Chapter 2
Ava awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. It had cooled sometime during the night when the luxury of warmth evaded the house. It was something she had been putting off, but now that the seasons were shifting, Ava knew that she needed to handle the faulty wiring at some point. Her mind wandered, skipped, as she took in her surroundings.
Home. It was home. The moonlight flitted through the cracked blinds in the shape of bars across her legs. The same art hung on the walls. However, she did not recognize the blind pressure against her back, the soft breathing that added to the sweat on her skin.
Shiloh had crawled into bed at some point. She had been nestled into Ava’s side but when the older girl sprung up from dreams she couldn’t quite recall, Shiloh had shifted. Little snores escaped her mouth, and her thumb was just inches from her lips. Ava watched her for a few silent moments.
Sometimes it hit her that she was responsible for this human life, and sometimes it felt like she was going through the motions. Get her to school and swim practice. Make dinner, or at least attempt to, and brush the tangles out of her tightly curled hair.
But tonight, as the pale light took up most of her vision and sleep started to tug back at Ava’s subconscious, she saw her as more. She looked so much like Ava’s brother and the thought sucked the air from her lungs.
Before she could dwell, she laid back down against the rapidly cooling sheets and pulled Shiloh’s sleeping form into her chest. The girl moved easily, she fisted Ava’s cotton shirt and pressed her letting out a small noise in her sleep.
Ava drifted off to the sound of Shiloh’s tiny breaths, and her own buzzing skin finally cooling off from a nightmare, or what she assumed was a nightmare, drifting away entirely into nothingness.
When Ava woke up for a second time, it was to a bright beam of sun cutting across her eyes. She clenched them harder and let out a grumble before turning into the down pillow. When she did finally catch up, she ran her palm over the empty space in the bed beside her. Nothing but cold. No Shiloh.
“Shit,” Ava sat up enough to see inky blotches in her vision. “Shit, shit, shit!”
This kid was going to be the death of her. Ava bolted out of bed and padded across the fridged floor. She Checked the bedroom first but found nothing except for the mocking eyes of all Shiloh’s stuffed animals. Then, the bathroom, was empty and much too bright for her liking.
Panic didn’t fully set in until she couldn’t track her down in the laundry room, or the kitchen, or the living room. In fact, Ava saw no sign that the kid had woken up, no toys or art supplies strung across the flooring, or a shitty homemade breakfast that Ava would smile through. Nothing.
She didn’t bother with shoes. Instead, she pulled the front door open and nearly crashed into Lilith, who had her hand raised with the spare key that Ava had given her when she first purchased the house. Even without it, Lilith would have found a way in.
“Oh, thank fuck!”
“Language, Ava.”
Lilith corrected her gently, but Ava ignored her. Shiloh was perched on her hip, dutifully shifting parchment paper around a sugary donut. There was a solid amount of chocolate rimming her lips and her teeth, as she grinned at Ava.
She pushed her way into the house, “I left a note on the refrigerator. I brought breakfast and coffee. Figured, you’d like to wake up normally for once.”
“Oh, you are a savior.” Ava leaned forward and took a bite of the donut in Shiloh’s hand.
She protested “Hey!”
“Sorry Kiddo, that is penance for having your pointy little knees against my spine all night.”
She seemed to accept that with a shrug and dashed off towards her room the second Lilith set her down. Both Lilith and Ava warned her to slow down but the request fell on deaf ears. Shiloh kept the door open as she was told and Ava gratefully took the everything bagel slathered in cream cheese that was offered to her.
Lilith said, “So…”
Ava, rocking on her feet, “…So”
“You’re going to sleep with the teacher, aren’t you?”
Ava began to sputter like a car's engine in the dead of winter. Her cheeks flamed a cherry red. Fuck the teacher? Absolutely not. Probably not. Most likely not. It would be inappropriate, even by her standards. Ava was so new to this parenting thing, but she supposed having the very naked kindergarten teacher in her bed wasn’t proper etiquette.
