Setting Up

Epilogues Mini - Setting Up

Note: this Mini takes place shortly after Chapter 50 - It’s 6 a.m. Somewhere

I fold my arms under my bust, trailing my eyes carefully across every detail of my sparsely furnished classroom, uttering a soft sigh.

“Have to do for now, I suppose.”

In fairness, beggars can’t be choosers, and Marion’s been at the very least reasonable with most of my requests, once I framed it as a business and quality of life issue for him. Families, right proper ones, need bigger apartments, meaning he can get himself to full occupancy faster. The fact that he’s helping me spend more time with my precious darlings is just gravy for me at this point.

Still, there’s always room for improvement, I just have to not push too far, too fast. My Abuelita always said Rome wasn’t built in a day. The desks are in a rough semicircle, and even if they're obviously thrift store finds, they’re more than serviceable for now. The carpet is worn here and there, but that just means Marion can’t hit me up when one of the kids inevitably spills glue on it. The bookcase in the corner is haphazardly arranged, but nearly full, an organized house clearly the sign of a deranged mind, Mike’s assertions to the contrary. I’ve always been able to remember where I put things, though his point about Goose is more than valid. She’s a sweet girl, and deserved better than we were giving her, that’s for sure.

And there I go rambling again.

Stretching my paws over my head, I utter a soft grunt, the week coming to a close at last.  Running my claws through my headfur, I slick my ears back a moment before they spring back up, just in time to catch a gentle clacking noise coming down the hallway, much like the sound of someone on crutches, even if I know it’s not the case. A soft smile creeps over my muzzle as my staunchest ally ambles awkwardly into the room, neatly dressed in slacks, a long sleeved shirt, vest and his ever-present bowtie.

“Afternoon, ma’am. How’s everything working out for you?” the lanky purple rabbit asks.

“Oh, swimmingly, Mister Rabbinson.” I reply warmly. The earnest bunny has grown on me, if I'm telling the truth.

“Please, just Bonnie is fine.” he retorts, slightly abashed, a slight goofy grin evident. “Mister Rabbinson is my dad.”

“Oh, that won’t do, I already have a Bonnie. Bonworth okay?” I ask, trying to find the middle ground.

“That’s fine, I suppose. Miss Mango?” he asks, looking over my shoulder (not hard given how he towers over me) at the whiteboard with my name precisely written in the upper corner. “I thought Mango was your first name, not your last.” he adds, sounding puzzled. Given Mom’s eccentricities, I can’t blame him.

“It’s neither, actually. The kids aren’t usually good with my full name.” I add, meaning to continue before I’m distracted by the briefest flash of movement on my left side. A quick glance over in that direction makes me wonder if I’m seeing things, and in any case, my train of thought gets broken by Bonworth.

“Which is?” he asks, genuinely curious, it seems.

“Mangifera Indica Bergendorffer.” I state primly, but smiling nonetheless. I’ve got a good family, with a good family name.

“Wow, that really is a mouthful.” he says, eyebrows ticking upwards, highlighting the soft color of his hazel irises. “Bonworth Carrington Rabbinson, at your service, ma’am.” he says formally, offering as much of a short bow as his prosthetics will allow, and taking my paw in his.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” I practically titter, making a show of being the Southern belle that I *almost* am. Texas counts as almost the South, after all.

“I’ve never heard that name before, though it is rather pretty.” he corrects himself, then overcorrects, his expression going from curious to charming to mortified in the span of two seconds. Is he really that unused to complimenting a lady?

“Why thank you, Bonworth.” I quickly reply, rescuing him from his own doubts. “Mom was a botanist. Named all us girls after plants.”

“Oh? That’s interesting. So why Mango? I would think Angie would be the better fit.”

“Already taken. That’s my oldest sister. Plus Mango is what my name means anyway, so there you go. But yes, Angie, Rosie, Missy, Lupe, Melly and then me, the youngest.”

