Chapter Text
MAY 1994
There isn’t much in Ava’s life that she considers unexpected anymore. There are spontaneous occurrences — things she does, things that happen to her — but they don’t wow her. Nothing leaves her breathless.
She used to see the beauty in all the small parts of life, almost to a fault. She’d get excited (more excited than most) about the concept of having a cafe within walking distance, about getting good sunlight in a room, about watching a great movie for the first time. Nothing really feels like the first time. Even the new things. So, she doesn’t go out of her way to experience them anymore. It deflects the disappointment she feels when they don’t spark joy.
She gets up every morning and goes to work. She rigs and drinks coffee and talks to the DP and eats a snack and hauls equipment and drinks more coffee. She goes home, and watches shows far better than the one she’s working on. Sometimes, she watches shows that are far worse. She hangs out with Plum — feeds him table scraps the vet says he shouldn’t eat and lets him shed on the couch and takes him to the dog park to chat with the strangers who bring their Pekingeses and Golden Retrievers and pure-bred Poodles.
“He’s a mutt,” she answers, every time somebody asks about him. “Some type of terrier mixed with some type of collie.”
She listens when they offer suggestions of what breeds could’ve mashed together to make him. Says mmm and maybe in a voice that makes her sound more interested than she is. She’s never cared much to figure out the pieces, loves him enough as a whole to not need to break it down, but these are the conversations she uses to prove to Mary she’s going out and meeting new people. And the dog park makes Plum happy. Making Plum happy is the easiest way to make herself happy.
When Ava gets home that night, she flops on the couch. She extends one leg along the length of it and lets the other leg hang off. Plum jumps on her lap immediately, too big for it to be comfortable but not big enough to hurt. She drapes an arm over him, pops the tab of her beer can, and eyes the phone she’d taken off the hook. She takes too long debating whether or not to dial before the front door unlocks and somebody walks in. She doesn’t even look up.
“You look pathetic,” Siobhan says, in her discordant accent. Different words belong to different regions, a coalescence of all the places she’s lived. Half of which, Ava doesn’t even know. They don’t ask each other those types of questions. They only know what comes out naturally.
“I am pathetic,” Ava answers, dropping her head against the back of the couch.
“This, I know,” she slips her shoes off, and bends down to greet Plum, who’d jumped off Ava's lap to say hello. “But it’s hard for me to want to fuck you when you look it.”
The act of finding somebody new became tedious after a while. Ava grew bored of going to bars, to mixers, to events. She hated bringing somebody home just to struggle to kick them out before they fell asleep.
People, too quick to assume she wanted them. People, too quick to offer her the world.
She’d met Siobhan at a gallery opening about a year ago. She was one of the artists — had stepped up beside Ava while she was admiring one of her pieces. Tousled, dyed hair and ripped stockings and a full sleeve of tattoos. Ava brought her home, head buzzed from free chardonnay, and fucked her against the kitchen counter.
Afterward, she cried in the bathroom, as she often did then after sex.
But, from the beginning, she expected nothing of Ava and didn’t want Ava to expect anything of her. They fell into something easy, something close enough to ‘nice.’
“Did you go out with that guy I set you up with?” Siobhan asks. Grabs a beer from Ava’s fridge. Sits on the couch next to her. She extends one leg to run along the length of Ava’s outstretched one.
“He was too desperate.”
“Maybe you need someone desperate. You should be desperate,” she knocks her knee against Ava’s leg playfully. “Old hag.”
The old jokes started five months ago, on Ava’s thirtieth.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“When was the last time you slept with somebody?” Ava opens her mouth. Siobhan holds up a finger. “Other than me.”
Ava purses her lips, but recovers quickly. “You’re the love of my life, Vonnie. Why would I need anybody else?”
“Again. Pathetic.”
“Again. I know.”
“Your ex is coming to town soon, no?” Siobhan asks with her usual lack of delicacy.
Ava bristles. She picks at the frayed knee of her jeans. “Yes.”
“So…”
“We don’t talk about her, remember?”
“Yes, I know. One of your silly rules. You hate when I have fun.”
“I like when you have fun in other ways,” Ava changes the subject, needing some sort of relief from her day.
Siobhan shakes her head and tsks. She puts her beer on the coffee table and crawls into Ava’s lap.
—
Three hours later, when she’s alone again, Ava picks up the phone. She doesn’t deliberate this time, just dials. Somebody answers in three rings.
