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Although Morticia prefers a rose’s thorns over its petals, Ophelia cannot trust anyone else to grow her daises. Their personalities clash but that’s what makes them a good team! She cannot think of a better person to sit in her place for a tutoring either.
“I fear our mother has misjudged the situation!” Ophelia cries the afternoon after Esther Frump has announced she hired a student tutor for her. She's lucking petals off her bouquet while skipping around Morticia’s room. A layer of yellow flowers on her feet has since piled and hid the black faux-fur rug. “There’s not a single day of the week that I’m not practicing! I cannot waste time dilly dallying with books.”
Morticia eyes her sister with a hand atop her African strangler’s leaves, Cleopatra, who is audibly distressed from the older Frump’s noise. As well as Kitty who is nudging her face against the bed frame. “She means well,” the youngest Frump reasons rather weakly. While she cannot fault their mother for being concerned, Ophelia’s behavior is not unusual. She’s practiced Judo and Martial Arts all her life! Everyone should be able to pursue whatever their heart desired. “Perhaps, it is a cause for concern. I have seen Mother talk to your teachers on the phone.”
Ophelia stops for a moment to think. “Maybe they’re singing praises about me.”
“Inviting a student tutor is certainly odd,” Morticia wonders aloud. “But, mother always knows best. If I were you, would allow it just to appease her. After a week, she will worry no more!”
“Why couldn’t you tutor me instead?” Ophelia pouts before dropping her bouquet on the floor to join the petals, and sitting next to Morticia. Kitty, who was enjoying her warmth, growls at the blonde’s sudden intrusion, baring her teeth but eventually retreats to her bed on the floor. Neither girl is alarmed at the aggression, used to the cub’s behavior. “Mother should’ve known better!”
“I would, but,” Morticia sighs. “You’re two years my senior, Ophelia. Your classes are too advanced.”
“Right,” the older Frump’s shoulders sag.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” her sister reassures. “It’s not as scary as it sounds. The tutor is there to guide you, not berate you.”
“You’d certainly make a better tutee.” Ophelia echoes her sister’s sigh, until a realization appears to have dawned on her. Her eyes widen and her lips suddenly form a smile. “Why, Morticia, you could take my place instead! The tutor wouldn’t know he’s tutoring the wrong person unless we tell him.”
“But, what about Mother? She will introduce us individually.”
“She doesn’t have to meet the tutor. His mother and ours are old friends,” Ophelia takes her sister’s hand, giddy with excitement at the idea she’s about to tell. “We can both arrive at the local library and after mother’s cab leaves, I’ll sneak outside through the back door to go to the dojo while you stay inside to meet the tutor. After that, we can meet at the lobby and return home together. That way, I can appear that I’m study when I’m actually practicing!”
While Ophelia bares a rare grin, Morticia has her thumb to her mouth, biting the nail nervously, visibly hesitant about the idea. “I don’t know, Ophelia. What if we get caught? What if she takes Martial Arts away from you?”
“Don’t worry, dear sister,” the older Frump tightens her grip on their fingers. “If things go wrong, I can always pursue becoming a world-famous violinist.”
Ophelia’s plan sounded brilliant until Morticia arrives inside the library, keeping an eye on their mother’s cab and passersby, and remembers there’s a man waiting for her inside the building. Anxiety forces the youngest Frump’s shoulders tense and upright while she bids the other girl goodbye, sweating under her black dress and stockings. The moment passes shortly after, but the nerves stay with her even after her sibling left.
“Break a leg, sister!” Ophelia says before skipping away.
At the building entrance, her older sister’s Calculus and Science books weigh heavily on her arms as she navigates through the pillars and people for the concierge. She waits in line to ask for a “Gomez Addams,” and meets the librarian minutes later.
“Tutoring?” The old woman behind the desk inquires.
“Yes,” Morticia nods, talking quietly. “Is he expecting me?”
“Are you Ophelia Frump?” When she confirms with a nod, the librarian gestures a hand towards a corner past the shelves. “He’s waiting for you at the lounge, right after Gothic Literature and Architecture.”
“Thank you.”
