Work Text:
The train jolts, tearing Natalie from the enjoyment of staring despondently out the window. She realises that they haven’t reached the next station yet. A disembodied voice floats through the carriages, apologising for unexpected delays.
She’s going to be late to the restaurant. In all likelihood, the last to arrive.
It’s nothing to cry about, but it’s a shame. Another crumb of evidence to prove those cruel high school theories about Natalie Scatorccio true. She’s a shameless mess, incapable of even making it on time to a dinner reservation.
Natalie is tempted to bail on dinner, particularly once she’s inside the restaurant and looking at her friends, gathered around a table in the far corner. Van is laughing with animation while Lottie smirks at her over her glass. They both look bright-eyed, excitable, and Natalie knows she doesn’t have the energy to keep up with their chatter.
Van notices Natalie and the option to bolt disappears. She is ushered across the room, into blurry hugs, then appointed a chair and poured a glass of water.
“I knew you’d make it,” Lottie says smugly. “Van wasn’t sure, but I knew you’d come.”
“Yeah, well, Van’s a realist,” Natalie says.
“It was wishful thinking,” Van says. “I didn’t want to share the papadams.”
She nudges the woven basket towards Natalie. The papadams inside are round and golden, bubbled and charred, as appealing an appetiser as she has ever seen.
“I don’t think I can justify taking another now.”
Natalie counts the crackers. “There’s one left for each of us.”
“There’s only three, Nat,” Lottie says.
“One – two – three,” Natalie says, pointing at herself, at Van, at Lottie.
“Four,” Van says, jerking her chin towards the entrance.
“Sorry I’m late!”
Jackie Taylor seems to appear from thin air. Her feet scramble like a cartoon character’s, all motion and no movement. She seems precarious in her kitten heels, less graceful than Natalie remembers her being in her soccer cleats.
“The train delays are giving me a bad reputation,” Jackie says, dropping her handbag on the seat beside Natalie.
“Uh-huh, sure,” Van says, grinning. “Blame the train.”
“Like you need help cultivating that reputation,” Lottie says.
“Gee, guys, thanks for the faith!” Jackie exclaims. She’s grinning at Van and Lottie, but her eyes linger on Natalie. She reaches for her hand, and Natalie can’t think of a good enough reason to bat her away.
As Jackie squeezes her palm, Natalie realises it’s been a while since anyone held her hand.
“Hey, Nat,” Jackie says warmly. “It feels like it’s been ages.”
“That’s because it has been,” Natalie says. She couldn’t guess the last time that she saw Jackie – it might have been Laura Lee’s birthday party, which she knows she attended but cannot recollect. That was months ago now.
There’s no way that Jackie doesn’t know about the latest drama in Natalie’s life. She makes no allusion to this knowledge, which could either be tactful of her, or a WASP instinct inherited from her parents.
Jackie gives her a wide smile. “It’s good to see you.”
With some reluctance, Natalie settles on tact. She had forgotten about how earnest Jackie tends to be.
“Okay, okay,” Natalie says, dropping Jackie’s hand. “Are we gonna order, or what?”
For Natalie, and Natalie alone, dinner is a quiet affair. She sits in silence, eating rich mouthfuls of curry and listening to the rambunctious conversation of her friends. Halfway through the first round of wines, Lottie is howling with laughter, and Jackie is squealing when Van kicks her under the table.
It is enjoyable to see their smiles and listen to their gossip, even if Natalie finds it all somewhat inconsequential. Such and such is a bitch, can you believe such and such hooked up with such and such? They sound like high schoolers, despite having tossed their caps into the air an odd seven years ago. Maybe it’s something they bring out of each other.
Natalie, feeling her fingers twitch, rises from her chair. “I’m gonna have a smoke.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Jackie says, twisting around for her handbag.
“You don’t have to – it’ll, um, smell – ”
“I have body spray,” Jackie says. “Anyway, there’s no helping the smell, right?”
Natalie realises that Jackie has produced a packet of cigarettes from her own bag. She has a white lighter tucked under her thumb, decorated with a pink gemstone and a Snoopy sticker.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Natalie says.
“Really?” Jackie asks, chuckling. “We’ve smoked together before.”
“Yeah, at parties,” Natalie says. “Socially. Are you telling me you’ve got an actual habit? Do you, like, take smoke breaks at work?”
“Hey,” Jackie says, nudging her. “You can’t judge me, you’re a smoker too.”
Natalie frowns. Smoking seems so incongruous with everything else that she knows about Jackie, even beyond the perfect facade, the Tiffany jewellery and the pageant smiles. Smoking doesn’t suit Jackie. She isn’t troubled enough to have such a dirty habit.
The sigh of relief that escapes Jackie after her first puff says otherwise. Natalie feels curious, watching the streetlight cast shadows over Jackie’s face.
“Your hair is darker,” Natalie realises, out loud.
“So is yours,” Jackie answers.
“You mean compared to my high school bleach job? Man. That was kinda fucked.”
“You pulled it off, though.”
Natalie narrows her eyes, suspicious for reasons she knows are unfair. Since high school, she has received Jackie’s kindness with hesitation, despite recognising her good intentions. The distrust is as restrictive for Jackie as it is for Natalie.
Natalie takes a lengthy drag of her cigarette. “When did you change your hair?”
“In college. I wanted to try something new. But I liked it, so I stuck with it.”
A good choice, Natalie thinks. Not that she didn’t like Jackie’s honey hair, but she thinks dark brown suits her. It makes her look more real, somehow, puts bulk in her presence. She doesn’t seem so floaty anymore.
That’s how Jackie appears in Natalie’s memories – haloed, emitting faint light. Heart on her sleeve and spilling from her lips. A regular Pollyanna, well-acquainted with scoffs, but her optimism was a strength on the soccer field. She could conjure fires in Natalie, even on her bleakest days.
When Jackie spoke about the importance of trying, of caring, Natalie sometimes thought she could follow her to the ends of the earth. O Captain, my captain. Silk ribbon and all.
In high school, Jackie moved like a dead wife in a movie montage. Precious, adored. A symbol of fumbled hope, doomed to serve another person’s story.
Now she stands in an alley by a restaurant in New York, grimacing at the smell of the rubbish bins. The smoke in her lungs makes her breath raspy. Natalie can see the creases in her jacket sleeves and the choppy ends of her bangs.
“Did you cut your bangs yourself?”
Jackie smiles. “That obvious, huh?”
Natalie laughs, grateful and somewhat surprised that Jackie isn’t offended by the observation.
“So, um, you’ve been quiet tonight,” Jackie says. “How have you been?”
Natalie raises her eyebrows. “How do you think?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken for a while.”
“Are you playing dumb?”
“No!” Jackie scoffs. “It’s not like anything I hear secondhand is gonna be a real reflection of you.”
That is surprisingly astute. Natalie, not wanting to consider that, latches onto a different detail. “What exactly have you heard?”
Jackie gives Natalie a solemn look. “Not a lot. All I know is that you were using, and you went to rehab.”
It’s funny, hearing the chaos of the past several months contained in a single sentence. All of that time reduced to a problem and a solution. Now, a tentative celebration, a dinner where nobody talks about what happened.
“You make it sound simple,” Natalie says wryly. “I’m alright. Getting on, you know.”
Jackie nods. “Yeah, I know.”
Natalie seriously doubts that, but she lacks the energy to challenge her.
“How long has it been since you got out of rehab?”
“Two weeks.”
“And you think it helped?”
“I guess,” Natalie grumbles. “I really fuckin’ hope… whatever.”
“It’s not whatever. It’s good to hope. Have you got a sponsor?”
Natalie nods. “She’s a pain in the ass. A real goody goody.”
Jackie smiles. “Hey, maybe that’s a good thing. An incentive to stay clean, so you won’t have to talk to her.”
A peal of laughter escapes Natalie. “I’ve been talking to her plenty. I’m, um, staying with friends. They’re not exactly sober.”
Jackie can probably read between the lines and discern that Natalie is couch surfing. She fights to keep the embarrassment off her face. There was a time where the shame associated with being dirt poor and unloved, a burnout, stung. These days, it is a dull ache. Natalie is used to being the dysfunctional friend at dinner.
