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I’m not a babysitter. I have enough going on right now, ok?
Frankly, Tess, I don’t give a shit. Dig down deep into that pathetic thing you call a heart and find some compassion. She needs you right now.
And what about what I need?
When you figure it out then we can talk.
So now the sheriff has two wayward girls living in his house, eating all the chocolate cereal with tabasco sauce and leaving their hair ties and studded bracelets in the bathroom. His stern voice and immense patience are a welcome balm to both of their hearts.
He only tells Ava half a dozen times that she doesn’t need to sneak out the window at night or avoid opening packages in the cupboard before it sinks in. And when she accidentally breaks a glass he reminds her that he raised a very rambunctious boy and that the cups were probably second or third-hand.
She still leaves a crumpled dollar bill and some change on the counter later.
And when she wakes in the middle of the night, sweat-dreanched and screaming from nightmares of murderous hybrids and war a lifetime away, he is there with understanding and a glass of water.
And when she reacts to a comment or action and went on the offensive or sulked in the garage for hours, he coaxes her back to the living room and has everyone in the house agree to work together to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
He only accidentally calls her Tess once.
They couldn’t be more different.
they couldn’t be more similar.
For a while, Tess can’t even look at Ava. It’s too creepy, too raw, and Ava’s eyes are too big and too sad. They circle each other, avoiding interacting as much as possible, hoping to get through whatever this is so they can separate and pretend they don’t know each other.
And then one night Kyle forces them both onto the couch with a big bowl of popcorn and blankets and turns on some inspiring, true story about a plucky football player who’s got the odds stacked against him. Kyle chatters about how the plays are wrong and cries at the end. Tess and Ava keep glancing at each other over his chest, making furtive smiles as they snuggle into his warmth.
Yeah, I guess it’s going alright. I don’t think Tess likes me very much though.
That’s just Tess.
So sometimes they nod at each other in the hallway or respond with an “I’m in here” when the other knocks on the bathroom door. Sometimes they sit down at the table together and eat in comfortable silence, neither wanting to disrupt the flow.
Ava spends time with the others, especially Liz. They go for walks or out to the movies, sharing sundaes and secrets. She leaves the house quiet as a mouse and returns with flushed cheeks and the scent of cherry lipgloss.
Tess tries not to think about their legs tangled together and Liz’s hair across Ava’s face and their blood melding and forcing visions of stars into their minds…
Isabel and Michael are still too wary, having conspiratory conversations when they think no one’s paying attention. But Tess knows. She can feel the way they watch both of them, almost like they’re waiting for the team-up of the century.
She can’t say it didn’t cross her mind. If she really is of the inferior set, who knows how strong Ava’s powers are?
Tess quirks a playful eyebrow across the room at Ava, who’s chewing gum and tying strings from her old sweater into knots over and over again. She concentrates, then sends out a harmless little mind warp. Just a taste, a tease, an ethereal butterfly ghosting across Ava’s vision.
Ava startles, then, seeing Tess’s challenge on her face, quirks the same eyebrow back at her. Suddenly, a panther appears before Tess. She can practically hear the growl rumbling in its chest, feels the hot breath of it panting, the vibration of the feet padding across the hardwood floors.
Tess nods. She has her attention.
For an hour or so, they test each other’s limits. Can I make you scared? Can I make you hurt? Can I make you freezing cold or burning hot? Can I exhaust you?
Ava makes the world around them a helicopter and pushes Tess out of it without a chute, and Tess laugh-screams the whole way back to earth, flushed and panting, eyes glittering and burning with excitement. She can feel the fire burning deep within her threatening to bubble to the surface. Not yet she thinks.
She makes a sultry version of Liz and imagines a clumsy striptease that forces a shuddering breath from Ava, her face beet red and her legs squeezed tight, gripping the edges of the seat as she tries desperately to remember that it’s a vision.
“What’s going on here? Ava, are you ok? Tess!”
It’s Max. Tess has the decency to be chagrined. She drops the warp and stands, casting her eyes down and practically bowing to her king.
