Chapter Text
3 Weeks Until the Wedding
Ava is not one to spend much time on anything. Mary has actually told her off once or twice for a distinct lack of preparation she does for most of her clients, but she’s a fast sketcher and an equally fast tattoo artist. Where another artist may take three hours to tattoo a piece, she would likely take two. It’s partially the fact that she has a solid grip on her tattoo machine and partially that she does her work with confidence that doesn’t invite hesitation.
She will sketch three options for most of her clients based on their requests. The longest session she’s ever had a client sit for was six hours because pain tolerance slips off right around then no matter how tough you are.
With the rest of her life, Ava takes a very non-committal view of things. Life, for as long as she’s lived it (twenty-six years and counting), has been a game of trial and error. Things that work and things that don’t. What doesn’t serve her is often thrown right out as soon as it declares itself more difficult than its worth.
It’s why Ava’s never really learned how to cook beyond some instant noodles, pizza (most of which parts she buys half made already), and instant mac n cheese. She can pay someone else to do it better and faster and her attention span just wasn’t built for these sorts of things. There is wisdom in knowing your strengths and weaknesses, after all.
However, the things that do work? Ava is willing to revisit them over and over until she can no longer find joy in them. It’s why tattooing stuck, two and a half years of an apprenticeship proved to Ava and Mary that Ava wasn’t just good at it, she loved doing it. Riding a motorcycle? Joy. Playing video games? Joy. Getting high with her friends? Joy.
Falling in love with Beatrice? Joy.
It’s only been three days since their date to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and for the life of her, Ava can’t remember a time when she hoped that things would never change–that she would never stop feeling just like this. Ava lives in the moment–the present. She’s never been great at planning and when she does it’s only a year or so at a time. It’s how she’s able to keep such a nonchalant attitude most of the time, taking nothing seriously meant that expectations remained low and her sight was usually set on making the most of things.
But now? Now she wants to bottle this feeling and take it like a drug every morning. She wants it for as long as Beatrice will have her. And life will tell her that it’s unreasonable to expect that sort of joyful consistency, but Ava swears here and now that she’ll do everything she can to keep this.
In the three days since their date Ava and Beatrice have spent nearly every moment they weren’t working together. Ava knows that if Mary or Shannon or JC or Michael dropped a joke about the u-haul nature of their relationship, they wouldn’t be very far off from the truth, but Ava can’t find it in her to care (or to bring it up with Beatrice).
Right now, the tattoo artist is waiting for Beatrice to get home, home being Beatrice’s apartment tonight. Beatrice has had longer days and later nights now that it’s May and spring weddings are in full swing. Ava has kept the spare key (at Beatrice’s insistence) and maybe she’s also taken to wearing Beatrice’s clothes instead of her own, and maybe she has a toothbrush next to Beatrice’s and maybe she has a favorite cup as well (all evidence that they may have indeed u-hauled since their date three days ago).
It’s around eight pm now and Ava had arrived about an hour ago, immediately taking a shower and then taking a seat on Beatrice’s small couch. Her favorite thing about showering at Beatrice’s? She gets to use her soap and shampoo and Beatrice’s unique smell envelopes her like a warm hug.
Endearingly, Beatrice doesn’t have a television. When Ava had asked her about it, Beatrice had said that she has a small projector that she turns on occasionally if she wants to curl up on the couch and watch something (which is very cute and Ava had demanded that they do that for their next binge-watching date). Most of the time, Beatrice will watch things on her laptop or iPad, but she prefers reading anyways. Ava doesn’t mind curling up on the cozy worn-in couch with her phone as she waits.
In truth, Ava hasn’t had a ton of time to herself. It’s not necessarily like she wants to be alone (she wants to be with Beatrice, it’s this insane feeling–like she can’t get enough of her but times infinity. It’s the addictive new relationship feeling, the honeymoon phase). But being alone isn’t unwelcome. She hasn’t had time to process everything–to truly sit with her feelings and the whirlwind that was their first official date.
It was…magic. Is that corny? Yes. Is it true? Yes.
Ava knew going into the date that it was going to be special, she had felt the tension and anticipation the whole time, but to get to spend quality time with Beatrice and know that there was intention and clarity behind everything that Beatrice did–that Beatrice wanted to really take the time to apologize and give her room to feel angry or sad, meant an unfathomable amount to Ava.
The past few days since the date have felt like a dream.
Ava’s had people pursue her in the past, she’s had many flings and one long-term relationship. There was nothing particularly wrong with her past experiences. No one had made her feel small, or petty, or heartbroken. But no one had made her feel quite this way either.
Special.
Like Ava was a goddamn priceless thing to Beatrice.
And holy shit, to have all of Beatrice’s attention? Addicting.
And if Ava’s already nearly memorized Beatrice’s letter from that night (and neatly folded it and saved it in a new box under her bed so that she can keep it) that’s her business. Beatrice has made a habit (is three days enough to catalog a new habit?) of leaving notes for Ava everywhere. Those post-its that Beatrice has all over her apartment now litter the inside of Ava’s backpack and sketchbooks. It’s a new habit that Ava adds to her things she hopes never stops. She keeps every single one and it’s not the sentiment that drives her to do it–no. She knows that she’ll have hundreds by next month if she keeps collecting them. It’s just that Ava wants Beatrice to write new ones and know that Ava’s reading them.
That everything that Beatrice writes is worth reading and that Ava’s paying attention to every word. God, it’s disgusting how stupidly she’s smiling to herself right now.
It’s all so new and different and special.
Has she drafted about fifteen different tattoos she can get to memorialize their moments? Fifteen is underselling the number of drafts in her sketchbook (yes, the one that Beatrice got her for their date). She won’t act on any of them though, because where she is impulsive and tattoos scatter the landscape of her skin she understands how much it would mean to Beatrice–and she’s not going to fuck this up by scaring her away by getting a tattoo that represents their relationship too soon.
And okay, Ava sat with her thoughts for like fifteen minutes which isn’t that long, but for her attention span is definitely higher than average. And that’s when the idea comes to her. A new goal for her to focus on. She’s going to make Beatrice dinner.
Beatrice has done so much for her lately, just existing and being open and vulnerable and that impossibly cute date. Ava wants to give to Beatrice too. And somewhere in the recess of her brain she recalls that Beatrice likes to cook, but hasn’t had time lately. So yes, Ava is onto a new thing. Cooking for Beatrice. Even if she’s not good at it and it usually doesn’t bring her joy. Feeding Beatrice feels like it would be really nice and maybe a bit of a surprise. And making Beatrice happy makes her incredibly happy.
The funny thing about being almost thirty is that there aren’t many things that Beatrice actively thinks of as 'firsts'. She’s been lucky, in a lot of ways, to live her life the way she wants. She knows that that’s partially privilege and a dash of hard work.
The past three or four days since their date though? A multitude of firsts.
The first time Beatrice stays at Ava’s place was the night of their date. As much as Beatrice had resisted initially (she wanted to be a gentlewoman, but Ava pouted, and then suddenly Beatrice found herself in bed with her–Beatrice would ask anyone to try and resist the shorter woman’s charm–not happening) she was glad to have stayed.
The first time Beatrice cooks for Ava is the next morning, scraping together enough ingredients to make a few pancakes for them and some orange juice. There was a hefty debate over the fake corn syrupy maple syrup that Ava had in the fridge and the authentic stuff that Beatrice said she’d buy for the next time she made pancakes, but either way, Ava had moaned absolutely indecently and Beatrice had blushed dark enough that Ava laughed with her mouth open and full of pancakes. It’s still seared into Beatrice’s brain, a favorite moment. So free and uncaring, so at home in a place she’d only been in for less than twelve hours (something was tickling in the back of her brain, that home is a person and not a place but Beatrice saves that thought for another time, it’s too much too soon and she’d like to live in the present with Ava–thank you.)