Morticia reads the labels on each bookshelf and follows the contents in alphabetical order to find the Addams boy. However, although she rarely browses books, she’s momentarily distracted by the wide selection of novels and documents surrounding her. The endless rows of stories reel her into tracing the spines with her finger and inspecting the titles thoroughly, briefly investigating the stories before moving onto the next, eager to discover more after another hidden within the pages. Her attention remains on the colorful leather and paper covers—until she eventually hits a wall.
The warmth of flesh lets her know she’s hit a man.
Their skulls touch first before either person steps back or nurse their injury. Their eyes meet second; deep brown pupils stare accusingly at baby blues; feelings bare in their irises. Finally, their lips close, and words have seemingly vanished between them.
Morticia stares up at the black-haired man, stunned under his gaze. It’s as though her world has fully tunneled at the sight of him, blurring their surroundings and focusing all stage lights at the stranger. Tilting her head slightly, his brown eyes appear soft yet playful, like candlelight flickering in the shadows at the corner. His thick mustache ages him, as well as his thin, black hair, resting softly against his tan skin, but his cheeks are boyish and round. It may even look red if Morticia hovers a fire next to his face.
In a deep purple pinstriped suit, he’s unbelievably handsome, and sharp, like the thorns of her favorite roses.
Suddenly shy, she tangles her hairs between her fingers, squeezing the knots. Noticing her movement, the man notices himself staring as well. They share an awkward laugh that turns into a smile; neither person dares to look away from each other.
“I’m Gomez Addams,” the man says. “And you are?”
“Are you tutoring Ophelia Frump?” Morticia asks, excitement audible in her voice.
“Yes. Do you know her?” Mimicking her expression; he grins with his teeth bared unabashedly.
“Yes! She’s my,” she bites her lower lip. “I mean, I’m her! I’m Ophelia Frump.”
Gomez’s expression brightens at her words. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Please, I’m at your service!” He extends a hand for her to take.
Morticia can’t help but laugh at him as a round of ‘hushes!’ were directed at him for exclaiming loudly, too charmed to be embarrassed and too distracted by his theatrics to care about their palms fitting perfectly. She happily follows Gomez towards a table when he beckoned her to come. On the table, there are books piled up next to a thin stack of bond paper where two pencils laid. She’s flattered, both for Ophelia and herself, to be at the company of a smart gentleman.
“Miss Frump,” Gomez calls as he pulls a chair for Morticia.
She smiles at him as they both sit down, eyes gravitating to each other once more. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Addams.”
“Just Gomez,” the man huffs without humor. “I want us to be... friends.”
“Then you will call me Morti—Ophelia,” she plays with her braids habitually. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Gomez.”
“Please, the pleasure is all mine,” he insists. Before they were distracted any further, the tutor’s gaze lands on Morticia’s books and shakes him off his trance. He clears his throat then, fingers closing into a fist before relaxing. “Ehm. Your textbooks?”
“Oh! Right.”
Gomez lays out the books for them, easing the muscles on her arms from carrying the weight all morning. The gestures make her notice the details of his hands, its skin tone darker than his face and rugged. Experience is visible on the lines of his knuckles where cuts and bruises have faded and become lighter patches of flesh. Evidence of labor, perhaps from sport or work. It’s a characteristic that she finds visually attractive. “Alright. Where do we start? Do you have any upcoming exams?”
Morticia stops short, failing to answer. Ophelia hasn’t informed her about anything! She pinches her lower lips with her fingers in nervous habit, eyeing the books warily. Four titles lay in front of them, Calculus, Physics, Chemistry, and Home Economics. She’s never heard her older sister discuss any of it. “Uhm. All of them?”
“Dios mio,” she hears him whisper under his breath.
“I’m sorry, did my mother not inform yours?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me.” He stares at the ceiling through his lashes, perplexed. When his gaze returns at her, however, his worry quickly disappears from his face. She feels her own cheeks tugging her mouth upwards at the sight of his grin. “Oh, well. Nothing to worry about. We have the library at our disposal. If we’re ever confused, we can search the shelves to our heart’s content.”
Inspired by his enthusiasm and positivity, she nods and swears, “I’ll do my best, Gomez.”