The thought of a naked Miss Holland presented a new wave of problems that she refused to take note of. She had been sufficiently covered up during their initial meetings, and it seemed to catch both of them off guard at the farmer's market. Sure, she was just wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. Something so normal, but also revealing the toned mass of her arms. God damn, her arms!
And that stupid comment the honey salesman made had Miss Holland’s entire body stiffening. She was built- very, very built. It was something that Ava couldn’t push out of her mind to the point that she, on a whim, invited the woman over for dinner tonight.
“No! What? No!”
“Did you say it twice to convince me, or yourself?”
She glared at Lilith with enough intensity to spark a fire before she let that flame flicker out. The grain of the floor became interesting. “You haven’t seen her. But the answer is no. I am inviting her over to dinner because she’s seen me cry twice and that’s… too much for a near stranger.”
“Yes, but she’s responsible for making you cry in the first place.” Lilith flopped down onto her unspoken side of the sofa. “Am I wrong?”
Ava sat on the other end of the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her bottom lip out in a mock pout. Miss Holland, Beatrice, had made her cry, but not intentionally. Ava had properly unloaded on her.
Lilith laughed and waved her hand in the air. “I’m messing with you, Ava. You’re much too uptight lately. Jump her bones.”
“Jump…her… bones? That did not just come out of your mouth.”
Lilith shrugged and started to unwrap her food. Ava would, in fact, not jump Beatrice’s bones. She’d cook her chicken alfredo as a thank you for the advice and perhaps they would talk past that. Perhaps, things wouldn’t be awkward or pressed.
“I’ll take the kid,” Lilith said resolutely. “Enjoy your adult time.”
~~~
A bomb had gone off in Beatrice’s apartment, scattering clothes across every inch of her bedroom. A cotton shirt was strung over the television, her shoes having been rummaged through and strew over the floor. Every single shirt she owned had been moved from its normal place, and for once, it didn’t matter to Beatrice.
What mattered was her helplessness when choosing an outfit for dinner tonight. Beatrice generally kept to herself. She shared friendly conversations in her day-to-day life and answered the phone when her parents called. She would speak with parents and her coworkers over lukewarm cups of coffee.
But ultimately, she would go home at night, change into sweatpants and watch crappy reality television that she would never admit to turning on in the first place. Dinners were reserved for modest dresses in the lobby of whatever hotel her parents deemed worthy enough to stay in during their sparce visits.
She had given up and laid on the carpeted floor long before her rescue squad showed up and knocked before pushing their way in. Beatrice shifted onto her back.
“Oh, baby girl. This is bad.”
Mary was above her, haloed by the ceiling light. She had a shit-eating grin on her face. Camila was a little more tentative, giving her a soft wave as she peered down at the deflated version of Beatrice on the floor. She went deadweight as the two of them attempted to pull her up. They settled on leaning her up against the bed.
Camila started pawing through the clothes that were still on the hangers. Mary said, “What are we working with?”
“Black. A lot of black. Bea, do you own any colors that aren’t like Switzerland?”
Mary let out a noise that was a mix between a scoff and a laugh. Beatrice glared at them openly. While she appreciated the rescue, she most certainly did not appreciate the jokes at her wardrobe's expense. But it was true. Most of her clothes were gray, or navy, or some odd shade of black that wasn’t exactly a midnight expanse to swim through.
“What are the vibes?” Mary asked.
“I’m not sure. She said that it was a thank you for giving her advice on her niece… and probably the tissues I gave her. Which, quite honestly, is not a big feat. I always carry them in my bag and I was the one who had spurred the emotion in the first place. But she’s entirely attractive. That doesn’t mean I should assume that every occasion she proposes is a date-“
Beatrice only stopped because her lungs started to ache from the exhaust of air. This wasn’t like her at all, a rambling mess that was a puddle on the floor at the thought of dinner at a girl's house. She wasn’t necessarily suave, but she’d been told on many occasions that she held an heir of confidence that gave her that appearance.
