by Clare Lydon
“Alright, kiddo.” She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I would hug you, but I’ll save that till we’re sitting down and I can drop these bags.” As she said it, a tourist ran past and almost knocked Mum over. “Shall we get out of here before I get trampled?”
I took one of her bags before indicating over my shoulder and she followed me. Within five minutes, we were in Soho and in one of my favourite restaurants, which did a fabulous set lunch for prices that didn’t break the bank.
“Lunch is on me,” I said, pulling out my chair.
“I knew I had a daughter for a reason.” Mum gave me the promised hug, which nearly knocked the wind out of me before slotting herself and her shopping into and under the chair.
We ordered from a very smiley waiter, and once the wine had been poured, we relaxed.
“So you are coming home next week?” Mum took one of the bits of French bread and smothered it with butter.
“Course. Unless I get a better offer.”
Mum spluttered. “Charming. You’re going to leave me with your gran and Aunt Ellen? That shows a huge lack of Christmas spirit, if you don’t mind me saying. Especially from one who loves Christmas so much.”
I smiled. “I’m joking — you know I wouldn’t miss it. How is Gran?”
“Gran is great — the usual. And Ellen’s back and itching to go away again already, so no change there either.”
My mum’s mother was faring well, still strong and independent at the age of 75. Her older sister Ellen was also giving old age two fingers at every opportunity, having just returned from a safari in South Africa. I loved spending time with both of them and hoped I was as funny and healthy at their age. Plus, they were both huge red wine fans, so we spent a large chunk of Christmas Day trying new bottles — hence they tended to be a little boozy. Which was exactly the way my gran planned it, so she could then clean up at poker in the evening. She always seemed to miraculously sober up at that point.
“So what better offer are you waiting for?” Mum asked, as the food was brought to the table. French classic beef bourguignon for her, coq au vin for me.
I shook my head. “I was joking — I’ll be there.”
Mum chewed her mouthful before replying. “Nothing to do with Nicola Sheen?”
I cast my eyes down. “No. We ran into each other yesterday and that is done and dusted.” I relayed the story to Mum and she clicked her tongue in response, an annoying habit I knew well. It meant she had more to say, but she was holding back for now.
“And what did Holly have to say?”
“I didn’t see her last night — she was out with work people.”
“What’s she doing for Christmas?” Mum took a sip of her wine, but kept her eyes focused on me.
“The usual,” I replied. “Some time with her dad, some time with her mum and nobody’s happy. Always makes me value our Christmases even more when I hear about hers.”
Mum chewed slowly. “She should come to ours — the more the merrier.”
“I’m sure she’d jump at the chance,” I said, waving my knife in the air. “But you know, family politics.”
“Well, the offer’s there if she changes her mind.” Mum raised an eyebrow, then carried on eating.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Hmmm?”
“That,” I said, mimicking her movement. “The eyebrow raise, the ‘wait and see’ look.”
Mum shrugged. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about.” She ate some more food and put her fork down. “So tell me about some of these dates you went on. They sound like a hoot. Especially the one where you fell asleep on the loo.”
After the Dixie Chicks tickets and all the grief I’d put her through, I knew I owed Holly big time. So I texted to say I’d meet her at home that night. After I left my mum with our Christmas plans ringing in my ears, I stopped off at Marks & Spencer and bought one of their meal deals, ready to grovel to Holly. And if that didn’t work, I bought extra chocolate and wine for added back-up. After all, one bottle of wine was never enough in these situations.
When I got home, the flat was dark and quiet — Holly wasn’t home yet. I switched the Christmas tree lights to a cool mood setting, then flicked on the others before adding some candles to the mix. Then I selected a chilled playlist on Spotify and set all the food out ready on the counter. I wanted Holly to know I’d made an effort, even if actually cooking the food was a little beyond my skillset.
The next thing I knew, Holly was gently shaking me awake — wine at lunchtime always made me sleepy.
“Hey,” she said, her hand on my shoulder. “Are you trying to burn the place down? Because I really don’t think we need Nicola Sheen coming over again this evening, do you?”
I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Agreed, we definitely don’t want that.” I yawned and stretched both arms above my head, my groan timed with a train rumbling by outside. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Holly replied. She looked around. “Is this all for me?”
I nodded. “I was trying to make it...” The word romantic popped into my head, but that didn’t seem right. Or did it? “Relaxing.” Definitely a better choice of word.
“I’m honoured.” Holly paused. “Let me dump my bags and I’ll be right out.”
I stood up, brushing myself down in an attempt to shake the sleep from my system. I checked my watch — I’d been out for nearly an hour. Shit, I really could have burned the place down. Note to self: must take steps to try not to become a serial arsonist.
I put the oven on and was piercing film lids when Holly reappeared. She was wearing jeans and a distressed black T-shirt that sat just so on her body as if she’d been dressed by Tyra Banks. That’s what comes of being so tall — clothes just work on you. For Holly, the biggest gripe was women’s tops being too short and not covering her stomach. As she often pointed out, crop tops were never a good look on anyone, let alone accidental versions.