She flicks ash off her cigarette.
“That sounds really fucking hard,” Jackie says. “Like, unsustainably hard.”
“I’m working on it,” Natalie sighs.
For several moments, it’s as quiet as it can be, standing on a bustling street in the city. Jackie taps her chin thoughtfully. She seems to be doing some mental gymnastics.
“Well,” she says, slowly. “If you need somewhere to stay, I have a guest room.”
Natalie looks up from the crack in the concrete she’s been studying.
“I’ll be a total enabler of your nicotine addiction,” Jackie adds, gesturing with her cigarette. “But drugs scare me. I did weed literally one time in college, and I had a panic attack so bad that I swore never again.”
The story would have amused Natalie under different circumstances. But receiving an offer like this from a person like Jackie is somehow both touching and humiliating. A new low, Natalie thinks, dropping her smoke on the ground and stomping it out.
“I don’t want to accept that kind of favour from you,” Natalie says, quietly.
“So get a job. Help with rent. It doesn’t have to be a favour.”
Jackie shrugs, as though what she’s offering is more practical than it is kind. As though Natalie is a friend, not a charity case. Which, as far as Jackie believes, could be true.
Her faith was always reckless.
Jackie lives on the third floor of her apartment building. She has a wrought iron balcony attached to her living room, where she keeps a pot of lavender and a single barstool. Its two fellows are tucked under the breakfast bar in the kitchen.
There are ceramic rabbits on the windowsills and butterfly magnets on the fridge. Floral artwork adorns the cream-coloured walls. The couch is velvet pink.
Natalie thinks she ought to feel out of place among the pastels, but she doesn’t. The spare bedroom is empty except for a built-in wardrobe, a double bed and a nightstand. She doesn’t hesitate to lean her scuffed suitcase against the bare wall, nor to leave her heavy boots lying on the floor.
On Natalie’s first night in the apartment, Jackie takes her to a Greek restaurant within walking distance. They take their wrapped souvlakis home and eat them on plates at the dining table. Jackie pours wine to commemorate the occasion.
Natalie recognises social routine, but while Jackie’s practice is evident, the outcome feels organic. There’s something intimate in spending this time with Jackie, asking her questions about her life and taking an interest in the answers.
Natalie is reminded that Jackie writes puff pieces for a small fashion magazine, and Jackie learns that Natalie intends to get a job at a bar. She’s outwardly encouraging, but Natalie can see the disappointment on her face.
“It’s not like I have a ton of options,” Natalie says, trying not to bristle. “I’m not trained for much. But I know how to keep my nose clean, alright? I’m not looking to do any stupid shit.”
“Oh,” Jackie says, blinking. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. I’m just sad that we’re going to be on opposite schedules.”
“What?”
“If I’m working in the day and you’re working at night, we’ll barely see each other.”
That might not be such a bad thing, Natalie thinks. She likes her own company, and there’s only so much of Jackie’s high energy and wide-eyed stare that she can take.
Still, she finds herself dropping resumes off at retail stores, and when she hears back from a record shop and a hotel bar, she chooses the record shop. It’ll be nice, she thinks, working in the daytime with the functional world. It’ll be nice coming home when the sky gets dark, sharing meals with somebody other than herself.
The girls slip into an easy routine.
On weekdays, Natalie leaves for work after Jackie and gets home before her. They share dinner, they talk. They watch TV. They smoke on the balcony. Jackie always wishes Natalie sweet dreams before she goes to bed.
On weekends, Jackie shops in the city, visits museums and galleries, sits with stylish friends in stylish bars. She invites Natalie everywhere she goes, but most of the time, Natalie declines. She finds that she prefers the quiet of the apartment.
One day, while looking for eyeliner in Jackie’s bathroom, Natalie comes across a familiar necklace. A heart pendant on a delicate gold chain. Jackie was never without that necklace when she was a teenager – except for the occasions that she took it off and offered it to her teammates as a good luck charm. Her love, freely given. Now it sits in a crumpled pile in the bottom of a drawer. Forgotten.
Where it belongs, Natalie decides, for reasons she cannot put into words.
She closes the drawer.
Three weeks pass before Natalie has a nightmare. She wakes and finds herself tangled in bedsheets that seem momentarily alien. She wouldn’t pick pink pinstripes for herself.
Jackie, Natalie reminds herself. I’m staying with Jackie Taylor. I live with Jackie Taylor.
It is little wonder that this new reality is slow to resonate. Natalie, trying to calm herself down, moves to the living room and paces with the dimmest lamp switched on. She’s careful to be quiet, but Jackie appears within the hour, a satin sleeping mask pushed up on her forehead.
“Nat?” she calls, her voice soft.
“Sorry,” Natalie mutters. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Jackie blinks in the low light. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
It sounds fragile, even to Natalie. She’s not the best liar, certainly not as good as the average addict. Jackie’s concern seems to be growing by the second. Natalie braces herself for an accusation, for an inquisition. It doesn’t come.
“Well, since we’re both up, I’m gonna make some hot chocolate,” Jackie says. She darts towards the kitchen before Natalie can say another word.
Natalie feels an unusual sense of patience as she sits down, waiting for Jackie to return.
A short time later, Jackie sets a pair of porcelain mugs carefully on the coffee table. Natalie stares at the marshmallows bobbing on the surface of her cup, transfixed.
“I realised I didn’t ask if you wanted one,” Jackie sighs. “Would you rather tea? It’s probably too late for coffee, but I can make coffee.”
“Hot chocolate is fine,” Natalie says, taking a demonstrative sip. “Holy shit, hot chocolate is great. What’s your recipe?”
“I don’t have a recipe, I have frivolous spending habits. There’s a gelato place down the street that sells great Italian chocolate powder,” Jackie pauses in her explanation, her eyes bulging. “Wait a minute, Nat Scatorccio. You’re Italian! No wonder I wanted to make this for you.”
“Wow, cap,” Natalie says, laughing heartily. She takes another sip, wondering what makes the flavour Italian. “Yep. I can totally taste my heritage in this.”
Jackie is laughing as well. “I forgot you used to call me that. Cap. I loved it.”
“Of course you did,” Natalie snorts.
“I know I took it all a little seriously,” Jackie says, looking bashful.
“That’s an understatement. But it’s good that you did. I don’t think anybody would’ve cared as much about the game if it weren’t for you.”
Natalie isn’t trying to flatter Jackie, that isn’t her style. She’s only recounting her memories frankly, but Jackie looks as though she’s been offered the moon.
“Thanks, Nat,” Jackie murmurs. “You know, it’s a shame we didn’t do this before.”
“What? Gotten up in the middle of the night to drink hot chocolate?”
“No, I mean – talk,” Jackie says, laughing. “Hang out. But I know it’s my fault we didn’t.”
“What makes you think that?”
It isn’t as though Natalie ever made an effort to befriend Jackie when they were younger. In the time that has passed since they moved in together, Natalie has often felt the regret Jackie now mentions. They could have been closer much sooner than this.
“I didn’t try hard enough to talk to you,” Jackie says. “I think it’s because I was jealous of you.”
Natalie scoffs loudly. “Get fucking real, Jackie. As if you were jealous of me.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Jackie squawks, indignant. “I was so jealous of you! You seemed so free to me. Self-assured and unwilling to apologise for it. Not to mention your face. You were the prettiest girl I had ever seen. You still are.”
Natalie feels her jaw drop. Of all the ludicrous things she has heard over the course of her life, this might be the moment that takes the cake on absurdity.
“I guess I saw you as competition. But I promise I don’t anymore.”
“You sound insane,” Natalie says, flatly. “If anybody knew you were saying this shit about me, they’d laugh.”
“They would not! Everybody noticed how beautiful you were, Nat. They talked about it, even when – ” Jackie cuts herself off, her face falling when she realises what she’s revealed.
It isn’t anything that Natalie didn’t already know. She heard the whispers, too. Hot. Fun. Down for a good time. Not the kind of girl you take out on a date. Trailer trash.
“Even when they were talking shit,” Natalie finishes.
“Yeah,” Jackie admits, her smile sheepish. “But fuck them, right? They were teenage boys. They didn’t know the first thing about you.”