The next two nights had been spent together at Beatrice’s place and they do something as domestic and silly, but still a first together as doing their laundry. Beatrice’s apartment is on the third floor and the laundry for her building is in the basement. It started as a stupid non-argument that Beatrice would happily do the laundry on her own (and probably faster than Ava coming with her), but Ava insisted (in the way Ava always insists on doing things, with confidence and conviction and a pout) that they go down together to keep Beatrice company. And so they did two loads of laundry together where Beatrice might’ve lifted Ava onto the dryer and kissed her breathless and where Ava might’ve done the same thing back to Beatrice the time after that. And Ava might’ve said something about how domesticity looks good on them and Beatrice might’ve insisted on getting on her knees after that, but Beatrice won’t confirm or deny that.
And now? A new first. It’s nearly ten pm and Beatrice is unlocking the door to her apartment and she can smell a distinctly burnt smell. A burnt popcorn-like smoke hanging in the air and she’s sort of terrified at what awaits her behind this door. It’s certainly a first.
“Love?” She shouts tentatively as she pushes open the front door. As she does so, she’s hit with how much stronger the smell is in the air and how smokey it is. It makes her nose crinkle and her eyes water slightly.
“Babe, oh my god,” Ava shouts back. A second later Ava’s head is popping into the front hallway of her apartment. Ava has something all over her forehead and her sleeves are rolled up and there’s some sort of sauce covering the front of her t-shirt (that’s definitely Beatrice’s t-shirt, one from a visit to NYC). Goddamnit. Beatrice should be upset or maybe even slightly more worried about the state of her kitchen, but Ava looks frazzled and so cute.
“Did you try and…cook?” Beatrice asks, clearly a very obvious answer, but she’d rather Ava just tell her what’s going on. She takes off her shoes to leave at the front door and places her tote bag where it belongs on a hook in the entryway and takes a deep breath (a big mistake because the acrid smell travels right up her nose and straight to her brain, what is that?).
“Well okay–hear me out…” Ava says, approaching Beatrice and already pouting. “I thought maybe I could make us like a simple soup? You had some veggies in the fridge and I saw some elbow pasta and one thing lead to another but I didn’t think you could set soup on fire. I mean, isn’t that literally nearly impossible, it’s wet!”
Beatrice meets Ava halfway as she’s talking and as Ava finishes her sentence Beatrice leans in to kiss her cheek in greeting. The smell is going to take forever to clear out of her small apartment. Ava leans up slightly to get a kiss on her lips, which Beatrice indulges happily.
“So maybe we should just like order food or go to my place. I should’ve just made kraft mac n cheese. I just wanted to do something nice for you, I’m sorry.” Ava says as Beatrice leads them to her kitchen, the scene of the heinous crime.
“Maybe next time we cook together? That way…” Beatrice trails off, poking at the black gunk in a pot on her stove. That pot is unsalvageable. She can see that Ava tried cutting up some onion and carrots and that they’re what make up a majority of the gunk, but there’s also just burnt elbow pasta. Note to self, do not leave Ava unsupervised in the kitchen.
“That way I can teach you some basics,” Beatrice says finishing her sentence. She goes over to open the windows in the kitchen to let the air out.
“I swear I will clean all of this up,” Ava says, already grabbing trash and throwing it into the compost bin and the trash can.
“How about we both clean this up and then go grab some food? We can leave the windows open here and go to your place for the night while it clears out?” Beatrice offers.
Ava is pouting at her, but Beatrice smiles back. “It’s just food, love. We can go buy more. I promise I’m not mad.” Beatrice says, reassuring Ava.
“I know. I just wanted to do something nice for you, I know things have been hectic and I missed you today.” Ava responds, intertwining their hands and leaning up to kiss Beatrice’s chin. God, this woman’s jawline will be the death of her. “You could say cooking is not my soup-erpower.”
“I can forgive the mess, but that pun was unconscionable,” Beatrice responds, kissing Ava once more. Beatrice hasn’t gotten over this–likely won’t ever. The fact that she can so easily gravitate to Ava’s orbit and have such an effortless physicality with her, kiss, touch, and hold her whenever she wants feels unreal.
“Fine, but say you missed me too,” Ava responds.
“I missed you too, darling.” The thing about the newness of a relationship like theirs is that Beatrice might’ve had the occasional daydream about what it meant to be with Ava before, but the reality is so much sweeter. No musings from before about a day with Ava, a morning with Ava, or a date with Ava beats the feeling of living it. Of truly being present with her. And how can that be? That being awake is better than anything she could’ve possibly dreamed?
Another first for Beatrice. A first and maybe a forever.
“Okay, but I am buying us dinner, and you are taking a shower with me, and we are watching stupid stuff on TV when we get back to my place,” Ava says, disentangling herself from Beatrice to continue cleaning the mess she made. How this woman can make demands of Beatrice after creating the scene in her kitchen, Beatrice doesn’t know. She doesn’t even care. She’d do most things Ava wants when she wants them.
“Wait–” Beatrice grabs her wrist and tugs her back closer. She wraps her arm around Ava’s waist, tightening her hold before leaning in to kiss Ava slowly. They both let it linger and when they pull away it’s only for a few centimeters of space. Ava still tastes of oranges and the mint gum she chews when she rides her bike. She still smells like antiseptic and lavender. She’s still a few inches shorter than Beatrice. She’s Ava. Hers.
“What–” Ava asks, leaning back in for another small kiss. “Not complaining, like at all–”
“Just wanted a proper hello,” Beatrice says before patting Ava’s butt softly and stepping back to assess the mess. And yeah, there are a ton of firsts, even for a nearly thirty-year-old and there are probably a lot more to come, but good or bad or tough or easy, Beatrice wants them with Ava. The acrid smell stuck on her walls and all.
0 days until the wedding
“Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s finally here.”
“Thank the Queen, God rest her soul, we made it,” Lilith says. She’s dressed in a beautiful lavender dress and she’s hired a day of wedding coordinator to take over her responsibilities for the day because these are her friends, her dearest of friends, and she knows when to separate work and life.
“Lil, she’s dead let–Lizzie rest,” Ava responds. Ava is in a pastel blue dress that falls right at her calves. Shannon and Mary opted out of having an official wedding party but had asked their closest friends to wear the wedding colors they had picked of purple and blue.
Michael, Ava, and Lilith are lingering outside of where Mary and Shannon are getting ready. Michael was wearing a classic black and white suit but finished it off with a lavender tie and boutonniere to accent the colors of the couple. The couple had decided to get ready together, untraditional in a lot of ways, but Mary had insisted upon it. Elizabeth was with them, doting on her daughter.
The wedding was to be held at a church in the South End that Shannon had attended when she was younger (as a very good catholic Irish girl) and the priest, Father Vincent, had been a family friend for a long time. They were able to get married as two women in the church because Father Vincent said he didn’t care and that love was love and that if the Bishop wanted to discuss it with him, he could, but it was his parish and their faith.
Shannon and Mary had just shrugged and agreed–Mary liked Father Vincent anyways, a sort of love-hate relationship born out of their aggressive and protective love of Shannon’s family. It was dysfunctional and shouldn’t work, but somehow did.
“I’m going to cry. You two have to cry so I don’t look like a baby,” Michael says as they all wait. He’s not even really sure what they’re waiting for, except that in about twenty minutes the ceremony will start and they’ll take their seats and he will be crying. At least Michael was in touch with his feelings enough to admit it.
“You’re such a softie, Mikie,” Ava says, not even denying that she’ll likely cry, but not missing the opportunity to tease her friend.
“Shut up, as if you aren’t going to be making eyes at Beatrice and crying right next to me,” Michael says.
“Have you seen her today?” Ava says, immediately taking the bait of talking about Beatrice. Beatrice had arrived at the church in the mid-afternoon to set up the flowers for the ceremony. She had gone with beautiful white and lavender flowers that overflowed out of vases that lined the front fifteen pews. There were light blue ribbons that tied the theme together and accented the vases. Ava had helped her set them up and Beatrice had gotten ready shortly after. Dora and Yasmine had set up the reception. Ava might be a little obsessed with the way Beatrice does her work and could watch her for hours upon hours. She gives such care to the way she arranges everything, as if she knows that any angle someone might look at these might matter. And boy, did Beatrice clean up well after.