“Ava,” Lilith greets, in the way she always does. Lukewarm. A phony attempt at hiding the certain fondness they have for each other.
It’s a game they play now, keeping up this faux-hatred. It’s one of the most comfortable parts of Ava’s life nowadays.
“Lilith,” she counters.
“Is there a reason you’re calling?” Ava pictures her examining her nails.
“Yes,” she rolls her eyes. “Pass me over to your wife.”
“Wife!” Lilith calls out.
There’s a shuffle, a transfer of possession, and then Ava hears Camila’s voice. Muffled, at first, but clearer as the phone gets closer to her mouth.
“She’s not my wife for another month. And even then it’s, like, ‘wife’ and not wife.”
“I think over ten years together gives you an honorary marriage certificate.”
“Tell that to the courts!” Lilith yells distantly. Camila must’ve put her on speaker.
“I’m excited to see you guys,” Ava taps her fingers against her kitchen counter. Examines her calendar like she doesn’t already know what’s on it.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to get a hotel room?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Cam. I’ll be pissed if you do. Plus, with what I have planned, it’ll be easier to have a home base.”
Camila doesn’t speak for a few moments. When she does, she’s quiet. Sensitive. “She booked a room close by.”
“How is she?” Ava asks, without asking Camila to specify. They had a shorthand when it came to her; when it came to Beatrice.
“She’s… alright.”
“She’s fine,” Lilith adds more decisively. “Though, you could always call her yourself.”
“You know I’m not going to do that.”
“Yes. I know. Because you’re a fucking cretin.”
“Lil, be nice,” Camila whispers. Then, louder, “She’s not wrong. You can call her.”
Ava sighs. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Well, you’ll see her in less than a week. Just wait to ask her personally,” Ava can hear how annoyed Lilith is.
“Yeah,” there’s no real determination in her voice. “I’ll ask her.”
There’s a quibble on the other end of the line. A hand muffling the mouthpiece, incomprehensible talk.
“You know, she’s—” Camila starts after removing her hand, but Lilith cuts her off.
“You can talk to her when you see her. One on one. Like a normal human being.”
—
Ava meets Mary at a restaurant she’s been to only once before, on a terrible date. The sun is shining, and they have a beautiful shaded patio. She gets a table before Mary arrives, and stands to hug her once she does.
Mary had, not long ago, been the type of friend Ava didn’t hug. On special occasions, when one of them needed comfort or congratulations or they wanted to annoy each other, sure. But never as a greeting, never due to the simple nature of seeing each other. Ava often misses the days when she didn’t need to hug Mary. But they only meet once a week, at the most. So, they became friends who hug.
“How are you?” Mary asks, like she does every time.
“Good,” Ava answers, like she does every time.
She asks about Shannon and Mary asks about Plum. They talk about work. When they run out of mundane things to catch up, Mary pushes the envelope.
“So,” Mary sets her mug back on the table. “You’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room.”
“What? That the coffee here sucks?”
“That you’re going to see Beatrice for the first time in five years,” she says pointedly. Doesn’t attempt to beat around the bush.
“Oh,” Ava responds, as if she hadn’t known that’s what she meant. “That."
“Yeah. That.”
“That…” she starts, “is something I don’t want to think about.”
“Too bad. You’re gonna have to think about it.”
“Jesus Christ,” she almost flings the pasta off her fork, the way she brings her fist down against the table. “Why is everybody and their mother grilling me about this?”
“Maybe because it’s relevant?”
“We broke up years ago. People need to stop being so weird about it”
“You’re weird about it.”
“I’m not weird about it.”
“Then, talk about it.”
“Mary,” Ava says, without defense. “Shut up.”
“You’re gonna ruin the bachelorette party,” Mary points a fork at her. “If you don’t figure your shit out.”
“I’m capable of being civil.”
Mary scoffs. “Okay. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
—
Plum starts barking the second the buzzer rings. Ava jumps up from the couch. She buzzes them in, and squeezes herself between the door and the frame to block Plum from running out.
Camila runs down the hall, once she sees Ava, and wraps her in a tight hug when she reaches her. Plum wiggles past her, and jumps on still ambling Lilith. For a self proclaimed cat person, she sure grew fond of him quickly the last time they visited.
“I’m so glad you made it,” Ava says warmly into Camila’s hair.