Natalie nods and looks down at her hands. She thought she was well past caring about the horrors that took place at Wiskayok High – but then again, she just fought a mirage of her father in her sleep. She’s feeling raw tonight.
“What are you thinking about?” Jackie asks, quietly.
“I don’t know. Just high school, I guess.”
“Yeah. High school was rough.”
Natalie scoffs, lifts her head. “It seemed like you were on top of the world.”
“Maybe it looked that way, at the time,” Jackie says. “But honestly, I was lonely. There were so many things I worried about that didn’t end up mattering at all. And people thought I was going to peak in high school, but I’ve gotten so much happier since I left.”
The words come out slow. Jackie seems nervous, as though she’s preparing to defend herself. Natalie can relate to that, but it’s more than empathy that keeps her from questioning what Jackie says. She realises, as she stares at her old friend, that she’s never seen her in such an unpolished state.
Natalie moves her fingers across the couch, until she’s touching Jackie’s hand.
“I can see that,” she says, softly.
In the vibrant fruit aisle, Natalie tries to dissuade Jackie from buying overpriced blueberries.
“The last time you bought them, you didn’t eat them, and we ended up with rotten berries in the fridge.”
“I want to start making smoothies. Blueberries are rich in antioxidants, you know.”
“Like you even know what that means,” Natalie sighs, annoyed when she realises she is endeared.
“It means they’re good for you,” Jackie says. She places the punnet of blueberries back inside the shopping basket and flashes Natalie a playful grin. “How about this? If they go off before I eat them, I promise I won’t get them ever again.”
“You’re promising to never buy blueberries again for the rest of your life?”
“I’m pinky promising,” Jackie says, sticking out her littlest finger.
Natalie entwines their fingers without considering what Jackie is vowing. She looks at the sweet tangle of their pinky fingers and feels an odd rush in her chest.
She chuckles. “I don’t know why you did that. You just sentenced yourself to eighty years without blueberries.”
Jackie laughs brightly. “You think I’m gonna make it to 104 years old?”
“Yep. You’ll be 104, in the nursing home, still in your satin fucking dressing gown – ”
“Jackie?” comes an interruption, a bewildered voice.
The prick to their bubble is startling. Natalie rears away and Jackie blinks in confusion, as though she has forgotten where she is standing. When her gaze settles on the young woman who has addressed her, her eyes go wide.
Natalie isn’t sure what has Jackie looking so worried. The girl seems harmless. She’s taller than them both, a green-eyed redhead in a flannel shirt.
“Oh, Linda,” Jackie says. “Hey. How have you been?”
“Fine,” Linda says, folding her arms over her chest. “And you?”
“Good! I’ve been good. Um, work’s been crazy busy. And my friend, Natalie, has come to live with me, which has been a lot of fun.”
“I bet,” Linda says, eyeing Natalie with clear begrudgement. “I’m gonna go. See you around, Jackie.”
Before Jackie can say another word, Linda turns on her heel and bolts for the checkout counter. Natalie tries and fails to keep her jaw in place. She turns to Jackie, open-mouthed, delighted.
“Okay, what was that about?”
“Nothing!” Jackie squeaks.
“You couldn’t have made that more awkward if you tried,” Natalie says.
“I know,” Jackie says, pressing her knuckles into her forehead. “Um, how much have we got left on the list? Can we get out of here soon?”
“I don’t see any need to rush. Linda’s already gone.”
Jackie gives Natalie a dramatic frown.
“She was cute,” Natalie adds, grinning.
It seems to be the right thing to say. Jackie rolls her eyes, but her shoulders slump with relief. Natalie can’t say she’s surprised, not even by the secrecy. She’s had detached suspicions about Jackie for years.
“That made me look awful,” Jackie whines, turning to a stack of apples.
“Not really,” Natalie says. “It’s not your fault she’s hung up on you, heartbreaker.”
Jackie scoffs. “I am not a heartbreaker. She broke up with me. It was years ago.”
That surprises Natalie. The concept of somebody choosing to break up with Jackie seems wrong to her, somehow. Surely, having a person like Jackie could only mean doing everything possible to hold onto her.
“Did she break your heart?” Natalie asks, before she can stop herself.
“No. Not really,” Jackie murmurs. “I don’t know. I’m weird with dating.”
She looks very sad, fiddling with a plastic bag, twining it around her fingers. Natalie wants to bring Jackie back to herself, wants to make her feel better. She nudges her with her shoulder, offering her a smile.
“You’re weird with everything,” Natalie says.
Jackie chuckles. “Fair point, Nat. What’s next on the list?”
Whenever Jackie has a basket of laundry, she commands Natalie to sit on her bed while she folds its contents. The first time this happened, Natalie assumed that Jackie wanted help with the washing, but her hand was swatted away when she tried to extract a T-shirt from the basket. Natalie was quick to understand that Jackie only wants entertainment while she completes a dreary chore.
“Have you tried folding in front of the TV?” Natalie suggests, leaning backwards over Jackie’s rose-patterned bedspread. “I was trying to read.”
“You’re more interesting than the TV,” Jackie says. “Besides, you haven’t told me about your day yet.”
“It was the same as yesterday in every way.”
“That’s not possible. How many records did you sell? Did Daniel do anything shitty?”
“If Daniel did something shitty, I’d have already told you about it.”
“Well, I’m glad he took a break from being an asshole today,” Jackie says, looking at Natalie over the towel she’s folding. “Maybe you could tell me about your book?”
Relentless, Natalie thinks fondly, shaking her head.
“Actually – there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”
“Shoot.”
“It’s about Shauna.”
Natalie holds her breath, but Jackie seems impassive. She keeps her eyes down as she continues folding her denim skirt. “What about Shauna?”
“Like… what the fuck was that?”
Jackie bursts into radiant laughter. She doesn’t sound bitter, nor wry. It occurs to Natalie that Jackie might find some genuine humour in the resonance. After all, her relationship with Shauna was bizarre, and it must be vindicating to hear an outsider comment on that.
“What the fuck was that?!” Jackie echoes. “I don’t know where to begin. Give me a minute.”
She puts the folded skirt on the pile of clothes on her boudoir chair, then sits down on the bed, alongside Natalie. Her face becomes pensive and melancholy.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Natalie says.
“No, it’s okay,” Jackie says. “It’s just been a while since I thought about it. And I’ve never been able to make any fucking sense of it.”
Natalie can understand her confusion. She recalls the screaming brawl that Jackie and Shauna got into the night after Nationals, when Jackie found out that Shauna had been sleeping with Jeff Sadecki, Jackie’s compulsory high school boyfriend.
An odd eight months afterwards, Shauna gave birth to a baby boy. She now lives in Wiskayok, in a suburban house with her husband and her two children. Jackie lives in New York, in a small apartment with a recovering drug addict.
“I was so young when I met her,” Jackie says. “I don’t remember a time before she was my best friend. She was part of me.”
“Yeah,” Natalie mumbles. “I remember. You guys were joined at the hip.”
“It goes to show how self-absorbed I can be, because I had no idea she was burning with resentment for me,” Jackie chuckles darkly. “I had no idea she was sleeping with my boyfriend.”
Natalie considers this. “I’ve always thought it was fucked up that she, like, doubled down, when you confronted her. She didn’t apologise. Has she ever apologised?”
“Oh, fuck no,” Jackie scoffs. “Shauna? Apologise? Never.”
She looks at Natalie, and her bitter look becomes sheepish. “See, I want to be evolved about this, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about it without getting pissy. I just – I loved Shauna so much. I used to ask her to pick me up in the mornings so we could spend an extra ten minutes of the day together. And the whole time, she hated me.”
It is strange for Natalie to see such vulnerable pain up close. Jackie is making no effort to hide it, no effort to undermine it. She sits with tears in her eyes, recollecting her childhood love with all of the grief that it deserves.
“She didn’t hate you,” Natalie says, quietly.
Jackie turns to her with a sad smile. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m being dramatic. I know our friendship was real, but it was never what I thought it was. And now it’s just… over.”
“That’s rough,” Natalie says, feeling awkward. “Are you sure it’s over? I know Shauna said some horrible shit the night of Nationals, but I don’t think she really meant any of it. Maybe you could get your friendship back.”