“Ava, you have been with her non-stop for the last month. You can go without her for another twenty minutes.” Lilith responds, although, she thinks about Camila who is likely waiting with Beatrice for them in their reserved seats near the front of the church. God, how did they get here? Terrible childhood trauma, probably.
“Shut up, I see you checking your phone–probably to check in on Camila. Didn’t you guys u-haul it already? Didn’t she move in with you last week?”
“She had to move out of her graduate housing it just made sense that she’d come and live with me!” Lilith responds immediately, not at all dissuading Michael from laughing at the panic in her voice.
“I think it’s cute, at least Lilith is making moves,” Michael responds, defending Lilith and Camila’s very quick timeline.
“Right, at least I can admit that my relationship is a cliche. You and Beatrice are still dancing around one another in your disgusting puppy phase.” Lilith says rolling her eyes affectionately at Ava.
“We’re just not in a rush! There’s nothing to rush towards. And we’re happy, that’s what matters.” Ava says, once again choosing to not deny the puppy-love phase that she and Beatrice are in, even if it’s been a month of near bliss.
“Well, let me know when Beatrice’s name doesn’t make you blush and then we can have a big girl talk on the next parts of a relationship,” Lilith responds, knocking Ava’s shoulder with her own in jest.
“Girls and Michael?” Elizabeth calls out from the opening of the doorway. “Mary and Shannon are ready, do you three want to come say hello quickly before the ceremony starts?” Elizabeth asks, receiving enthusiastic head nods from them. Shannon is the spitting image of Elizabeth if Elizabeth were thirty years younger. She has dark brown hair that’s curled into a bun on her head and she’s wearing a lavender dress.
They enter the small room that has a few mirrors set up, a makeup artist who is packing up, and Shannon’s father, Patrick is sitting in the corner, eyes already red and slightly puffy. And as Ava enters the room she sees Shannon first. A beautiful big white dress that has a small train on it, but hugs her waist incredibly well. Her dress is modest with the cloth turning into lace as it trails slightly up her neck and cuts off at her shoulders. Ava understands Pat’s tears now and as she takes in Mary, who is holding Shannon’s right hand in her left is in a beautiful white suit.
“Wow–you both look beautiful,” Michael says first. He hugs them both and discreetly wipes at the corner of his eyes.
“I mean–I went to both of your fittings, so I knew you’d look fantastic, but wow. You’re both a vision in white,” Lilith adds, walking over to hug Shannon and Mary next.
“Moms!” Ava says, simply. It pulls a laugh out of Elizabeth, Pat, and the brides, breaking the seriousness of the moment. She gathers them in a hug as well before standing next to Elizabeth and leaning into her side. She can’t imagine how Elizabeth feels, but Ava tries her best to ground herself in the moment.
“Ava, we are not your parents,” Mary says, but with no bite in her voice, only exasperated affection.
“I mean–you both definitely look like Mommies,” Ava says winking before dodging a crumpled napkin that Mary throws at her. She hears Michael snort and it gives her just enough satisfaction to not regret it immediately after.
“Ava, we are in church,” Shannon says.
“I’m not baptized. Am I even allowed in here–” Ava asks trailing off before looking around.
“Ava, please behave before you give my two daughters a heart attack,” Elizabeth adds in, smiling at Ava. No one in the room misses the way Elizabeth calls both Mary and Shannon her daughter and Mary immediately turns around to blink away the tears that threaten to break free.
“Alright, we need to get ready to start the ceremony soon,” Lilith says, giving them an out to leave and to get the ceremony going soon.
“No pressure, don’t trip,” Ava says to Mary, squeezing her hand in reassurance before walking out. And there are a million things that cross her mind in that moment–that she knows how deeply Mary wants a family. That Shannon and Mary deserve one another. That she feels so much gratitude that her friends get to marry one another in front of their friends and family and that Ava is one of those things for them.
She reads in Mary’s eyes, thank you for being here, who didn’t have parents too. She replies thank you for existing in my life and for showing me love is real. None of it is said out loud, it passes through their eyes and Ava thinks about it as she, Lilith, and Michael find their way to the church to locate their seats.
She spots Beatrice, who is wearing a black dress that flows down to her ankles (get you a girl who can do both, seriously how is Ava so blessed and somehow not baptized and she gets a girl who can wear a suit and a dress the way Beatrice does? Maybe she should get baptized, she’ll ask Beatrice later when she’s not thinking unholy thoughts about her in church).
She thinks it’s only a little under a month since they officially got together, but nearly six months of knowing her and how maybe they’ll have this one day too. A girl can dream, after all.
They’ve been dancing a bit too close together to be decent, but thank god Lilith is a pro and ensured the lighting on the dance floor of the wedding reception would be candlelit and low. It’s almost midnight, the speeches are done, and the ceremony is over (they are officially Mrs. and Mrs. Delacroix-Fitzpatrick and wives now!). Most of the wedding guests have been on the dance floor for hours, tearing it up, taking the occasional break to tease the newlyweds, but for the most part, just celebrating the love and joy of the day.
“You have wonderful friends, Ava,” Beatrice says, low in her ears as they sway to the music. It’s a live band and because it’s getting late, they’ve moved to slower softer music as the reception winds down.
“Yeah, they’re the best when they’re not teasing me,” Ava responds lowly. For a second, she isn’t sure that Beatrice hears her because she doesn’t respond immediately. Ava’s tuned into the way that Beatrice has her left arm curled around her waist. They’re a little closer in height because of the heels that Ava’s chosen to wear. “They want you to join us for brunch this month, in a few weeks. Get to know them all a bit better now that we’re dating.”
Beatrice chooses not to respond again for a few moments. Ava can tell that she’s focused on the swaying of their hips back and forth. A few weeks ago, when Ava had asked Beatrice to be her date to the wedding, Beatrice had of course said yes. However, in the most endearing way possible, Beatrice had admitted that she wasn’t the best at dancing–which Ava had also gathered from her letter from their first date. Of course, Ava took the opportunity to turn music on whenever they weren’t doing something of importance, usually right before bed (after they’ve brushed their teeth, but before they tuck in) to choose a song to play out loud and teach Beatrice how to move to the tempo.
Now, Beatrice is at least confident in her ability to dance with Ava, but Ava’s caught her to the side of the dance floor during some songs, just watching Ava and smiling instead of joining her. She wonders what Beatrice thinks in those moments, what she’s feeling and thinking. It occurs to Ava that that is a constant thought–like she wishes she could burrow into Beatrice’s brain and see what she sees. Okay, maybe she’s also a little drunk–the open bar was an insanely good idea.
“Of course, love,” Beatrice says once the song winds down. They hear the bartender announce last call. It hits her suddenly that there’s a sadness that’s sinking into her. It’s the same feeling she gets when she goes to a good concert or a basketball game or even sometimes at the end of brunch with friends.
Like a bittersweet feeling–happiness that she’s gotten to do something and experience something fun, but an ache of sadness that it is over. Even if she knows that things will happen again, even if brunches will stretch on. Even if she knows that there will be more concerts with bands she likes, or more nights out, or even more fun times out with the people she loves. Mary and Shannon will only get married once–so this is a bit different and the sadness feels very real.
“Are you alright?” Leave it to Beatrice to know the moment anything changes in Ava. She’s attuned to her like that and Ava’s grateful but doesn’t know how to name this feeling. She tries anyways because that’s what they’ve been doing. Talking through their feelings.
“Do you ever feel sad at the end of a good night?” Ava asks.
“Sure, like you’re sad it’s ending? Is that how you feel now, darling?” Beatrice responds. She moves her right hand from Ava’s shoulder to her cheek, cupping it slightly as Ava nods in response to her question.
Beatrice doesn’t really know what to say. The feeling doesn’t occur to her often. She chooses to kiss Ava’s cheek and hold her closer as they sway. Beatrice can see Shannon and Mary have sat back down at their table and there are a sparse few people left on the dance floor.
“There will be many more good nights,” Beatrice opts to say.