Between the two sisters, Morticia prefers the paper and pen. Literature, arts, music, numbers, science—she excels at it as long as it’s on ink or lead. At school, the youngest Frump’s teachers are never short with praises for her. She prides herself for her focus and dedication, but sitting next to Gomez, their closed proximity keeping their shoulders together and space intertwined, she finds herself struggling to keep her attention on the papers in front of her. Her tutor is attentive and careful with her, offering other perspectives and shortcuts to problems that helped her. He doesn’t criticize, rather, he encourages her, guides her, and compliments her. When he does, Morticia steals glances at him and becomes warm at her cheeks when she sees a genuine smile.
“I’m surprised you need a tutor, Ophelia,” Gomez remarks after he finished reviewing her answers to the mock Calculus exam he made. Half an hour has passed since, Ophelia’s senior class book set aside. “You’re a fast learner, and you know the theories and basic concepts very well.”
Morticia feels her cheeks ache from smiling wide. “I owe it to a great teacher,” she says.
The next hour passes quickly, and Ophelia’s books pile into a stack next to Gomez’s borrowed ones. The two are immersed in their study but never inattentive to either person. Morticia still catches herself staring at him for an amount of time that is considered rude, and he doesn’t tire of letting her know that he’s impressed with her or that he’s proud of the progress she’s making.
It’s not long before two hours have passed since their session started, and both have to return home. She hates to part with him, but Ophelia may already be waiting for her outside where they agreed to meet. Gomez is reluctant to leave as well, but Morticia knows better than to disappoint her sister.
“It’s been a productive, lovely day with you, Gomez,” she confesses after collecting her books from the table. He follows her to stand, towering her by only a few inches. “I’m glad to have met you.”
“Will I see you again?” He asks, stepping forward to close the gap between them into only breaths away.
Morticia, unable to resist him, nods. “Yes. Yes, we will.”
He takes her braid and presses his lips against her hair. “Querida, you are like thunder in a storm. Electrifying and brilliant.”
“Gomez…” She speaks his name like a curse, loving the taste on her tongue. With the way he engrained himself in her brain like a tumor with a kiss, he might as well be.
Gomez walks her to the entrance, taking her hand and staring at her along the way, not tearing his notice once. She reciprocates his gaze, never looking away. When they arrive at the open French doors, Morticia reluctantly let go of him before excusing herself. Gomez’s stare burns behind her back until she’s no longer in his sight. Her lungs clear at the steps of the library, as if she’s been holding her breath the entire time.
Ophelia meets her at the street. When she asks her sister how it went, Morticia’s reply is smitten. “My dear, I think I’m in love.”
After their farewells, Gomez can’t bring himself to part from the moment yet; so, he stays at the library a little longer, searching the Frump girl’s fragrance in the air. He knows she’s been home long, but his senses remain hyper aware of her lingering gaze, gentle and warm touches, and sweet, gentle voice. Ophelia is the only woman in his life that has kept his system clean. The entire hour, his bronchitis and sinusitis has completely gone, and she was the cure. He’s coughed only once!
He predicts he cannot sleep at night, not when the most beautiful girl lingers in the corners of his sight like a ghoul from a beautiful nightmare.
As he returns the books he borrowed to their shelves, Gomez suddenly remembers his mother mentioning Ophelia’s school and achievements. A Martial arts protege, Ophelia has won several tournaments. He never checks the sports page on the newspapers, but now, he’s restless with curiosity about competitions.
Out of impulse, he drops his borrowed books and started searching the library for her. Angry hushes and ‘hey!’ follows his hurried steps.
He scans the sports pages looking for Ophelia’s black hair while skimming through the headlines of the local news. Basketball, football, hockey, and… aha! A Judo tournament from a few weeks ago! SENIOR STUDENT REIGNS CHAMPION IN MARTIAL ARTS TOURNMENT. Gomez is giddy with excitement to find this. The subject on the picture is… a blonde girl? The first line reads, “Ophelia Frump, 19, of the Hilliard academy wins the annual local high school judo competition.”
Gomez wipes his eyes and reviews the page again. The image remains the same. Apparently, Ophelia Frump doesn’t have black hair or wears makeup. If she’s supposed to be blonde, then who did he meet earlier? Did she dye her hair black? Why would someone impersonate her?