Camila pulls back and grins. “Oh my god!” she brings her hand to Ava’s head. “This haircut is so cute. Very Winona Ryder”
“That’s exactly what I asked for,” Ava beams, surprised.
“Really?”
“I booked an appointment at the salon after I watched Reality Bites.”
“Oh!” Camila claps her hands and steps to the side. “Ava, this is Yasmine.”
“I’ve heard so much about you!” Ava smiles. Yasmine offers her hand to shake, but Ava pulls her into a hug instead. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh— you too.”
Ava ushers Plum into the loft and holds the door open for the guests to follow. Her apartment, with its high ceilings and exposed brick and open layout, has one bedroom. And that bedroom, she turned into her office. Well, office and Plum’s toy room. Her bed is set up in the main room, against the brick underneath a crittall-style window, atop a small platform she built herself — she doesn’t feel ashamed about always bringing that part up.
“Brides-to-be, I set up the futon in the office. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You will never use a bedroom for its intended purpose, will you?” Lilith remarks rather than asks. She says it every time she visits.
“Nope!” Ava spins on her heel. “Yasmine, you can take the bed. Everything is washed and fresh.”
“Your bed?” Yasmine’s eyes widen as if she must have misheard. Ava just nods. “Oh, I couldn’t displace you like that—”
“I already sleep on the couch about fifty percent of the time. I like sleeping on the couch. Love it.”
“But—”
“I’ll go crawl in with Cam and Lil if I need to.”
“Goody,” Lilith sighs, opening one of Ava’s cabinets to get a glass.
“I promise, I would prefer it if you took the bed.”
“Just take the bed,” Camila says to Yasmine, drapes an arm over Ava’s shoulders. “Ava’s stubborn.”
Yasmine laughs and lightens. She rolls her suitcase to the side of Ava’s bed, debates sitting down on it, and seems to decide not to. Instead, she rounds the couch again and stands in front of it.
“She can’t be as stubborn as Beatrice,” Yasmine smiles. Ava stiffens. Camila stiffens against her. Lilith halts half-way to turning on the kitchen tap. “Seriously, why was she so insistent on staying at that hotel?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ava can see the dramatically slow way Lilith turns to glare at the side of Camila’s face.
“You didn’t tell her?” Lilith asks.
“Um,” Camila says.
“You said you were going to brief her. Did you not brief her?”
“About that…”
“Brief me?” Yasmine’s eyes dart between the three of them.
“Cam, honey,” Lilith smiles a terrifying smile Ava generally only sees directed at her. Ava twists her head to see it fully. “My most precious and beautiful love, may I have a word with you, please?”
Camila slowly removes her arm from Ava’s shoulders and sullenly follows Lilith to the office.
“What did I do?” Yasmine asks Ava, once the door is closed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what that was about.”
Ava does her best to smile. “Beatrice is my ex.”
“Gosh,” an unmistakable look of guilt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. Honestly, they’re making it a bigger deal than it needs to be. We just… we haven’t seen each other since the break up.”
“Recent?” Yasmine fiddles, uncomfortable.
Ava swallows. “No.”
“Oh. Alright.”
—
When they finally emerge from the office, Ava is leaning against the kitchen counter sipping a cup of tea. Yasmine is in the bathroom. Camila heads for her suitcase. And Lilith leans against the counter next to Ava.
Ava asks her, “Do you have a ciggy?”
Lilith raises a brow and watches Camila dig for something. “I left smoking in the eighties. I thought you did too.”
“I did,” Ava defends. “I did. I just… I’m overwhelmed and I’m craving one.”
Whatever note their conversation was left on must not be good, because when Camila finds what she’s looking for, she returns to the office and makes a point of closing the door.
Lilith takes a deep breath, lowers her voice, and keeps looking ahead. “I have an emergency pack.”
“Hm?”
Lilith rolls her eyes, folds her arms, and sidles up closer. “I have a pack. For emergencies. I’ll go out with you if you come up with a good enough excuse.”
Ava twists to look at her, but Lilith doesn’t budge. Ava grins, devious. “Are you smoking behind Cam’s back.”
“You try planning a fucking wedding when you’re not even allowed to legally get married. And don’t get me started on the in-laws, dear God. I know dealing with my parents being homophobic is so much worse, but sometimes her family is just… too supportive. It’s quite sickening. I feel like I’m being smothered.”
“Yeah. Having support. That must be such a pain in the ass.”
