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“What are you doing, Trisha?” Hohenheim peered over the rims of his glasses at her, as she carried the pumpkin up the steps.
“I bought a pumpkin! I thought I’d cook it, and we could can it to eat later.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, silly.” She carried the pumpkin to the table, letting out a soft ‘whuff’ as she set it down. “That’s heavy.”
“I could’ve carried it, if you’d ask,” Hohenheim said, the corners of his mouth pulling down.
“Someone needed to watch the boys.” Trisha leaned a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek. “But thank you.” She went into the kitchen, pulling out a sharp knife. “Maybe this would be better done outside.”
Now he was interested. “What are you going to do with that knife?” Or maybe a little frightened? It was hard to tell with the gleam on his lenses.
“I have to clean out the pumpkin. Cut it up so it’ll fit in the pot.” Trisha waved her knife. “Why don’t you carry it back outside for me, so I don’t have to clean up the kitchen later?”
He obeyed, grunting slightly at the weight of the pumpkin. “How in the world did you carry this?”
Grinning, Trisha said, “I’m not just a cute figure, you know. I carried your sons!”
“They were decidedly less heavy than this gourd,” Hohenheim grumbled, carrying the pumpkin back outside.
“What’s Daddy doin’?”
Trisha glanced down, not surprised to see Ed, frowning at the doorway. The sight of Winry Rockbell standing with him did give her a bit of shock, and that she was holding Al’s hand, well, that was just cute. “I bought a pumpkin to cook,” she said, “and your Daddy’s carrying it outside so I can clean it.” She carefully carried the knife outside, the kids following her. Al sat on the stoop, his finger in his mouth. Winry watched closely as Trisha stabbed into the top of the pumpkin.
“Ew!” Al yelped.
“What’s wrong, Al?” Hohenheim asked, squatting down next to his son.
“Daddy, Mommy’s killin’ the pumpkin!” Al pointed a shaking finger her way.
Trisha looked at the knife, sticking out of the orange flesh, then at the kids. Ed’s eyes were wide and gleaming, while Winry watched her with an intense expression, like contemplation. And Al was sobbing, burying his face in Hohenheim’s shoulder.
Maybe cutting up the pumpkin would go better without an audience of kids.
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