Mary and Camila looked at each other nervously before they both turned back to the closet. All Beatrice could hear was her own deafening thoughts and the clanking of metal hangers until Camila gasped softly.
“Oh my god,”
Beatrice whipped her head up, narrowing her eyes. Her legs were beginning to lose feeling on the floor but she had no doubt she could spring forward at a moment's notice. Mary looked at her friend with a certain light in her eyes that scared the hell out of Beatrice.
Mary said, “This is it. This is the one.”
Camila said, “Trying to be sneaky by hiding this in the dark depths of her closet.”
Beatrice was standing now, her arms overtly over her chest. She was steady on her legs despite the initial feeling of jelly. Her scowl only deepened when the two of them turned around like they were gameshow hosts displaying the newest model of car, or a washer and dryer spinning on a raised platform.
“No. No! Absolutely not! That bag was meant to be dropped off at the donation center ages ago. It’s not fair game!”
“It might not be fair game, but it’s what’s necessary.”
“Necessary?” Beatrice felt like her breath was clinging to be set free “Necessary! Mary, I don’t have an objective here.”
Camila clicked her tongue “Your objective should be sex. You’re so tightly wound lately it’ll do you some good. I’m not telling you to rail this woman. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun?”
“Besides, this is hardly immodest.”
She supposed it wasn’t the most scandalous thing in the world, if not a little… directed. She had purchased it on a whim and hadn’t even gone further than looking at herself in the mirror screwed to the back of her door. Beatrice had to admit, she did look good in the garment. It was more than appropriate for an impromptu dinner.
“Now, I know I’ll regret this question.” Mary hugged the item closer “But do you even own jeans?”
~~~
It was official. Ava had spent much too long deciding on whether she should light candles or not. It felt much too formal, but the overhead light in the dining room was always a vexing source of a lingering headache. And for one nervous reason, or not, she had wanted a clear head for the dinner.
So, she decided to light the candles that were mainly used as decoration on the table. Then she blew them out when it looked too much like a Victorian attempt at wooing someone. Still, it was better than the dark, so she relit them just in time to hear the tentative knock.
Ava smoothed her sheer cardigan out and took a deep breath before opening the door. All thoughts about candles, and shitty pre-conceptions, and if she had burned the garlic bread escaped her in a single moment. She imagined a match being struck and burning the city of worry down, just at the sight of Miss Holland. Of Beatrice. Because this was certainly Beatrice.
She tried not to stare, truly, she did. But it was wholly apparent that Beatrice caught the way her eyes raked her up and down. Ava took in the tight jeans, the boots, and the knit turtleneck that Beatrice was wearing. Much like her outfit when they first met, it was modestly at her throat. But the black jumper had a very obvious slit against the chest that drew attention to the rise and fall of her breath, the breasts that lay directly under the fabric.
Yeah. Ava was certain to short circuit.
Beatrice’s hair was down, not scooped up into a perfect bun, or pushed behind her ears. Ava noticed now that there were chunks of blonde sprinkled throughout a sea of dark. Oh, how she had to work hard to stop the throughs of brushing the hair from her neck and nipping softly at the skin.
Her cheeks were enflamed in a bright red blush. “Miss Silva… I-I mean, Ava.”
“Beatrice, come in, please.”
Ava breathed in the subtleties of Beatrice’s floral shampoo, the vague scent of honey. It was intoxicating. Once; Ava had partaken as a guest to one of Lilith’s dungeons and dragons sessions (She’d murder Ava if she ever did anything but think these thoughts). One of the party members played a succubus that lured men, and women alike, into her clutches with her scent.
While Ava did not understand anything about the game, she rolled the dice dutifully and lowered her voice a pitch so her elfin character could partake in the adventures. Beatrice, right now in the overtly cut top, with her deep soft scent, reminded Ava of said succubus.
