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On a typical Friday, this time of day, Kirsten would be at the gym.
A somewhat dingy place called 9R where nobody knew or cared about her.
These days, she slept, she worked, she did not think about Amy.
Exhaustion helped with pent-up frustrations, with the big and small lies she told herself: and what if sweat and tears mingled sometimes? Since she broke up with Amy, she spent so much time at 9R, they have offered her a diamond membership, twice already.
Not today.
Kirsten looked at Amy and Poppy, and felt her chest expand.
And perhaps there was now a larger void to fill in there, between ribs and flesh and muscle, because it was almost like her heart was sinking a bit, too.
The sky was blue, full of distant clouds, but it was sunny, and the light reflected on the water behind them, shining over the tops of Amy’s and Poppy’s heads.
A cool breeze rustled some fallen leaves around the garden, and Kirsten pulled her green coat tighter around herself. She shifted on her feet, restless. Annoyed that she was already struggling not to feel excluded, not to grow conscious of what to do with her hands or where to rest her eyes, not to become a thing foreign and separate from Amy and Poppy.
A statue of salt behind them.
She tipped her head back, giving herself a moment to unroot the seed of disappointment that Amy had not hugged her, had not laughed in joy with her. It should not make her eyes sting. And yet.
She took a deep breath. Another one.
It smelled faintly of rain.
She could see that Amy’s hair had blonde highlights on it, and Kirsten felt a compulsion to run her hands over it. To touch Amy in some way. Why the thought came to her, she didn’t know, but it had been an issue, since they met, she supposed, that Kirsten struggled not to notice everything about Amy.
Not to make Amy the centre of her life.
Even after everything that went down.
Despite it all.
She’s here, isn’t she?
It was almost physical, the sensation in the pit of her stomach of orbits shifting, a gravitational force between them pulling them together and keeping them apart.
Kirsten watched Amy and Poppy, mother and daughter, as they laughed and hugged, and tried not to count the seconds, not to have a firm view on exactly when Amy should turn to look her way, to invite her into the hug.
She knew now that she had contributed to spoiling things between them once already: by being too sure that she understood Amy, when, in reality, she had not.
She also knew of the power of Amy’s presence.
Just a few minutes ago she had bended under it.
As good as agreed to give their relationship another chance.
Well. Maybe not bended, maybe it truly was meeting Amy a tad closer to the middle.
She could not be too upset about it anyway, because she wanted Amy desperately.
It was difficult not to fall back into old mind habits, though; it was not that long ago that she had grown weary over all her unsuccessful nudges; of the constant imbalance that made her feel like a struggling equilibrist, deeply convinced that she was the one making all the concessions.
Being now in the back garden of a family that had not been hers, made her more aware than ever that maybe she had not seen the whole picture for what it was.
The truth was, she had been here before, in her mind, with Amy and Poppy, a hundred times in a hundred situations. She had imagined meetings and conversations, had hoped for them, even practiced what she would say.
And finally, today, Amy had invited her along.
It was strange to walk a path only visited in dreams, when she had already given up on it.
She blew out a long breath, frustrated with herself at her own greed, at how immediately she was starting to want more.
All of it.
Patience was not among her virtues, but she knew she could do better, now that she’d seen that Amy was not as immovable as she assumed. Now that she knew that she herself was not as impermanent in Amy’s life as she feared.
Kirsten looked at Amy and Poppy and allowed herself to open her mind to a shared future.
Because Amy was her door towards happiness, of that, she was sure.
The vertigo of standing again there, knocking, starting to take hold.
It was not a bad feeling. Quite the opposite. It was the kind of fear one has going into an amusement park ride, right at the highest point, the instant before dropping.
It did not shorten the distance between all the ghosts of past fears that she needed to traverse, she knew, but she felt on surer ground, this time around.
Poppy was Amy’s life.
Kirsten knew this all along, knew it this afternoon when the sun was shining and there was hope and despair in equal amounts creeping up her stomach and building a dam in her throat, making it hard to swallow.