“Do you want a cigarette or not?”
“Alright,” Ava laughs. “Alright, I’ll behave.”
—
“Lilith and I are running to the store to grab some drinks. Anybody want anything in particular?” Ava asks, taking her keys from the hook by the door.
Camila and Yasmine, perched on the couch watching the newest episode of The Nanny, both shake their heads.
“No, thank you,” Yasmine smiles.
“Oh! Actually! I want ice cream,” Camila pipes up.
She and Lilith had cuddled up on the couch earlier, as if they’d never fought. Lilith was always quick to whisper I’m sorry to Camila. She’d say her piece, Camila would sulk, they’d both wordlessly work it out, absorb it, and Lilith would apologize. They never stayed angry with each other for longer than a couple hours. Because they understood each other.
Ava had that with Beatrice.
She wipes the thought from her head.
“Lend me a jacket,” Lilith murmurs near the door.
“It’s a million degrees outside. Are you crazy?” Ava whispers.
“I can’t let my clothes smell like smoke.”
“Just change when you get back.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“Take a shower. I’ll hide your stuff with my laundry.”
“I—”
“Is everything okay over there?” Camila calls out to them.
All good! Ava replies at the same time Lilith says yes, love!
“Seriously, Lilith,” Ava whispers again. “You’re going to sweat to death. I’ll cover for you, I swear.”
They wait until they’re a couple blocks from Ava’s building before Lilith pulls one out of the pack and lights it. She takes a drag, and hands it to Ava. Her eyes close as she inhales, long and slow. Twice. She hands it back and leads Lilith to a tiny residential park. They sit down on a water-worn bench. Sweat is already threatening to drop down Ava’s forehead, but she doesn’t move to wipe it. They pass the cigarette back and forth.
Ava had lost Lilith for a few months, after the break up, when it seemed more pertinent to take sides. Not that anybody else took sides. Not that either Beatrice or Ava expected them to. But Ava had always known that Lilith and Camila would prioritize Beatrice, if it came down to it. And Lilith had a protective streak. So, she cut Ava off — only came back around because Camila talked her into it, somehow.
Ava would have never known, not in a million years, that she’d be capable of missing Lilith. But she had. And she still does, now that they live an ocean apart. Though, she’d always miss Camila just a little bit more.
“Are you excited for this weekend?” Ava asks.
“No talking,” Lilith sighs. They exchange the cigarette again. “Please, I just want five minutes to relax.”
“That’s cool with me.”
—
“So, she’s meeting us there?” Ava asks, not-so-casually, the next morning. Her leg is bouncing, squeaking the couch springs.
“Yes,” Camila says. Even she is starting to get annoyed. “And so are Mary and Shannon.”
“Cool,” Ava runs a hand through her hair. “That’s cool.”
Getting dressed was an absolute fucking hassle. She wanted something sexy, but not obviously so. Something well made, but not flashy. Something fun, but… grown up. It was an impossible task.
She put on jeans and a tank-top. She skipped the bra.
Outside the trendy, far-too-expensive new brunch place she’d picked, Ava wonders if she made a bad choice. It’s packed and loud and the servers look stressed.
“We can go somewhere else,” she suggests.
“Don’t you have a reservation?” Camila cups a hand over her eyes to keep the sun out. She glances to the window, where Ava had been looking.
“Yeah, but it’s so busy.”
“It’s a good thing we have all day, then! Please, I want to try one of their ridiculously priced cocktails.”
“If you wa—“ and that’s when Ava sees her, a few feet behind Camila, with her hands in the pockets of her brown corduroy pants. The name slips out without her permission. “Bea.”
Camila and Lilith turn around, but don’t move to greet her. Her eyes are fixed on Ava. Ava can feel everybody’s bated breath.
Beatrice opens her mouth. Once. Twice. Then, just says, “Hello.”
Ava would be lying if she said she hasn’t played this moment out a countless number of times. Imagined what she would say, what she’d look like, what she’d think. Imagined what Beatrice would say, what Beatrice would look like, what Beatrice would think. Dreamed up scenarios where they meet in a blaze, a frenzied fight, a hopeless sorrow, a joyful remembrance, a habitual kiss. Wondered if her face would show any sign of the time passed — what would give away that she’s aged.
But now, in the actual moment, none of that comes to mind. No words she’s rehearsed, no fantasies she’s had. She doesn’t remember to look for any indication that the Beatrice now is different from her Beatrice before.