Not that she would drain the life from her, but even if she wanted to, Ava would let her. It was a valiant way to go and she would quickly be the one to make that sacrifice.
She led Beatrice into the dining room and immediately regretted the candles. It was too late to blow them out now. The yellow glow from the flames shaded one half of Beatrice’s cut jawline. Her eyes lit up, following the dancing color. She was beautiful, stunning, and God-like, and Ava was getting so ahead of herself.
She should speak “I…dark.”
“Yes,” Beatrice chuckled, a quiet sound “Dark.”
They both sat down, Ava at the head of the table and Beatrice at her side. She could feel the warmth of their knees, just barely touching. There was an unspoken tension there: What was this? It was a gesture, and that much was certain. At its core, it was some terribly cooked, and over-seasoned, but Beatrice didn’t’ point any of that out.
Instead, her eyes wandered to the art on the fridge, tacked up with magnets from Ava’s vast travels. Shiloh had a knack for it, just like her father did. Just like Ava had cultivated into paintings that sold for hundreds of thousands.
Beatrice gave a gentle smile, twirling a good heaping of pasta on her fork before lifting her chin to the large canvas that hung behind Ava’s head. It had become a staple, something like breathing. While she had put so much love and attention into the initial work, she rarely regarded it now.
“Did you paint that?” Beatrice asked.
Ava turned in her chair, staring at the cascading browns and tans of a large steeple and the deep green trees that surrounded it. If you stared at it for long enough, let your eyes lose focus, it turned into something else- the idea of a thing that could swirl and morph into whatever you wanted. Whatever you saw in each stroke of the brush.
“Oh uh, yeah.” Blush was suddenly climbing against the expanse of her neck. “I spent a summer in Andalucía. Most of the stuff I came back with were half-baked charcoal sketches. But this… I don’t know. It was an Abbey. I wasn’t allowed to go in, obviously. I’m not what one would call holy.”
Beatrice smiled, something so bright. “You have a real talent. It’s beautiful.”
It could have been a trick of the light, but Ava swore Beatrice wasn’t staring at the painting of her shoulder when she said that. It made her stomach flutter. Ava smiled into her glass of red wine. Beatrice abandoned her own food for a tentative gulp.
~~~
Beatrice had finally relaxed by the time she had finished her second glass of wine. She couldn’t name the flavor, but it bit at the back of her throat. She and Ava had shared easy conversation, nothing forced, something so natural about Ava’s art, Beatrice’s teaching career, and what she had done in the year between college and high school graduation.
They had, at some point, migrated to the living room. Ava had her back against the front of the couch. Beatrice was cross-legged in front of her, running her fingers over the edge of her sock. She had finally gotten vague control of her arousal, something she fully had to admit to when Ava opened the door.
Ava had shed her white sheer cardigan at some point during dinner, pushing her chest forward, flexing the muscles in her arms as she listened intently to what Beatrice was saying. Beatrice stumbled over her own words at that moment, not quite remembering where she was going with the sentence. But Ava gave her a patient and dazzling smile that eased her into her train of thought.
Ava looked so relaxed, her arm folded over the couch while she took a deep sip of crimson liquid. She had a warmth about her, like a slowly-setting sun. Beatrice basked in it, craved to be closer to it.
“An orphan at Twenty-Three isn’t exactly what I saw for my future, but you know, things happen. Bad things, but you can only take it one step at a time.” She was lazy with her words as if the subject matter they’d drifted into didn’t require more. She waved her hand around dismissively “What about you?”
“Me?”
Beatrice swallowed the wine that was on her tongue. It emboldened her. She shifted her position, moving next to Ava. Ava who smelled like the vaguest bit of winter snow and biting mint. Beatrice pressed her back against the front of the soft, resting her arms on her knees.