“Maybe,” Jackie says, but she sounds noncommittal. “If I’m being really honest with myself, I don’t think I want it back.”
She meets Natalie’s eyes, showing her how strange she feels to be admitting this.
“It’s not because I’m holding a grudge. It’s just that I didn’t like the person I was around her. I always felt desperate. Like I needed something from her that she could never give me.”
Natalie feels like a detective, dusting off a cold case and finding a prize witness years later, against all odds. But she feels too close to the situation to feel intrigued by the insight she’s gaining; she only feels a deep sense of pain on Jackie’s behalf.
“It sounds like you outgrew something that was bad for you,” Natalie says.
“Yeah,” Jackie admits, smiling weakly. “I think you might know the feeling?”
“You want to know about Travis,” Natalie sighs.
Jackie shrugs and grins, her eyes lifting to the ceiling. There’s something very sweet about her mannerisms, Natalie thinks. It makes her want to wrap her arms around Jackie and squeeze her, until her own heartbeat slows down.
“It’s actually not that different from you and Shauna. Not as intense, but it’s like – we loved each other and we hurt each other. We tried, but we couldn’t be good to each other.”
Jackie nods emphatically. “Sometimes it’s just that simple. You’ll always have a certain love for them, but that love will never be right for you.”
“Yeah,” Natalie murmurs. Her pain about Travis seems distant at this moment.
“Maybe it’s none of my business, but I never liked him for you,” Jackie announces.
“Of course you didn’t,” Natalie says, amused.
“He was a misogynist, Nat. I heard him slut-shaming you at a party, one time. I stuck up for you!”
“I’m sure that was very intimidating.” Natalie can imagine a teenage Jackie, drunk and red-faced, stomping over to Travis and ranting in his face about women’s rights. It’s a hilarious visual, the more she thinks about it: a sulky Travis trying to brood, a sloppy Jackie trying to defend her teammate.
“Seriously, he’s a douchebag. You deserve better.”
“He had a hard childhood,” Natalie says, softly. “He had a lot of shit to work through, but he had a heart under it all. He tried to be good for me.”
“Whatever. You had a hard childhood, I don’t see you shaming anyone.”
Natalie hears herself laugh again. She decides that she won’t keep on defending Travis, not because Jackie’s distaste has changed her mind about him, but because she knows that nothing could make a dent in her grudge against Shauna.
“Does it make you feel better to hear that I have no intention of going down that road again?” Natalie asks.
“It does, actually.”
“There you go.”
Jackie opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks away from Natalie, hesitation softening her face, making Natalie’s chest feel warm.
“What is it?” Natalie asks, worried by Jackie’s silence.
“Nothing,” Jackie mumbles. “Just – I hope you find someone who takes really good care of you, someday.”
“Oh.”
It’s the last thing that Natalie expected to hear. It’s the sort of wishful thinking that she doesn’t indulge in – a concept that seems out of place with the world as she knows it.
“I know you don’t like it when I get mushy, but you’re so good, Nat,” Jackie adds, her eyes bright. “You deserve the best kind of love in the world.”
Natalie blinks. For a moment, she is half-worried about the possibility of tears. But then Jackie rises from the bed and hands her a stack of folded black clothes.
“Here, these are yours.”
“Thanks,” Natalie musters, rather respectably.
“You’re welcome,” Jackie chirps. “You make it easy to do laundry with all your darks. I’ve still got another basket – you can go back to your book while I fold the rest, if you want.”
Of course, Natalie doesn’t move an inch.
Jackie stands on her tiptoes to peer over Natalie’s shoulder at the stove. The pot is full of boiling water and softening fettuccine. The pan sizzles with oil and tomatoes, the beginning of a sauce.
“This is a family recipe?”
“Dude, get out of my space – ”
“Oh my god, Nonna’s Recipe,” Jackie says, ducking around Natalie and seizing the hand-written notebook left on the counter. “We’re going to have authentic Italian cuisine!”
“It’s the easiest meal I know how to cook,” Natalie says. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Too late!”
“Seriously, beat it,” Natalie chuckles, gently steering Jackie out of the kitchen. “Go set up the table or something.”
Surprisingly, Jackie obeys. She gathers the candles and the placemats, the bowls and the cutlery, and arranges everything neatly on the dining table. Never mind that it is only the two of them, having dinner on an ordinary Tuesday night. Natalie used to think it was silly, how Jackie likes to light candles at dinner, but now she sees the merit in the routine. It’s important to do nice things, even if they seem small.
Natalie feels some pressure about dinner, now that Jackie has made an ordeal of her excitement. She dishes up the first plate with extreme care, dolloping the oil and the sauce in swirls around the pile of fettuccine. She adds some parsley as a garnish, then grumbles at herself, because she knows she’s trying too hard, and she knows why.
She puts the pasta in front of Jackie, alongside a dipping plate of cheese.
“Grazie!” Jackie chimes.
Natalie arches an eyebrow at Jackie and sits down across from her. She waits with bated breath for Jackie’s reaction, once she has lifted the first forkful of pasta to her lips.
Jackie swallows and grins at Natalie. “Mm! That is some molto bene pasta. Bellissimo!”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Natalie asks, laughing irrepressibly.
“Okay, okay,” Jackie says through her giggles. “Sorry.”
“Seriously, how is it? I know I’m not the best cook.”
“What are you talking about? You’re a great cook! This is the best pasta I’ve ever had, Natty.”
“It’s Napoli,” Natalie scoffs. “There’s not even any meat.”
“I’ve always liked Napoli,” Jackie insists. “Meat can get stodgy in pasta.”
She winds more fettuccine on her fork, eating with enthusiasm. Natalie watches her, unsure if she believes her. Then she remembers that she’s dealing with Jackie, who wouldn’t lie to her about something so trivial – unless she can sense how nervous Natalie feels. In which case, she’s being kind, and if it were anybody else, Natalie might be annoyed about being coddled. But the intention feels different with Jackie.
Everything feels different with Jackie.
“Thanks,” Natalie says, gruffly. “I’m glad you like it.”
Jackie smiles at her and knocks their feet together under the table. Her Reeboks seem fragile in the soles when bumping against Natalie’s Docs, but she has mentioned before that she likes the disparity. Natalie understands. She likes the way they feel together, as well.
Jackie smears some sauce on the corner of her mouth, and Natalie spends the rest of dinner fighting the urge to lean across the table and wipe it off with her thumb.
On the morning of her mother’s forty-fifth birthday, Natalie makes the unwise choice to give her a call. Their chat is brief, a best case scenario for an endeavour so risky, but Natalie is shaken by her mother’s sign off.
“You don’t have to pretend like you give a fuck, Natalie. I’ve got my own life to live.”
The line goes dead, and Natalie’s chest goes cold. She is still for a moment, the phone receiver pressed uselessly against her cheek. Several thoughts float into the blank space before her: she wishes she had not called, she wishes she had called before Jackie left for work. She wishes Jackie was here with her now.
Natalie finds the strength to put down the phone. She laces up her shoes, picks up her bag and walks out the door. Somehow, she gets through the work day. She seems transported back to her bedroom in the blink of an eye.
She puts her head on her pillow, wraps her arms around herself. She tries not to think about the empty day her mother is having, the empty heart inside her mother’s chest.
When she wakes, it’s with a muffled shriek. Natalie holds her hand to her mouth and struggles to soothe the jolting sensation in her chest. Jackie appears in the doorway, drawn in by the unusual noise. She’s taken off her socks and her blazer, but not the rest of her work outfit. It isn’t dark out yet. Natalie is overwhelmed by confusion.
“Nat! Nat, are you okay?”
Natalie stares at Jackie, her lip wobbling. She doesn’t cry easily. She’s not going to cry over a sad dream, a weird day, a scary phone call that she brought on herself.
“Can I sit with you?” Jackie asks. Her composure is unsteady at best, but she has her feet planted firmly on the ground. However panicked Jackie might be, she isn’t going anywhere. Natalie knows that she won’t be left alone in this strange moment, and it’s a certainty that she doesn’t take for granted.
She nods. Jackie sits down, careful to keep some distance between them, but Natalie curls in close. She tucks her head under Jackie’s chin, settling on her chest.
