Chapter Text
It starts some time in early September, unbeknownst to Helen.
Well. Madeline has actually been thinking about it since she realized that the next Halloween they experienced, they’d have their daughter to celebrate it with, but her usual holiday planning took a back seat to the excitement of actually planning for a baby. For Madeline, the possibilities seem endless – of course she and Helen are going to have coordinating costumes, and of course Stella is going to have one of her own.
So Madeline starts planning. Or scheming, really. Helen has gone along with at least sixty percent of her past Halloween visions, even going back as far as when they were just kids and the only goal of the night was to get back to their dorm in one piece.
But this year, the stakes are higher. The thought of a family Halloween costume fills Madeline with a giddy excitement typically reserved for the moments she books a new role. With this focused determination, Madeline opens the notes app on her phone as if it were a Wes Anderson script and creates a list.
Inspiration is everywhere – it doesn't take long for her to come up with her first round of options. It’s a little later in the game than she’s used to; usually she starts brainstorming ideas in the spring and starts compiling costume pieces over the summer.
There were other things going on that were a little more important.
Nevertheless, Madeline isn’t deterred. She spends the following weeks narrowing down her ideas, until she finally has a handful of choices she thinks Helen will go for.
Even though Helen has gone along with Madeline’s visions the majority of the time (just barely, but it still counts as the majority), it’s never been without a fight. One year, Helen argued that it gets to a point where simply putting “hot” or “slutty” in front of a word or occupation is no longer a viable option. Instead of getting her to back down, this only encouraged Madeline to get creative. To Helen’s chagrin.
Thus, a tradition of sorts was born: if Madeline could convince Helen to participate in the costume, she would. But she would have to be convinced. Luckily for Madeline, she’s known to be very convincing.
Late one night, she comes downstairs after a post-show shower in search of Helen. She finds her lying back on a pillow against the arm of the couch with her legs bent and a book propped up on her thighs, just as engrossed in whatever she’s reading now as she was when Madeline first came home.
Madeline plops down onto the cushion next to Helen’s socked feet. Without a second thought, she pries apart Helen’s bent legs and crawls over her, dragging herself up her wife’s body and resting only when she’s almost entirely on top of her. She lets out a content sigh as she rests her head on Helen’s chest, wrapping her arms around her waist.
Helen, who graciously lifted her arms out of the way to allow Madeline’s advance, feigns annoyance before marking her spot in the book and gently setting it on the nearby coffee table. Finally, she envelops Madeline in her arms, only too happy to finally have her there. Once the other woman settles, she brings a hand to Madeline’s head, gently scratching her scalp through still damp blonde waves.
The ministrations are almost enough to lull Madeline to sleep, until she remembers that she came down here on a mission. Sleepily, she stretches and kisses Helen’s neck.
“Mm, we have to talk about something.”
Helen’s hand stills immediately, and Madeline literally feels her wife’s heart rate speed up under her cheek – even through the fleece of Helen’s sweatshirt. Suddenly realizing the implications, Madeline struggles into a seated position so she can look Helen in the eyes.
“Nothing bad,” she says, pecking Helen on the lips. “I promise.” Another peck. “Sorry.” Instead of lying back down, she plants a knee on either side of Helen’s hips and sits up all the way. “We have to talk about Halloween."
Confusion passes over Helen’s face. “What about it?”
Madeline gives her a look that loosely translates to how are you so smart yet still so clueless? “We have to decide on a family costume.”
Helen sighs and tries to sink into the couch. “Do we have to?”
Affronted, Madeline crosses her arms and glares down at Helen. “Yes. What did we have a baby for if not to put her in a cute little outfit?”
“To achieve a new level of love and fulfillment in our lives?”
“That is so boring. Why do you not want me to be happy?”
The question elicits a 6.2 magnitude eye roll from Helen. More often than not, she finds it relatively painless to play along with whatever plans Madeline cooks up for the holidays. As long as her only involvement is putting on the costume and begrudgingly posing for pictures, she’s fine to place her dignity on a shelf for the sake of Madeline’s “carefully curated social media presence.”
But she just had a baby – she’s exhausted. They’re both exhausted, and so the thought of expending any bit of the already finite reserve of their energy into anything that doesn’t have to do with the care and keeping of said baby isn’t particularly appealing. Her body still doesn’t even really feel like her own; there are so many new curves and angles she still hasn’t adjusted to.
“It’s not like she can actually do anything yet, Mad,” Helen says, wearily. “What would even be the point of dressing up?”
Madeline sticks out her bottom lip. “It would be fun!” Her lip pokes out even farther. “Think about how charming we’ll all look together!”
