by A. E. Radley
When she pulled into her neighborhood, she slowed. There were lights on every house. They lit up the street, turning it into an over-bright display of Christmas spirit or, in the case of certain houses decked to the nines, Christmas competition. People were out still, walking dogs, saying hi. Windows were lit and inside trees stood tall and brilliant. Cars lined the streets, parked nose to bumper along the curb. Dana allowed herself to finally just feel happy about the holiday. About the love and the warmth and hope and cookies and all the shit that had always been worth looking forward to all year.
Dana pulled into the driveway. Their house was like every other house on the street. Upper middle class, two stories with an extra space in the basement. Blinking, multi-colored lights strung along the gutters and door frame. Dana's favorite feature, though, was the second story balcony just barely visible from the driveway. Small, and only accessible through the guest room (her parents hadn't trusted either of them to have easy access to the outdoors), it had a wrought iron railing and a view of the woods behind the house.
A single, orange glow was up there. So small it was almost lost in the holiday blitz.
Dana's body lurched to a stop, despite her car having been idle for a minute. The buzzing feel-goods from her encounter at the shop were still there, but something somber crept in. Margot was up there. She was smoking in the dark. Bridget was out somewhere, ignoring her friend on Christmas Eve.
It was time to let go of the crush. It was cold enough that she felt it as soon as the car was off, no longer blowing high-blast heat.
Dana sighed, her breath already beginning to fog. So she'd kissed a girl. So what? It was nice. She could leave it at that for a while. And she was allowed to have been in love with her older sister's best friend. That...that was normal. Margot had been around, cool and mysterious, during Dana's formative years. She was hip, she was beautiful, and most importantly, she was kind. And had been kind each and every time Dana had clamored to try and hang out with them.
It would be...okay. It would be okay to be her friend. Dana needed to be a friend right now. Like handing out a hug to someone who needed it or making sure someone had a gift that made them feel special. Joking with a Santa who'd had people all over him all day. That was Christmas. It was her mom's deep worry about her daughters and her ability to love them anyway. She felt sheepish, small, for only a moment. Her internal agonizing seemed extra selfish, if only because of the time of year. It wasn't about what the people she loved and the universe were giving to her.
It was about what she could give back.
Dana grabbed her gift and headed inside.
CHAPTER 10
Her parents were snuggling on the couch and watching "Love, Actually." It was her mom's favorite, and Dana was glad her parents were doing something cozy together. The house was quiet, especially compared to the sense of family and community she'd witnessed at her neighbors homes. It was different, this quiet, but she found she didn't feel upset about it.
She'd changed at college, like her mom had noticed, but so had the entire house. It was okay that things were different now. It would just take getting used to.
Dana stopped outside of the guest room. Margot was still smoking outside, but Dana didn't want to intrude. She knocked gently, hoping it was enough for her to hear. There was no answer. She risked a louder knock, hoping it didn't disturb her parents downstairs.
There was a lull, and then the door cracked open. Margot's eyes were red. She'd been crying. "Oh, hey, Dana."
"You still hanging outside? I saw you when I pulled in."
"Oh, yeah." Margot looked past Dana's shoulder.
"May I sit with you?"
There was a pause, and Dana prepared herself for rejection. It wouldn't hurt, not like it might have only hours before. The holiday energy was still humming inside of her and she understood that if Margot said no, it wasn't about Dana. It was about a need to be alone, and that was okay. She'd just hand over the gift and leave. But Margot moved and pulled the door wider. "Sure, why not?"
Dana stepped in and made her way through the thin glass door to the second floor balcony. The air didn't just nip, it bit. It was cold, the temperature still dropping with the sun having set. It wasn't dark; the lights strung on every house chased away the black and made it impossible to see any stars, but the balcony, free from the multi-colored bulbs, remained in shadow. Like a tiny closet, perfect for hiding in.
"I didn't know you smoked," Dana said, standing near the railing and looking out at the blackened outlines of pines in the backyard. There was a small creek that ran behind the houses that had frozen over a few nights before, its normally running waters turning white and reflective in swirls and waves of ice. It was invisible now, tucked away in the night.
"It's a rare thing," Margot said, and she came to stand next to Dana, close but not touching. For her part, Dana tried not to focus on that not-touching distance, where the absence of contact felt almost as tangible as skin on skin. It was close enough to feel the energy of potential. "I used to smoke a lot in high school. Bridget and I would bum them off boys, or split a pack in the parking lot. But then she'd start flirting and inevitably go off with one into the woods to drink or smoke pot or do whatever."
"Has she always done that?"
"What, sleep around? Yeah. I used to think it was like, low self-esteem or something. But Bridget's the most self-possessed person I know. She just...listens to herself. When she wants something, she goes and gets it."
"I meant has she always left you behind? Like the mall? Or tonight?"
Margot shifted so she faced Dana, one hip leaning on the railing. "She's always left both of us, Dana. It's okay. Honestly--did it ever bother you that she hopped around so much? That she wasn't ever-present?"