Ava rests her forehead on Beatrice’s shoulder, closing her eyes and following Beatrice’s lead. She logically knows that Beatrice is right, but logic rarely subdues her feelings. It’s part of what makes her so impulsive. Her best friends got married today. It is a good night.
“Tomorrow for breakfast, can we make chilaquiles again?” Ava asks. Cooking has gone much better lately–Beatrice has been teaching her the basics and Ava is at least a decent sous chef now. Okay, that’s maybe an exaggeration. She watches Beatrice cook and listens to her talk about technique and she often gets distracted by Beatrice’s hands and tasting everything.
Beatrice can see a redirect of Ava’s from a mile away now, but she allows it. Ava will bring her feelings up again when she’s ready.
“Anything you want.”
As they’re leaving for the night (one of the last stragglers to leave, the newlyweds having long left for their first night together) it’s Elizabeth who catches her. Ava’s gotten a few dances with her and she’s spent more than a few minutes with Pat cheering the brides, but Elizabeth catches her as Beatrice has left to go get her car.
They’re standing outside the reception venue, both a little cold even, and Ava tucks herself into Elizbeth’s side.
“Did you have a good night, Ava?” Elizabeth asks as they both stare into the streets of South Boston.
“The best,” Ava responds enthusiastically. She means it. Sadness aside it is one of the best nights of her life. She can only imagine how overwhelmed Mary must be. They’re alike in a lot of ways. Both having been through the foster care system–they’ve had a scant few, but deep conversations about it.
She’s grateful, in ways that she can’t articulate, that her life has brought her here. A family, a girlfriend she adores, a life she wakes up happy to live. And Lilith has commented on it before - Ava’s almost toxic positivity - but Lilith didn’t know her when she was ten or fifteen, alone and tired and imagining if anyone would care if she disappeared. It’s Elizabeth and Shannon and later Mary who make her understand that this life is hers to make the best of.
“You’re like my daughter too, you know?” Elizabeth says. Ava can’t handle any more sentimental conversations tonight. She is a glob of goo inside. There’s never too much of a good thing, she knows, but she feels like happiness is going to spill out of her, like she can’t contain it all and she might vibrate off this plane of existence.
“You’re the closest person I’ve ever had to a mom, Elizabeth,” Ava says sincerely.
“So in a few weeks, I need you to bring that lovely woman you had by your side all night over for dinner so that I can ask her what her intentions are,” Elizabeth adds, standing up straight and pinching Ava’s side adoringly.
Ava is blushing, it’s cold, she’s definitely a little drunk, and she’s going to lose her balance in a few seconds if Elizabeth moves again, but fuck if she isn’t happy. These people, this life?
“You got it, mom.”
Three Months Post Wedding
It’s months later–three to be exact, that Beatrice brings it up again. It’s not super intentional, unlike most things Beatrice does, it spills out over text while Ava is away.
It’s late August, nearly September and Beatrice has had a near-record-breaking summer of weddings. She brought Dora on as a full-time employee, promoted Yasmine with a hefty raise, and Camila still drops by to occasionally hang out with everyone, but Beatrice had to hire another two part-time employees to watch over the shop since she’s out at events or at the studio most days and nights.
The last week was especially difficult for their relationship. Ava had gone to Portland (Oregon, not Maine) to do a guest artist spot at one of the most popular shops on the West Coast and had been gone for five days. Before that, they hadn’t slept at each other’s places for a few nights because Beatrice had been so busy and too tired to make the hikes back and forth. Ava had tried her best to make it so their paths crossed, but it was difficult, to say the least.
The result? Almost a week and a half of not spending quality time together. And maybe it was a serious test of their communication skills, particularly because neither of them had as much time as they usually have to text in between things. They still have their nightly calls, but it’s interrupted by the fact that Ava is an entire three hours behind. What is normally a thirty-minute plus call really boils down to ten minutes before Beatrice falls asleep from pure exhaustion.
Beatrice is also a little frustrated. Her anxiety has been a bit more present, not just because Ava’s not around, but because of the sheer stress from the months of events. There have only been a few mistakes in all of it, thankfully, all were easily fixed, but she’s long overdue for more than one day off in a row.
That stress has led to her being a little short with Ava when they do speak and it’s not entirely logical because she does miss her it’s just that in the back of her brain she knows that they don’t have much time and they haven’t planned the next time they’ll see each other and things are good, so good when they’re together, but her anxiety reads as a tightness in her chest and feeling like the other shoe is going to drop at any moment.
What if Ava comes back and decides she wants to move to Portland because she loved it so much? What if she comes back and she’s met someone else? Someone cooler and who is also an artist? What if Ava moves from their honeymoon phase and realizes Beatrice is ultimately not who she wants?
And she knows above all else that she should just talk to Ava about these things, but she doesn’t know where to start.
So the way it spills out? A text. Because Beatrice is better at writing her feelings than saying them and because a text feels easier than a call.
3:27 pm Baybea💐🌼
Ava, do you remember that feeling you talked about at the wedding, like you’re sad when good things end?
3:45 pm Darling 👼
Like the post-concert depression feeling?
3:46 pm Baybea💐🌼
I feel that way right now.
4:03 pm Darling 👼
Whats goin on?
4:04 pm Baybea💐🌼
I feel that way about us.
Beatrice started the conversation, so it’s not like she should be panicking when Ava’s face shows up on her screen for a requested FaceTime call. She picks it up since she’s alone in the studio anyway, but if she remembers correctly Ava should still be at the studio in Portland that she’s guest spotting at.
Ava’s face shows on her screen a few seconds later and despite how she was feeling a minute ago she’s smiling instantly. Relief washes over her as she sees Ava.
“Babe, what’s going on?” Ava asks. There’s no smile on Ava’s face, her brows are furrowed and her mouth is tight in worry.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrice says in response. She clearly is not communicating well because Ava looks so worried and she doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say. She’s just sad.
“Bea–I need you to tell me what you’re thinking because your messages are really confusing me right now,” Ava says, worry still evident on her face.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying, I promise,” Beatrice says. She takes a deep breath before trying again, “I miss you. I feel like I don’t know when I’ll see you next and I can remember the last time we slept next to one another–or even just had more than a day to relax together and I’m just a little sad right now.”
“Oh, baby–” Ava says, sighing out the last word in what Beatrice interprets as relief, Ava’s eyes soften as she looks at her girlfriend. “Bea, I love you, I’ll be home soon enough. Today’s my last day here and then I’ll be on a flight back tomorrow.”
Beatrice should be relieved, but it’s the home that’s tripping her up. Who’s home? It’s been a little over four months of them dating, which again, isn’t all that long, but Beatrice can recognize that a once near peaceful routine, one that included a lot of solitude and work, is now not at all what she wants. She craves Ava, chaos in the mornings, and coffee in the afternoons. She misses knowing Ava will be there when she wakes up and goes to bed.
“What if you moved in with me when you got back?” She doesn’t know how it comes out of her mouth. It’s anti-everything that Beatrice is known to be–intentional and meticulous. But she doesn’t feel like it’s a mistake. “Or we can find a new place? Somewhere that we both like. Maybe a two-bedroom so you can have a studio to work in.”
FaceTime allows her to see the emotions that pass over Ava’s face as she asks–from shock to joy to contemplation. “I mean–we’re practically together all the time anyway?”
“Baby, deep breaths okay?” Ava responds after that. It’s unlike Beatrice to ramble on and even more unlike her to bring up something so serious over the phone. Of course, Ava’s delighted at the prospect, but there’s a lot to process. Beatrice nods.
“The idea of living with you truly makes me so happy–”
“But?”
“But let's talk about this when I get back to Boston okay? I promise you there is no world where I don’t say yes, but I don’t want you to get tired of me because we moved too fast or god forbid you realize I don’t wake up cute every morning–”
“Darling, you look beautiful every second.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Ava says. She can see Beatrice has a small smile, one that says she’s okay for now, but not ecstatic. “Pick me up from the airport? If you’re free we can spend the day together tomorrow and the next and talk about this?” Beatrice nods instead of saying yes.
