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Bobby sank back against the couch cushions with a sigh. What. A. Day.
Not that he didn’t like spending time with his girls and Celine; they were like family to him by this point and, quite frankly, better company than most of his family-family. It’s just- well. None of his training in talent-management prepared him for having his charges and boss being ‘Honmoon-ed’ into preschoolers. Neither had the “hey guess what we’re all demon hunters” talk they’d given him after the whole hour-long Huntrix breakup debacle.
And it’s not that they were bad kids, not even Mira who seemed hell-bent on proving her “inherent wickedness” (her mother’s words, he was sure) to him at least three times a day. They were just…high energy. And carrying around more emotional baggage than should be legal for five-year-olds. Not to mention whatever was going on with Celine.
He glanced down to his side where Celine was curled up next to him under a blanket, listlessly watching the My Little Ponies prance across the television screen in all their grainy eighties glory. For perhaps the umpteenth time since this whole mess started his heart clenched; she was just so small…small enough that it had been a genuine shock when she’d shyly held up five fingers when he asked how old she was. Clearly her childhood had been wanting in many ways.
He rubbed a hand along her back, forcing himself not to wince as his palm bounced painfully across shoulder blades and vertebrae. “Feeling any better, kiddo?”
Celine lifted a tiny shoulder in an even tinier shrug, not looking away from the candy-colored ponies laughing over a spilled basket of apples (not much for talking, five-year-old Celine. But that was fine; he didn’t mind, and she actually said a lot in other ways, if you took the time to pay attention and listen).
“Tummy still mad at you?”
A minute nod, and she curled a little tighter around her stomach and the plush horsie she’d picked out the other day.
Bobby hummed, pulling the blanket a little higher up her frame. “Sorry to hear that. Well, we’ve got lots of cartoons and can stay here as long as you need. Just let me know if it gets worse, ‘kay?”
He almost missed her “kay” under the ponies’ screaming as dragons appeared out of the picture-perfect sky and kidnapped them to pull the evil Lord Tirek’s ‘Chariot of Darkness’ (tonal whiplash, this show). Taking up his phone, Bobby bypassed his emails (didn’t need to visit that disaster zone right now) and socials (pretty sure his phone would burst into flames if he went on Twitter right now) and instead opened up the Internet. Aimlessly, he started to scroll through a mess of threads from a parenting subreddit, not really reading any of them and using the motion of his thumb across the screen more to stir his own thoughts.
He’d had an inkling, before, that Celine had problems with her stomach; there was always a bottle of some medication or other stashed in her purse (“for Mira,” she’d said when he asked, but he’d noticed her keeping it close at hand when Mira was in another city entirely) and skipping meals was a regular occurrence for her. He’d chalked it up to the stress of being a CEO, but now…now he was having second thoughts.
Five-year-old Celine had none of the memories or stressors of her adult counterpart, yet was still plagued by stomachaches- bad ones- on a daily basis. It had nothing to do with the transformation; Rumi, Mira, and Zoey were perfectly fine as far as appetites and not staying up past their bedtime with tummy aches went. So it had to be something else, he just…didn’t know what.
One of the ponies- a pink flying one- was singing now as she conscripted a human girl to be their savior; ever so faintly he could hear Celine humming along (God she was cute).
It was baffling (the stomach business, not her enjoyment of eighties toy commercials masquerading as television shows). No matter how simple and stomach-friendly the food she ate she got sick. Yogurt? Sick. Crackers? Sick. Grilled cheese sandwich? That was what landed her here on the couch tonight!
He frowned, thumb still scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Plain rice wasn’t very nutritious, but he was leaning dangerously close towards just feeding her that three times a day. At least it didn’t leave her nauseous and in pain. But what else could he do? Heck, she even got sick eating toast! How do you get sick from toast?
Well, he mentally reasoned. You technically could if you were-
Bobby froze. His thumb stilled. As the ponies were singing a song about looking for rainbows that (he was sure) not even Huntrix could make sound melodious, everything clicked.