It’s then that Helen has a horrific realization: the patented Madeline Ashton pout that’s been used against her for the last twenty years has only become more powerful now that she’s seen it mirrored in the tiny face of their daughter. It doesn’t sway her entirely, but she can feel her resolve melting. She looks up at her wife in defeat, sighing dejectedly.
“Alright. Hit me.”
Madeline beams. She grabs Helen’s face, thumbs cradling her cheeks, and plants a satisfied kiss on Helen’s lips. In turn, Helen pulls Madeline forward by the back of her thighs, pulling her closer and offering Helen the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss. She slips her tongue into Madeline’s mouth, but the blonde pulls back with a reluctant groan.
“Nuh-uh,” she says. “Don’t distract me.”
With her last ditch attempt at derailing Madeline foiled, Helen readjusts her grip on the woman still in her lap, resting her hands on either side of Madeline’s waist.
“Fine.” Helen blinks, unamused. “Go on.”
Madeline clears her throat like she’s about to deliver a presidential address. “First option: I’m Ariel, you’re Prince Eric, and Stella is Flounder.”
Helen frowns. “I’m the redhead, but you get to be the little mermaid?”
“As much as I would love to see you in a seashell bra,” Madeline starts, pointedly dragging her eyes downward toward where she knows Helen’s breasts are hiding, “our neighbors do not deserve that privilege.” Another thought occurs to her as she sits with the image she’s just created. “I am, however, going to put that one aside for use at a later date.”
A smirk plays on Helen’s lips at the cheeky comment, though she immediately tries to cover it. “What else?”
Madeline makes an excited gasp. “Ooh! This one’s good: I’m Tinkerbell. You’re Peter Pan. Stella’s Captain Hook.”
It’s not an outright no, but Helen still isn’t on board. She purses her lips in thought. “One: I don’t know how I feel about you aligning our daughter with villainry for her first Halloween. And two,” she pauses, making sure she has Madeline’s otherwise fleeting attention, “why do you keep making me the man?”
Madeline scoffs, exasperated, and sets her hands on her hips in what she hopes is an intimidating pose. “Sorry there aren’t more lesbian fairytales, Hel. Take it up with Walt Disney.”
“That’s not even where those stories originated.”
“Whatever.”
Helen raises her eyebrows, her face blank but with a challenge brewing just below the surface. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“Of course not,” is Madeline’s quick reply. “Let’s pivot – what are your feelings on The Wizard of Oz?” When Helen doesn’t immediately shoot her down, she continues. “I’d be Dorothy, obviously. You’d be the Scarecrow, and Stella would be the Lion.”
Helen cocks her head, the gears in her brain turning as she mulls over the idea. It’d be relatively low effort for her, and she knows Madeline still has the Dorothy costume from her last solo show tucked safely in the back of their closet. And she’s loath to admit it, but the thought of Stella in a little lion costume tugs at her heart more than anything Madeline’s suggested thus far.
She only has one concern. “I’m a New York Times best-selling author. Why can’t I have a brain?”
In a dramatic show of frustration, Madeline proceeds to fall forward and land squarely onto Helen’s chest, pantomiming a tragic demise from her wife’s repeated refusals. After a moment of desperate silence, she pulls herself back into a seated position.
“That’s why it’s good. It’s ironic. Because you’re so smart. So it’s funny that you wouldn’t have a brain.”
“Yes, I am familiar with how irony works.”
Madeline rolls her eyes, but a sly grin works its way onto her face. She can sense victory on the horizon. “So you see how perfect it is!”
The unabashed hopefulness and excitement on Madeline’s face chips away at the last pieces of Helen’s wilfulness. Try as she might, she can’t help but want to hand Madeline the world when she’s looking at her like she has it in her possession to give. And if dressing up in ridiculous costumes is what she wants, it’s a small price for Helen to pay to make her happy. She flashes back to every moment Madeline was there for her during the pregnancy and makes up her mind.
“I trust that you’ll take care of getting everything together?”
Madeline squeals as quietly as she can, careful not to let her voice carry upstairs and wake the baby. She lunges forward, throwing her arms around Helen’s neck and squeezing her in a bone-crushing hug. Immediately, Helen returns it, clasping her hands around Madeline’s lower back and holding on tight.
“Don’t make me look insane,” Helen says, voice somewhat muffled by Madeline’s shoulder. “I’m a serious author.”
“Pfft,” Madeline scoffs. “Fine. Done. Easy. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
In one quick move, she slides sideways off of Helen and wedges herself between the redhead and the back of the couch. She swings a leg over Helen’s thighs and attaches to her like a barnacle on the bottom of a boat.
It’s only when she’s sufficiently tucked into Helen’s side that she looks over and notices the baby monitor propped up on the coffee table. The image on the screen shows Stella deep in sleep, sprawled out like a starfish with a moon-shaped pacifier in her mouth. Madeline sighs dreamily and nuzzles into Helen’s neck. Her eyes slip closed as she relaxes fully, only to snap open a moment later.