She had not fought that fact, because she understood that love was not finite, that it was not hard, that it could expand and stretch and fit around both Poppy and her. And so, for months, she had tried to make room for herself. Pushed and cried and screamed, hoping to find a slice of Amy’s life that could be hers.
Theirs.
What was Kirsten in Amy’s life?
She blinked, the fading sun on her face. She was no good at being an onlooker. That much she could admit.
Just then, Poppy turned her way, making eye contact. She gave Kirsten a big smile and a wave, and surprising them both, opened the hug, and her arms, for Kirsten to join them.
Joy like electricity shot through Kirsten, pushing her forward.
It is not running unless both of your feet are in the air, she told Amy later, blushing a bit.
xxx
“Come inside?”
Amy asked hopefully, later, when they finally made it back to her place, after an afternoon when, impossibly enough, she had sat around the table with all the pieces of a life puzzle she always feared would be impossible to assemble.
There had been tea because nobody can say no to Morag’s offers of tea.
Worse of all, Morag had looked at them for a long time, Poppy sat snuggly between the two of them, and asked Kirsten, “so, did you take Amy back?”
If it had sounded judgmental, it was because it was judgmental. How that woman was related to Iain and Poppy was one of life’s largest mysteries.
Kirsten had not looked at Amy.
But Amy had looked at Kirsten, and seen how she shrugged before saying in self-deprecation, “I’m just here as the temporary chauffeur.”
And that was so far away from what Kirsten was, that Amy had not known how to change the tide of that conversation, allowing it to wash over them uncontested.
She had reached around Poppy and put her hand in the middle of Kirsten’s back for a long time afterwards. Long enough to see Kirsten’s shoulders drop slightly from where she had been holding herself random straight.
Now, in the car, Kirsten hadn’t turned off the engine yet.
She sat facing forward, in a pensive mood, having been quiet all the trip back. She looked out of the window, towards Amy’s building, before giving Amy a quick smile, eyes crinkling a bit, “I think I’d better go home.”
Amy felt the raw attraction that had so startled her at first, when she met Kirsten.
She had no reference for what she felt, then, but she had been immediately taken by Kirsten’s presence, her humour, her keen intelligence... her dark red hair that looked burnt orange in some lights. And now, inside the car, that gorgeous hair fell like a curtain, covering one side of her face, making her look even paler than she was, freckles standing out.
Kirsten was beautiful.
Disarmingly so.
And kind, and young. And Amy had hurt her so badly.
Amy felt like she had lived three lives in the span of just her 40 years.
She nodded, attempting to switch herself into detective mode, “of course, yes, I understand, you must be tired,” and she said it almost like she was not bone-deep tired herself.
She opened the door, hesitated, closed it again, sinking a bit into her car seat.
“No, listen, I-, I really want you to come inside, please? Like I don’t think I can be in there on my own right now,” she paused when her voice got too thick to continue, and swallowed, letting a trembling hand push some stray hairs out of her forehead. She turned slightly, daring to make eye contact with Kirsten.
“Being in the submarine, it was-, I-, I didn’t write everything up in the report.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“It was-, well, it wasn’t good, Kirsten. I just-, I don’t want to be alone.”
Kirsten looked like she felt: exhausted, and Amy needed to convince her to stay, or to let her come with, “I-, look, I can go to yours, if that’s easier? I won’t bother you; I’ll just take the couch and leave in the morning, I promise. Just let me get Cat some food, quickly, and-,”
“Amy,” Kirsten whispered as she touched her knee, “of course I’ll come inside. I’m sorry, you just looked so tired that-.”
“No, no, I-,” she rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, ruining her mascara and sinking a bit more into her seat in relief, “Thank you. I need you, so much, and-,”
“Come on,” Kirsten interrupted, turning the engine off, “Cat’s waiting.”
They moved slowly up the stairs, the weeks of tension catching up to them. Amy searched clumsily in her bag for her keys, but Kirsten pushed her way gently to the door, opening it and moving to drop the keys by the entry, “I’ll leave these here.”
“Please keep them?”
Cat came barrelling at her just then, nudging and purring against her legs. Amy grabbed her, lifting her to her chest, almost purring with her, too. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kirsten pocket the keys before she took off her coat, making herself a bit at home.