Of course!
The next morning at breakfast, when Celine shuffled timidly into the kitchen and climbed onto her seat, Bobby was ready.
Rumi scowled when she saw the plate he placed in front of Celine, just some rice and a fried egg chopped up into bite-sized pieces. “You didn’t give Celine toast.”
“I know.”
“Breakfast without toast is dumb,” Mira, whose twenty-something self Bobby knew for a fact had yet to start a day without a piece, said not a little condescendingly.
“I like toast!” Zoey popped up from her plate, waving her hand wildly. “Can I have Celine’s?”
“An’ you didn’t give her any milk!” Rumi glared at the cup of juice Bobby set in front of Celine. “My Cece says milk helps you get big an’ strong an’ she needs to be big an’ strong!”
“Well,” Bobby smiled after taking a quick grounding breath (so high-energy) “Since Celine’s tummy hasn’t been feeling very good, I thought she could try something different that maybe wouldn’t make it hurt. What do you think Celine?”
Celine looked warily at the food, saying nothing.
Bobby crouched down and passed her a spoon. “Trust me, kid. I have a good feeling about this.”
Her eyes flicked from the plate to him, visibly weighing his words with that same exacting scrutiny he’d seen during many a boardroom meeting. Then, slowly but surely, accepted the utensil.
Bobby watched as she cautiously took a bite, crossing his fingers. It would mean having a very awkward conversation with adult Celine if he was right, but he really hoped this worked…
“Ahh!” Zoey flopped back on the couch, blissfully stretching her arms and legs to their full lengths. “Thank God that’s over; I missed being big.”
Mira leaned her arms on the back of the couch, a lazy smirk curling her lips. “Wait. You’re big?” Cackling, she ducked out of view as Zoey chucked a pillow at her head then launched herself over the back of the couch.
“I hope we weren’t too much trouble, Bobby,” Celine said, as unruffled as ever by the wrestling match going on behind her. She smiled apologetically. “I know babysitting wasn’t exactly in your contract.”
“None at all!” Bobby grinned, crossing his fingers behind his back (no one ever died from a white lie). “Besides,” he shrugged sheepishly. “Least I could do after accidentally kickstarting all that.”
Evidentially, making idle wishes that Celine and the girls could have some good childhood memories with the Honmoon in ever-present earshot was something that should be avoided lest the magical barrier take it literally. But all’s well that ends well: they were back to their proper ages and he had gained some very…telling insight.
He glanced furtively at Celine as she turned to address the wrestling match going on behind her (“You both have shoots tomorrow; do you want to explain bruised collarbones?”). The results of his little experiment that started with a toast- and milk-free breakfast had become apparent by dinnertime, and repeated trials over the next several days had only validated his results. As such he was pretty confident with what he was about to suggest. Still…
He knew Celine.
“You could have let us treat you to dinner, though,” Rumi said from where she was setting the table. “Or at least let us do the cooking.”
Bobby waved a hand as if to brush away the protest. “Won’t hear it! I already had all the ingredients and you ladies deserve a little pampering after all that.” To say nothing about his little theory…
“Fine, but we are sending you to the cushiest spa in Korea ASAP, mister!” Zoey pointed a faux-menacing finger at him as she took her seat at the table. “No arguments; Hunters’ orders!”
“Yes ma’am!” Bobby winked as he made his way to the table, arms laden with plates (that summer he spent bussing paid off).
Celine lifted a brow at the dish Bobby set in front of her: a simple stir fry of vegetables with chicken mixed in, distinct from her girls’ plates in that the noodles had been replaced by rice. “You realize I’m not five anymore, right Bobby-nim?” She remarked, keeping her voice light enough that the chastisement came off almost like a tease. “You can expand my palate.”
Bobby cleared his throat, fidgeting with his hands, running over the script in his head a final time. “So. Celine-nim. Not to be presumptuous-“
Mira snorted, blowing on a mouthful of noodles. “We are far past that.”
