Chapter 3: A choice
The world stabilized, but only just. Alex’s sneakers landed on the hard, polished surface of the side table—a vast, empty plain of walnut under a single, hanging lamp that looked like a distant alien sun. Ellie’s hand withdrew, leaving her standing there, small and exposed. The giantess didn’t speak. She simply turned, the fabric of her sweater a whispering mountain range, and strode across the living room.
Each footfall was a deep, tectonic thud that vibrated up through the table legs and into Alex’s bones. She watched, heart hammering against her ribs, as Ellie plucked the tiny, ludicrous backpack from where she’d dropped it by the sofa. With a deftness that was almost insulting, Ellie upended it. A rain of Alex’s world spilled onto the cushion: a spool of red thread, a bent paperclip sculpture, three stick of gum, a graphite stick, and the chipped, off-white ceramic mug with World’s Okayest Sociologist printed in faded comic sans.
Ellie plucked the mug between her thumb and forefinger, studying it with an expression of profound disdain. She didn’t look back. Holding the mug like a contaminated specimen, she walked to the front door. The sound of the latch clicking open was a gunshot in the silence. Then she was gone, the door shutting with a soft, final whump that seemed to suck all the air out of the room.
The silence that followed was worse than the searching fingers, worse than the grip. It was a ringing, hollow expanse.
“Well,” a voice said from the other end of the cavern. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, kiddo.”
Alex jumped. She’d almost forgotten about Jules. The other giantess was reclined in her customary armchair, a book splayed open on her knee like a welcome mat. She hadn’t moved during the entire extraction. Now, she peered over the top of her reading glasses, a faint, weary amusement in her eyes. She looked, Alex thought, like a volcano deciding whether or not to nap.
“She’s… where is she going?” Alex’s voice came out smaller than she intended.
“To return your ill-gotten gains, obviously,” Jules said, marking her page with a strand of yarn and setting the book aside. The movement was slow, deliberate. “To your professor’s office, I’d imagine. To de-escalate a situation that, according to your sister, involves security footage and threats of precinct involvement.” She let the words hang, their implications expanding to fill the room. “You know how Ellie feels about precincts.”
Alex did know. It was one of the few things that could make Ellie’s disciplined calm crack—the thought of bureaucratic, indifferent giants in uniform handling her tiny charges. It was the one threat that truly worked on Jess.
“She’s… really mad,” Alex stated, the words inadequate.
Jules snorted, a sound like a low engine turning over. “Astute.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, bringing her face closer. The scale was still immense, but the distance felt conversational, almost intimate. From here, Alex could see the fine lines at the corners of Jules’s eyes, the faint shimmer of lip balm. “Listen. Ellie will handle the school. That’s her department. She’s terrifyingly efficient at smoothing over tiny-related ‘incidents.’ But you…” Jules pointed a finger the size of a tree trunk at her. “You have to handle her when she gets back. So you’ve got about twenty minutes to decide on your strategy.”
Alex swallowed. “Strategy?”
“Your approach. Your defense. Your… presentation.” Jules counted off on her fingers. “Option one: the full grovel. Tears, if you can manage them. Sincere, stammering apologies. Admitting the profound error of your ways. The ‘I’ve-learned-my-lesson-and-will-never-do-it-again’ classic. It’s a bit direct. Ellie might find it transparent.”
“And option two?” Alex asked, a flutter of hope in her chest.
Jules’s smile widened. “The baby.”
Alex blinked. “What?”
“The baby,” Jules repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re her baby. She can’t stay mad at her baby. You go full toddler. Big eyes. Pouting lower lip. That little hiccup-y cry you used to do when you skinned your knee. Cling to her thumb when she tries to scold you. Bury your face in her hand. It’s manipulative, shameless, and frankly, it’s your best shot.”
Alex felt a strange cocktail of indignation and desperate consideration. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” Jules leaned back again, the chair groaning. “I’ve seen it work on her for eighteen years. The stern resolve just… melts. She’ll sigh, she’ll roll her eyes, and then she’ll probably just squeeze you until you pop a blood vessel. But it’ll be an affectionate squeeze, not a punitive one.”
“Which one works better?” Alex’s voice was barely a whisper.
Jules laughed, a rich, warm sound that somehow made the room feel less like a prison. “Probably the baby one. But Alex,” her tone shifted, grew a fraction more serious. “Let’s be real. Even if she softens, there’s going to be a punishment. She can’t let this slide, not with campus security involved. So the question isn’t if, it’s what.”
“What do you think it’ll be?”
“My guess?” Jules tapped her chin. “Foot rub.”
Alex groaned, her shoulders slumping. “Not the feet.”
“Oh, definitely the feet,” Jules said, her smile turning wicked. “It’s her go-to for serious offenses. You’ve earned it. Twenty minutes of you, tiny little hands, working out the tension from her arches. It’s humiliating, it’s tedious, and it makes her feel better. A perfect Ellie punishment.”
The image was vivid and dreadful: Ellie reclined on the sofa, one impossibly large foot propped up, waiting. Alex, a speck on the couch cushion, toiling away at the landscape of skin and bone. The smell of lotion and tired feet. The profound, wrist-aching boredom of it.
Outside, a distant rumble echoed—the garage door opening. Ellie was back already. Time was up.
Jules’s expression softened a fraction. “She loves you, you know. To bits. That’s why she’s out there fixing your mess. That’s also why she’s going to make you rub her feet until your fingers cramp. It’s the same coin.” She gave Alex a long look. “So. Grovel, or baby? Choose fast.”
The key turned in the front door lock. The mechanism clicked with a sound of finality. Alex took a deep breath, her mind racing. She thought of Jess’s terrified face, the cold grip of Ellie’s hand, the words “grand theft collegiate.”
She decided. As the door swung open and Ellie’s silhouette filled the frame, backlit by the afternoon sun, Alex squared her shoulders. Then, she deliberately let them slump. She wiped a non-existent bit of dust from under her eye and let her lower lip begin its practiced, subtle tremble.
She was going for the baby.