“We were just… talking.”
He pauses, glancing to Ava for confirmation. Ava nods, but doesn’t meet his eye.
“Tess, look at me.”
When she looks up, he’s got his arm around Liz. When did she get here?
“What else are you hiding?” He asks.
But it’s not his voice, it’s got a slight accent. And suddenly she notices his skin and hair are too dark, he’s got a slight tremor in his hands, and a glint of cockiness in his eyes.
Tess shakes her head and then they’re gone. She turns to Ava, but she’s gone too. The back door is standing open.
I feel like you’re not even trying.
Look, I’m doing the best I can.
You and I both know that’s not true.
What else can I do?
Just fucking talk to her, it’s not hard.
They go out for ice cream. To the park. To the movies. All the things neither of them ever got to do. Because one was a Queen from birth on the streets with only her King to protect her and one was a Queen from birth always on the run with a murderer to protect her.
They go to a town fair and get their faces painted and eat deep-fried everything and each turns a blind eye when the other cheats at a game and wins the biggest octopus plushie.
“You ever been to a club?” Ava asks.
They drive up to Albuquerque, Ava’s eyeliner smudged and smokey, Tess in the shortest, tightest dress she could imagine. They each mind-warp a bouncer and skate into the dark, smokey, pulsing warehouse with sticky floors and exposed pipes. Some guys with stained teeth and desperation clouding them worse than their cologne buy them some vodka shots that Ava promptly turns into tequila (sans the roofies).
It’s loud and wild and impossible to think or talk. Exactly what they need.
They dance and sing and use their powers to keep the drinks flowing and the people around them interested. They each get lost in the throng of bodies, giving in to the thump, thump that matches their heartbeats. And then they find each other again, pressed up against someone else, and they turn and smile.
“Let’s go for a run,” Ava says one day.
“I’ve never even jogged in P.E.,” Tess responds.
They reach the top of a desert rock just before sunset, doubling over and panting, sweating through their brand-new yoga pants and discount-store sports bras. They settle there and catch their breath, watching the sunset in silence and wondering how they even got there in that spot together.
“The sunsets here are so different,” Ava says.
And Tess can't tell if it’s a compliment or something more melancholy.
“Do you miss New York?”
Ava turns to her, the sky behind her dusty rose and purple, her teeth fidgeting with a lip ring, her fingers twirling a ring on her right hand. She looks at Tess and tries to find the words to say what missing really means and that it’s hard to be homesick for a place that never felt like home. She looks at Tess and sees what Xan must have seen in her - a person from a dream, the other side of a mirror from a memory that she can’t quite hold onto.
“Do you miss Antar?”
Tess closes her eyes and she can see the moons, the rock face that’s so different from the one they’re sitting on now, the red ocean, the kingdom in its glory. She swims through the memories of a life she both hasn’t lived and has to live, contemplating the difference between home and life , imagining the possibilities of a thousand different existences in a million different galaxies.
When she opens her eyes, Ava’s face fills her vision, the face of her memories, the one she sees in the mirror.
She doesn’t have to answer. She can see it in her eyes.
Why are you doing this for her? Why do you care?
I just…. Couldn’t imagine being in her shoes. I would want someone looking out for me.
And what about my shoes?
Tess, you made your bed with me. Why do you want me to care?
The moonlight nestling itself onto her bare skin doesn’t carry any warmth, but the sweltering desert summer air plays with her senses and she feels her temperature rising further. She huffs out a breath and forces a lock of hair to release its sweaty grasp of her forehead before falling down beside her on the pillow.
She wonders briefly if Isabel is dream-walking, and fantasizes about what she would do with that power. Traipsing through the deepest recesses of this town’s limited imagination would at least take her mind off the heat.
A thought wriggles its way into the back of her mind, settling right at the base of her spine. What’s the harm in trying?