Natalie sniffles. She feels so, so safe. It isn’t a feeling that her body knows very well.
“It’s okay, Natty,” Jackie whispers.
“I know,” Natalie says, more harshly than she means to sound, than she ever wants to be around Jackie. “It was a stupid dream.”
“You have bad dreams a lot.”
It’s not a question. Natalie still confirms it. “Yeah.”
“That’s awful. That’s so unfair.”
“It’s a fucking pain in the ass,” Natalie agrees, lips twisting in on themselves. “I had such a fucked up day. I didn’t even mean to take a nap.”
“That’s happened to me before,” Jackie assures her. “Did something happen at work?”
“No. I just – I spoke to my mom today. It’s her birthday.”
The truth comes out without thought. Natalie knows her instincts have only changed because of Jackie. Unnerved, she backs out of Jackie’s arms, back towards the pillows.
“Oh!” Jackie tries to look impartial, but her surprise is obvious on her face. “Well, that was kind. I didn’t know you were in touch with your mom.”
“I’m not.”
Jackie considers this. “That was extremely kind, then.”
Natalie’s stomach lurches with protest. Kind is the last word she would use to describe herself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure? We don’t have to – but a problem shared is a problem halved, you know?” Jackie asks.
A hesitant smile comes onto her face. Looking at her now, Natalie remembers what made her such a good leader, back in the day – her can-do attitude, her kill ’em with kindness approach. Rough days feel less rough when Jackie is in your corner.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to push you. I just don’t want you to be alone in this.”
She’s being so sweet, so reasonable, and Natalie has too much softness in her heart to dismiss such an effort. But she still doesn’t know what she could say to Jackie; she’s never been good at expressing her pain with words, not even inside her own head.
“There’s not much to talk about,” Natalie mumbles. “I only spoke with her for a couple of minutes. She told me I was a shitty daughter. She’s not wrong, but it makes sense, you know, ’cause she was a shitty fucking mom.”
Jackie looks heartbroken. “I’m sorry, Nat. You aren’t a shitty daughter – you wouldn’t have called if you didn’t care about her.”
“It’s the first time I’ve called her in years, and I only did it because it’s her birthday. It was my guilty conscience.”
“I don’t think so,” Jackie says. “You wanted to make sure your mom wasn’t forgotten on her birthday. It’s not like you were gonna get anything out of it.”
She seems determined to view Natalie in a certain light. Natalie isn’t sure if she could change Jackie’s perspective on her – nor is sure that she would want to try.
“Thanks for being here,” Natalie says, quietly.
Jackie deserves to hear that, even if Natalie can’t look her in the eyes right now. She makes herself try, when Jackie reaches out to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek.
“I’m always here for you. Really. The next time you have a nightmare, I hope you’ll come get me.”
Natalie looks up at Jackie, meeting her doe eyes. She’s pleading with her. I hope you find someone who takes really good care of you, someday, she hears. Let me, she hears.
Today feels like someday. She nods.
Jackie has a way of making cigarettes look chic.
Natalie has only ever felt gritty with ash falling from her fingers – like a scungy kid, leaving school early to drink wine from the bottle in a gas station parking lot. But when Jackie leans on the balcony with her lipstick-stained cigarette perched in her fingers, she looks fit for a Vogue photoshoot. She could be a woman in a painting, smoking at dusk, watching the city come loose. People might have looked at such a piece of art and speculated on who that woman was, on what she was thinking about.
There’s no mystery for Natalie. She knows what Jackie is thinking about, because they’ve just finished watching the new episode of Sex and the City, and she’s in the midst of her weekly debrief.
“I have a friend at work who is convinced that Carrie and Aiden are soulmates,” Jackie says. “And obviously, he’s a way better guy than Big, but there’s no way he’s right for Carrie. He deserves so much better than her.”
Natalie hears Jackie talk about that sometimes – this concept of deserving. She registers these comments with dim sadness, hearing self-deprecation in the blanket assessments. The way Jackie talks, being flawed means being owed less love.
“It’s not really about deserving, though, is it?” Natalie says, thoughtlessly.
Jackie glances at her, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that,” Natalie says. “Love isn’t earned. It’s about who you want, not who you deserve.”
“Oh,” Jackie says. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
Her voice is quiet with surprise. It seems simple to Natalie, whose view of love is detached, impartial. Of course it’s world-altering for Jackie, who has only known love with conditions attached to it. Natalie knows which of them had it worse, but her gut still twists when she pictures Jackie in her lonely childhood home.
“It’s a moot point, anyway,” Natalie adds. “Carrie wants Big. Aiden’s better off finding someone else.”
“That makes sense,” Jackie says, nodding. “Carrie’s kind of masochistic, isn’t she? She’s so much fun, but she brings a lot of drama on herself.”
Natalie smiles to herself. She feels the hole in her chest shrinking every night she spends listening to this funny girl chattering about things that shouldn’t be important, but are.
“You’re not a Carrie, you know. You’re a Charlotte.”
“Oh my god,” Jackie says, her jaw dropping. “You’re right.”
“It’s kinda obvious,” Natalie says. “You’re uptight, prudish – ”
“What?!”
“ – privileged, sanctimonious – ” she continues listing traits, counting them on her fingers.
“Excuse me?!” Jackie huffs, repressing a smile.
Natalie joins their hands to assure Jackie that she’s only teasing, that she isn’t trying to be mean. She likes all of these aspects of Jackie’s personality; she wouldn’t be Jackie without them.
“Come on, cap,” Natalie urges her, with a wide grin. “You can handle the truth.”
Jackie shakes her head. “Who are you, then?”
“Dude, I’m fucking – I’m Steve.”
Jackie throws her head back laughing. The sound echoes through the air, filling the blank parts of Natalie’s soul. She tucks the happy music inside her chest, determined to soak it in, hoping to use it to fill her gaps.
Natalie comes home from the supermarket with ingredients to make a casserole. Crouching before the kitchen cupboards, she soon finds that she has nothing in which to cook it.
“Why haven’t you thrown this out, princess?” Natalie mumbles, tracing the crack in the lone baking dish she finds. It’s possible that Jackie has no idea about the existence of this tray; her barren, derelict selection of pots and pans speaks for itself.
Sighing fondly, Natalie gathers her bag and her keys and leaves the apartment once again. She reaches the closest thrift store and peruses the aisles for a suitable replacement. Eventually, she finds a steel baking dish. Less likely to split, she supposes, tucking it under her arm and heading for the counter.
On her way there, she notices a shelf of pastel-coloured porcelain and redirects her course without thought. All of the pink and green reminds her of Jackie. As do the floral illustrations painted on the teacups and the vases, the cutesy eyes on the felt animals.
Natalie bites her lip, overcome by the urge to gather every sweet trinket in her arms and take them home to Jackie. They’ve been talking about what they can do to make the apartment look more like Natalie’s, and this would achieve the opposite effect – not to mention exposing some realities that Natalie is not keen to examine.
This love in her life remains strange and novel. Natalie knows what it is to regard someone highly, but this is the first time she feels melted by it. Compelled to externalise it in cooked dinners and held hands. Long talks, silly gifts.
As difficult as it is, looking among so many similarly pretty things and trying to choose the prettiest, Natalie manages it. She settles on a heart-shaped box. Delicate roses are painted on the lid, a pale pink that reminds Natalie of Jackie’s fingertips, of the tips of her ears.
Home again, Natalie heads straight to the kitchen. Jackie materialises by the counter, her eyes wide. She’s still wearing the plum lipstick that made Natalie stare at her mouth while she took strategic bites of her toast, complaining that she should have eaten breakfast before she put on her makeup. As pristine as it looks, she must have reapplied it recently.
“Hey, Nat,” Jackie says, outstretching hopeful hands.
Natalie greets her with a pat on the palm. “Hey. Do you know that your one and only baking dish has a massive crack in it?”
“What?”
She lifts the baking tray. “See? How could this happen, if you don’t use it?”
Jackie stares at it dubiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that thing in my life.”
Natalie scoffs, setting it aside to be thrown away. She takes the new metal dish out of her tote bag, which makes Jackie cackle.
“Asking you to move in was such a good idea,” Jackie says. “I don’t have to worry about anything with you here.”