“I have to go, Bea, but I’ll text you,” Ava says looking past her phone screen at what Beatrice assumes must be someone else at the studio.
“I love you.”
“I love you, baby. See you tomorrow!” Ava hangs up and Beatrice groans before throwing her phone on the table haphazardly.
She might’ve just royally fucked up. They’ve only been together officially for four months and she was so impulsive about the way she asked Ava. Maybe that’s why Ava didn’t automatically say yes, maybe she wanted another grand gesture. Fuck.
Do not run away Beatrice Price. She tells herself over and over as she takes calming breaths in and out. I am whole. I am worthy. I am deserving.
She picks up her phone once more, immediately dialing the second contact on her favorites list.
“What?” The phone barely rings before Lilith’s voice comes through.
“I think I fucked up,” Beatrice responds. It’s a little muffled because she’s got her head still resting on the studio table and the phone on speaker laying next to her mouth, but so what.
“Explain–and Camila is next to me so I can’t be held responsible for what she hears.” Beatrice rolls her eyes, they live together, it’s always a 50/50 that they’re with one another anyway. What she tells Lilith Camila knows almost instantly. It’s part of the upgraded package of them being together.
“Just put me on speaker,” Beatrice responds.
“Hi, Bea!” Camila chimes in after a second.
“Explain,” Lilith says once more.
“I miss Ava,” Beatrice can hear faint gagging and she knows it’s Lilith being dramatic. They’re almost thirty for god sake. “I miss her and I might’ve asked her to move in with me over the phone.”
“Yasmine owes me fifty,” Camila says triumphantly.
“Camz, people are dying. Well, Beatrice is dying,” Lilith says with affection she truly only reserves for Camila. Beatrice is aware that Camila and Yasmine have a penchant for making bets about her and Ava’s love life–well her love life and by extension now Ava. The last time Camila won because Beatrice had initiated the first kiss, but this is absurd.
“Can’t you make money another way?”
“Where’s the fun in that? And anyway, how is that fucking anything up? Everyone knows you two basically live together,” Camila offers.
“I was just sad and I missed her and she FaceTimed me and I asked sort of out of the blue. She didn't say no, but she also didn’t say yes. She actually said that she wants to talk about it more and that there’s no world in which she doesn’t say yes, but it wasn’t a yes you know?” Beatrice explains.
“Cheers to Ava for having some restraint for once,” Lilith responds.
“Lil, people are dying. Beatrice is dying,” Camila responds back mockingly.
“Why do I bother calling talking to you two?” Beatrice asks rhetorically.
“Because you know the alternative is spiraling in gay panic,” Lilith answers anyways.
“Listen, what I’m hearing is that it’s a yes, but Ava wants to make sure you’re asking for the right reasons,” Camila offers to calm Beatrice’s nerves adding, “I don’t think you fucked anything up. If anything it just shows that Ava’s teaching you to be a bit more impulsive and maybe you’re really serious about her.”
“I’ve been serious about her from the start, Camila,” Beatrice responds.
“What Camila means is that moving in is like sort of a big step and you asking means you’re serious serious and you and Ava need to talk about it,” Lilith adds.
“What do I do now?” Beatrice asks.
“You come over to ours for dinner. We will cook and distract you and maybe watch a movie. You can cry about how much you miss Ava and I will only let Lilith tease you a small amount and tomorrow you can pick Ava up and tell her what you actually meant to say when you asked her to move in with you,” Camila responds. There’s no room for refusal. Beatrice nods before realizing they can’t see her.
“Okay, I’ll be over in an hour.”
Later that night, Beatrice falls asleep belly full and satiated. Camila may be a better cook than her. She falls asleep with stories from Camila and Lilith about what it’s like to live together–the good the bad and the ugly. She understands that they moved quickly too, but there is certainty in their voices when they tell her it’s hard. That it requires a level of communication they couldn’t have anticipated, but that it was worth it.
Beatrice wants that. She wants Ava with her always. She wants every flaw and every fight. She wants every misunderstanding. She wants and wants and wants and that feeling hasn’t gone away since she met Ava. She was never greedy before and had always taken what she was given with gratitude, but Ava has changed her.
She wants a full life. Wants Ava. Wants what their future promises them.
She’ll figure it all out with Ava tomorrow. Together. They have to do these things together. Neither could unilaterally decide how or when their relationship moved forward or backward.
As she falls asleep she reads a series of unread messages from Ava and she dreams about what it’d be like to have their own place, their own things, to fall asleep beside her once more.
11:38 pm Darling 👼
Night baby
11:38 pm Darling 👼
i love u and can’t wait to see u tmrrw
11:38 pm Darling 👼
just know that it’s never a no when it comes to u
11:38 pm Darling 👼
remember where you are empty, i will fill u up
11:39 pm Darling 👼
always ❤️
Six Months Post Wedding
In the end, Ava gets what she wants. Which works out because it’s what Beatrice wanted too. Ava had arrived home on August 29th and by August 30th they had decided they would look for a new place together to move into over the next few months.
Breaking their leases had been easy enough once they found a place they both agreed met their needs. Now it’s December 12th and they’ve been living in their new place since December 1st.
The apartment, their apartment is a two-bedroom with a big living room that opens into a kitchen (gas stove–Beatrice insisted because she can’t cook on an electric one). It’s on the second floor of a brownstone located in Back Bay, a few streets off Commonwealth Ave and almost equidistant from both of their places of work.
It has all of the charms of a classic brownstone, old crown molding and built-ins pressed into the interior of the apartment, but was renovated about three years ago with updated amenities. The best part? Beatrice knew the landlord, Richard, because his son, Tanner, had used Lotus Designs for his wedding. And Richard loved Ava. He liked Beatrice too, but he really loved Ava (which is completely unsurprising) and said yes to almost all of the DIY projects that Ava ran by him prior to moving in officially.
So it’s December 12th and they moved in December 1st, but Ava’s already painted two walls (one a deep green that reminds Beatrice the plants that line her shop, and another a light blue) and has swatches up for wallpaper on two other walls. Ava gets what she wants, and Beatrice finds that what Ava wants usually makes Beatrice happy too, so she goes with it.
Everything they both own is now placed somewhere in their two-bedroom apartment–a beautiful mix of their styles and tastes blended with pieces of new things that they’ve picked out together. It’s a bit eclectic, but it’s theirs. They chose Beatrice’s mattress and bedframe but picked out a new sectional for their living room. Beatrice’s old couch sits in the extra bedroom that Ava will use as an at-home art studio.
Ava’s already told Beatrice about her vision for the future; Beatrice cuddled up on the old couch with a book, small lamplight on and framing her face as Ava sits across the room sketching work for her clients. Ava describes a small cat or dog or one of each in their laps. Beatrice thinks it’s a good vision, a great one, one that she intends to make a regular habit of theirs.
(And in truth, Ava had said this all to Beatrice right after they had toured the apartment as they walked back to Beatrice’s car. Later that night Ava had sketched the room with the couch and a desk and Beatrice reclined there. Of course, they kept the sketch in a box that Ava’s been keeping their notes in and Beatrice’s first gift to Ava for Christmas this year is going to be a framed version of that sketch to hang up in their first home together.)
December 12th is a very quiet Friday for them. Next week they’re hosting everyone for an early Christmas celebration slash housewarming and last week they spent the majority of the weekend running errands for their new place. Beatrice had asked for a quiet night in and Ava had agreed by picking up some edibles and snacks. Now Ava’s only responsibility is being the big spoon, holding Beatrice on the couch in their living room with two blankets on them because winter is rough in Boston this year. Blue Planet is playing on their television and Ava’s already made it halfway through her starbursts and they took their edibles an hour ago. It’s a good quiet night. The sort of quiet that Ava has come to love. The kind of quiet that Beatrice has taught her to sink into.
This isn’t the first time they’ve been high together, it’s like the fifth if she’s counting. It’s more of a regular thing for when they want to relax. Ava finds that she has three defaults for being high: horny, sentimental, or sleepy.