The only thing that comes to Ava’s mind is wow.
“Hi,” Ava replies, breathless. She tries to get anything else to come out of her mouth. She can’t.
“We’re gonna get a table,” Camila finally chimes in, practically pushes Lilith and Yasmine towards the restaurant. Ava wants to follow. She should just follow, and let Beatrice trail in after. She thinks this long enough for the other three women to go inside. Long enough for the door to close behind them.
Beatrice takes a tentative step forwards. They stand, like fools, too far apart on the sidewalk. People pass in between them on their way to whatever they need to do that can’t possibly be anywhere as important as Ava and Beatrice looking at each other, wordless and inept.
Ava’s eyes can’t find a place to stick. Beatrice’s arms are out in the bright sun, courtesy of her turtleneck tank top. Ava’s pissed to find out she’s gotten even more muscular.
“It’s good to—“
“You—“
“—see you.” Beatrice finishes.
Ava doesn’t finish her sentiment of — look fantastic.
“You too,” is what she settles on instead.
Beatrice takes one hand out of her pocket and runs it through her hair, uses it to gesture towards the door. “After you.”
When Ava opens the door, she steps to the side to let Beatrice through in front of her. But Beatrice, decidedly expecting Ava to walk in first, rests her hand right above Ava’s on the door. The front of her body nearly — accidentally — flush against Ava’s back.
Ava doesn’t call attention to it. She just scurries inside as if she hadn’t expected Beatrice to go first at all.
Mary and Shannon are already at the table when they get there, must’ve been waiting inside. They jump to greet Beatrice the second they see her. Ava does her best to sit delicately in an open seat.
“You okay?” Camila leans over from next to her and whispers.
“Mhm,” it’s high at the end. A squeak-like noise. Ava clears her throat. “Yup.”
The only thing that gives her solace during the entire brunch is that Beatrice is, without a doubt, not so cool about it either. They both do their best to avoid eye contact, only engage when the whole table is involved, and sneak glances when they think the other isn’t paying attention. And it’s working just fine. Everything is just fine.
Until Mary starts telling a story that begins with, “Back when I was living with this dumbass…” and points to Ava.
And, okay, even that’s alright.
But, then, Mary says, “I came home one day to Ava’s head stuck in the living room wall. There was this huge fucking hole…”
And Ava’s heart rate picks up. Subtly. Everybody else laughs. Ava looks at Beatrice, expects her to be mortified, but to her credit, there’s a small smile on her lips. Slightly uncomfortable, but mostly genuine. So, she tests the waters. Hopes that they can be civil. Normal.
Friends.
“It was Bea’s fault,” she says, and all eyes are on her. “She dropped me.”
“I didn’t drop you!” Beatrice gapes. “You practically somersaulted over me. I had no way of stopping it.”
“You promised you wouldn’t drop me,” Ava teases, heart still racing.
“And I didn’t drop you.”
Ava rolls her eyes, can’t take much more of this, not with the pang in her chest. So, she addresses the rest of the group. “We were trying to do the lift from Dirty Dancing.”
“Yeah, and Ava pummeled into me with more force than her little body should be able to produce. It was like trying to catch a human-sized rugby ball,” Beatrice smirks. “I mean, child-sized.”
“Anyway,” Mary interrupts. Thankfully. Ava’s chest is working overtime. “I heard the thud right before I opened the door. Beatrice was so scared. I think she thought she killed her.”
“I never thought I’d be thankful for our shitty, thin walls.”
“Trust me,” Mary grumbles, and leans back in her chair. “Me neither.”
The conversation shifts again.
Maybe she was scared for nothing, Ava thinks. Maybe time really does heal all wounds — internal, external. Self-inflicted. Maybe, just maybe, they can go through this weekend like nothing bad ever happened between them. Ava doesn’t know if she likes that more or less than the other option.
Later that night, after a short intercession that Ava spent willing her brain to not think of Beatrice, they reconvene for dinner. She forces Camila and Lilith to wear bride-to-be sashes, orders them bottomless cocktails, and chants for them to chug.
“We’re going clubbing,” she tells them, as she picks up the bill.
“What are you doing?” Beatrice asks, reaching for it at the same time.
“Paying…”
“The whole bill?”