In lieu of an answer, Natalie places the porcelain trinket box inside Jackie’s hand. Her face transforms in an instant, moving from gleeful to introspective.
“What is this?” she asks.
“A box.”
“No, I mean – ” Jackie cuts herself off with a disbelieving noise.
Natalie feels mean for being sarcastic, but exasperated that Jackie is incapable of being relaxed about a simple gesture.
“I saw it in the thrift shop. I thought you might like it.”
Jackie’s eyes fill with warm gratitude. Natalie thinks that she’s overreacting, but she can’t deny how happy her heart feels, seeing Jackie so happy.
“I love it,” Jackie gushes, running her thumb reverently over the rose petals. “You know me so well. Thank you, Natty.”
“Okay, it was four dollars. Calm down.”
Natalie is blushing fiercely as she turns away from Jackie. She reaches for the fridge, hoping to get busy with cooking, to give her desirous hands something to do.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Jackie says, closing the fridge door. “I know you hate hugs, but I have to hug you right now.”
She slips herself in front of Natalie, winding her thin arms around Natalie’s waist, hooking her pointed chin on Natalie’s shoulder. She sighs as she settles in close, reminding Natalie of a cooing bird, tucking its head beneath its wing. Jackie sounds perfectly content to find rest here. Natalie moves her cheek into Jackie’s dark hair, closes her eyes and breathes in her sweet smell.
Fuck, she thinks.
“This is a good hug,” Natalie mumbles. “As hugs go.”
Jackie giggles and lets her go. She walks backwards into a ray of sunshine, where her eyes glow so pale they seem yellow. Natalie watches her back away and knows that there’s only one word she could use to describe the way she feels.
Slowly, it becomes routine for Natalie to hide from nightmares in Jackie’s bed.
She wakes in the night with her heart lodged in her throat. She takes a moment to consider what lurks in the dark and then slips out from under the covers. She pads on socked feet across the hallway, where Jackie sleeps in peace, curled in on herself.
Creeping around the edge of the bed, Natalie is quiet as a mouse. She lifts the corner of the doona and slides in alongside Jackie. She doesn’t want to wake her, if she can help it. She only wants to share her warmth and copy her breathing.
The quiet continues, no shadow disturbed. Jackie makes soft noises that Natalie studies from behind closed eyes, hoping to be lulled back to sleep.
At first, it seems possible. Then Jackie shifts, her hand roaming across the bedspread.
“Nat?” Jackie whispers. Her voice seems too sweet for two o’clock in the morning.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Natalie mumbles. “Sorry to wake you.”
“That’s okay.”
Jackie turns onto her side and shuffles closer towards Natalie. She puts a soothing hand on Natalie’s bicep and Natalie takes a shuddering breath.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Natalie shakes her head.
“Do you want a hug?”
She hesitates. Considering the envy she feels for the blanket tucked under Jackie’s arm, she knows she would be foolish to deny herself this.
“You can shove me away as soon as I annoy you.”
“Deal,” Natalie snorts.
“C’mere,” Jackie whispers, opening her arms.
They fold carefully around one another. Jackie’s arms loop around Natalie’s front, while Natalie’s back presses into the solid weight of Jackie’s chest. She releases a rumbling breath that sounds dangerously close to a sob.
“You’re okay, Nat,” Jackie whispers, pressing a furtive kiss to her ear. “You’re okay now.”
Natalie is asleep before she can find evidence against this. Really, at present, there is none to be found. Natalie is out of harm’s way. She hasn’t thought about using for a long time. Her dad is in the ground, her mom is far away. She is loved, she is safe.
Maybe Jackie Taylor isn’t the best bodyguard to have, considering her petite stature and her complete lack of practical skills. But she’s more than capable of this work, the work in life that matters, like holding a loved one through a rough night. That’s the sort of person that Jackie has always been.
In the morning, Natalie wakes with Jackie snoring on her neck. She is still being held, which is odd. Natalie has slept tucked against lovers before, but she has known sleep to drive them away, natural motions pulling her to the end of the bed.
She holds her palm to the fingers that overlap her navel.
Close as they are, Natalie feels the difference in Jackie’s breathing when she rouses.
“Mm. Morning, Nat.”
“Morning,” Natalie echoes, her heart aching.
This is starting to feel real. She can admit that this is what she wants, and that makes her bones feel shaky, makes her blood sing with horror. Wanting it could mean having it. Having it could mean losing it.
“I don’t want this to end.”
“What?” Jackie sounds bleary and surprised.
It occurs to Natalie that this is an unkind thing to spring on someone who has been awake for less than five minutes. But she can’t take it back now. Jackie won’t be able to leave it alone if she knows that something is bothering Natalie.
“It’s Saturday morning,” Jackie says, when Natalie doesn’t respond. “We can stay here as long as you want.”
“I’m not talking about – ” Natalie sighs. She is talking about that, though, isn’t she? She’s talking about the safety of these arms, these blankets, these walls. She’s talking about the possibility of having more moments like this one, happier versions of it, where Natalie isn’t introducing Jackie to her demons, where Jackie’s lips land in tender places.
“I mean our, um, set-up,” Natalie says.
“Our apartment?” Jackie asks.
Natalie turns in Jackie’s arms. Despite the protests in her heart, she shuffles away from her, because they can’t exactly talk while their noses are pressed together.
“It’s your apartment,” Natalie mumbles.
“It’s our apartment,” Jackie says adamantly. “We even put up that emo band poster!”
“On the back of the toilet door,” Natalie scoffs.
“Only because it doesn’t suit the rest of the decor.”
“Yeah, because it’s your decor.”
Jackie falters, her sweet face crinkling. Natalie is so far gone that she feels guilty for making a good point, relieved when it doesn’t make Jackie back down.
“Well, we can move the poster to the living room,” Jackie declares. “We can go shopping this afternoon and pick out some decor that you really like. And on Monday, I’ll call the real estate agent and find out how I can get your name on the lease. Because this is your home too, Natalie. It’s every bit as much yours as it is mine.”
“What if I relapse?” Natalie asks, quietly.
The worry in Jackie’s gaze softens. “You won’t. You’ve been clean for six months. You go to NA every week. You’re doing so well.”
“Jackie,” Natalie sighs, but she can’t say more than that. She can’t be mean to Jackie, not even when she sounds like she could be on the Disney channel, idealistic and naïve.
“It’s not that simple. No matter how well things are going, there’s always a chance I could slip. I’m sorry. I wish I could be sure that I’m gonna keep going to work and keep coming home to you – but I’m just not a safe person.”
Jackie is back to looking dismayed, but her mouth is stern with disapproval. “Bullshit. Of course you’re a safe person. I never feel as safe as I do when I’m with you.”
“That’s not really what I mean,” Natalie mumbles.
“And, I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe that a relapse would mean our life here is just over,” Jackie says, gesturing with her hands. “I know you, Nat. You would apologise for anything that might happen, and I would forgive you.”
Natalie recalls some hazy nights with Travis. Picking shards of glass from her feet, rubbing at her hoarse throat, unable to reach the pain from the outside. She remembers the cruelty lunged at her, remembers giving as good as she got.
“You can’t know that,” Natalie says.
“Yes, I can,” Jackie says. She sounds snooty. She sounds like the entitled girl from high school that sometimes rubbed Natalie the wrong way.
“You can’t. You don’t know what I’m like when I’m really bad.”
“I love you, Nat. That isn’t going to go away if you make a mistake.”
Natalie stares, shocked. “Jackie…”
“If you relapse, then we’ll deal with it,” Jackie says. “Together.”
The look on Jackie’s face is fierce and bright. Natalie knows this face. She has fought it countless times since she started living here, always in vain. There’s no changing Jackie’s mind, no way of making her understand the heartbreak that could await her.
Natalie gives up trying. She feels less guilt than she should for that, as she swivels back into Jackie’s space. She loves hugging her. They’re similar sizes, similar heights, so they align perfectly when they snuggle: this arm there, this leg there. Cheeks and hearts pressed together.
“I love you, too,” Natalie murmurs. “I hope you know that. I hope you feel it.”