His stomach churns under his shirt as doubts flood his mind. Betrayal weighs heavy, and as he returns the papers to its place, he feels his shoulders sag with disappointment. At the same time, his heart races with an unfamiliar yet not unwelcome excitement at the idea that such a face can be so vain as to trick him! Only a woman after his heart can dare to stab him straight at his chest and smile while doing so. Already, the blue in her eyes are engrained at the back of his eyelids, forever invading his thoughts. Now, learning the truth, her lies wrap at his lungs, completely possessing his soul.
Gomez clutches at his tie and stretches his mouth into a smile. “By Jove, I think I’m in love!”
Morticia visits the library the day after, anticipating meeting Ophelia’s tutor. Gomez has visited her in her nightmare and daydream, reliving their stolen glances and silent moments. In her mind, his memory is filtered in black, the happiest color. She can’t think of another man before him.
After Ophelia listened to her day, she has insisted to meet her future brother-in-law today. Morticia, pleased to receive her sister’s support, agreed. Stepping into the building now, she can’t help the sweat forming at her palms. She knows their mother’s support is unconditional for either daughter, but the oldest sibling tends to scare men. Suitors, to be exact. Her Martial Arts background usually intimidated people.
Morticia enters the library as she did yesterday, carrying a familiar anxiety. She follows her previous path and finds Gomez at their table, sighing with relief.
“Gomez,” she calls like she’d call a pet.
The man turns around quickly, wearing excitement in his face. “Querida mia!”
They meet in the middle, taking each other’s hand. He is as handsome as they day she met him; clad in the two piece he wore. She smiles at the name he called her, fond at his endearment, and he does the same, lost in her eyes. Their breaths are loud in the quiet, echoing like drops of water falling on a shaded pond after rain.
“Something has come over me,” Gomez dares to break the silence.
“Yes?”
“A coy, sly vixen has made me her victim.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know who you are,” Gomez shakes her with urgency. “You’re a trickster! The jiǔwěihú. A shapeshifter. The kitsune!”
Morticia panics immediately. She thinks of her sister first, whose name she had borrowed and life she had played. She remembers her mother second, who had believed in both daughters. Finally, she pities herself for believing their romance had any chance. Her mouth forms a frown, “I can explain.”
“I already know, querida,” Gomez’s his firm grip steadies her. “You don’t have to say a thing. I know you are not who you say you are. Rather, you are her sister, Morticia!”
She nods weakly, losing her confidence, “I’m sorry. I never meant to lie to you.”
Gomez shakes his head, “I should be sorry. I should have let you continue your deception, but I cannot help myself from praising you. You conducted the perfect scheme. You are like some fruit with a fresh peel but a rotting core. A porcelain doll infested with bugs. It’s beautiful!”
“You mean to tell me you’re not mad at me?” Morticia’s smile slowly returns to her lips.
“Never, querida,” Gomez breathes. “I am at your mercy.”
“Your words like poison, mon cher,” Morticia whispers, inching closer, and welcomes the kiss that he places against her knuckles. She bares her teeth in a smile, melting in the warmth of his touches, before finally explaining the situation to him. He cheers at the brilliance of Ophelia’s plan, and Morticia feels proud to hear his praises for her older sister. She surrenders to his embrace when he wraps his arms around her. Leaning her head against his shoulders feel like sinking under water and never rising for air.
They meet Ophelia outside who beams at the sight of them.
“Why, look at you lovebirds!” She flicks petals off her bouquet at them. Gomez spits them out of his mouth and sneezes. “Oops! Not a fan of daises?”
“Just under the weather,” he grumbles, sneezing again and coughing after. When he takes the hand Ophelia offers, he’s surprised to find himself on the ground, his back on the cement and his bones aching from the impact being thrown.
“Please excuse my sister,” Morticia crouches down to pat him comfortingly.
“It’s quite alright, Tish,” he says after catching his breath. “I should thank you,” he tells Ophelia. “Had you not made her come in your place, I wouldn’t have met the love my life.”
Morticia gasps and turns to him, “Do you mean it, Gomez?”
He squeezes the hand on his arm, staring up at her with stars in his stare, “Of course, cara mia.”
Ophelia squeals, shaking petals off her bouquet as she claps for the new couple. “Love at last! I thought I’d never see the day.”
Meeting the parents can wait later. For now, Morticia is satisfied with Ophelia’s approval. With Gomez by her side (below her, rather), she can’t think of another book she’d rather read but their own love story.