She closes her eyes and sends questing, questioning tendrils out to the surrounding area. Eventually, she brushes up against another presence - it’s dark and broad, it feels like she’s falling into it but she’s not afraid. She smells spices and musk, warm wind that bundles her up in a bear hug and places her gently on a patch of grass.
Tess opens her eyes and sees an endless field and bright, blue skies. The air is cool and soothing and brings with it the distant promise of the sea or the mountains. There’s a crack and her gaze falls on a small boy with hair that’s too long and a shirt that’s too big, with grass stains on his knees, a wooden bat in his hands. He wipes his arm across his nose just as someone lets out a cheer. A woman, tall with long, dark hair and a large smile is clapping and exclaiming to the boy. Her face is unreadable beyond the smile, fuzzy and constantly shifting between celebrities’ features.
“That’s my mom,” a soft voice beside her, but she isn’t startled. It’s the presence she felt before she awoke. Kyle Valenti.
“You don’t remember her very well,” she says. It’s not a question. He doesn’t respond.
The woman chases the boy and his giggles wash over them, their features becoming soft and slow. They sit there for a while, and Tess doesn’t feel like she’s intruding at all, she feels like she was invited to enjoy this moment with him. She turns to him just as the wind picks up and storm clouds begin to gather.
“Thank you, Kyle,” and she presses a kiss to his temple.
The sky opens up and the boy shrieks with laughter, the woman covers her head with her arms, and soon they’re splashing in puddles and running with their arms out pretending to be planes.
The scene dissolves like a memory and Tess pours back into her sweat-soaked body piece by piece. She rolls onto her back and nearly collides with a body lying next to her on the bed. She starts but finds the form familiar. Ava. She must have snuck in while she was in Kyle’s mind.
“Where were you?” Ava’s voice is rough like she’d been crying. Her body is radiating heat and it’s almost more than Tess can bear.
“I was dream-walking,” she breathes.
A small hand seeks hers and clasps it, fingers caressing as they intertwine. Ava wriggles slightly, burrowing into the bed, sighing slightly as she gets comfortable.
“Show me,” she says and it sounds like an order. Like a Queen.
“Where shall we go?” Tess asks.
But she knows where they’re going, even before she feels the hot desert sun on her face, the smell of cinnamon and coconut oil surrounding them, and the burnt umber aura reaching out to embrace them both.
They open their eyes, still connected at the pulse in their wrists, and see an oasis. A lush canopy of waxy, tropical leaves and impossibly soft clover blanket the small area. There is a rock face nearby where babbling water dances and flings itself off into a pool of water so clear Tess almost thinks it vanishes. Through the dense trees in the distance, they can spot the surrounding desert with its heat waves making false promises of water just out of reach and sand dunes that pile and topple on top of each other forever.
Ava takes a step towards the pool hesitantly, tugging at Tess as she does.
The water ripples and splashes, drawing their attention to someone just under the surface.
Liz.
She breaks out of the water, the sun making stars out of the water droplets cascading down her face and neck, her hair slicked back and shiny, longer than it is in real life. She opens her eyes wide and smiles at them, falling back down into the pool and pushing herself back. Her teeth play with her lip, and she gestures to the water with her eyes.
The girls let go of each other, but Ava doesn’t hesitate now. She strips her clothes and dives into the water, barely glancing back to see if Tess will join them. Tess takes a small step back, picturing her body back in the room, wondering if she should leave, wondering if she even can.
Ava bursts from the water and splashes Liz, who splashes her back and laughs, so deep and rich, and envelops Tess’s senses. Ava laughs too, sharp-edged and quick, like a knife between the ribs, and Tess feels her heart stutter.
They play together, forgetting everything about Earth and Antar and aliens and high school and destiny. Tess takes one step towards them, then two steps back. She shouldn’t be here, intruding on… whatever this is.
She turns, resigned, and walks toward the desert.
When she opens her eyes back in the room again, Ava is smiling in her sleep.
What about Max?
What about Max?
Do you still love him?
Do you?