Chewing on her cheek, Dana tried to remember. To recall examples. All she could think of when she thought of Bridget was Margot. That, and the biting sarcasm that occasionally had reduced Dana to tears. "No, it didn't bother me. We don't do well if we spend too much time together."
Margot's laugh was silver bells. "I know. I used to give her a hard time for coming down on you so much. You just wanted to be near her, to be like her."
The darkness was a gift, hiding the blush Dana knew was blasting off her face. "Sure. Is it really okay that she left tonight? While you're here?"
A gust of wind blew, hard enough her ears stung and she was forced to shove her hands in her pockets. Dana's fingers wrapped around the box holding the perfume, safe in the confines of her jacket. She rubbed at its edges like a good luck charm.
"It's fucking freezing out here. I have a blanket on the bench--do you want to share?"
Dana nodded, unable to speak. Her heart was in her throat. They made their way to the bench in the dark, the muffled shuffle of their shoes on old wood the only sound. Margot sat first and Dana sat next to her, allowing Margot to cover them both with a large comforter. Instantly, she felt better, the heat from their bodies trapped by the downy blanket. It kept out the wind. It cocooned them. It brought them close enough Dana worried Margot would feel the furious beating of her heart.
Once comfortable, Margot began to speak. "It bothers me a little tonight. But Bridget really likes this one. She's stayed with him for almost eight months now. It's like a Christmas miracle." Dana winced; Margot wasn't trying to hide the acid in her tone. Before she could comment, Margot continued. "It's my fault, really. My friendship with your sister is...complicated. Like I said, she sees what she wants and gets it. But she's not terribly good at seeing what other people might want."
The fight in the kitchen. Bridget hurling out the spiteful accusation that Margot had been inconvenienced by Dana's lingering. Dana wondered if something more had been going on. Bridget had always been a bit covetous of her things. Sharing wasn't in her repertoire. Bits of conversations unraveled then rewove themselves into a new narrative. Memories shifted, the perspective changed. Understanding bloomed and it didn't sting, but smelled of shared experienc
e.
"Why aren't you with your parents?"
A hard, brittle chuckle. Margot's body brushed hers with it. "They were too good at seeing what other people want."
Dana squeezed her eyes shut, denying the tears that threatened to fall. She ached all over anew, but it wasn't for her own selfish disappointment. All her fears had been simple; how might that kiss with Lauren change how people saw her? But she'd never truly worried about her family. They may not have understood it, not fully, but Dana realized she didn't want to tell her parents yet solely because she was still figuring herself out. She'd be confident in telling them when she knew what she was telling time.
Margot knew who she was and who she loved and she was being punished two fold for it.
"They...didn't invite you? Because of your feelings for Bridget?" Dana risked a glance at Margot's face. Their eyes locked. The neighbor's Christmas lights painted Margot's face in reds and greens and oranges. It didn't mask her pain.
"Not just Bridget. I mean, there have been others. But yes. I told them I was gay and they told me they didn't want to see me again."
Margot waited. Dana could see the expectation, the anticipation of reaction. Dana leaned in and threw an arm over Margot's shoulder, awkwardly shifting the blanket with her. "This must be a hard Christmas for you. I'm sorry. I'm glad you're here." She hugged Margot and for once didn't get lost in the personal feelings that would normally accompany the contact. She held a friend who was hurting and hurt with her. Margot stiffened but didn't protest.
When she let go and sat back, Margot remained taut. Dana smiled. "I have a gift for you."
The girl's forehead knit. "A gift? Why?"
"Because it's Christmas and I wanted to get you something."
"You didn't have to do that."
"If I had to do it, it wouldn't be a gift. It would be an obligation. Do you want it now? Or tomorrow morning when we all open gifts?"
Margot exhaled, her body releasing. Dana felt it as she sank back, coming to rest a smidge closer. "Now, I guess."
Dana slipped the box out and handed it over. "Merry Christmas, Margot."
She waited as Margot pulled her arms free of the blanket, fingers shaking with cold as she unwrapped the small box. It was deeply satisfying to hear the small gasp when its contents were revealed. A rush of warmth heated Dana from the tips of her ears to her toes.
"This is too nice," Margot whispered softly. "How did you know?"
"At the mall the other day. Bridget teased you about your old lady scent. But the woman at the counter told me it was classic."
"Dana...I can't accept this. How on earth did you afford it?"
Dana recalled the strength of the hug shared with the saleswoman. How tightly the woman's arms had squeezed. She borrowed that strength now. "I figured it out. You can accept it. I want to give it to you, okay."
Worry crept through Margot's features. "Dana--" She didn't finish, but she didn't have to. There was a warning there, gentle but clear.
Shrugging, Dana tipped her head to the side. "Look. It was a strange semester for me. I kissed a girl the night before I drove home for the holiday. You're only the second person I've told. It messed with my head. I was already struggling with being so far from home, and feeling alone, and not knowing where I fit in at my school...and then bam. Making out with a girl in a pickup truck."
"You kissed a girl in a pickup? That's like, super gay for your first kiss. I'm kind of impressed." Margot joked, but she remained tight. A deer ready to spring at the hint of a predator.