“Well, yeah. Only if you’re comfortable though. I did trauma dump on you the first time we met. And I ugly cried. A lot.” Ava bumped her shoulder, cheeks enflamed in blush. “Still embarrassed about that, by the way.”
This was uncrossed territory. It had taken her months for her to chip away at the brick, no, reinforced steel, wall that was her family and her past. Mary had known her through all four years of University before she got a sleep-deprived-finals-week explanation of why she was trying so hard.
Camila had such a tender grasp on the very human tics that others possessed. After a phone call with her mother, her assistant teacher knew just the right buttons to push, and the right words to say. It was honestly quite scary. Words tumbled from Beatrice’s mouth before her tongue could form them. She was met with pity, which was… unavoidable. But still welcomed the tense hug.
She took a deep breath and another gulp of wine that had warmed from the pressure of her palm. “My parents are diplomats. They’ve very” She waved her hand in the air clumsily “proper,”
“That makes sense. I don’t think I’ve heard you utter a single curse word.”
Ava smirked and Beatrice knew that would come and bite her in the butt later. There was a certain bit of challenge to Ava’s alcohol-hazed eyes that sparked excitement in her. She swallowed it down, much like the sour taste on her tongue. Ava gestured for her to continue.
“There was a certain expectation of our behavior we were meant to adhere to. I was enrolled in etiquette classes before I could even speak, and I still know the proper cutlery for each meal course. It was impossibly hard to please them, but it’s something that I did out of… fear? Resentment? I’m not sure. It was something that I did until my junior year of high school.”
Had Ava gotten closer? Their shoulders were touching now, and the warmth was overwhelming. That wintery mix that coated Ava’s skin was nearly as intoxicating as the wine. Beatrice swallowed hard, probably imagining the way dark brown eyes flicked down to her lips.
“Some things did not fit into their idea of me. And that’s all I’ve ever been to them. The idea of a perfect daughter for them to sculpt into whatever they wanted. I let myself be sculpted until I didn’t recognize myself. I did everything I was told and then I made out with Denise Turner in the Catholic School bathroom.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted up and the corner of her mouth quirked up in the slightest bit of amusement. She didn’t say anything, though, it seemed as if she was leaning closer. Beatrice could count her sun-worn freckles dusting her cheeks.
“Me being queer, it changed things. It was like this churning secret deep inside that was ripping me apart. I started rebelling. Drinking, sneaking out, having sex for God’s sake, there was nothing I wouldn’t partake in to feel a little closer to me. Even if those extremes died down. I don’t quite know how to explain it.”
Ava nodded thoughtfully “Life is too short not to take what you want, what you need, to feel a bit of euphoria.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly right.” Beatrice found a soft smile on her face, “When my parents found out they were resolute to send me to a commune. An actual commune for nuns. I mean, can you imagine? Being a nun!”
Ava scoffed “Not in this economy”
“I went to live with my aunt in the states, here. She raised me as her own and while my parents still talk with me sometimes, it’s never going to be the same. They think I’m broken. They’ll never accept the wanderlust of chasing… what was it you said?”
“Euphoria?”
“Euphoria.”
~~~
A single word had stuck into the center of Ava’s abdomen like the sharp edge of a sword. Broken. God- it positively irked her. Beatrice said it like it was an old friend sipping honey-spiked tea on the porch as the sun set behind moss-choked trees.
Broken.
She looked at this woman; with her soft wine-warm cheeks and her easy, dismissive smile, and she could see anything but broken, no one was truly broken until they had been forced to break. Beatrice worked her hand nervously through her hair in a haunted gesture.
She should say something, she was always forgetting to say something, but she was entirely content soaking in the presence of Beatrice and her wine-dark eyes. She had moved closer, to the scent of floral sweetness and the curve of Beatrice’s spine against the couch. How she admired the arch of it, the tenderness in her stare.
