primadonna girl || wilbur soot

Chapter Fifty-Four

[REAL LIFE]

George walks into the kitchen humming, eating a bowl of cereal. It's four in the afternoon. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he pauses. A thrum of warning passes through him. He puts down his spoon, and looks up, scanning the room carefully. There, at the kitchen island, is Clara. She's baking strawberry shortcake. George's breathing picks up. This is not good.

"Clara..." George approaches slowly, making sure Clara can still see both of his hands. He quietly sets down the bowl of cereal on the counter, wiping his mouth. Clara doesn't look up. "Clara..."

At this, her head snaps up. "Two cups of flour," she drones like a robot, eyes wide and crazy.

George gulps, carefully pulling out a stool so that he can sit. Then, quick as a cat, he lashes out a hand and grabs the bag of all-purpose flour sitting on the countertop. Clara almost hisses.

"Hey!" She shouts, pouncing like a cat. "I need that!"

"Then..." George pats the stool next to him. "Come sit."

"But-"

"Come sit, and I'll give you the flour."

Clara narrows her eyes, scoffing unhappily.

Some people stress bake, some people bored bake, and Clara... Clara burden bakes. There is something weighing her down, and her brain has gone so far into overdrive that the only thing she can think about is making damn strawberry shortcake. For some, strawberry shortcake is a treasured and sought-after dessert. For George, strawberry shortcake is an omen of destruction.

She pulls out the stool next to George, and takes a seat, plopping down angrily. Clara sticks out her hand. "Flour."

"Oh yeah sure..." George slowly extends the bag, before yanking it back last second. "Actually, one more thing."

Clara grumbles loudly and over-exaggeratingly.

"What's wrong, 'lara?" George asks lowly.

Clara pouts at the question. She didn't want him to ask this one. "I don't know..." She mumbles out like a toddler, avoiding eye contact.

George tilts his head, raising a brow skeptically as if he's a disappointed teacher. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." Clara starts, sighing. "Why won't Wilbur just ask me to be his girlfriend?" She looks up at them, and it's then that George realizes her eyes shine with tears. "We've confirmed our relationship online. He's met both sets of my parents. I've met his friends. But I still can't call him my boyfriend. What is up with that?"

"Have you told him this is bothering you?"

"... no," Clara admits shamefully. "I just... I'm worried I'll bring it up and he'll get all scared. Because, if he hasn't asked me yet, then clearly there's something bothering him, so I guess I'm just waiting for him to tell me."

George shakes his head. "I don't think there's anything wrong. If anything, I would say that he's not sure how to put how he feels about you into words and is afraid that any grand request will come off unfulfilling."

"But I don't need a grand request. I just want to be his girlfriend."

"Maybe, but to him, he wants to give you a grand request. He wants you to know how much you mean to him."

"Did he tell you that?"

George smirks. "Clara, come on. He's obsessed with you and we all know that."