I’ve just got a lot on my mind, she keeps saying. She doesn’t mean to have her head so lost in the clouds. She doesn’t mean to keep shouldering people in the halls, ignoring phone calls, running late to every class, avoiding… everyone.
Max offers to take her to the drive-in one night. The thought of resting her head against his shoulder and breathing in his scent and maybe getting to hold his hand just doesn’t quicken her heart like it used to. She feigns a headache and closes the door.
Valenti tells her she can’t ignore her problems, that she has to face them head-on. He says she’s brave and strong and that he is proud of her no matter what. He says she can’t keep taking her meals in the room and that she needs to take a shower.
She goes for a walk late at night, wanting to be alone but not by herself, hoping the stars will keep her company and hold her secrets close. Michael finds her at the edge of town.
“You know, when I can’t quiet all the doubt and anger in my head I like to blow stuff up.”
So they do. Rocks, mostly. Small ones at first, then graduating to practically boulders. They’re both smiling and panting and full of energy and power. She turns to him with a wicked grin.
“Wanna see something cool?”
She closes her eyes and imagines the fire, the flame that burns down in the pit of her stomach. She grabs it firmly and pulls it up to the surface of her mind, the tip of her tongue, the edges of her vision. She scorches the earth in a circle around her small enough to keep contained, then swallows it back down quick as a lighter extinguishing.
Michael is standing several feet away, staring at her like she’s either the scariest thing he’s ever seen or the wildest. He looks like he can’t decide whether to cheer or run.
“Can you teach me?”
When they head back to town later that night morning, both lost in their own silence, letting those little thoughts that had been put aside start seeping back into place, she tells him that she’s not sure who she is anymore. He says that it’s ok, none of them do, really.
I’m going away.
The fuck you are.
Why do you care?
I - I don’t. What about Max… and Isabel? And -
Tell me the truth for once.
Ava corners her in the hall and she smells like blueberries. She doesn’t have to say anything, her eyes are filled to the brim with righteous indignation and tears and fear. She shakes her head and stamps her foot, crowding Tess and taking up more space now than she ever has in her life.
“You… you can’t leave me, Tess. You can’t leave them , they’re your family, they’re all we have on this stupid planet.”
Tess reaches out and wipes a tear off her face. Ava flinches.
“I don’t belong here. As hard as I try, I’m just a spare piece.”
She turns away, and then feels arms wrapping themselves tightly around her from behind. A face burrows into the space between her shoulder blades. A barely audible sniffle, and a whispered plea.
“Don’t go.”
But her bag is already packed, her tickets bought, her ride waiting outside. Her mind and her bed are made up and the time on the microwave is flashing 3:32 which means it’s actually roughly 6:05. She disengages from her other self and tries to ignore the sound of her own heart breaking as she walks down the front drive of the Valenti house, duffel bag pulling on her shoulder, even her own things felt betrayed by her decision.
Maria is in the car, idling. She steals a glance at Tess but surprisingly doesn’t say a word until they leave the neighborhood.
“I don’t know what your reasons are, and I really don’t care. I don’t think you’ve ever thought about anyone else in any decision you’ve ever made, so this is just par for the course.”
Suddenly her cell rings. Tess looks in the rearview mirror and pretends she can still see Ava wrapped in Kyle’s arms crying as he rubs small circles into her back.
Maria hands Tess the phone without a word.
“Tess?” It's Isabel.
“Yeah.”
“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?”
She sounds desperate, confused, and mad as hell. Tess smiles a little, remembering Valondra’s anger and how it would shake her to her core. It’s almost enough to make her concede.
“I’ll come back someday.”
“Please. Just come over, we can have a girl’s night and talk. One last time?”
“Goodbye, Isabel.”
I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.
Now you don’t have to pretend to like me anymore. Thought you’d be relieved.
Lose my number, Tess
She’s resting her head against the window of the train, feeling the motion and drifting into daydreams of the ocean, when someone taps on the door to the car. Someone asking to see her ticket. She sleepily hands over a blank sheet of paper and fumbles through a confusing mind warp that somehow convinces the man to accept her paper, punch it, and leave.