“Broken.” Ava had whispered it, but with their proximity, it was unmistakably spoken with fervor. Confusion glazed over Beatrice’s features, and she lilted her head ever so slightly to the side. “You’re not…. Broken. Fuck Them.”
Beatrice chuckled, and finished her drink “Language,”
“No, I’m serious!” Ava laughed too, shoving her shoulder playfully into Beatrice’s. “Really, though. I’ve known you for all of what… two days? And I can already tell that you’re the most interesting, un-broken, person in the room. Really, it’s captivating. It’s paintable.”
The words came out in a rush of air that made Ava feel dizzy. She laid it out on the table. Paintable. Paintable? Okay. She could have said something worse. But now, the image of Beatrice traced into the lines of her sketchbook, and her canvas was burned into her brain. It would be hard to extinguish that fire.
Beatrice was staring at her intently. The night had deepened. Ava grew focused when she was drunk, or drunk-adjacent and she was entirely focused on the stripped color behind her eyes. They were leaning in close, noses nearly touching, and Beatrice’s breath was against her collarbone.
“That is incredibly sweet of you, Ava.”
Ava was suddenly hot with fear. She could be reading the situation wrong. It had been three hours since Beatrice walked into her home and there was a thin line between a friendly dinner and an even friendlier one. God, how she wanted it to be the second one.
A timer in the kitchen went off, startling the two of them apart. The blood rushed past her ears. Whatever haze had been created by the proximity and the alcohol was ever-present, but a bit of sense was knocked into her too. This goddess of a woman suddenly looked embarrassed and small, but entirely adorable.
“I should, uh… get going.”
“Right, yes, right. I mean, stay as long as you want-“
“It’s a school night.”
Ava ached with regret as she walked Beatrice to the door. The teacher spoke in soft sentences about how good the meal was (It most certainly was not) and how she enjoyed talking to Ava. It felt intimate but neither of the women said anything.
“Thank you, again,” Beatrice said.
“Of course. Thank you for everything with Shiloh, I appreciate the guidance.” She reached up and squeezed Beatrice’s shoulder before smoothing out the lapel of her jacket “And remember… not broken. Okay?”
It came out as a whisper “Okay.”
When Ava closed the door, she pressed her back against it and took in a deep, suddenly cold breath. Stupid, it was so stupid. She wanted so desperately to lean forward and capture Beatrice’s lips with her own. Deep down, Ava knew, and deep down, she had some crumb of hope that Beatrice knew too.
It made opening the door back up to the chilly evening air just that much easier.
She had a speech on her tongue, resting there like a perched bird. She’d get it all out there, tell the woman that she’d spent the last few hours effortlessly talking to that she wanted to do this again, that she never wanted it to end.
Ava faltered. Beatrice still stood on the front porch under the weak light that spilled from the house. Her lips were parted and she breathed as if she had gotten down to the end of the driveway before jogging back. Her hand was raised like she was going to knock.
“Ava,” She sighed, “I may be interpreting this situation entirely wrong, but you are one of the most breathtaking, muse-inducing women I have ever met. I’m not great with words and stop me if I’m overstepping, but from the moment you walked into my classroom you’re all I’ve been able to think about.”
Ava blinked at her, knees feeling suddenly weak, she held onto the doorframe to keep herself steady.
“My point is, life is too short not to chase euphoria.”
Ava is afraid she’s going to burst. She surges forward and captures Beatrice’s lips with her own. She kisses Beatrice like she’s the most fragile thing in the world, tasting subtle hints of orange and wine, her fingers traced softly against Beatrice’s jawline as the embrace deepened. A soft whimper escaped her chest that seemed to spur Beatrice on.
Beatrice draped her arms around Ava’s shoulders, drinking her in. The kiss separated naturally; foreheads pressed against one another. Ava had never been so close, yet she wanted to get closer.
“You’re right,” Ava smiled, “Life is too short not to take what you want. Would you like to come in?”
Beatrice grinned “I’d love to.”