“Yeah…”
Beatrice tries to slip her card in with Ava’s, but Ava yanks the check presenter back. “Don’t be absurd,” Beatrice says. “You can’t cover everyone.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Beatrice,” Ava lets an inkling of anger slip through. Her pent up anxiety and frustration take head. With the realization that everyone at the table is looking at them, she calms. “I planned for this, okay? I said I’m taking care of bachelorette weekend. So, just let me do it.”
Beatrice is doing that thing with her face. That thing where she’s trying to hide an emotion and inadvertently giving Ava more of a tell of what she’s feeling. Some things don’t change, apparently. Ava had almost four years to discover these intricacies. She has no trouble deciphering the look. She does, however, have trouble figuring out why?
Why are you sad?
—
“How have you been?” Beatrice asks on the train to the club.
Lilith had wanted to hail a cab. Camila insisted on taking the subway. A New York rite of passage, she said.
You say that every time we visit, Lilith said.
Ava’s looking straight ahead, her eyes on Beatrice’s reflection in the window ahead of them. They’d somehow gotten stuck sitting next to each other. Staring back at her, is a visual that stirs something deep inside her belly. The two of them, side by side. In real time. She can’t look away. Can’t look at the real thing beside her, either. In the window, is something safe. Something of an alternate universe. In the window, she sees Beatrice is looking at her reflection, too.
“Good,” Ava gives her automated response. “You?”
“I’m well.”
Ava nods. “How’s your… job?”
“It’s alright. Not exactly what I want to be doing, but it’s a start. I heard you’re in the industry now.”
Ava hates this. She despises it. She wants nothing more than to not make useless small talk with the person she’s loved more than she’s ever (in the past, in the present, most likely in the future) loved anybody else. But, she supposes it’s not the biggest evil. She’d walk over nails for Beatrice, even still. Crucify herself. Die over and over. Making small talk isn’t nearly as dramatic as any of these things. So, Ava supposes, she’ll survive.
“Not exactly what I want to be doing, but it’s a start,” she mimics, hopes joking can fend off the shakes. “I’m a grip. I mostly do technical work.”
Ava can make out what she thinks is a taut smile from Window Bea. “I’m proud of you,” she tells her.
“It’s whatever.”
“Truly, Ava,” Beatrice dips her head. “It’s not ‘whatever.’ You’ve built a good life.”
No, I haven’t, she wants to say. I’ve built an okay life. I overcompensate. I work too much. I don’t see the people I love. There’s also the part she doesn’t even dare to want to say; I am so lonely.
“So have you,” Ava settles on. “Give it a year and you’ll be the best professor in the entire UK.”
Beatrice scoffs. “Hush.”
“Never.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” Beatrice blurts, not as if she didn’t mean to say it, but as if she’s been trying to find the right time to bring it up.
“Yes,” Ava says, for some dumb reason. A defense mechanism, perhaps. “No,” she corrects.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s casual,” how is she supposed to explain her situation with Siobhan without sounding either crazy or pitiful?
The way Beatrice says oh leads Ava to believe she said the wrong thing.
“How about you?” she asks. “Has there— is there anybody?”
“Ava,” she knows that Beatrice knows that she knows that Beatrice has a girlfriend. A real, true, honest girlfriend. Except, she’s thrown for a loop when Beatrice adds, “We broke up.”
“Oh. That’s…” sad? Terrible? Great? What is she supposed to say? She can’t think. The blood sloshing around her head is too loud.
“It’s fine,” Beatrice supplies. “I ended it. We didn’t… It wasn’t working.”
The train pulls into a station. More people pile in. The doors close. It jolts into motion.
“I need a fucking cigarette,” Ava mumbles. She doesn’t even really mean to say it out loud.
Beatrice jerks her head to look at her now, for the first time since they sat down. “You’re smoking again?”
“No. Not really,” Ava laughs. “Only when somebody offers. Or I’m drunk. Or stressed.”
“So, yes,” Beatrice teases.
Ava twists her head as well. Their faces are far too close, which isn’t strange considering their thighs are almost touching in the smooshed train car, but Ava’s breath hitches anyway. There’s a buzz all around her. She’s somehow sunken inside her body and floating outside of it at the same time. Beatrice’s face is somehow so near and so far at the same time. Her arm begs to wrap over Beatrice’s shoulders, her cheek begs to be kissed, her leg begs to knock against the leg beside her. And her heart begs her to either bare her soul or run away at the next stop.
She doesn’t do any of those things.
“No,” she repeats. “Not really.”