A startled noise escapes Jackie, which could indicate that she doesn’t. Fair, Natalie supposes, when she’s so gruff by nature, when this is the first time that she’s told Jackie she loves her in plain words.
But then, Jackie says, “I do.”
Like a wedding vow, Natalie thinks. A promise of devotion. She can see some truth in the comparison. Jackie has given her something that she can’t put down.
She holds it with reverent fingers and rests her cheek on ivory lace.
The sun returns at the end of a long, rainy week. Jackie wakes Natalie up like an excited child on Christmas morning. She’s already dressed, wearing a ruffled white blouse that seems impractical to Natalie. She has a picnic blanket tucked under her arm and a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head.
“Do you want to come to the park with me to soak in the sunshine?” Jackie asks.
Natalie hums and stretches. “Give me a minute.”
“Okay - but hurry! I’m worried about the clouds coming back.”
“Alright, I’m up.” Natalie sits upright to prove it, yawning into her hand. She reaches for Jackie, squeezes her bare wrist. “You need a sweater. The wind’s probably still cold.”
“I’ll go get one!” Jackie stamps a kiss on Natalie’s forehead and disappears.
Natalie gets ready quickly. She pulls a burgundy sweater over an old band T-shirt and packs two jackets in her bag, predicting that Jackie will only choose a flimsy cardigan for herself.
Outside, the air is brisk but the sun is warm. Jackie twines her elbow through Natalie’s and bounces along the concrete. She only lets go once they’ve reached the park, so that she can sprawl the rug in the grass and pull Natalie to sit down with her.
Jackie leans back on her palms and tilts her face towards the sunshine.
“Holy moly,” she sighs. “That feels nice.”
Natalie smiles. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”
“Yes,” Jackie says, laughing, opening her eyes. “You. Constantly.”
“But nobody else, right? Goes to say you can get away with saying shit like “wowzers” if you’re pretty enough.”
Jackie laughs again. “That is stupidly dorky, come to think of it.”
There’s a glint of embarrassment in her eye, which really isn’t what Natalie wants her to feel. She reaches for Jackie’s ankle and gives it a gentle shake.
“I wouldn’t change anything about you, you know,” Natalie says.
Even before Jackie’s smile quivers, Natalie knows this is a foreign concept for her. Unimaginable.
“That’s sweet,” Jackie murmurs. “I wouldn’t change anything about you, either.”
Natalie doesn’t doubt that Jackie means it. She feels her love during every moment of the day, like a second heartbeat in her chest.
She gives Jackie a smile she hopes expresses some gratitude and looks away. Bashful to be loved.
Jackie begins plucking the daisies from the grass. She slides her nails over the stems, poking holes through which to wind them together.
“Are you making a fucking flower crown?” Natalie asks with amusement.
“Yep,” Jackie says, picking another blossom. “It’s been ages since I made one. It might be a bit wonky.”
“I’ve never made one before.”
“I can show you, if you’d like.”
Tying the last daisy into place, Jackie lifts the chain in the air, examining its durability. She places the delicate loop on her wrist and whirls it around. Every petal remains intact. Satisfied, Jackie rises on her knees and leans over Natalie, holding the crown above her head. She widens her eyes, asking a silent question.
Natalie wants to scoff, wants to laugh. All she does is nod.
The crown is lowered over her temples, and Natalie smiles wide enough to feel the pressure in her cheeks. It is the sort of earnest smile that she has rarely had reason to wear. Jackie looks just as happy, her hands lingering on either side of Natalie’s face.
“You look beautiful,” Jackie says.
Natalie feels a string under her breastbone, tugged forth by the hand on its other end. She closes the small distance between them and kisses Jackie once, chaste and close-mouthed. It’s the best kiss of her life, even before she knows that it isn’t over.
Jackie stares at Natalie with enormous, wonderstruck eyes. She makes a soft noise and kisses her again, more deeply now. Natalie leans into warm, ardent lips, puts her hand on the arch of Jackie’s waist. Jackie kisses her until she’s out of breath, panting into Natalie’s cheek.
“Nat…” she whispers. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“I think I might,” Natalie says, laughing warmly.
“I guess I was pretty obvious, huh?”
“No, it’s not – I mean I’ve wanted to do it for a long time too.”
Jackie brushes at her red cheeks, as though trying to hide the colour in them. She’s all warmth at the moment, the sun shining in her eyes and painting golden glistens in her hair. A hue from forever ago, when they passed each other in hallways and kicked each other soccer balls, unaware of the love that patiently waited for them.
She reaches for Natalie’s hands and drags them to her heart.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t braver,” Jackie says. “I’ve been trying to build up the nerve to ask you out, but I was worried about ruining our friendship.”
“Jackie,” Natalie laughs and rolls her eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Can I take you out on a date?” Jackie asks, squeezing Natalie’s hands. “Please? I’ll book us a table at that fancy new place – what’s it called? Joan’s? Joanie’s?”
“Hey, we have dinner together every night,” Natalie reminds her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do – I want to. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“You know I’m free tomorrow night.”
“I’ll see if I can get a booking. What do you say?”
She carries an air of suspension, as though she might expect an answer other than a resounding yes. Natalie is not good at having feelings, let alone discussing them, but she’s going to have to learn to be better for Jackie’s sake. She won’t let her worry.
Following an instinct she didn’t realise she had, Natalie lifts their bundled fingers and kisses Jackie’s knuckles. Quite a romantic gesture, she thinks. Something that Jackie has brought out of her.
“Yes,” Natalie says. “I would love to have dinner with you.”
She loved it yesterday, she will love it tonight, she will love it tomorrow.
Again and again and again.
Jackie brings Natalie flowers before they leave for their date. Deep purple dahlias, such a dark shade they almost look black. They’re beautiful. Natalie should probably voice that thought – she knows Jackie would be thrilled – but she is frozen in the doorway.
She has never been given flowers before, unless she counts the daisy chain from the day before. She stares at the bouquet, uncertain what to do with it, how to react to it.
“Surprise,” Jackie says, grinning.
This moment is dreamlike. Jackie is knocking on her own door and wearing a black chiffon dress. Her hair is clipped in an elegant updo, offering a tantalising view of bare shoulders. Natalie never forgot about Jackie’s beauty, but it faded to the background as she got to know her better, unimportant compared to the sound of her laughter.
Natalie swallows. She is reminded of the way she sometimes felt around Jackie when they were in high school – as though she was looking at somebody too perfect to touch.
“Dude!” Natalie blurts, because she’s romantic like that. “I’m not dressed yet.”
“We have plenty of time,” Jackie assures her. “I just wanted to surprise you with these.”
Natalie tentatively accepts the dahlias. She lifts them to her face, brushing the velvet petals over her cheeks.
“How’d I do?” Jackie says, twiddling her fingers. “Do you like them?”
“I love them,” Natalie murmurs. “Thank you, Jackie.”
Jackie beams and throws herself forth for a kiss. Natalie responds as though it’s normal to be kissed with such ebullience. She’s gotten a lot of kisses since yesterday morning; Jackie has taken any excuse she can find to bestow Natalie with kisses.
Reality seems lopsided, tinged by a sparkle that Natalie knows better than to trust. She reaches up a hand and gently pinches Jackie’s chin, just to verify that she’s real.
“This was really sweet of you,” Natalie says.
Jackie tilts her head, smiling in agreement. “I can put these in a vase for you if you wanna get dressed.”
Natalie grins. “Is that a hint?”
“No,” Jackie says, squeezing Natalie’s hand. “Take your time, Nat.”
She speaks as though Natalie could crumble under anything less gentle. It’s an extent of love that Natalie has never needed and always wanted.
Now that she has it, she wants to hoard it between her ribs.
When they get home that night, Natalie pushes Jackie against the back of an armchair and kisses her until she’s bent halfway over it. She allows no doubt for what it is that she wants.
“Nat,” Jackie pants. “You know I don’t expect anything – I’m more than okay waiting – ”
“I know,” Natalie says, breaking away to look at Jackie. “But I want you. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Jackie answers. “I just want you to know it’s not the only reason I’m here.”
Natalie nods. “I know.”
She is trying to understand it. These things she was taught about herself are woven through her mind with the same intricacy as her veins, but she knows what Jackie thinks of her. She wants to believe it as well.