Amy breathed out at the small victory, letting Cat back on the floor.
It was warm inside, and Amy looked around. There were the stairs, the corridor, the front room. It all looked different. It wasn’t, of course. The rooms had not changed. She had.
She dropped her bag and took off her coat and jacket, hanging everything carelessly in one of the hooks by the door, then, she moved towards Kirsten, “can I-, please?” and she grabbed Kirsten’s arm, pulling, bringing her into her body when she didn’t feel any resistance.
Amy exhaled and closed her eyes, cheek resting against Kirsten’s silky red hair.
Kirsten responded immediately, burrowing deeper into Amy’s embrace, allowing herself to feel all the places where their bodies touched.
Amy was still in her boots, making her almost a head taller than her. If she turned her face just a fraction, her lips would rest against Amy’s pulse point.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” Amy confessed after a long while, not letting go. She was rocking both of them gently, running her hands slowly over Kirsten’s back and hair.
“Me, too.”
“I love you,” Amy whispered, and it was not what she had intended to say, it just slipped out, much easier to say this time. At home, with Kirsten in her arms, Amy thought it may eventually come to her unbidden, unprompted.
“Thank you for taking me to see Poppy.”
Amy gave a small grunt, and Kirsten kept speaking, “you know I’ve been wanting you to introduce us for a long time.”
“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
There was nothing to say to that, Kirsten knew. Either she forgave or not.
She felt like her heart had already made the choice for her.
xxx
They changed into pyjamas, Kirsten wearing the shorts and t-shirt she had brought with her when she moved into Amy’s to cat sit, smiling in amusement every time she caught Amy’s round-eye looks at her legs.
She moved downstairs while Amy finished tidying up the room, to prepare them a hot chocolate. It was only 8PM, but it felt like it was midnight, both ready to turn in for the night.
Kirsten heard Amy coming down the stairs; felt Amy’s arms encircle her waist from behind, as she stood by the counter, “is-, is this all right?” Amy asked, still tentative. They were yet to negotiate the terms of what this was, at what point exactly of their history they were going to pick things back up, to start trying. But that could wait until tomorrow, until Amy was not feeling like she was wearing her skin inside out. Until Kirsten had recovered from the three-week long jitters that she may never see Amy again.
Kirsten leaned back into her arms by way of response, pushing her back into Amy’s front. Her treacherous mind immediately noticing that Amy was not wearing a bra. Something warm travelled up and down her body, making goose bumps rise in her arms.
“Are you cold?” Amy asked, one arm tightening around Kirsten’s waist, the other rubbing the top of her left arm, pressing into her chest.
Kirsten turned in Amy’s arms to face her, staying in her embrace. Now that Amy had removed her shoes, they were closer in height, but being so close together, she still had to tip her head back to make eye contact.
“I’m not cold,” she rubbed Amy’s back and sides in a way that made Amy shake a bit.
“Thank you for staying.”
“Of course.”
“No, I-, it means a lot. You’ve been so patient with me, all along, and I don’t want you to think I haven’t noticed it. I’ve been thinking a lot, these past weeks, not just in the submarine, but before, since you-,” she took a deep breath, “since you left that day." It still hurt to say that out loud. "I wanted to call you back, to make amends,” she touched her forehead to Kirsten’s, “to make things right.”
Kirsten rubbed her cheek against Amy’s, hiding her face in her neck, lips against the skin there, almost a kiss, but not quite.
They stood like that for a long time, in a loose embrace.
“Anyway, I realized some things.”
“Did you, aye?”
“Yeah. It’s stupid, but I-, I just-, I want to at least try to tell you,” she moved her arms around Kirsten’s waist, pulling her more firmly against her, “I can save Poppy, and I can save you,” and she bended her knees and lifted Kirsten slightly off the ground, making her gasp a bit, “but what if something happens when we are all together? What if I cannot save you both?”
“Amy-,”
“No,” she shook her head, “listen me out. I am strong,” she paused then, pulling a bit back to look at Kirsten, waiting for confirmation. At Kirsten’s silence, she lifted her eyebrows in challenge, making Kirsten laugh.