“I quite agree.” Celine nodded at Mira, then turned pleasantly to Bobby, motioning to continue.
Bobby looked nervously at his hands for a moment longer, then sat straighter, steeling himself. “Celine-nim, have you ever been tested for food allergies?”
All three girls froze, laden chopsticks halted halfway to their mouths. Celine stiffened. Bobby swore the temperature dropped several degrees.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
A wise man would have probably dropped the whole topic right then, but he hadn’t spent nearly a week of reading food labels and being extra mindful of everything he put on Celine’s plate to just let this go. More compellingly, the image of little five-year-old Celine curled up with tummy ache after tummy ache was too fresh, too painful; never mind she was an adult who terrified board members and (apparently but believably) demons alike, he didn’t want her to keep hurting, not when something could be done about it. “Just- did you?”
“Of course not.”
That tracked. “The thing is, you had a lot of stomachaches as a kid,” Bobby continued undaunted as Celine’s expression hardened and the air seemed to grow tangibly cooler. “And I’m pretty sure you still do-“
“Life is stressful,” Celine said frostily, cutting him off, a flicker of embarrassment glancing across her expression. “That is one of the body’s many ways of coping. Besides, I can’t have food allergies; I have that industry dinner to attend next week and I’m not about to make a fuss about needing a special plate.”
Oh no, we can’t have that, Bobby thought dryly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“Celine…he might be onto something.” Rumi cut off Bobby’s forthcoming protest that her health was more important than ‘making a fuss,’ brows creased thoughtfully as she considered Celine. “You really didn’t feel good after we went to that noodle place.”
“And there was that whole banana milk thing in the nineties,” Zoey added, fork tapping out a pensive beat against her plate.
Celine pursed her lips, cursing both the Honmoon for transmitting that very private piece of information to her girls and the Internet for letting that blemish on her idol record live into the twenty-first century. “Girls, those were coincidences.“
“Like me with that burger joint?” Mira challenged from across the table.
“Just- maybe have your doctor check? For wheat and dairy?” Bobby urged while Celine argued that IBS flareups were in a completely different category from coincidences. “And if I’m wrong I will personally buy you all the allergen-laden pastries you want, ‘kay?”
It took some effort, but ultimately, she agreed, in no small part, Bobby felt, from how the girls continued to press her with both evidence she was increasingly struggling to dismiss and pointed arguments in his favor (Mira’s being especially sharp: “What ever happened to ‘you don’t deserve to keep suffering like this?’”)
It was with no small amount of relief that Bobby watched her start on her wheat- and dairy-free dinner, a promise to call her doctor first thing in the morning comfortably secured. His job was Huntrix, making sure Mira and Rumi and Zoey’s needs were met; Celine, his boss, did not fall under his purview. But…well.
Could he really be blamed for worrying about family?
Celine was, as always, true to her word; three days later her schedule was rearranged to accommodate a morning of medical testing. Mid-afternoon of that same day Bobby had just parked his car in the garage of the Sunlight Entertainment building when his phone rang, Celine’s number flashing on the screen.
“Sooooo?” He asked as he locked the door behind him and made his way towards the elevator, juggling bags of convenience store bounty as he went. “How’d it go?”
The long, world-weary sigh on the other end of the line answered everything. In his mind’s eye her saw her at her desk, head propped in a hand as she slumped forward, no doubt thinking of all the complications such an outcome would mean for someone whose job basically demanded socializing over a meal.
(not to mention how the girls would react)
A slew of placations and assurances sprung to mind, but he set them aside. Celine was a woman of action, and he knew exactly what she wanted- needed- to hear first.
“Would you like to talk about how to approach that dinner over some bags of allergen-free snacks?” He rustled the bags in his arms so the sounds of crinkling packaging crackled over the phone. “Just bought you a supply.”
A tired but grateful chuckle filtered into his ear. “You really do think of everything.”
“Just doing my job,” he grinned, pressing the button for the floor housing Celine’s office.
“Thank you, Bobby-nim.”
“Of course.”
Anything for his girls