help Agnes with both her academic and social life.”
“I see,” Her father said. “I hope she hasn’t been giving you any problems.”
“And if she has,” Her mother cut in sharply, “Come to me first.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Enid said calmly. “She’s very diligent, and-”
Her mother raised an eyebrow, unbelieving.
“Possibly the best junior I’ve been assigned to,” Enid’s led them to the entrance while jabbering.
Her mother’s hand on Agnes’ back pushed her forward. “I see. Then you mustn't have been volunteering for that long.”
“It’s been three years, actually,” Enid said tightly.
She felt nails dig. “Hmm.”
“If I may, Ms. De Mille,” Enid gestured towards her younger sister. “What’s her name?”
“Rosalie Monet,” Her father finally spoke up.
“It’s a beautiful name.”
“If only our daughter was as well mannered as you,” Her father sighed. Rosalie giggled from where she was swaddled around him.
Enid chuckled. “She’ll surpass me by the time she’s my age, I fear.”
Her mother’s grip deepened, jerking Agnes awake.
She wanted to scream that if she’d dyed her hair or worn acrylics or an equally eyesore sweater, they wouldn’t have liked that, either, and how dare they banter with the woman who was her only obstacle in becoming Wednesday’s best friend?
And how dare Enid show up and try to help now? Wasn’t Agnes just a pint sized psycho?
“You must’ve had a long journey here,” Her so-called ‘mentor’ inferred sympathetically. “I’ll lead you to the refreshments. If I may, I’ll need to borrow Agnes. Part of the volunteer programme includes greeting parents with your mentor.”
Agnes scoffed, too reminiscent of her mother in that moment.
Her mother eyed her hotly. “We would never hold Agnes back. Please,”
“Has she been skimming on you?” Her father probed. Rosalie was just out of reach.
“Of course not,” Enid said. “We’re allotted time to meet our parents. It’s all scheduled.”
“A minute.”
For the first time, Enid lost some of her warmth. “Sure. I’ll wait by the atrium.”
Agnes couldn’t help but want to snap.
“Don’t embarrass me in front of anyone.” Her mother began. “Especially not the parents.”
“You’ve managed to make passable friends.”
Agnes giggled as she thought of Wednesday. Her parents would not approve of her.
“I want to hold Rosalie before I go,” she pouted.
“Don’t make that face,” Her mother pursed her lips. Her father supported her by saying, “You’ll drop her.”
“We’re not here to pay for hospital bills, you know.”
“I know.” Agnes said under her breath.
Her mother opened her mouth, possibly to cut her head off, but Enid swooped in and once again Agnes wanted to punch the diplomacy off her face.
“I’ll lead the way,” Enid decided without skipping a beat.
“Where are your parents, young lady?”
There was a mirth tugging on the rainbow barbie now. “They’re right there, would you like to meet them?”
Her mother shrugged sorrowly. “I suppose. It might make today not a total waste of time.”
“Oh, I’m sure Agnes feels the same way.”
Ah. Finally, the wolf drew out her canines.
“Yes, maybe helping you out will straighten her out,” Apparently, the insult had flown overhead.
Straighten her out. As if Enid wasn’t the least straight person on-campus.
And then, where Enid went, came along her roommate, so.
Agnes winced, she couldn’t put on her usual act in front of her parents, and what would Wednesday think of her if she came off as too much of a normie? If only she could-
“Wednesday, come over!” Enid waved.
“And this is?” Her father questioned.
“Wednesday Addams,” Agnes piped up. “She’s-”
Her mother shut her up with one glance.
“My girlfriend,” Enid finished. Wednesday stood a respectable distance away from them, her expression glowering. Agnes was watching, but Enid or Wednesday didn’t signal anything to each other. They just… fell in rhythm.
“Your… girlfriend.” The words were parsed from venom.
“Yeah,” Enid said cheerfully. “Ms. De Mille and Mr. Monet, we’ve arrived.”
“The arrangements are lackluster,” Her father broke the awkward silence her mother had left her family in.
“Not more lackluster than the state of your marriage,” Wednesday said flatly.
Agnes smiled behind her hand.
Her mother gasped, loudly. “How dare you!?”
“With the same audacity you mistreat your daughter every day you find the chance you,” Wednesday retorted. Thing was tramping on Agnes now, tapping in a way she could only read as comfort.
Her mother’s nostrils flared. “You! You little-”
“Ms. De Mille,” Enid inserted, “You. Will. Not. Insult. My. Girlfriend.”
Her father gaped. “You heard what she just said.”
“Yes.”
“Leave it, Francois,” Her mother snarled, eyes darting. “I shouldn’t have expected better of a young lady with a girlfriend . You just wait till we meet your parents.”
“Agnes, you’re going to stay with us.” Rosalie had begun to cry.
“I can’t,” She blinked innocently. “Volunteer duties.”
“Agnes!” Her mother was thundering, but she was already out of earshot.
Enid folded her arms. “This doesn’t change a thing.”
Agnes folded hers. “It doesn’t,” she agreed.
Wednesday looked over the both of them, and cryptically, said nothing.