“So you’re cooking me dinner to apologise for being a crap friend, is that right?” Holly was leaning against the counter and grinning at me. “And when I say cooking, I mean it in the loosest sense of the word,” she added.
I glanced at her, my knife poised above a container of tenderstem broccoli. “Hey, nothing screams ‘I’m sorry!’ like an M&S meal deal. Fact.” I waved the knife around. “Look it up on the internet, it’ll totally say so.”
Holly crossed her arms, an amused smile playing on her lips. “So what’s for dinner, MasterChef?”
“Well,” I said, tapping the black plastic containers. “For mains, we’ve got duck breast fillets with soy, honey and ginger, and I bought some chips as an extra side.”
“An extra side? You’re really pushing the boat out.” Holly paused. “And what’s for dessert? Have you ordered burlesque dancers followed by high-class escorts and cocaine?”
I clicked my fingers together. “Damn, I knew there was something I forgot — gimme two ticks and I’ll go order the cocaine.”
Holly laughed as I put the food in the oven.
“Should take about 20 minutes,” I said. “Beer to start?”
“Beer would be perfect.” She paused. “Did you buy those too?”
“No, you did.” I passed her a beer and we sat on the sofa, facing each other.
“So you’re keeping up this beer drinking thing then?”
I nodded, taking a swig. “See, I didn’t even wince then, did I?” There was jubilation in my voice.
“You did not,” Holly replied. “Well done, I think?” She paused. “How’s your mum?”
I nodded. “Really good. Excited about Christmas and she’s got me even more excited about it now, too.”
Holly pulled a face. “Glad someone is — we’re rapidly approaching one of the most anti-climactic weeks of my year. Christmas and my birthday in one, and every year my parents choose to celebrate it by arguing. Happy holidays!” Holly bent a leg up on the sofa and hugged it to her chest.
I wanted to make it all better for her, but knew I couldn’t.
“My mum invited you to ours — you’ve done it before, remember? Maybe you should do it this year too? Reclaim Christmas and your birthday and make them your own.”
Holly gave me a tepid smile. “A nice plan, but I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if I did that, and then I’d just have to deal with warring parents on the phone rather than in my face.”
“But wouldn’t that be better?”
Holly shrugged. “They’d find a way to ruin it, whatever.”
“Just think about it — for me?” I pulled my extra-special pout, the one Holly could never turn down.
She put up her hand to shield her face. “Not the pout!” she said. “Save me from the pout!” She paused. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “But staying serious for a minute, I do want to say sorry again — about everything. I was an idiot and we’re worth so much more than any love interest in my life. We’ve been through so much together, and that matters.” A train rumbled past and I waited before continuing.
“So tonight is my very humble and really not quite grand enough way of starting to say sorry. But this is only the beginning. For a start, I’m paying for the Dixie Chicks tickets, taking you out to dinner beforehand, and will also buy you another night out, all expenses paid. You deserve it.”
Holly’s face registered surprise, then she curled her mouth up into a smile that reached her eyes. I hoped I was fulfilling my part of the bargain, of taking responsibility for my mistakes.
“To us,” I said, holding up my bottle. “Whatever life throws at us, let’s always stay friends and have each other’s back, no matter what.”
Holly raised her beer bottle back towards mine. “To us,” she said, fixing me with her gaze. “I’ve always had your back, and I always will.”
My stomach dropped as she looked into my eyes. I recognised the feeling in the pit of my stomach, but it wasn’t a feeling I was used to having with Holly.
Excitement. Attraction. Desire.
I opened my eyes wide as the shock of the revelation jolted my heart, but I managed to control my breathing and style it out. However, when I gazed at Holly’s face, I was pretty sure I saw just what I was feeling reflected right back at me.
Holy batshit. Was this what Nicola had meant when she’d said we could never have a relationship with Holly around? And was this what all my mum’s raised eyebrows and unspoken questions had been about too? Did Holly like me like that? It was far too many questions for my brain to cope with. As I stared at Holly, my clit twitched and I closed my eyes.
Then I shot up from the sofa, ignoring the static in the air and the fluttering in my chest. If I was about to have a heart attack, this was not the best time for it. I’d thought tonight, of all nights, was going to be complication-free, but apparently not.
“I’m just going to check the dinner.” I scooted over to the oven, avoiding looking at Holly for fear I might blurt something out or give something away — what, I wasn’t quite sure.
“You only just put it in.”
She was right, of course.
“Yeah, but I was just thinking that perhaps I should have seasoned the duck.”
When I turned, my gaze fell on Holly and my vision went blurry. It was as if I’d been seeing her one way my whole life, and now, someone had flipped a switch and Holly was a femme fatale. In grey furry slippers. Her short, dark hair flopped adorably on to her forehead, a lot less fussy than it would have been had we been going out tonight. Her T-shirt now clung to all the right places and I blushed as my gaze stopped momentarily on Holly’s breasts before looking away quickly.
“Do you think I should season the duck?” I opened the cupboard to look for seasoning. Then I looked back to Holly. “What does seasoning mean, exactly? I’ve never known that, it always seems a bit general, doesn’t it?” I was babbling, which was strangely reassuring. It meant I was reacting as I normally did when I liked someone.