“Interesting. I’m not following you, though. Never heard of a Missy plant.” he says, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Oh, sorry. Hydrangea, Rosa, Artemisia, Lupinus, Bromelia and then me.”

“Ah. Sounds like she likes her plants almost as much as having kids.” he jokes, and then immediately regrets. “That came out wrong, sorry.” He says, clearly chagrined.

“Oh, don’t be, Bon. You’re absolutely right. Besides, she only got to pick names for us girls. Dad got to name my brothers. I’m the youngest of twelve.”

“Dang. You have a rabbit dangling off the family tree somewhere?” he quips, winking like a goofball.

“Oh, that’s been a running joke in the family for years.” I reply, giggling softly. “But no, I’ve looked back ten generations. Genealogy is a bit of a hobby of mine. No rabbits. Not yet anyway.” I add the last with a smile and immediately stop short.

Where in blazes did *that* come from?

Before I can overthink myself to death about it, I’m saved by the bunny. “But anyway, I was just coming to check and see if you needed anything else before I clocked out. I only work half days on Fridays, so I’m done by lunch time.”

“Same here! Still have to watch the odd kid or two, though once Bonnie gets all her certifications in order, she’ll be helping out a lot more with that.”

“Bonnie?”

“Bonbon.”

“Oh, right. She’s my little sister’s best friend.”

“She’s really quite good with the kids.”

“Always was. She got hired shortly before my accident. Was definitely an asset to the restaurant. Probably one of the only one of us without any bad memories of the place.”

“Indeed. Was it really as wonderful at the beginning as everyone says? I was a late addition to the staff.” I add.

“Oh, definitely. Really wish you could’ve met Goldie. Best boss anyone could ask for.” he says wistfully.

“Oh well. Water under the bridge.” I reply, smiling to try and brighten both our moods. “I got to work with the kids, at least.”

“You really do love them don’t you?” he asks, giving me a warm, caring smile in return.

“Oh, definitely! Especially my students now. So many of them would be left behind in regular schools. I’m so happy I can help them learn around their issues.”


“Issues?”

“I used to just do private tutoring, remedial help and the like. Now I’m more into special needs kids. It’s a challenge, keeping everyone’s different requirements straight in my head. But when I get that glimmer of recognition when they finally grasp a concept they’ve had trouble with, or get past an obstacle that’d been hanging them up, oh, it just makes the heart race!” I add, blinking several times to fight back the tears.

No, I wasn’t batting my eyelashes. Stop that.

“That’s what my Dad always said. Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” he says, clearly impressed. Reflexively, my head darts around to my right side, my eyes again searching for that elusive… whatever it was, and coming up short. “You all right?” Bonworth asks, his ears raised alertly.

“It’s nothing. Thought one of my students might be pranking me.” I answer. A little white lie never hurt anybody.

“Nobody here but a pretty fox and half a bunny.” he says, the jokes coming easier to him now. He’s not blushing or looking awkward, even if *I* can feel a bit of heat in my cheeks at the compliment.

“Oh, stop, you.” I reply, waving him off with a white-furred paw.

He merely smiles bashfully, not quite able to bring himself to feeling embarrassed anymore, it would seem. “Well, like I was saying, if you need anything else, please feel free to let me know? I’ll do what I can to get Marion to play along. His heart’s in the right place, really.” He says, and I believe him. He's around the guy the most of any of us, so he would know.

“I'll do that, Bonworth. Thank you very much. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go outside and watch little Webby and Bonson and have my lunch.” I add, plucking the small lunch cooler from under my desk.

“Sounds like a plan. Bit famished myself. Hope we've got some hot pockets left.” He adds absently.

Without even thinking about it, an idea forms and leaves my lips before I can stop myself. “I can split mine, if you'd like.” And now *I'm* the one looking like a poleaxed fox.

“I wouldn't want to impose, Miss Mango.”