“Okay, Rambo.”
“Shut up,” Amy laughed, “you’ve never even seen those movies.”
“Too manly for me,” she joked.
Amy poked her tongue at her, “maybe it wasn’t fully consciously, but it-, I think it goes back to my little boxes, and how you’re both safe if you’re not together? If you’re not in the same car, or in the same house, or-,” she went quiet, “if I keep you apart, I can save you both,” she concluded with a small nod.
The only noise in the kitchen was their breathing, the clock on the mantle.
“I told you it was stupid.”
“It’s not,” Kirsten whispered, voice rough. This was the deepest Amy had allowed her to peep into her soul, and it was devastating. That Amy would want to keep Poppy and her separated, not to lose any of them, and Kirsten had pushed and pushed, until she had ended up losing her anyway.
“Amy,” she waited until Amy made eye contact, moving her hand to her cheek, caressing, “love, that’s really sweet, but also, unnecessary.”
She took a long step back and pulled Amy to her by the hand, moving them towards the open space in the kitchen. “If anyone is saving anyone, you know it’d be me saving you,” and she picked Amy up in her arms, surprising a laugh out of her.
“Kirsten! Put me down.”
“Nope. I didn’t take all those classes with the local fire brigade for nothing.”
“I thought you liked the short blonde who was running them.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes, “really DCI Silva? Tall brunettes are more my type, in case you haven’t noticed.”
They laughed again as Kirsten put Amy down, grabbing her hands in both of hers, “Amy, I’d want you to choose Poppy,” she whispered.
“What?”
“If you had to,” she kissed one of Amy’s hands, “and it’s not going to happen, okay? but if it came down to that, you know that I’d want you to save Poppy, every time, right? You did the right thing, Amy. Iain would’ve also wanted you to choose Poppy.”
xxx
The thing with crying is that sometimes there is no clear beginning or ending.
Amy only knew that there was a moment when she was crying in the kitchen, and another moment, much later, when she was lying in bed, cuddled into Kirsten, face on her chest, forehead against her neck, the steady beat of her heart in her ear.
“Let’s go to the Canary Islands this summer? Together? I was there once a few years back and it’s so lovely,” Amy murmured, sleep coming at her fast, “we can take Poppy with us and rent a little villa, get a camel ride up the mountain, go to the beach,” she nuzzled into Kirsten neck for a moment, before lifting her face into her hand to look down her chest, leering a bit, “I can be in charge of applying sun cream.”
Kirsten gave a snort, shifting to her side to better look at Amy. Amy also moved, until they were both sharing the same pillow, noses almost touching, “you’d enjoy that, huh?”
“Well, safety above all, with your skin tone and everything, you know.”
“I know,” Kirsten smiled.
Amy gave her a full smile back, nodding, her nose rubbing against Kirsten’s.
“I love you,” Amy whispered, tucking in her head, and pressing a kiss against Kirsten’s lips.
God. She had missed this. She had missed Kirsten. In her life, in her bed.
Kirsten moaned into the kiss, opening her mouth and pressing herself closer, legs rubbing against Amy’s, one hand travelling up Amy’s torso, to gently cup her breast.
The kiss lingered for a long time, ending in a row of little pecks from Kirsten, “I love you, too,” she finally, finally said it back, making Amy gasp into her mouth, “and yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, to the trip with you and Poppy, to the camel ride and the little villa, to going to the beach,” she punctuated each item of the list with a soft kiss, “and I’m sure we can come to an agreement with respect to your application for the sun cream head of staff appointment,” she whispered, making Amy laugh softly against her lips, blowing warm breath into her mouth.
And maybe Kirsten had imagined what happiness could be like, but lying in bed with a laughing Amy in her arms was certainly as close to it as she could hope for.
“Maybe let’s go somewhere else, though, they have a volcano eruption over there,” Kirsten said.
“Hmmmm, yeah, okay,” Amy murmured sleepily, before pulling back suddenly, “they’ve a what.”
FIN.