Nestling into herself, she pretends someone is holding her tight as she loses herself to the dreamscape, floating past pulsing and whispering auras that beckon her to investigate. But she doesn’t care about any of these people and the silly things they dream about.
There’s a ping over her right shoulder that she feels rather than hears. A cold wind reaches out to nestle into her curls and ghost against the back of her neck, raising goosebumps and little hairs, tracing a shiver up her spine. The smell of rosemary and honey and something spiced like mulled cider grips her completely and pulls her toward the edges of the scape.
Tess follows blindly, letting whoever it is lead her.
Stepping off the edge of a cliff, she falls, she soars, she floats, she disappears and reappears in the glittering dark of night. The sky above her is so clear and full of stars and galaxies it takes her breath away. She’s sitting in a boat and the water around her reflects the sky completely, surrounding her in pinpricks of dazzling light.
Isabel is at the front of the boat, wearing an extravagant red dress, her long, blonde hair perfectly coiled at the top of her head. She wields a long oar like a Venetian gondolier, pushing them forward smoothly and slowly, barely disrupting the mirror-top of the water.
“Do you remember?” Isabel asks quietly without turning around.
She doesn’t elaborate. Tess sits in silence for a moment, flashes of the night Isabel is referring to coming to her unbidden. Being kidnapped, tortured, hidden away and used as bait. That night she had called out with her mind and powers to the one person she thought would be able to find her and save her. The person standing at the front of this boat, wearing that same dress and rowing her across a dream ocean a thousand miles away from her body.
“I could never forget, Isabel. You saved my life that day. And every day since. I’ve always owed my life to you in some way or another,” Tess stops, her tears catching on the lump in her throat.
Tess thinks back further, dredging up memories from a past that are more real than this ocean. Valondra, sitting her down before her wedding and telling her exactly what to do to make it through the elaborate ceremony without throwing up or chickening out. Valondra, stepping between her and Rath when he dared to challenge her king. Valondra, sneaking her out of the palace on nights much like this to bathe naked in the light of four moons.
She shakes her head, letting the tears fall on her lap.
“Isabel, I-”
“I’ll miss you, Tess. You’re leaving me behind but you’re taking part of my heart with you. You’re like a sister to me.”
Tess looks up and sees Isabel standing in front of her, just as regal and beautiful as the late Valondra. But there’s a softness in her eyes, behind the tremor and fear, behind the lonely little girl, there is a warmth that radiates out and embraces Tess.
“If you have to do this, I understand. I wish there was another way. I wish -” she chokes on a sob, and Tess stands to pull her into a hug. It’s too much and not enough and not nearly real enough for either of them.
“If you ever want to come back, I’ll be here,” she whispers into Tess’s hair.
Her arms fall away and Tess is back on the edge of her consciousness, between awake and asleep and wondering which way she should go.
She hears something, and she brings herself back into her body. The train whistle is sounding, and it drowns out the sound of her phone vibrating on the seat next to her. When she exits the train a few minutes later, the phone is dead.
Hey, it’s Tess. Leave a message! BEEP!
Hey, I just wanted to make sure you made it safe. Call me, ok? I- uh… we really miss you.
Her apartment is a shoebox in the heart of a bustling city. She finds an old bike in a yard sale and spruces it up, giving it a baby blue paint job and a basket. She never worries about it being stolen, she always finds a place to park it, and her locks are impenetrable. She gets a job at a cafe, the kind of place that houses open mic nights on the weekends and caters to vegan runners and the stubborn elders who grumble about the price increases every day but still come back for their black coffee.
Sundays she goes to the farmer’s market and brings home yellow flowers and whatever vegetables have the most color. She wanders down to the pier sometimes and breathes in the ocean air, marveling at its wildness, falling in love with the foam and seaweed. She sits in the park with a book, barely skimming the pages, using oversized sunglasses to disguise her people-watching.