“Oh, nonsense. Besides, Fran brought donuts this morning, but grossly overestimated how many the kids would be allowed to have. Or how many there would be today, for that matter. Little Felix is down with the flu, poor thing. I may have, uhh, *overindulged* a bit.” I admit sheepishly.

“You sure?” He asks dubiously.

“Of course!” I reply, maybe a little too eagerly. “I mean, it's not Frederick’s cooking. Or Chichi’s for that matter. But I *do* make a pretty decent BLT. Oh, and my Abuelita’s barley vegetable soup. That recipe she drilled into my pointy little head when I was five.” I add, knowing full well it's a recipe that a five year old can make. Doesn't make it any less delicious.

“Ooh, that's my favorite.” He says, a warm buck toothed grin conveying the truth of that statement.

“Good. Now, I don't know if I've got another spoon, so I may have to go get one.”

“I've got leftover plastic utensil packs in my desk. I get a lot of delivery; not easy to trot down the street and get things on a whim on these sticks.” He says, rapping a kunckle on his knee joint, a hollow clack sounding through the plastic. Or carbon fiber, whichever.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up.” I reply, voice falling sadly. He's missing so many things that I take for granted.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. Don't be. It is what it is.” He says glibly, adding a shrug of his narrow shoulders for emphasis.

“Well, if you ever need help with anything, I'm just down the hall, okay?” I ask him, even if I know he's likely too stubborn a man to take me up on the offer. Or chivalrous, take your pick.

“Why, thank you for the offer, ma'am.” He replies warmly, tipping an imaginary cap. “So what’re ya drinkin’, pretty lady?” He asks quickly, his smile fading as I'm standing stock still, apparently for several uncomfortable moments. "I was gonna hit up the fizz dispensary outside the office." he clarifies.

"Oh! I thought you were..."

"Barely touch the stuff."

"Because it was the weekend, and... well, that *was* silly of me, I suppose." I deflect, avoiding the real issue in play. If Bonworth notices my fluster, he politely doesn't say anything about it, like the handsome gentleman he is. Awkward, to be sure, but handsome nonetheless. Why am I thinking about this again? "Oh, sorry, got lost a second there. Diet cola is fine. I think I have some change in here somewhere..." I add, turning around and bending over the careworn desk to slide the center drawer out before rifling through it.

"Muh-my treat, Mango." he says, fumbling through his speech for some weird reason. I turn around and he's blushing furiously, looking intently at the wall to my right. "Can't have you fronting all the vittles, after all."

"Oh, well thank you, kind sir. It's nice to know there are still gentlemen in the world." I reply, smiling broadly. He really is a kind soul. Heredity doesn't win out, apparently, if his sister is any indication. She'd probably have a smart-assed remark or five on hand if you said something nice about her. Instead, Bonworth is reduced to blushing even further, nervously tugging a drooping ear as he does so. "Meet me outside with the drinks?" I offer helpfully, giving him the out he desperately needs.

"Yes, ma'am." he replies, ramping down from embarrassed to merely awkward. "Just give me two shakes?"

"Depends on the tail, Bon." I fire back, giggling softly. I'm an awful person, I know, but he's proving to be such fun, I can't help myself.

"Indeed it does, Miss Mango." he says with a gentle laugh, offering me as much of a bow as he can manage, his ears flicking back to their normal nearly vertical. "See you in a minute."

"You'd better not stand me up." I reply, feigning being testy.

"Wouldn't dream of it, pretty lady." he adds with a wink before teetering unsteadily about and clacking back down the hall.

I offer a soft sigh to the now empty room, wondering just what, exactly, is going on here. I need to get control of myself, lest I make Bonworth think I'm leading him on. Before I can continue my ruminations, I wheel about, gaze flitting back and forth between every possible hiding place in the classroom. On a hunch, I check under my desk, finding it completely bereft of blue bunnies or yellow ducks. Growling softly in frustration, I retrieve my lunch cooler, my low heels clicking softly on the tile as I make my way outside. A quick glance reveals that Bonson and Webby both are over on the swing set, burning off their nervous, boyish energy. Bonbon is seated at the picnic table, reading one of her silly human comics, and I take a perch opposite her.