Tonight she is sentimental. Lucky Beatrice.
Ava grips the blankets a little tighter and adjusts her legs so they wrap around Beatrice’s torso.
“Do you ever feel like we’ve met before?” It’s a high thought that runs loose out of her lips and into the quiet air around them. But Ava swears, she swears there is something so intimately familiar about the way Beatrice touches her.
“What, like in Boston?” Beatrice responds. She had been laying with her back to Ava’s front, but she adjust slightly to lay on her side and look up at Ava’s face. The whales on Blue Planet are mesmerizing when you’re high.
“Like in another life,” Ava clarifies. She picked up this other habit of touching Beatrice’s neck and face whenever she could and she’s doing it now, cupping Beatrice’s cheek with her hand so soft. Women. Truly.
“Do you believe in past lives?” Beatrice asks instead of answering the original question. She takes the time to think about an answer–it’s sort of difficult with how hazy her brain feels. Higher-level thoughts were reserved for sobriety.
“I think so. It’s sort of hard to believe that we’ve only existed once. Or something. Or maybe there’s a multiverse.” Ava has watched Into the Spider-Verse and Everything Everywhere All At Once and those two movies alone give her a Master’s level degree in the multiverse. Sort of. Probably.
“Oh, wait. Are you still Catholic? Are multiple lives against Jesus? Did I just insult you? Wait, Beatrice, I’m not baptized can we even go to Heaven together?” Ava says it all so quickly that Beatrice has to sit up to fully turn and face her. She pulls Ava’s small frame into her lap and pats her back slowly.
“Darling your words are going so fast and my brain is moving so slow,” Beatrice says soothingly.
“Hmmph,” Ava grumbles while hanging her chin on Beatrice’s shoulder, accepting the embrace. She tries once more, “I just think that like…even when we first met…” And oh god, this is where being high takes work. Ava’s used to having some insane self-realizations while high, like she’s able to focus for longer periods of time and let go of all the things that make her restless, but explaining those thoughts in real time is a struggle.
“I love you,” Ava eventually says as a reset.
“I love you, sweetheart.” Seven months of being together and every single term of endearment and pet name still makes Ava want to melt into a pathetic bisexual puddle of goo.
“I am trying to say that it feels like we’ve met in a past life. Like everything you do and the more I learn about you the more I feel like I’ve felt you before. I know that doesn’t make much sense and maybe it’s all just because I’ve never been in love before, but I swear on any god you believe in that you feel so familiar to me. Like we fit.” Ava finishes and Beatrice kisses her on her left temple, lingering there and it proves Ava’s point once more. The ghost of her lips, the way Beatrice feels pressed into her, the way she smells. It’s everything. She’d like a million more versions of them, a million more lifetimes.
Beatrice herself is at a loss for words. Ava’s good at these things, good at saying what she thinks and feels as she feels them. She takes up space and finds no problem with fumbling with her thoughts. Again, it’s a sort of freedom that Beatrice admires and loves about Ava. Beatrice understands the sentiment–that they may be something bigger than just who they are right now to one another. Is it the weed or the length of time they’ve been together that makes Ava bold enough to ask? Beatrice isn’t sure how to answer. She picks up the easiest thread.
“I think we’ve got this one life and maybe whatever happens after. I’m not sure I believe it’s all linear anymore, that we live and then die and then go to Heaven or Hell because I’m not sure what I think of God anymore.” It’s a confession of another sort, that her faith is still confusing at best and that she’s uncertain about what she believes. Yet, it’s still easier than talking about what Ava might mean to her. I love you feels too small for what Ava is trying to say. The multiverse though, reminds Beatrice of when they watched Everything Everywhere All At Once together and when they both cried like babies. Rocks, damn it.
She thinks, maybe that’s enough. “I would take laundry and taxes with you in this life and the next, whatever that may look like or mean,” Beatrice says. It’s once again a borrowed sentiment, not fully her own words, but just like her letter from their first date, it’s a combination of things she knows Ava understands and that they share. She means it though, she’ll take the mundanity of life with Ava over anything else, any day.
If Ava’s right, if they’ve known each other in the past, if their souls are somehow connected in ways she can’t comprehend, then so be it. It doesn’t change how she feels right now, warm and connected to Ava in all the ways that matter. And there’s a thought that floats by in her brain about Heaven and Hell and the afterlife. About Ava and her and if they’re forever. She lets them float by, she can think about it later. They have time.
Ava leans back to look at her after Beatrice says it. She cups both of Beatrice’s cheeks and pulls her in to kiss her square on the mouth. Ava can tell that Beatrice is nervous about her own admission, so she pours reassurance into the kiss.
It’s a second later that Ava invites Beatrice’s tongue into her mouth that her high goes from sentimental to horny. She chases the feeling as it comes, laying Beatrice down so that she can properly straddle her hips. Thank god they went for a sectional couch, extra deep so they could cuddle on nights like this, but especially useful for when Ava is trying to get Beatrice’s clothes off.
High sex? Slow and languid and especially good. Ava will take quiet nights at home, their home, with her person any night in any universe in any life with Beatrice.
One Year of Dating
Beatrice sort of mumbles in her sleep. Ava notices it a few months after they move in together when they don’t necessarily fall asleep every night at the same time.
See, Ava sleeps like the dead. Like knocks out and then couldn’t be bothered by most noises and sounds. Beatrice, however, often takes a half hour or more to fall asleep and when she does it’s usually with a few rounds of tossing and turning.
It’s cute because Ava’s spent enough time sleeping next to Beatrice that even before they move in together she knows they have a routine in place. They start off tucking in together, Ava kicks all the blankets up and wraps her feet in them, whereas Beatrice usually likes to hold Ava for at least ten minutes. After which, Ava requests that Beatrice turn over and lay on her other side, to even out the sand (what sand? Beatrice isn’t sure, sand in their head, apparently), and then Ava holds Beatrice (big spoons her!) until Beatrice falls asleep. Ava usually follows close after.
It happens like clockwork every night that they fall asleep together in their apartment. But it’s a few months into that where Ava doesn’t immediately fall asleep after Beatrice does she notices that Beatrice mumbles a bit. She doesn’t snore, she just sort of tosses and turns and mumbles nonsensical things. It’s terribly cute and Ava’s tried to record it as proof before, but her camera went off in a flash one time and she had nearly woken Beatrice up–it wasn’t worth trying again after that.
Tonight, Ava’s having trouble sleeping because she’s excited. Tomorrow they’re heading to Shotgun Mary’s to give Beatrice her first tattoo. Ava is giving Beatrice her first tattoo.
It’s small and it’ll only take them thirty minutes max, but it feels like one of the most important tattoos Ava’s going to do. Her girlfriend of one year and five days is trusting her to take a needle to her skin and mark her forever.
Fuck, she needs to sleep.
Beatrice has felt Ava’s hands on her thousands of times at this point–in many different contexts. She is more than familiar with the way Ava touches her, from light and fleeting to firm and grounding. This? This is entirely different.
Ava is holding her the way that Beatrice imagines she touches Ava when she’s teaching her how to cook. Gentle, but guiding. Like Beatrice knows that Ava could be hurt with the wrong move and so there’s a certain amount of care that goes into how her hands touch Ava. Ava’s doing that now, holding Beatrice’s forearm carefully in hers.
She’s seen Ava work a few times now, the first time when she brought her dumplings, but a few times since when she’s been free and able to join Ava at the parlor. Ava’s always gentle and friendly and talkative with clients. Beatrice didn’t know what to expect when she was the one sitting in the familiar black chair. Ava’s sitting across from her on a rolling stool, it’s checkered pink and black.
She’s put the transfer ink onto Beatrice, the purple of the dye on her skin indicating where her first tattoo will go.
Beatrice had discussed the idea with Ava a few months ago. She’d been clear about her vision, a single lotus with its stem attached intertwined with the stem of a daisy on her left forearm. The buds would be oriented at the top of her forearm, towards the inside of her elbow. Beatrice requested that it be done in Ava’s style, with fine lines, and bright colors emphasizing the flowers.