“Should I hire extras?”
In another moment of weakness, Helen lets Madeline convince her to spend the evening of October 31st sitting outside handing out candy to the neighborhood children.
Late in the afternoon, Madeline intercepts Helen in the doorway of the nursery. She stands flush against the closed door separating them from the baby napping just inside the next room, stretching her arms out as far as she can in order to block the entrance.
Helen raises an eyebrow. As she opens her mouth to speak, Madeline beats her to it.
“Nope,” Madeline says. “I got her. You have to go get ready.” With her hands on either side of Helen’s waist, she spins her wife away and gently pushes her toward their bedroom. “You’re welcome.”
Shaking her head, Helen wanders into the bedroom to see what exactly Madeline has picked out for her. There are a number of things she expects she might see laid out on the bed – despite Madeline’s earlier claims, Helen wouldn’t put it past her to choose something that could potentially scandalize small children.
What she does not expect is something so…wholesome.
There’s a long-sleeved green tunic dress, adorned with strategically placed patches of golden-yellow hay. Tufts of it also sit on either shoulder of the dress and follow along the boat neckline. They look hand sewn, confirming to Helen that this was surely a project relegated to Stefan. There’s also a pair of dark brown leggings; the look and feel tell Helen they’re new and from one of her favorite brands.
She’s pleasantly surprised, until she spots what else is there. A garish, cartoonish-looking hat sits next to the outfit to complete the look. This, too, seems to be handmade (she’ll have to give Stefan a bonus for his craftsmanship), with bits of straw attached to the wide brim and patches sewn to the pointed crown.
In all, it’s not nearly as extravagant as Helen was expecting. It’s kind of perfect.
Once she slips into the dress and leggings, she examines her reflection, turning this way and that in front of the full-length mirror. Everything she’s been self-conscious about is covered – the hips that spread out more than they used to, the soft curve of her belly that still remains even months after giving birth, the arms that aren’t as toned as they were a year ago. She feels secure and cozy and doesn’t feel like she’s hiding; she might even feel good.
Helen is so distracted by the unexpected combination of feelings that she doesn’t hear Madeline enter the room. She’s broken out of her thoughts by an excited gasp from the doorway.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Madeline exclaims, and Helen immediately turns toward the sound.
The other woman is, somehow, already dressed; she’s donned the blue gingham dress she hasn’t pulled out in years, as well as the pristinely kept wig that goes with it. Helen’s eyes trail down her body, landing on the custom-made jeweled red heels she’s slipped on. It’s been long enough that Helen forgot how good she looks in all of this — her brain momentarily goes blank
That is, until she sees Stella in Madeline’s arms; she, too, looks ready for whatever the night might bring. The costume is pretty simple – a brown and tan onesie with paw prints on the bottom of the feet and a tail draped elegantly over Madeline’s arm. The hood, with tiny lion ears poking out at the top, fits snugly but not uncomfortably around the baby’s face, and the faux fur mane sticks out like a supernova of fluff.
As Helen takes it all in, she tries to blink back the tears that rapidly form the longer she looks at what she’s sure is the cutest baby that has ever existed.
Madeline smacks a kiss on Stella’s cheek. “I told her you would be the most darling little thing,” she says to the baby, as if they’ve been in on the plot together from the start. “Your mother needs to trust me more.”
Even through tears, Helen rolls her eyes. “You had one good idea.”
“Whatever you say, Hel,” Madeline says breezily, oozing with smugness. Suddenly, her expression grows serious, and she looks almost nervous. “Is yours okay?” she asks.
It’s nearly imperceptible, but Helen clocks the movement of Madeline biting the inside of her cheek. So few people get to see this side of her, the side that cares so deeply and with everything she’s got, that its appearance spurs another round of tears.
Madeline’s horrified at the waterworks, convinced that despite her confidence she’s made a major misstep once again. But then Helen is shaking her head, finally moving toward her wife and daughter.
“It’s just not what I expected,” she admits. “I thought…it’s just not the kind of thing I expected from you.”
“Well, if you agreed, I wanted you to be comfortable,” Madeline says. She avoids Helen’s gaze by picking at invisible lint on Stella’s onesie. “I couldn’t really execute the whole thing if you said no. I mean it would have just ruined everything.”
Helen hums knowingly, but lets the subject drop.
After a quick application of some painted stitches on her face to add the last details, they’re finally ready. And just in time, too; Madeline peeks out the window and spots groups of children and their parents gradually emerging from the surrounding apartments.
It’s mild for October – some of the kids are sporting light jackets instead of the heavy coats that sometimes make an appearance, while others get by with a long-sleeved shirt layered under the colorful polyester. The trio ventures outside, and Helen nearly shrieks when she sees who’s waiting for them.