“I love you,” Jackie whispers. “I didn’t know I could love somebody this much.”
“It’s weird,” Natalie says, nudging their hands together. “Kinda like finding a new part of yourself.”
Untouched, untainted.
Jackie understands. She looks to be on the verge of tears. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Natalie leads Jackie to the bedroom and kisses her tenderly in the doorway. She unzips her dress, revealing spindly limbs, smooth skin, pink lace. Natalie isn’t surprised to find Jackie in a lingerie set. There is a tiny bow between the swell of her breasts; Natalie touches it with fascination.
“You too,” Jackie gasps, taking handfuls of Natalie’s black floral dress in her hands.
It takes Natalie a moment to realise that Jackie is waiting for permission. She reaches for the bottom of her dress and pulls it over her head.
“Holy shit, Nat!” Jackie exclaims, staring at her cleavage. “I didn’t realise – ”
Natalie wants to laugh at the way that Jackie’s jaw has dropped open, but she’s too busy bringing their lips back together. Whimpering, a little bit, when Jackie pulls away to flutter her lips over the hollow of her throat, the top of her chest.
Gently, Natalie steers Jackie onto the bed. Her hair fans around her face on the pillow and Natalie leans down to kiss both her temples, both her cheeks.
“You’re so beautiful,” Natalie murmurs.
As close as she’s gotten to Jackie in recent months, it is almost strange to discover new parts of her. The lines where her thighs meet her hips, the mole on her waist, the graze on the side of her knee. A slipped razor, Natalie guesses, circling it with her thumb.
Jackie is bug-eyed under Natalie’s hands. Out of nowhere, she jerks out of Natalie’s embrace and blurts, “Let me go first!”
“Jackie – ”
“I want to go first,” Jackie insists, hair swishing around her face as she tries to move out from under Natalie. “I’m good at this, I swear – ”
“Jackie,” Natalie says, more firmly. “Just relax, okay?”
Jacke blinks up at her, looking vulnerable. “I want to touch you.”
“So touch me.”
Natalie takes Jackie’s hand and sprawls it over the small of her back. For a hand so delicate, its weight on her body is staggering.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jackie says, even as she traces her spine.
“We have time.” Natalie reaches behind her back and undoes her bra, leaning down into Jackie’s palms. She sighs deeply, feeling her nipples tighten.
Jackie surges up to kiss her and Natalie lets out a moan. She moves her fingers along the gentle slope of Jackie’s stomach, until she reaches the space between her legs. She lets out a breath when she touches her for the first time.
“Okay?” Natalie breathes.
“Yes,” Jackie gasps.
Natalie starts out slow, wanting them both to get used to seeing each other in this way. Jackie moves in time with Natalie’s gentle strokes, sighing breathily. She reaches out to entwine their free hands, and Natalie makes a noise that is part laugh, part cry.
The longer it goes on, the louder Jackie gets. Her thighs clamp around Natalie’s wrist, pulling her in deep. It feels intimate in a way that sex has never been – raw and up close.
“Oh,” Jackie mumbles, shifting her hips and groaning. “Fuck, Nat – Nat – ”
Natalie watches Jackie’s face, fascinated by the way it softens when their eyes connect, by the way it contorts when she comes. She spends several moments afterwards panting and trembling in Natalie’s arms.
“I can’t believe I didn’t even get you out of your bra,” Natalie murmurs. She strokes Jackie’s nipple through the lace. It’s a darker hue of pink than she had imagined.
Jackie laughs breathily, sounding strained. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”
She bends when Natalie pushes her, lifts her arms so that Natalie can slide off her bra. Natalie swoops down and suckles her breasts, eager to correct her previous oversight. Jackie takes her by surprise when she winds her legs around her waist and flips Natalie over, onto her back.
The sight of Jackie sitting on her hips, bathed in golden lamplight, is one Natalie knows she will never forget.
“I love your freckles. I feel like I’ve been staring at them forever,” Jackie murmurs, stroking the clusters on Natalie’s arms. She peppers the freckles with kisses, following their trail downwards. When she reaches Natalie’s hips, she tugs her underwear off without fanfare and presses lingering kisses to her inner thighs.
“Should’ve known you’d be a tease,” Natalie mutters.
“I want to take my time!” Jackie giggles, but she doesn’t make Natalie wait any longer.
Jackie brushes gentle, deliberate fingers over Natalie’s centre. She moves closer, waits for a nod before she bows her head and puckers her lips.
At once, Natalie’s stomach goes hollow. She closes her eyes to track how Jackie moves; follows the delicate curl of her tongue, the steady pace of her fingers. Natalie can hear the ragged moans that tear through the air, but she doesn’t recognise the voice as her own. She’s never made sounds like those before.
It’s over sooner than Natalie realised was possible. Part of her is disappointed that the moment doesn’t last forever, but she consoles herself with the happiness on Jackie’s face.
Jackie is smiling like a winner. She looks like she’s been graded an A, like she’s scored the winning goal on the soccer field. Natalie, overwhelmed by what surges in her heart, pulls Jackie in and kisses her slick, blurry mouth.
They have time, Natalie reminds herself, before the urgency can set in.
They have time tonight. They have time for as long as Jackie wants her.
Jackie stands before the wardrobe with her arms crossed over her chest. She has spent the past twenty minutes rifling through the garments on the hangers, sighing every time she lets another dress swing back onto the rail.
Natalie is sprawled over the bed, turning the pages of a magazine. It has gotten difficult to concentrate on what she’s reading, since Jackie came into the bedroom.
“You’re overthinking this,” Natalie says, gently.
“I know that,” Jackie answers. She narrows her eyes at the wardrobe, as though it is presenting her with a complex riddle. She emits an annoyed sigh.
“I don’t think huffing at the wardrobe is gonna help you make a decision.”
Jackie pouts. “You could help, you know.”
Closing her magazine, Natalie slips off the bed and joins Jackie by the wardrobe.
“What was your first idea?”
“My blue ruched dress. Do you know the one?”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous,” Natalie answers. “That’s a great choice.”
“I don’t know,” Jackie says, frowning. “I think maybe I should pick something darker.”
It seems an odd requirement for Jackie to assign herself. “Why?”
Jackie turns her large hazel eyes on Natalie. “This is the first time they’re going to see us as a couple. I want to make a good impression, I guess.”
“You mean as my girlfriend?” Natalie asks, raising her eyebrows.
“Well, yeah,” Jackie says. “Is that stupid?”
“A little, considering you’ve known them longer than I have.”
“I know we might be surprising to some people.”
Her shoulders curl, as though she is trying to make herself smaller. Natalie hates to see Jackie like this – downtrodden and uncertain. She reaches for her hand.
“Come on, Jackie,” Natalie says. “They’re our friends, they’re happy for us. Don’t you remember what Lottie said on the phone?”
“She said she saw it coming,” Jackie recounts. “But what about Van? She’s never liked me much.”
“That’s – well. Look. Things have changed a lot since high school.”
“I guess,” Jackie says, but she still looks fretful.
Natalie swings Jackie around, so they’re face-to-face. “Hey. Are you really stressing about this? You know I’ll have your back if anybody says anything. I can be pretty scary when I need to be.”
Jackie smiles softly. Feeling encouraged, Natalie retrieves the cornflower dress from the wardrobe and drapes it over Jackie’s wrists.
“I’m gonna wear blue too – that tartan dress you got me for my birthday. We can match.”
It seems like a sweet gesture to Natalie, even romantic, but Jackie snorts.
“They’re very different shades of blue,” she says.
“Blue is blue,” Natalie replies.
More laughter. The soundtrack of Natalie’s life, somehow.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Jackie says. “And I do love you in that dress.”
“I love you in every dress. So you can’t really go wrong here.”
Jackie shakes her head and curls her arms around Natalie.
“You’re so good to me,” Jackie whispers, nestling their cheeks together.
Dismissive retorts occur to Natalie: I’m just being honest. There’s a lot more I could be doing. But she knows that Jackie wants her to feel appreciated, so she tries to make space for the possibility. She could be doing some good in the world – the world that seems less scary, every day that she spends in it.
Natalie leans into Jackie, hoping the hug will linger. She knows it will, as long as she asks.