Learning from M.O.M. - May and Caroline (1/3) (Patreon)

In the quiet heart of Petalburg City, life moved along a well-worn path—gentle, predictable, exactly the way Caroline liked it. Her mornings followed the same comfortable routine, often ending with a short walk through the neighborhood, exchanging small smiles and familiar greetings along the way.

It was during one of those walks that something unusual finally caught her attention.

As she passed the house next door, a sudden glint from the window made her glance over. At first it was just brightness, reflections, something oddly polished. Then she slowed, turned properly, and looked again.

The kitchen.

It looked lifted straight from a magazine: gleaming counters, warm light spilling evenly, every surface spotless and perfectly arranged in a way that felt almost unreal. Caroline had seen kitchens like that before—usually on glossy pages she flipped through with a quiet sigh before returning to her own ordinary one.

She managed to ignore it for two whole days.

On the third, armed with a flimsy excuse and an unreturned casserole dish that had suddenly become urgent, she crossed the yard.

“You’re just in time,” her neighbor said brightly, already gliding through that impossible space like she’d always belonged there. “Tea?”

Caroline stepped inside, failing spectacularly at subtlety as her eyes swept the room. “It’s… beautiful. You must have been saving for ages.”

A light laugh. “Not really. It happened pretty fast.”

“Fast?”

The neighbor leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “There’s this club. They pay surprisingly well just for helping at events—showing up, being friendly, presentable. Nothing complicated.”

Caroline’s brow lifted. “A club.”

“A bit unconventional,” the neighbor admitted with a casual shrug, “but easy money if you carry yourself nicely.” She paused, studying Caroline for a beat, then reached for a notepad. With quick, confident strokes she wrote something, tore the page free, and pressed it into Caroline’s hand. “Go there. Give this at the entrance. And don’t forget to bring May—she’s so cute. You’ll definitely get a nice bonus together, the two of you.”

Later that afternoon, sunlight slanting through the living-room curtains, Caroline sat May down at the kitchen table and told her the Story.

That evening May burst through the front door, Poké Ball still swinging from her belt, cheeks flushed from whatever adventure had involved mud, a very indignant Zigzagoon, and probably several violated berry bushes.

“You will not believe—wait, why do you look like you just found a Wurmple in your oatmeal?”Caroline cleared her throat.

“Sit down for a second, sweetheart.”

She explained everything - the perfect kitchen. The “club.” The note. The part about May being “so cute” and the mysterious bonus.

May listened with wide eyes, chin propped on her hands. At first she frowned, suspicious. “That sounds… weird, Like, really weird.”

“I know,” Caroline said softly. “It does.”

May chewed her lip, glancing toward the window where the neighbor’s perfect kitchen glowed even in daylight. “But… you want one like that? A kitchen that pretty?”

“…It has under-cabinet lighting,” Caroline muttered, betrayed by her own wistful tone.

“If it would make you happy… I guess we could go check it out. Just to see. Together.” May said.

Caroline reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. Outside, the neighborhood carried on in its gentle rhythm—birds calling, distant laughter, the soft hush of ordinary life.

But for the first time in a long while, Caroline felt the smallest pull toward something brighter, sharper, unknown.

The next afternoon they stood on the sidewalk outside a nondescript building with frosted windows and a small brass sign that read simply CLUB AURORA — MEMBERS ONLY. May was wearing her best “I’m cute and I know it” grin, mostly because she’d practiced it in the mirror for five minutes while Caroline wasn’t looking.

Caroline handed the note to the bored-looking woman at the door.

The woman glanced at it, then at Caroline, then at May.

Her face lit up like she’d just won the lottery.

“Ohhh, you brought the little one! Perfect. They’re doing the ‘Family Fresh-Faced’ promo this week. You’ll both qualify for the deluxe starter package.”

They stepped through the frosted doors into CLUB AURORA, and the air immediately hit different—warmer, heavier, scented with something expensive and vaguely vanilla. Caroline’s grip tightened on May’s hand as they both took in the scene: a softly lit lounge filled with well-dressed gentlemen lounging in leather chairs, each accompanied by elegant women in shimmering dresses who laughed at perfectly timed moments, poured drinks with practiced grace, and occasionally leaned in to whisper something that made the men’s eyes light up.

May’s “grin faltered for half a second. “This looks like one of those fancy dinner parties D.a.d. hates because he has to wear a tie.”

Caroline swallowed. “Or… something else.”

Before either could bolt, the woman in the striking red dress—the one who’d lit up at the door—swooped.

“Darlings! Right on time.” She pressed two garment bags into their arms, tags still dangling. “Change quickly, please. Room thirty-nine is all yours. Fresh towels, mirrors, the works. Chop-chop—the gentlemen are already asking about our fresh faces.”

May blinked at the bag. “Outfit? Like… a costume?”

“Think elegant hostess,” the woman purred, already turning away to greet someone else. “You’ll love it. And remember: smiles win bonuses!”

Room thirty-nine turned out to be a small, plush changing suite with two racks, a vanity, and lighting that made even their ordinary reflections look suspiciously glamorous. They unzipped the bags in unison.

“These are actually… kinda pretty.”

"Are we really doing this?”

Caroline exhaled through her nose, a sound that was half laugh, half surrender.

“I think we’re at least doing the part where we put the dresses on and walk back out there. After that…” She lifted one shoulder. “We decide together. Same as always.”

They changed quickly, helping each other with zippers and smoothing stray hairs, the way they had before contest performances and important gym challenges. The dresses fit like they’d been waiting for them. In the mirror they looked… expensive. Polished. Not quite themselves, and yet still unmistakably Caroline-and-May.

When they stepped back into the room, two men waited near a velvet curtain.

“Ladies,” one man said “You must be the Petalburg pair we’ve heard so much about. Come, join us. We were just discussing… family values.”

The younger one winked at May. “And Pokémon coordination.".

Then, together, they walked forward into the warm amber light of the alcove.

Hands found waists first. Polite at the start—testing. Then bolder. Caroline felt warm fingers trace the curve of her hip through the thin silk; across from her, May let out a small, surprised laugh when the younger man’s palm settled low on her back, thumb stroking slow circles just above the dip of her spine.

May leaned in toward Caroline, close enough that their cheeks nearly touched, and murmured so only Caroline could hear:“Still just for the kitchen?”

Caroline’s answering smile was shaky, exhilarated. “Still just for the kitchen.”

“Then let’s make it worth every Poké-dollar.”

Later—much later—when the envelope was heavier than either of them expected and the neighbor’s kitchen seemed suddenly within reach, Caroline would sit May down at their own ordinary table (still no under-cabinet lighting) and ask the question again.

“Still okay?”

May leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, grin crooked and utterly unrepentant.

“I’ll support you so hard I’ll learn anything.”

Caroline paused, stretched languidly like a satisfied Liepard, then added:“Also… next time? We’re negotiating for granite countertops and a double oven.”