"Hey, boss lady." she says cheerfully.

"Bonnie, dear, you don't have to call me that. We're partners, if anything." I reassure her, not wanting to add any discord to our living dynamic.

"You're the one doin' the teaching an' junk. I'm just here from time to time, making sure nobody sets themselves on fire." she says, an oversimplification at best.

"Now, proper play time is an excellent socialization experience, and you know how much some of the children need that in their lives."

"I guess."

"Besides, there are so many times you're better at reaching them than I am. You're key to me being able to handle more than one at a time. I promise." I add, knowing full well how much reassurance this girl really needs, her upbeat façade notwithstanding.

"Thanks, Mango." she says simply, and I'd swear she was blushing a bit. From my compliment, or one of the racier panels in her book, I'm not sure, and I'm not sure I *want* to be sure. "Having lunch out here?"

"Yes, it's a wonderful day for it, don't you think?"

"Sure thing. Mind if I pop back to the apartment for a minute? I forgot mine.”

"I should be able to handle those two for a few minutes." I reassure her.

"Webby is in one of his moods, but he seems to have quieted down for now. Good luck." she tosses over her shoulder before loping off with the energy of youth. I can't fault Bonnie her dedication, or her work ethic, but she needs something more in her life. Still, she isn't hurting anyone, so no need to rain on her parade.

Before I can muse further on what, or, properly, *who* Bonnie needs, I'm interrupted by my lunch date, who deposits two plastic bottles of soda, complete with candy-striped paper straws, on the table. "They were out of the diet, and pretty much everything else. Got cherry fizz and root beer."

"Oh, I'll take the cherry I suppose.”

"Excellent taste, I must say. Quite the popular selection over at my bungalow."

“Fancy.” I add, flicking my straw with a clawtip, retrieving and passing half of my sandwich to him.

“I get takeout from Leo’s all the time. They're very old-fashioned, kinda like me.” He adds, puffing up his meager chest with that charming, goofy smile of his. Taking a bite, I see his eyebrows shoot up just a tick. “Mmph, dash good.” Were he any cruder, I'd gently chastise him for talking with his mouth full, but I let it slide, since the kids aren't around to pick up the bad habit.

“Thank you. Bacon goes in the oven with a little black pepper and maple syrup. Nothing fancy, but I do know how to make a few things.” I add, advertising… what, precisely?

“Certainly fancier than anything we get upstairs. We're all thumbs in the kitchen.” He admits, scratching behind his ears before taking another massive bite out of his sandwich. I smile softly, passing the other half of the sandwich across the table. He eyes my offer with a mixture of curiosity and guilt, hesitating to take it.

“I'm not that hungry. Not as much as you seem to be, anyway. And, I can always make another later.” That statement is technically true, even if the last scraps of bacon in the apartment are wrapped up in that sandwich. I need to go grocery shopping anyway, as it's my turn to do so this week. He's putting on a good front, and trying to be gentlemanly, but the rumbling of his narrow stomach betrays him.

“You sure?”

“Quite.” I reply with a wide smile, my elbows coming to rest on the table, interlaced fingers supporting my muzzle.

“Well, thanks, pretty lady. At least now I only have to worry about Foxy and Cheeky. Maybe. Faz has been able to help a lot more lately.” He adds with no small measure of relief, before polishing off the first half of his sandwich.

“How *is* everyone doing up there in the ol’ bungalow?” I query, heart swelling with pride just watching him enjoy what he's eating. Something I made. Not for him, specifically, but there it is.