Some days she can’t leave her room, holding CDs to her ear like Isabel showed her how to do and listening to sad, whiny pop boys and cigarette-husky women talk about dying for love or loving the dying. She grinds up loose-leaf tea with pot and rolls joints on the carpet leaning off her bed, blowing big puffs of smoke and letting it gather like a heavy fog so she can wave her hand through and change its colors. Her own personal aurora borealis.
When the sun sets and the 9-5 workers go home to their wives and home-cooked meals and Tess can feel the ache settling into the space between her ribs, she dons her shortest skirt and enters the closest throng of other desperate, wild, lonely bodies.
She’s perched on the edge of the bar, leaning over so the bartender can hear her over the thump, thump of the music when a leather jacket and short, curly brown hair catches her eye.
“What’re you having?” the bartender pulls her back.
“Rum and coke,” she over-enunciates.
When she looks back, this time a pair of sparkling eyes and a smirk set into impossibly pink lips are zeroed in on her. She quirks an eyebrow and grabs her drink from the bar, pulling a wrinkled dollar from her pocket and leaving a crisp 10 on the coaster. He follows her to a table as far away from the speakers as possible.
“That can’t be good for the local economy,” he says by way of greeting.
“Capitalism may rule this world but as I am not from this world…”
“Where’s everybody else?”
She pauses, takes a sip of her drink, grimaces, grabs the salt shaker, and pours some into her glass, trying it again. Sean DeLuca waits patiently, his mouth quirked into an amused and familiar smile, not even questioning her.
“It’s just me here. I kinda set off on my own.”
He nods, like some wise sage. Like he’s been exactly where she is now. Like he knows anything about her. She taps her fingernails on the tabletop, feeling the fire build up in the back of her throat, coating her tongue.
“Look, I know we don’t know each other very well, and I don’t like to bullshit people,” his voice is gravelly and soft, low enough that she has to lean in. She’s almost annoyed at the slight tinge of pink she can see creeping up his neck, the twinkle in the corner of his eye, the way his hand rattles nervously on his knee under the table.
“You think you don’t need people, that you’ll be fine without them, but you’re just fooling yourself,” he says, shrugging and shaking his head at her.
After a few more rounds of drinks (mostly by her), a few more songs on the dance floor (his hands barely grazing her hips even though they were melded together), one sloppy kiss (???), and a twisted ankle later (hers), he shuffles her back to her apartment.
She dropped her keys on the mat and he picked them up. She threw her phone on the counter and he plugged it in. She collapsed on her bed and he carefully removed her shoes, gave her a makeup wipe, and turned on her night light.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” she mumbled, eyes closed and reaching out into the dark for him. Sighing resolutely, he shimmied himself under her blanket and gathered her up in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
Just as she drifted off to sleep, caught up in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the comforting heat radiating from his body, she heard him whisper…
“Hey, I’m the fuck-up, remember? So why are you playing a page right out of the DeLuca handbook?”
Hey, this is my new number! Liz helped me get a cell phone and now I can call anyone I want! Well, ok, within reason. I only have so many minutes of call time a month. But, like, you could call me on this number and I promise to pick up. Ok? Ok. Call me!
Sean was gone when she woke up, but there was a glass of water and some Advil on her bedside table with a little note. Hope you find your place, Tess. ♥
She lasted another week before she came back to her apartment after work (9.5 hours with two “cigarette breaks” and half a sandwich scarfed down standing up in the walk-in cooler) with $12 in her pocket and a burn on her hand from grabbing a plate that had been in the window for too long, gathered up the clothes she could fit in her suitcase, grabbed what snacks she had left, and walked out. She left the key on the hook by the door and a note that said “Keep the deposit, thanks for everything,” but she left the door unlocked, almost hoping a random vagrant would be able to squat there for a while.
It was raining, which gave her a wry sort of cinematic, performative, pathetic landscape to hail her cab in. She checked her phone, but it was surprisingly devoid of any notifications. Her fingers tapped the buttons and typed out a cautious sentence, and then deleted it immediately.
