Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language.
The Georgian hummed as she finished mixing her milkshake, the news playing in the background. The Southern News Network, or SNN, was just reiterating the announcement that she had made that morning: the Free South had been admitted to the United Nations despite Dorothy Winthrop’s aims at stopping them.
Amy Montgomery was proud of herself-- she had every reason to be-- but her work was just beginning. She hadn’t run for the presidency, and she had been one of the millions to vote for Roy Davis, but now it was her time to shine. She’d move on Tennessee next, then Alabama-- both had been states that had almost gone to Davis but gone to worse candidates.
She reached for her metal straw and stuck it through the lid of her cup before taking a long sip. Chocolate milkshakes were the best thing ever, in her opinion, and there was no changing her mind. She deserved her milkshake, after all-- who else in the history of the world led her nation to join the UN, successfully establish a new constitution, and be named president ad interim until elections could be held? Certainly not anyone she had heard of before.
Montgomery took a seat in her red velvet armchair, continuously sipping at her milkshake as the news continued to tick off the events of the day. “...Ohio will remain with Winthrop despite great uncertainty. It is believed that Senator Edgar Moore closed the deal by speaking to the state legislature and acting in strong support of Winthrop and her policies despite his moderate right views. However, SNN projections think that Indiana and western states will fall to Nickson’s coalition--”
“Still listening to that mess?” Montgomery’s father, Abraham, coughed as he shuffled into the room. "I'm tellin' ya, the papers are gonna get it right, the television is always wrong." His vowels were long, and "papers" sound more like "pay-puhs." He was a small, shriveled man, and he used a walker to get around. Abraham was dressed in a bathrobe and slippers as he came into the living room.
Montgomery stood and moved to his side, leaving her milkshake on a side table. "Grandpa, you shouldn't be up and about right now," she chided gently. "You're not as young--"
"I'm ninety-eight years old," he whipped back. "If I wanna get my sweet tea without relyin' on your workers, so be it!"
She shook her head and started to help him to his cushioned rocking chair. He tied and failed to pull away from her firm grip, finally giving in as she made him sit down
"What am I supposed to do if you fall and break your hip again?" she grunted as she moved towards the modern kitchen in the next room. "Or your femur? Or your arm? Or ended up bruised because your big butt hit the ground too hard?"
"I weigh a hundred and four pounds," he snapped, "and that's ten pounds less than recommended for people my size! My butt ain't big!"
"...Grandpa. No. That's not what I meant." Sighing, she reached for a glass on one of the shelves before reaching into the fridge/freezer for some ice cubes. Finally, she reached for a gallon of tea she'd mixed that morning and half-filled the glass. Returning to the living room, she passed the glass on to the older, balding man.
"Took you long enough," he pouted, furrowing the remains of his eyebrows. He took a long sip of his tea before placing it on a coaster on the small table beside his chair. "You gotta learn how to walk a little faster, Amy Montgomery!”
The woman shook her head yet again. “You’ll be fine, Grandpa,” she said, leaning down to kiss his wrinkled head. “I’ll walk faster one day.”