Jon was luckily spared from finding a topic of small talk to make over breakfast, the usual 'how'd you sleep' or 'any interesting dreams' being better left untouched. Instead, the silence was filled with Zoe loudly slurping her cereal, apparently waking up ravenous, Jon reacting like nails to a chalkboard with each uncouth gulp.
“Zoe, could you maybe slow down and eat with some notion you know what manners are? I didn't really sleep well and the noises you're making... grating is putting it lightly. And what's with this? Are you just wearing panties and a tank? Since when do you come down to breakfast like that? I really don't want to see my little sister basically naked.”
“Geez Jon, it's nothing close to naked, I'm going to take a shower right after so I didn't see the point in putting on airs for some Cheerios. I don't see what the big deal is, our old mom was fine with me wearing whatever when you and Mikey were out of the house, she was the first to lose her bra when you were gone, but fine, enjoy that stick up your butt. It's not like anything you don't have full access to. But my compliments to you for getting the 'lecture voice' down so quick. You're really taking on the 'mom voice' nicely.”
“Old mom? Zoe, that's still our mom. Old mom implies something completely different that I really don't like. I'm only working this gig until we can untangle your ditzy little slip up with the stone.” Jon regretted it the moment it left his lips, his new voice making everything sound like he was chastising her instead of playful sibling banter. Plus, that little undercut was totally undeserved and nothing got Zoe fired up quicker than even the implication of being a bit of a bimbo.
“Hey!” she piqued back. “I don't like what you're implying! I'm no happier with my wish than you are! You think I want to be Sarah's little lackey and protégé?! You think I like having a pinked out bedroom?! Get real! I've got a lot on my plate to so keep your little ditzy comments and wardrobe complaints to yourself, I'm doing my best and it's real meaningless coming from someone who's own titty is flopping out when they're talking to me! But you didn't hear me going all 'aw gross mom, no one wants to see your saggers', did you?”
Jon looked down pass a tangled mess of auburn hair to see a thick, dark nipple pointed steadfastly at his sister, one of his mammas having definitely succeeded in escaping the compound. Zoe erupted into a laughing fit while Jon's explosion was one of reddening shame, quickly covering up with his robe, absolutely flummoxed at what to say next. I'm not used to them yet! They're so big! They have a mind of their own! And please don't call it a titty, it just sounds wrong. But all he mustered was a frustrated stammer.
“Don't worry mom, it's just us girls here, nothing I haven't seen before. You on the other hand...” Zoe smirked, quickly making escape with the last laugh to their single bathroom to begin getting ready for the school day.
And as humiliating as that was, stepping back, Jon had to admit it was kind of funny. In a tragically ironic Kafka-esque sort of way. If that's what you're into.
Jon snacked on a plain bagel with strawberry cream cheese, not a favorite, but the only flavor in the fridge, finding it pretty damn tasty, once again picking up on his new taste bud's affinity for sweets. Between that, his second cup of coffee, and a much quieter house than he had before, it would have been a pretty nice morning- if it weren't for the massive pillow cushion of a posterior he was seated on, strands of wavy hair constantly in his face, his eyes irrationally itchy, and some part of his mature woman's body always jiggling with each motion to remind him to not get too comfortable with the current situation and start figuring out his next move.
Zoe's wish to for us to sleep on this situation was definitely the right call, as much as I hate to admit it. There's just so much to untangle with her wishes. I mean first off, she said 'parent'. Not 'mom'. So why in the world did it make me one? Does context of the prior conversation matter? Does intent? Does the stone have a sense of irony? Hell, did Zoe actually want me to be her mother? I know it's crazy, but these are all things we need to know before we can even start planning out an un-wishing wish that doesn't necessarily un-wish, but undoes. God, this is already giving me a headache. I just wish Grandpa left me more than a sloppily written paragraph about the most powerful item in existence! There's no way he didn't know more!
Jon couldn't stop scratching his eyes, the irritation threatening to make the leap to outright torture. He couldn't help but wonder if this was just a Sandra thing or something all old people dealt with, immediately cringing at his haphazard labeling of himself as old, when Zoe strutted out of her room in a pair of cut up, skin tight black pants and a grey halter that was once a band shirt before it had met a pair of scissors on a bad day. She, very much looking proud and excited to display her new curves. Something Jon couldn't imagine old Zoe ever willingly wearing. Jon's eyes must have been bursting out of his head because Zoe took that cue and immediately went on the defensive.
“Look, I know what you're going to say, I know this is a little racy, but at least it's black. It was such a struggle to even find something dark in the closet, let a lone wear it. Look, I was even able to incorporate some darker tones into my makeup! This is like, a huge breakthrough! It felt like yesterday at first, like perky Zoe was about to take over and trounce out here in some pastel colors, but once I accepted I was going to be dressing like a cheerleader, I had control again and was able to put my own spin on it! I think I cracked the code on how we get through those weird impulses, just like, lean into them. So please don't make me change or give me a hard time about my clothes like mom always would... How come you're not saying anything. And why are your eyes so red? Have you been crying?”
Zoe's newfound mile a minute way of conveying information had Jon on his heels with every new piece of information, but before he could even process any of it, his constant itching hit pay dirt as one of his manicured nails poked him squarely in the eye.
“OW! Oh fudging fuck! Ow that hurt! Stupid freaking long nails, how come girls can't have anything practical? Everything is too long or too tight or... Wait... It's still blurry! Oh god, it's still blurry! Oh shit-oot, Zoe! I think I poked my eye out! I can't see!”