“Life goes on, I suppose. Faz is certainly on the mend, if a bit slowly. Cheeky and Foxy, well, up and down, like always. They're a handful to take care of sometimes, but the best friends a fella could hope for.” he adds, a little melancholy creeping into his voice.

“Who takes care of *you*?” I ask him, voice faltering ever so slightly.

“Oh, I'm pretty self-sufficient. My issues aren't nearly enough to worry about.” He says, putting on a brave front that anyone with half a brain could see through.

“Never said they had to be. We all have someone looking out for us, even if it isn't needed all the time. My roommates and I are all on a pretty even keel, and we still take care of each other when it's called for.”

“Well, there's Bonbon. She helps with Foxy sometimes. Mike's always willing to lend a paw, but he does that for everyone. Sometimes I wonder where he gets the energy.”

“Exactly my point, Bon.” I state simply, taking a sip of my drink. “Mmmm, delicious. Thanks for sharing with me.”

“Don't mention it.” He deflects, avoiding my previous point entirely.

Before I can press him further, the boys dash over, panting a bit from their fun. “Miss Mango, can we get juice boxes, please?” Bonson asks, polite as ever with me.

“Of course you can. You know where fridge is, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” I echo, an eyebrow raised in irritation.

“Yes, ma'am.” He corrects himself.

“Run along then. And grab a water bottle for each of you, too. It's hot out.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He repeats, then bolts off towards the building, leaving his classmate behind. Webby is looking down at the lawn, rocking back and forth on his feet, indicating the yellow duckling’s retreating into himself a bit.

“Webby? Are you okay?” I ask, knowing full well how quickly his mood can turn.

“Yes, Miss Mango.” He says, even if his tone is telling me otherwise.

“He's really a darling, once you get to know him.” I offer to Bonworth, both as a means of introduction, as well as indirect praise for the little duck’s sake. “Would you like to meet my friend, Webby?”

“Momma said not to talk to strangers.” He says glumly.

“Well, if I introduce you, he won't be a stranger any more, now will he?”

“I guess.” He replies timidly.

“Bon, this is Weber Simpson, one of my sweetest students.” I praise, gently ruffling the boy’s headfeathers. “Webby, this is Bonworth Rabbinson. He manages the apartment complex and helped get my classroom up and running.” I offer my student, hoping to get him connected to another person. He needs it so much to be able to, I hope, eventually live with his autism.

“Put 'er there, pal.” Bonworth says eagerly, extending a paw to the awkward duck and giving him that goofy smile of his. This quickly fades into growing panic as Webby leaves him hanging.

“You're tall.” He says in his typically distant, matter-of-fact manner, which is off-putting to most people he's met. Thankfully, Bonworth isn't most people.

“I get that a lot, actually. It’s the ears.” He replies, waggling them comically and getting a choked snort of laughter from Webby. I can't help but chuckle myself, both at how quickly Bonworth has endeared himself to the little duck, and my own appreciation of his earnest, goofy humor. “Maybe when you grow up a little, your momma might let you grow your headfeathers out and up, like my mom did.”

“You have feathers?” Weber asks, voice filled with wonder, his gaze lifting for the first time since he came over to us. Now *there’s* a development.

“Well, not exactly, but close.” He replies, fishing into his vest pocket to retrieve his phone. A few taps later, he turns it around to show Webby a picture. The yellow duckling leans in to intently study what's been presented, giving an awed gasp at what he sees.

“Wow! That's *huge*. Your ears are still bigger, though.”

“True. That was a little over ten years ago, senior year of high school.” He explains, passing the phone to me. My gaze flicks down, and I can't help but titter at the sight of a younger purple rabbit, complete with a black leather jacket and the most insanely poofed-up headfur I've ever seen, outside of a movie at least.

“Oh my, that is too precious for words.” I say, meaning every bit of it.

Bon smiles softly, seemingly a little embarrassed as he takes a sip of his root beer.

“Are you Miss Mango’s boyfriend?” Webby blurts suddenly, my jaw hitting the floor as I barely register the spluttering spit take from Bonworth.