Of course, thinking back to when Beatrice had approached Ava about it, Ava had been eager to hear everything that Beatrice was thinking, but had been hesitant once she realized a daisy was to be included.
“Are you sure?” Ava asks with clear uncertainty.
It’s April, they’re outside eating ice cream. It’s still a bit cold, but it’s the first day in weeks without a drop of rain in the sky. Ava had begged Beatrice to go for a walk before dinner and suddenly they were sharing a small gelato as they walked down Newbury street. It’s not as crowded as it normally is due to the slight chill in the air.
“Of course,” Beatrice responds. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Beatrice adds before handing the cone back to Ava. It’s almost done, but Ava loves the cone. Of course, they’d gone for a scoop of coffee.
“It’s just a big deal for your first tattoo and obviously the daisy means a lot to…well us,” Ava responds.
Ah, and there it is. Beatrice knows that it’s a big deal. A lotus for her, a daisy for Ava, both symbolizing rebirth in a way. But it doesn’t feel wrong to her. If anything, Beatrice has been sitting on the idea for over six months now, longer, if she’s honest with herself. How does she explain that to Ava though?
“I’m sure,” she opts to say. Even now, a year into their relationship she sometimes struggles to articulate how she feels. But Ava knows her in ways she finds hard to comprehend sometime. She asks the right questions. She’s patient. Beatrice watches from her periphery as Ava finishes the cone, offering the last bite to Beatrice before Beatrice declines and she finishes it. She shoves her left hand in her jacket pocket and uses her right to grab Beatrice’s hand, intertwining them before attempting to fit their joined hand in Beatrice’s jacket pocket.
“What if we break up, would you get it removed? Would you regret it?” Oh, Beatrice realizes this is the root of Ava’s concern. The permanence. The same permanence that she had been scared of when they met.
There are hundreds of responses that race through her mind. That she could never regret Ava, that she wouldn’t suggest it if she didn’t mean it, that no part of her thinks they’ll ever end, that Ava will forever matter to her even if they did. That she’s in love with her and has been for over a year, but it feels longer than that. That this tattoo just brings out what she feels inside like they’re intertwined. That it’s a piece of them she can carry to remind her how far she’s come even when she’s anxious and sad.
Ava doesn’t rush her to answer. Their hands are still firmly intertwined. They’ve walked to the end of Newbury now and have hit the Boston Public Garden. Ava guides them through the entrance and starts them on a small path around the garden. Beatrice looks around at the flowers freshly planted for the spring. Soon enough the garden will be packed with locals and tourists alike. There will be some weddings, college students, a mix of all the people who visit and live here. Beatrice will meet a thousand more people in her lifetime, but Ava feels like one of the most important people she’s ever met.
If she loses her it’ll be because she didn’t work hard enough at this, them. She won’t regret this tattoo–it feels right. Even if she does–if she’s wrong and it hurts in the future more than it gives. She can get it removed, or covered up, but she doesn’t think that’ll matter.
“I’m not scared of what it means anymore. I’m not worried about regretting it. Even if we broke up, these two things–the lotus and the daisy–they mean more to me because of what they symbolize. Two instances in my life where I believed in me enough to stay and start anew…and yes, a lot about what you mean to me too.” Beatrice finally responds.
Ava tugs on their intertwined hands to stop them from moving. They’re under a big oak tree that overhangs swan lake. They’ve had a picnic here before. She faces Ava head on and the look that she finds in Ava’s eyes is familiar. It’s the same look Ava gives her sometimes when they’re dancing in their bedroom before bed or when Beatrice wakes up early to make them breakfast and Ava stumbles out of the bedroom searching for her warmth. Adoration.
“In that case, if you’re sure, I’d be honored to give you your first tattoo,” Ava says before leaning up to kiss Beatrice. Beatrice lets go of Ava’s hand to wrap her arm around Ava’s torso, lifting her slightly. One year in and she’s not even close to tired of this feeling.
“Oh, this is gonna be so fun. We have to talk about colors and sizing and placement. Also, you’re not paying for this. Would you want the studio empty? I can probably also just do it at home if you’d rather not go to the studio. Oh shit, can I tell Mary? Can I tell anyone? Do you want this to be a secret?” Ava rambles on and Beatrice is always amazed at how still Ava keeps herself when it matters–when Beatrice needs it, and how quickly her brain switches back to its rapid pace.
She’s so gone for this girl.
“Why don’t we go home, cook some dinner, and talk through it there? I’m cold,” Beatrice says. She didn’t wear a scarf, but the sun has long since set and she is starting to lose feeling in her face.
“It’s like you’re not from here or something,” Ava says rolling her eyes affectionately but directing them back home. She takes off her beanie that she’d had the forethought to wear and puts it on Beatrice’s head before kissing her nose.
“Wait, babe?” Ava says as they wait for the pedestrian sign to turn in their favor.
“Hmmm?”
“Are you…even a citizen? Oh my god, what if we have to get green card married? Babe, how do I not know this about you?” Ava asks in rapid succession. Beatrice laughs at the line of questioning. A whole year in and Ava’s now wondering about her immigration status.
“Rest assured I am a citizen, Ava.”
“Phew, in honor of your citizenship let's go visit the Boston Tea Party museum. We can dump fake tea in the river and curse your English roots,” Ava responds winking at Beatrice. “But please never drop your accent, that is so hot.”
Beatrice is glad that Ava trusted her when she said she wouldn’t regret it. Ava had shown her a few options throughout the months, knowing that it was Beatrice’s first tattoo and that it held a lot of meaning for her, she had wanted it to be perfect.
Knowing Ava was an incredibly good and sought-after tattoo artist and experiencing Ava’s work are two different things. The older woman finds herself once more enraptured by Ava. She feels safe and at home, even as they exist outside of their shared apartment. She doesn’t find herself nervous and isn’t worried about the pain, she’s completely lost in the process.
“Does that feel right?” Ava asks her, pointing to the placement of the tattoo. Beatrice nods.
“Babe, I’m going to need some enthusiastic consent here,” Ava says, winking at Beatrice as she does.
“Yes, that’s great,” Beatrice responds, smiling at Ava.
“Okay, I’m going to start in a second okay? You can watch the needle, but if it’s making you anxious, you can just stare at me or the wall on the other side of the room. I can turn the tv on too and put on something you’d like. Just talk to me and breathe through it,” Ava says. She’s already wrapped her tattoo machine in her preferred gauze, bright pink, and has her station laid out next to Beatrice’s arm.
“Alright,” Beatrice responds.
“Here we go,” Ava says, smiling at Beatrice before putting her head down to begin the outline of Beatrice’s tattoo. Beatrice chooses to watch, the pain quickly going from a few pinches to an incessant pressure on her forearm. Ava had told her that her forearm should be relatively painless, as it wasn’t a major joint or sensitive area.
Beatrice is mesmerized by the pressure of the tattoo machine and Ava’s concentration as she stops to look at her work, wipes the blood and ink, and goes back to it. She can feel Ava’s gloved left hand holding her forearm down but it’s grounding.
“Do you want to talk, or do you prefer silence?” Ava asks after a few more minutes. The tattoo machine is a bit loud, but not so much that Beatrice can’t decipher her words. The parlor is empty except for the two of them.
“I always want to talk to you,” Beatrice responds.
“Lucky me,” Ava says, pausing to look up. Her smile creates crinkles on the sides of her eyes, ones that Beatrice knows will eventually turn into happy lines on Ava’s face as she gets older.
“What do you usually discuss with your clients?”
“Usually we talk about the tattoo, sometimes we just talk about life. I let them take the conversation where they want it to go,” Ava responds. The stems are almost done.
“Wherever they want?” Beatrice asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, it can be exhausting sometimes. Sometimes it’s like therapy, sometimes it’s fun and light. Really depends on the client.”
“What about me? What sort of client am I?”
“My girlfriend, who isn’t paying for this, and therefore not my client. Special treatment and all,” Ava says. Beatrice can’t see it, but she can hear the smile on Ava’s face. Ava’s wearing a bucket hat today and it’s stupid cute.