But now Holly was putting down her beer and walking over to me, and I wasn’t sure I could take such close proximity now that the cat was out of the bag and my heart was telling me its deepest, darkest secrets. I might implode if she came within three feet of me.
When I’d thought about getting together with Nicola, there had always been something holding me back, always been a missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Something beyond the fact she was a relative stranger with personal baggage galore.
Standing here in front of Holly, there were no questions, no what-ifs. The puzzle was complete and everything slotted into place. I knew everything there was to know about Holly and I liked it all. I’d been so busy running around and creating drama, I hadn’t stopped to see what was right in front of me. And what was right in front of me was so much more than an image on a dating app. Holly was a 3D person and she was everything I was looking for.
However, the prospect of acting on that piece of the puzzle was absolutely terrifying, because what if it went wrong? I risked losing everything. Our friendship, my home, my security — and my love for Holly. Because I did love her, I always had as a friend. But turning it into something more? That was too much to comprehend.
“What do you mean, what’s seasoning?” Holly asked.
What was she talking about? My mind drew a blank. Seasoning? I’d been hit with a startling new revelation in my life, and Holly was talking about seasoning?
But no, hang on, I’d been talking about seasoning, hadn’t I? The rest had been an internal dialogue with just me participating. Right, I remembered now. Seasoning.
I blinked.
Holly furrowed her brow. “You okay? You’re acting very strangely.”
The heat from her body was leaping on to mine and I felt dizzy. Weak. I had to focus.
“Fine,” I said. I buried my head back inside the cupboard so she couldn’t see the panic written in pink highlighter on my face or the fear currently lodged squarely in my chest and throat. What if I vomited all over her? I really shouldn’t have had that tiramisu dessert with my mum at lunchtime.
“So which seasoning did you say?” My head was still in the cupboard. “I’ve got Cajun, nutmeg, coriander, mixed herbs.” I twisted the small pots of herbs to read their labels.
Holly touched my arm lightly. “Tori, come out of the cupboard.”
But her touch on my arm made me leap into the air. In doing so, I managed to knock a couple of the pots of herbs from the shelf, and they bounced off the kitchen counter and on to the floor. Luckily, they were made of plastic so they didn’t smash. I turned to pick them up, but Holly was already on her haunches.
I dropped down to the floor myself to help her out, as one of the herbs had flipped open and a mass of dried oregano was now littering the kitchen floor.
Holly grabbed the dustpan and brush from the under-sink cupboard and as she bent back down, we came face to face with each other. And when I looked at her, something changed. My brain flipped to romance mode, and everywhere I looked, my vision was misted and objects airbrushed. It was as if my mind had just installed a photo editor and was trying out every happy filter possible. Right now, my whole world was set to Sunshine and Yellow Glow.
I stared at Holly.
She stared at me.
I dropped my gaze to the spilled herbs, but when I looked back up, she hadn’t taken her eyes off me. My heart rate revved like a motorcycle engine and blood zipped around my veins. Was I about to pass out or about to kiss my best friend of a million years? I couldn’t be certain which way this one was going to go.
But it turned out that Holly was sure, so the passing out option was bypassed.
Before I could react, Holly’s lips were pressing into mine, soft, firm and beery. She didn’t try to rush, she just let her lips linger and caress, stroking across mine, taking her time. The effects of her kiss shot through my body with utmost force, causing my fingers and toes to curl, holding on for dear life. It was sublime an
d it was happening to me. With Holly.
I sunk into the kiss with my best friend, and magic pulsed in the air around us. The trains wound down, light increased and there was a ringing in my ears, but it was a happy sound. Our lips slipped over each other like they’d been made to measure, whispering a secret to each other they’d been bursting to tell. But the secret was out now, and there was no way of putting it back.
I’ve no way of knowing how long we kissed, but eventually Holly gently pulled away. She held me by the top of my arm, a smile playing on her lips. She went to say something, her eyes locked on mine, but then she just pressed her lips back on to mine lightly before pulling back again.
When I opened my eyes, the world felt brighter, shinier, more defined. I’d kissed a lot of women before, but I’d never been kissed like Holly had just kissed me. This was so much more than just a kiss.
“Your lips feel pretty good,” she said before kissing me again.
“So do yours.” I reapplied my lips to hers and I felt it right where I was meant to.
This shit was getting real, but I wasn’t scared. Rather, I wanted to clutch our possibilities, because right now, they seemed limitless. Especially when my lips were on hers and nothing seemed impossible.
I only stopped kissing when we nearly toppled over, both of us still down on our haunches, the herbs still on the floor.
When I looked at Holly, I was stuck for words. None of them seemed adequate for what had just happened.
“So this is... interesting,” I said finally. “Kissing — we don’t normally do that.”
Holly smiled, then shook her head. “No, we don’t.”
“And when we do, we do it squatting on our kitchen floor.”
Holly laughed. “It’s a first for me. For you too?”
I rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Yep. I’m a kitchen floor kissing virgin.”
I stood upright and offered a hand to Holly.