“Buhhhhh…” he stammers out, even more shocked than I am, apparently.

“Why, Webby, what makes you think that?” I ask him anxiously, knowing full well how strange his thought processes can be at times. I won't lie and tell you I'm not panicking myself at where this conversation is going. “Just because a man and a woman are having lunch together doesn't mean that they're boyfriend and girlfriend.” I add, racking my brain to try and remember if his mother is a single parent or not.

“Well, you said that your tail only wags when you're really happy, and it's been goin’ non-stop since Mister Bonworth sat down.” He declares, having solved my mystery for me. My face is frozen in an awkward smile, a twitch of white on the tip of my personal mood meter flicking into my peripheral vision once again.

Oddly enough, it's my own panicked awkwardness that seems to prompt Bonworth into motion. “No, Webby, I’m not Miss Mango’s boyfriend.” He says, tone conveying just how silly he thinks the notion. His eyes cut to me for a moment, and I see the mood shift on his face as he looks at mine. “Iiiiiii mean, it's not like she isn't a sweet gal that any fella would be lucky to go out with.” He hurriedly corrects himself, his voice raising to near panic in the span of a sentence.

“Oh. I like you.” Webby declares, darting forward and wrapping his wings tightly around Bonworth's waist.

“I, well, that is…” the lanky lagomorph stutters out.

“You make Miss Mango happy.” I hear him say; my paws have long since found my face, covering up a blush that surely shows even through my makeup.

“You've made a new friend I see.” I hear Bonnie pipe up from behind us, thank God.

“Well, it appears I have indeed, Bonbon.” Bonworth replies with a soft, handsome smile.

“His headfur used to be HUGE!” Webby informs her enthusiastically.

“I KNOW, right?” She replies, mirroring the duckling's mood. Before she can continue, the theme song of whatever her latest human obsession is called blares out of her phone. Fishing it out of her pocket, she checks the notification before quickly replacing it. “Okay, Webby, time to get moving, that was your mom. She just got on the bus from work, so she'll be here in about ten minutes.”

“Awwww.”

“I'm sure if you ask nicely, Mister Bonworth can come visit the classroom from time to time, right?” She asks, cutting her gaze in my direction momentarily. Don't think I didn't see that, young lady.

“Darn tootin’, son.” Bonworth reassures him. This seems to pacify Weber, and he dashes over to the approaching Bonson for his juice box and water. They both approach the bench where we’re gathered, Webby's feathered fingers having a devil of a time just extricating his straw, which gets even worse as he’s trying to insert it. This quickly escalates into a feral growl of frustration from the boy, but before I can get my rump off the bench, Bonworth's there next to him.

“Here, partner. Let me show you something. Bonson, can I borrow yours for a second?” He asks, getting a shrug from the blue bunny before he complies. “Now, see how your straw is bending? If you hold it like a pencil, by the pointy end, and then just take a little time it goes in… just like that.” He says, completing his demonstration and showing the end result to Webby. “Now, take yours, just like a pencil. No, close to the… there you go, line it up, aaaaand, bingo!” He says with that earnest smile of his. Webby is still panting, but ramping down from his previously imminent meltdown. Bonworth hands the other box back to Bonson, who grabs it and sucks it down in four seconds flat before twisting off the cap to his water bottle and having a good swig at that too.

“Okay, Webby, ready to go?” Bonbon asks, getting a silent nod from the boy. “I’ll be back in a minute, Mango.” she tosses over her shoulder before leading her young charge towards the bus stop.

“Can I head home now, Miss Mango?” Bonson asks, now that his playmate is gone.

“Of course, dear, and thank your mother again for the donuts, they were delicious.” I remind him, and he merely nods before trotting off home to his video games. “Even if I know they're going straight to my hips.” I grumble once he's out of earshot.