“Speaking of, I hear it’s traditional to tip your tattoo artist afterward,” Beatrice says.
“Yes, but you’re not paying so tip is out of the question.”
“What if I wanted to give you another kind of tip? Say something non-monetary?” Beatrice asks.
Ava stops using the tattoo machine once more, removing contact from Beatrice's skin before looking up at her.
“Okay, new rule, you are not allowed to turn the tattoo artist on while she is working. Results could be disastrous at best. But she will take any and all tips of any kind after the session is over,” Ava responds taking a deep breath dramatically. It tears a laugh out of Beatrice.
“Plus, you having a tattoo is going to do things to me on a regular basis, so we’re already in trouble,” Ava adds.
“Ava, you say that as if you aren’t ready to go at literally any moment,” Beatrice responds. And it’s true, Ava is literally always ready and it’s frankly hard to keep up with, but Beatrice will just be grateful that desire is consistent for them.
Beatrice refocuses on the tattoo and sees that Ava’s already finished the stems. She’s beginning the outline of the lotus now.
“Sue me, my girlfriend is hot,” Ava says, with no sorrow in her voice.
“Anyways, what did you do this morning?” Beatrice asks, changing the subject. Best she doesn’t actually ruin Ava’s concentration.
“We were together all morning,” Ava says laughing.
“Sure, but you know I don’t know everything,” Beatrice says. It’s a little game they always play. Even when they’ve spent their whole days together, they’ll ask what they did, what they learned, just a way to chat about nothing and everything, an invitation to talk about what’s on their mind.
“Oh you know, I did see a Tik Tok I wanted to ask you about,” Ava asks.
Beatrice is not a Tik Tok user, but at night before they go to sleep, Ava will lie on her chest and scroll through the app as Beatrice watches along. Beatrice isn’t the best at understanding pop culture references so Ava usually ends up explaining things (with great enthusiasm). But some of the memes (how videos can also be memes is confusing to Beatrice too) end up as impossible questions that Beatrice doesn’t know how to answer.
“If I were a worm, would you still love me?” See, the thing is, Lilith and Mary had warned Beatrice about this question. They have a group chat that Mary has named “boxing bitches” because they now frequent the boxing gym together. Mary is as formidable as Lilith in the ring and Beatrice does enjoy the quality time they get together now.
Mary is a lot like Lilith, even if they butt heads often, Beatrice reads her as fiercely loyal and vocal about all of her opinions. Dearly loved by Ava, the older woman has taken a liking to her (and Shannon).
But Mary had specifically warned Lilith and Beatrice about this. That Camila and Ava were likely to ask them at some point and to in her words, dear God do not say no when asked. Beatrice doesn’t understand it though, if she was human and Ava was a worm, how would she know?
What circumstances lead to the becoming of a worm and what form of love? Because she loves Ava, she does, but she’s not going to marry a worm or have kids with a worm or grow old with a worm. Worms only live for an average of four to eight years, would that be all she gets? It makes no logical sense. Mary had said that she slept on the couch that night because she answered no. Lilith had reported a week later that Camila had asked and the result was the same because she couldn’t fathom Camila not understanding the logic in the question. Two of the three have fallen to this worm question. Beatrice would not follow.
“In what world are you a worm?” Beatrice asks. She’s stalling–she’s never lied to Ava, not even one of those lies for the sake of preserving feelings. It’s the basis of trust for them, no lies, no running away without talking first, and no pettiness if it can be helped. Also, she’d prefer to answer this question without a needle digging into her arm. Ava’s onto the daisy now, then after that, just some color highlights.
“Say you go to bed and wake up and you find a worm next to you and you just know the worm is me, do you still love me?” Ava says, continuing her work with focus.
“But how would I know that you’re the worm? Logically speaking, if I were to wake up without you I’d go look for you,” Beatrice responds.
“You know how like ages ago we talked about the multiverse? What if one of these universes I am a worm and you are you?” Ava says, she’s not at all serious, but she loves talking to Beatrice, even about the silliest of things.
“I genuinely wouldn’t hurt a fly, like I wouldn’t kill you, I’d probably put you in one of my plants or a garden and let nature do its thing,” Beatrice says, hoping that suffices.
“But would you love me?” Ava focuses on the final line of the daisy. Beatrice hadn’t wanted anything very detailed, just some beautiful fine lines and some color highlights to emphasize the flowers. It’s quick work, but she savors the intimacy of it.
“I’d love you wherever I met you, Ava,” Beatrice responds.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Ava says, seeing right through the semantics of the conversation.
“I do love you though, darling,” Beatrice says once more. She does, she means it. Her whole life stretches out ahead of her in ways she’d never imagined. Living with Ava, not in the physical sense, but as a partner in life, has brought her alive in ways she couldn’t have imagined. She knew on their first date that Ava gave her the freedom to be as she was, to exist in every joyful and painful way that she did, but a year in she couldn’t have imagined how much she is changed.
It’s later that night that Beatrice has the final word on the worm matter. Ava’s already in bed and Beatrice is admiring her reflection in their bathroom, the tattoo on her forearm still wrapped up for healing, but visible to her. She didn’t realize how much she’d love looking at it, or how proud she’d be to see Ava’s work on her.
She goes to their second bedroom, Ava’s studio, and her little library to grab the Song of Achilles. It’s well-worn and loved. She picks it up before going back to their bedroom. She hadn’t thought about it long after Ava had asked her the worm question. She knows that words are easier to find when they’re borrowed and that Ava won’t mind that it’s not original. She knows that it is enough to share and express her feelings and that Ava will never make her feel bad for sharing them.
As she gets into bed, Ava immediately gravitates to her side, attaching herself like a koala, careful not to touch Beatrice’s newly inked forearm.
“Reading before bed?” Ava asks, already grabbing her phone to turn the smart light beside Beatrice on. It’s her reading light, Ava insisted on a smart lamp so they could make the colors change based on their mood (a soft yellow for reading, red for sex, a rainbow for when they’re dancing).
“Just wanted to read you something…” Beatrice gets comfortable, pulling their blanket up to cover their torso’s before locking her feet with Ava’s.
“Will you listen?” Beatrice asks quietly. Ava was on her phone scrolling through Instagram, but upon Beatrice’s question, she dramatically throws her phone to the other side of the bed, making a show of giving Beatrice her full attention.
Beatrice flips through the pages easily, finding a dog-eared corner of a page with a quote she loves. She clears her throat dramatically, which Ava recognizes and wiggles her toes at. “You know the story of Achilles and Patroclus?”
Ava nods, Beatrice had explained it once before when she was reading the novel in her hand at home a few months ago. Achilles, a hero, and Patroclus his lover and closest council. Beatrice begins when she finds the quote,
“‘Patroclus,’' Achilles tilted his face up with a gentle finger under his chin. ‘I would recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. And I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion’.”
“Oh.” It’s an exhale from Ava. Beatrice is smart, so smart, and so hot, and has won them no less than three trivia nights–but it still sends a shiver down her spine and makes her cheeks hot and her heart thump rapidly in her chest.
“So, no, I don’t think I’d recognize you as a worm, but I’d love you, every version of you that I met until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion,” Beatrice says.
Ava doesn’t know what to say, she’s at a loss for words, one of the few times in her life. She squeezes Beatrice’s hip with her free hand and steadies her heart. How does this woman always surprise her and make her feel like she’s free-falling without an end in sight? She should be mad, and Beatrice should love her even as a worm, but the silliness of the question is lost in the seriousness of Beatrice’s response.
Every single day, they find new ways to tell each other they love one another. Today is one of the rare days where nothing goes wrong, where I love you comes out in not just one new way, but a handful or two. Where a tattoo marks a moment in a time, where Beatrice finds new words to tell Ava she’s all in, where going to bed feels like the perfect end to a good day.
Where Ava says for the hundredth time because nothing else will suffice, “I’m yours,” and means it with every fiber of her being.
Where Beatrice kisses her.
Where they wake up beside each other once more the next morning and reality still feels better than dreaming.