What do you say to the person who begged you not to leave that you’re now running back to?
“On my way” Too presumptuous.
“Sorry for leaving, I know now that you are my home and my family and I never want to be without you again” Too sappy.
“I’m heading to the airport now. I can’t wait to see you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.” Too…
She stares at the words, letting tears gather in her eyes and blurring them together until they’re just wobbly black and white nothings. Her eyelids and tears fall down, tumbling and pushing each other out of the way. Hot and wet they land on her fingers and the screen, magnifying the words now, showing the flaws in their simplicity, the way she’s saying exactly what she feels but it’s still not enough to explain herself.
She flings her consciousness out wide, like arms you throw exasperated in an argument, reaching out and grasping for contact, for violence, for understanding, for comfort, for-
Her eyes open and she’s on the street under a single lamppost, looking into the Crashdown Cafe.
Liz is in uniform, bringing out the last of the pies that will get tossed tonight if they don’t get eaten. Ava is sitting next to Kyle, his arm around her protectively, and she scoops some cream off a slice and places it gently on the tip of his nose. Michael is tucking himself into half a pecan right out of the tray, not bothering with a plate, sitting on the back of the booth with his feet on the seat. Max is behind him in another booth, brooding over a piece of apple pie. Maria is stealing forkfuls from everyone’s plates, singing along to the jukebox machine, dancing against Liz as she walks by. Isabel is standing against the counter, laughing at Kyle and begging Michael to sit like a regular person.
They’re all there, living and laughing and teasing and being.
Tess takes a hesitant step forward.
Ava’s head snaps up and her eyes lock onto hers.
She steps forward again, raising a palm to the window.
Ava reaches out and places her hand on the other side of the glass
“I’m coming,” she mouths.
Ava smiles.
Are you busy?
Um, kinda. Why?
Can you come pick me up from the airport?
Is this a joke?
No.
I’m on my way.
Liz is leaning against the door of the car, arms crossed, watching the security officer at the end of the drive, anxiously wondering if he’ll remind her this is a loading zone. She brings a hand up to her mouth and chews on a hangnail, wincing as she manages to hurt herself without even removing the problem.
The automatic doors open and people exit the terminal with their bags in tow, searching for their rides, looking exhausted and ready to be anywhere but here. Every head of blonde hair sends waves of anxiety up Liz’s spine, her heartbeat racing, her head getting dizzy, a thousand words on the tip of her tongue.
“I don’t see her, you sure she said tonight?” Ava says, lounging in the backseat of the car with her foot up on the center console, unbothered and slightly bored.
She doesn’t answer. She stares at the doors with her hand balled up into a clenched fist until a familiar form emerges from behind a family of five in their matching shirts and Mickey Mouse ears. Ava notices her as well and climbs out of the car.
Tess and Ava lock eyes and break into the same, shy, relieved smile. Tess’s eyes flicker to Liz and her shoulders relax as she looks the girl up and down.
“You’re here,” she says incredulously as she approaches, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously, as though this possibility was not one she had expected.
Ava squeals and throws her arms around Tess hard, almost knocking her over. Liz watches her over Ava’s shoulder and nods. Tess reaches out a hand and Liz rolls her eyes, but steps forward to enter the embrace as well.
Tess squeezes the two girls as hard as she can, barely registering the tears falling from her eyes. She breathes in the scent of them and tries to commit this feeling to memory, tucking it away in her heart somewhere she could always retrieve it and look back on fondly.
When they let go, they stand in a circle holding hands and looking at each other, not really knowing what to say. Their luck runs out and the security guard advises them to move or be towed.
In the car in the backseat with Ava dozing soundly against her shoulder, Tess watches Liz in the rearview mirror. Their eyes meet and there are a million questions and answers and apologies and forgiveness and softness and anger between them.
“How was California?” Liz finally asks, turning her attention back to the road.
Tess shrugs.
“No place like home.”
~ ~ ~