“I wouldn't worry about it, Mango. What was it Chica said the other day? Oh, ‘more cushion for the pushin’. Whatever that means.” He tacks on, and I'm dumbfounded that he either thinks I wouldn't get that innuendo, or legitimately doesn't get it himself. Given how charmingly awkward he's always been around me, I think it's likely the latter.

“You know it took me three weeks to do what you did in five seconds just now.” I offer, almost reverently.

“Oh?”

“Mmmm, yes. Webby is a very hard nut to crack, and his mood is slipperier than an eel. But you got him calm, *twice*, without even trying that hard.”

“Oh, well, beginner's luck I suppose.” He says softly, scratching behind his ear at the praise.

“Maybe. I just think you've got a gift. There's a wonderful honesty about you, Bonworth. Anyone who's around you for any length of time can see it.” I add, seeing the color rise in his cheeks as his claws go into overdrive on the back of his head as I continue. “You're going to make a wonderful father some day.” I add, pretty sure that I'd have heard if he had kids already.

“I, well... Ummm, thank you, ma'am. That's high praise coming from a teacher like you.” He finally manages, smiling softly. He takes another bite of his sandwich, whether to buy time or out of genuine hunger, I'm beyond caring at this point.

This has turned out to be quite the pleasant afternoon.

“You really do love these kids, don't you?” He asks, stuffing the last bit of BLT into his mouth.

“Oh, my, yes! Such wonderful young minds, just waiting to be sculpted and molded into adults. It's a privilege, really. That I make a living at it is just gravy.” I reply, retrieving the small thermos full of soup. Shaking it a bit to mix, I unscrew the cup/lid, and pour out some of Grandma De la Vega’s liquid love, sliding it across the table. Bon takes it with a quiet sort of reverence, lifting it a bit to get a good sniff.

“Oh, that's heavenly.” He says quietly, plastic crinkling softly as he opens his packet, producing a somewhat flimsy looking spork with a goofy flourish. I wait, eyes open wide as he takes his first sip. “Mmmmm, your… Abuelita?” He asks tentatively, “Sure knows how to make some good soup. Oooh, that's got a bit of burn on the back end, doesn't it?” he continues, before digging into the spicy broth with gusto.

“A little chipotle keeps it from getting too muddy.” I explain. “At least that's what my grandmother taught me.”

“Well, if this is any indication, your granddad is one lucky fox. Having that kind of cooking every night would make me fatter than I already am.” He jests, and I find myself snickering at the mental image of a roly-poly half-rabbit on stilts.

“Oh you don’t know the half of it. They still get after each other, when they think no one’s looking.” I confess; slightly embarrassing, yes, but still heartwarming.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the family.”

“Indeed. I couldn’t tell you how many cousins I’ve got. Seriously, I’ve lost count.” I add when I see him arch a brow skeptically. “Mom’s the oldest of seventeen.” That draws a low whistle from my lunch date, and I smirk knowingly. Grandpa Diego was a *very* loving fox.

“Must take a football stadium to hold a family reunion.”

“Close. The family ranch is several hundred acres, with a nice bit of space set up around the barn for RVs and camping.”

“Sounds like quite the party.”

“Oh, certainly. Haven’t had one in a few years, we’re about due. Maybe for granddad’s ninetieth?” I ask rhetorically, making a mental note to call mom later and ask about it.

“I almost want to see that. At the very least, to thank your grandma for teaching you to cook.” he says, tucking into the rest of his meal.

“I'll see what I can manage.” I reply, my gentle laughter washing over both of us. “Normally it’s just family, otherwise we wouldn’t have room.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, mouth full. I take the opportunity to get to eating myself, the wonderful memories of Abuelita’s kitchen washing over me as the taste coats my palate. After several more spoonfuls, I realize I’m staring at Bonworth, watching the purple bunny eat. He notices my attention with a start, going from zero to nervous in the blink of an eye.

“Did I dribble on my muzzle?” He asks, a paw finding his chin.