Stefan stands anxiously at the bottom of the stoop, clad in a metallic silver jumpsuit. His face is painted grey and glittery, and he sports a comically tiny conical hat that matches the silver of the rest of the outfit.
With Madeline’s attention focused on explaining the concept of Halloween to a rapt Stella, Helen steps down and sidles up to Stefan. She holds her own hat in front of her face, trying to hide her smile. “The Tin Man?”
“It was this or Toto. I didn’t want to crawl around on my hands and knees.” He sighs the sigh of a man who isn’t getting paid enough for this, and Helen valiantly tries to hide her amusement.
But she’s not about to get out of this unscathed. Madeline pops up next to them seemingly out of thin air. With her free hand, Madeline snatches the scarecrow hat from Helen’s grip.
“You can’t just hold it,” she says, trying to place the hat back on Helen’s head. “It’s an accessory.”
Holding the baby greatly impedes her reflexes, allowing Helen to bob and weave away from Madeline’s attempts.
“Please don’t make me wear the hat.”
“You have to wear the hat. Without it you’ll look ridiculous.”
“With it I’ll look ridiculous.”
“It completes the costume, Helen.”
“And I worked so hard on it!” Stefan adds. The playful glint in his eyes belies the offense in his voice.
Traitor, Helen thinks, before giving in and putting the accessory on herself. The final touch has Madeline smiling radiantly at her, and even Stella seems delighted by the whole ensemble. She reaches out for Helen, her little fingers just brushing the side of Helen’s face. Madeline kisses the baby on the cheek before handing her over. Stella gives her a gummy smile around the fingers in her mouth, and Helen’s heart melts.
Maybe the stupid hat isn’t so bad.
Ever the extrovert, Madeline takes the lead handing out candy. She procures a plastic cauldron full of treats (almost certainly brought by Stefan) and sets it on one of the concrete columns at the bottom of the stoop, posing next to it and waiting as if she’s a character in a theme park.
Helen lowers herself to the ground, settling on one of the stone steps with Stella sitting securely in her lap. Stefan stands dutifully off to the side, presumably only present to round out the group of characters. Madeline doesn’t do anything halfway.
Every time a child approaches, she appropriately oohs and ahhs at the costumes, while Helen commentates quietly to their daughter.
“That’s a vampire. You can tell by his fangs.”
“Look at her hat and broomstick – she’s a witch."
“...I don’t know what she’s supposed to be, honestly, but that mohawk is fascinating.”
After each softly spoken explanation, Stella gleefully kicks her feet, simply thrilled to be included in whatever is going on. Helen suspects she’ll grow up to be a social butterfly like Madeline, and she’s already pleasantly worn out at the thought.
When the sun fully sets below the horizon, and the supply of candy reaches its end, they decide to call it a night. Madeline releases Stefan with a dismissive wave, bounding over to help Helen stand. The baby is fast asleep in the crook of her elbow, one limp arm swung out to the side and a pacifier in her mouth. Madeline tickles the palm of her outstretched hand as they head back inside.
Helen pauses just inside the doorway. It’s going to be almost impossible to extract Stella from the costume without waking her. As she looks down at the sleeping baby, Helen realizes she’s not really ready for them to go to bed just yet anyway.
She pads into the living room, sitting down softly in the large armchair next to the couch. Madeline shortly follows, perching on one of the armrests and reaching down to affectionately rub Helen’s thigh.
“I would consider that a resounding success.”
Helen is about to hum in agreement, but abruptly stops herself. “Wait. You didn’t have Stefan take any pictures.”
Madeline gives Helen a quizzical look. “Of course I did. Just because you didn’t know it was happening doesn’t mean it wasn’t.” Ignoring Helen’s furrowed brow, Madeline opens her phone and leans into her wife’s shoulder.
She opens an album filled entirely with candid snapshots of the night. There’s one of Stella squealing with laughter as Madeline tickles her belly. Another shows Helen holding the baby up and kissing the side of her face. The scarecrow hat falls forward, obscuring her own face in a way that looks deliberate and artful.
But the best one is a shot of all three of them. Madeline is crouched down next to Helen, who holds Stella in a standing position, hands firmly bracketing her waist. They’re both looking at the baby, wide smiles stretched across their faces. Stella looks straight at the camera like she knows it’s there, grinning around a closed fist in her mouth.
It’s so nauseatingly sweet it makes Helen’s teeth ache. “Oh,” she whispers. “Well. Yeah. A resounding success, then.” Her eyes sting the longer she looks at the picture. She has to admit that despite being reluctantly involved from the start, it was a lot of fun, and they did look extremely charming together.
There’s only one thing she’s a little miffed to concede: the hat really did complete the costume.