"I know, right?" Dana leaned back--and away--giving Margot space. She looked up at the night sky, despite the light pollution making everything black. It was cloudy enough there was no moon. They might actually have the elusive North Carolina snow on Christmas. "Anyway, sorry. It's made me weird this holiday. Am I gay? Am I exploring? Did I just like having someone pay attention to me?" She turned a side eye to Margot. "You paid attention to me. You were always so nice and you're so beautiful. I've pretty much had the biggest crush on you since forever, and when I saw you were here for the holidays...I don't know. It felt like a punishment for how I was feeling. For what I did."
Air hissed through Margot's teeth. Her breath puffed a second later. "You shouldn't feel punished by my presence. Or for what you did. It was just a kiss."
"I know." Dana held a hand up, ignoring the screaming in her exposed fingers. She looked at the front of her hand, then the back, skin blue in the shadows. "I'm over it. I mean, not the kiss. And really it was a lot of kisses. Making out. We made out. It was amazing. I'll probably kiss another girl at some point. Maybe more girls. Maybe I'll do more than kissing. But I know you aren't a punishment. You're being punished by your parents, and man, that sucks. I'm super sorry."
"What..." Margot glanced at the perfume box, still in her hand. "What do you think happens now?"
"Oh. Well, before, I might have hoped that I'd give you the perfume and you'd see me as, you know, not your best friend's weird little sister. And we'd like, kiss or something. But now? Now I think I'll sit out here and you can talk about whatever you need to talk about. Or not, it's up to you. You can smoke or not smoke. If you need to be alone, you can be alone. I can go watch the movie with my parents or read or something. This house is a safe place for you, you know. And I can be a safe person. A friend. With no expectations. And that?" She pointed to the perfume. "It's a gift. When you spray it, just remember each time that you'll always have a friend in me."
Speaking about her feelings was an unburdening. A christening of sorts. Dana felt born again under the garish, blinking lights. Somewhere someone was slurring "Deck the Halls" in their yard, an off-tune version of drunk caroling, she supposed. It had taken all of her time home, up until Christmas Eve, to stop being an ass. Dana knew she'd be an ass again, too. She was eighteen and she was beginning to understand that she didn't know shit. But she'd had a good day. And she felt like she could have another good day on Christmas, no matter that happened.
"Or we can go grab some cookies and watch Netflix on my computer," Margot said. When Dana raised an eyebrow, the other woman shrugged. "I mean actual watching Netflix, not the 'Netflix and chill.' I've got too much going on for all that, and you are my best friend's little sister."
It was easy to smile. "That sounds good. I'm going to change into pajamas and grab the cookies, okay?"
"Okay."
Dana started to get up but Margot grabbed her wrist, tugging her back to the bench. Pulling her close. Margot released her hold, only to put her palm, hot on Dana's wind-chilled cheek. Dana forgot how to breathe. "Thank you for telling me. About the kiss. And about your crush on me. It's...it's nice to know at least one Tanner finds me attractive."
"I don't know what to say to that," Dana whispered, too afraid to move.
"It means you're my best friend's little sister. And eighteen is a bit young for me...for now. But I'd like to give you a gift, since you gave me one. And then we'll pretend none of this happened and we'll stew in our feelings, and you'll go back to school and meet an amazing girl who will teach all the ways a kiss is just the start. Okay?"
Biting her lip, Dana only nodded. Barely even that, not wanting to dislodge the hand. Margot smirked, looking scared and knowing at the same time, before leaning in close enough that the wet heat of her breath danced over Dana's lips.
A space of time. A shared breath.
Margot closed the distance and kissed Dana. Her lips were soft. The kiss was different from Lauren's. Less demanding. Sweeter. Gentle. Dana found herself smiling into the kiss, pressing back, savoring it. This moment was infinitely better than any imagining, any fantasy she'd had. It was real, it filled her in ways she hadn't expected. She wished she could tell that Santa at the mall that she'd gotten what she wanted for Christmas and more.
When they parted, it was over. A memory that Dana carefully and quickly encapsulated in her mind, hanging it like a cherished ornament. "You're good at gift giving," she said to Margot.<
br />
She went to change into pajamas and grab cookies.
The End.
ABOUT EM STEVENS
Em Stevens has been writing since a back injury in her early 20's forced her to stay still long enough to try putting a novel on paper. She fell in love. She's written under several pen names but has found her home in lesbian fiction. She lives in Raleigh, which is often featured in her stories. When not writing, she enjoys lifting weights, reading, and playing video games. You can find her at www.emstevenswrites.com.
STOCK TAKE BY NATASHA WEST
Copyright © 2018 by Natasha West
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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CHAPTER 1
Emily Garrison couldn’t believe it was happening again. It was the third time. Each time a bit worse than the last. She’d said nothing about it before, just gone along with it. But this was the bloody limit.
‘What do you mean I’m promoted?’ she demanded of her boss, Martin, the store manager.
‘Team leader for electronics. It’s £1.53 extra an hour. And you get your own office. It’s the size of a shoe box, but…’
‘But I didn’t apply for the job!’ Emily wailed.
‘Yes, I know. But I looked at your original application and you ticked all the boxes for this job.’