“Oh, no, sorry. I just zoned out a bit.” I state, sighing softly, hoping to hell he buys the explanation.

“Oh. Mind if I ask you a personal question?” he asks, a little apprehensive. “I mean, you don’t have to answer.”

“Ask away, Bon. I’m a simple gal with nothing to hide.” I fire back, even if the request has me a bit on edge as well, if I’m being honest.

“Well, if you love kids so much…” he begins, seemingly unable to find the precise words he wants, and I’m stuck wondering whether I should have given him the go-ahead after all. Well, I’m a vixen of my word.

“You’re wondering why I don't have any of my own.” I say softly.

“The thought does occur, yes.” He replies, almost ashamed to be asking.

I sigh, unpleasant memories bubbling up out of the mists of time. “Well, when Frank, that’s my ex-husband, and I first got married, we were going to have kids. Both of us told the other we wanted it. I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant.” I say softly, feeling the tears coming and doing my darnedest to fight them back. “Then I miscarried. Less than a week after we found out.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to…” Bonworth says softly, placing a paw over mine. I look down at the gesture, noticing that even as such a mundane job as his, he’s got cufflinks in his shirt. Nothing terribly ostentatious, but professional, and more than a bit old-fashioned. I opt to withdraw my paw and replace it back atop his, squeezing reassuringly.

“Water under the bridge, dear.” I say, giving him the bravest face I can manage. He mirrors my bittersweet smile, and I feel my heart lift just enough for me to continue. “Well, obviously, I was heartbroken. Frank… I couldn’t help but feel he was *relieved*. We had a long, hard talk about it. Turned out he wasn’t nearly as on board with the concept of children as I’d been led to believe. It was something he’d only thought about in the abstract. He wanted above everything else to make sure I was happy, but I couldn’t well force him into something he didn’t want. Wasn’t any way around it, which was a pity, really. We did truly love each other. Made the divorce that much harder.” I chuckle. “Even made the judge cry.” I sniffle just a bit.

“After that, I just pressed snooze on the old biological clock and threw myself into my work. Just because they’re not mine doesn’t mean I love my kids any less.” I declare, having long since taken that on as a mantra.

Bonworth gently places another paw over mine, looking rather like a purple sandwich cookie, fixing my gaze in his and smiling softly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a wonderful mother someday.” He says warmly, the depth of his sincerity reaching me in ways I can’t even begin to describe. I return the smile, feeling demure all of a sudden.

Fanning myself with my free paw, I offer a bark of a laugh, catching in my throat along with my tears. “Look at me, sentimental old fox indeed.”

“Nothing wrong with that. You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s good to talk about things. Can’t move on from something you pretend doesn’t exist.” I add, echoing my Tio Nacho.

“Never heard it put that way, but sound advice.” Bonworth says, tipping back his cup and finishing off his lunch in one eager gulp.

“Well, I must say, lunch was delicious, Mango. Really must do this again sometime.” Bonworth says with a warm smile.

“You work half days *every* Friday?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Sounds like a date, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hold on a second.” I add unexpectedly, leaning forward to dab at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” he says, back to his slightly bashful self again. “You know, I’d never noticed before how pretty your eyes are, Mango.” He adds out of the blue.

So much for bashful.

“Oh, well, umm, thank you, Bon. You’re no slouch in that department either, you know.” I reply, trying to regain my emotional equilibrium. He averts his gaze, and I swear I can feel the heat from his cheeks, even more than my own. Several awkward moments later, he seems to find his footing as well.

“See you around, pretty lady.” he offers up with what confidence he can muster, tip of the invisible cap included.

“I certainly hope so, you handsome bunny.” I fire back, shocking the both of us. He smiles after a moment, rising unsteadily to his feet and clacking off towards his apartment. I watch him go for nearly a minute, sighing softly as he rounds a corner and disappears from view.

I think I’m in trouble.