twelfth
5 January
The twelfth day of Christmas
Christen wakes up feeling like she’s held together with string. She’d cried on and off most of the night, flung back into memories of her parents, grieving for moments she didn’t appreciate enough at the time, but now she’s come out the other side, she feels - cautiously - better. It’s the most delicate of calms, but it’s a start.
It’s already become habit to dress warmly, brew her coffee so it’s there waiting when she gets back, and collect her egg basket from the spot by the door. Chickens and partridges first, rushing out of their houses to peck furiously around her boots as she scatters feed across the grass; popping into the henhouse while they’re distracted to muck them out and check what are now the usual laying spots. Geese next, then a meditative moment to watch the swans glide smoothly across the lake. Sometimes the milk will have been delivered to the doorstep while she’s out. It’s a good routine, really. It suits her.
Today the milk isn’t there yet, but Tobin is.
She obviously walked over, and she’s hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm despite being bundled up in that bright blue woolen overcoat and beanie and giant scarf. Christen feels simultaneously teary and relieved and very, very tender, a rush of emotion so sudden that she has to look away; even though she is also absolutely certain, now, that all she really wants is to run into Tobin’s arms.
She busies herself with scraping the mud off her boots. ‘Why didn’t you wait inside?’
‘I didn’t want to surprise you.’
‘You’re only ever a good surprise,’ says Christen firmly, pulling off her gloves.
Tobin doesn’t look totally convinced, but she follows Christen into the house and pulls off her scarf, cold fingers fumbling with the buttons of her coat. ‘Good haul?’
Christen shows her the full basket. ‘You can judge the taste for yourself.’
They settle in the warm kitchen like they have a thousand times before, orbiting effortlessly around each other in the familiar space. Christen makes them both scrambled eggs and Tobin makes more coffee. Christen feels Tobin relax and stop beating herself up for - as she sees it - making Christen cry, and Christen herself starts to feel more solid, more present. More ready for whatever comes next.
‘Chris.’
‘Yeah?’
‘When you’ve finished, will you come for a walk with me, please?’
It’s a normal enough request, but there’s such gravity in Tobin’s voice as she says it. It feels important. Christen doesn’t nod or shrug or throw out a response; she puts down her mug carefully and arranges her cutlery on her plate, putting everything in order, before she looks up and smiles.
‘I’d like that.’
***
The town is absolutely full of people. It’s busy enough that Christen does a mental double-take, wondering if she’s missed a memo or if she’s totally lost track of time and it’s New Year all over again. But that was last week, for sure, because it was the day she felt so shitty and Tobin bought her the farm to save it from going under, and Christen got so mad at her -
‘You okay?’
Christen looks over, startled. There’s a little smile on Tobin’s face, like she can tell exactly what Christen’s thinking, which she probably can because she usually seems to know. ‘Did we get universal healthcare or something?’
Tobin laughs. ‘Not exactly. Want a hot chocolate?’
‘It’s like you don’t know me at all.’
The coffee shop is crowded, so she waits outside while Tobin orders. She’s only now realizing how tired she is. She was awake all night thinking about those stupid bagpipes, to the point where it’s almost like she can still hear -
No, she can. She can hear them.
Christen looks around, bewildered. The sidewalks had already been full when they’d arrived, but now people seem to be gathering instead of milling around directionless; they’re expectant, excited, waiting for something. There are no cars any more, and in the comparative quiet she can definitely hear pipes. Pipes, and something else.
‘Milady’s hazelnut hot chocolate with marshmallows.’
She reaches for the cup automatically, head still turned up the street. ‘Tobin, what’s going on?’
Tobin looks excited, too, in a nervy kind of way. ‘Here. Stand up here.’
‘But -’
‘You’ll see better.’
‘See what?’
Tobin just takes her hand and helps her hop up onto the stone ledge around a flowerbed. She can see over the crowd like this, and it is very much a crowd now, assembled in banks on either side of the road. The pipes are unmistakeably louder.
And then it hits her. It’s a parade.
It starts off like the Fourth of July: twelve drummers in full regalia, twirling their sticks, setting the crowd clapping and whistling along. A full pipe band, twenty-two of them, pacing past solemnly before a troupe of dancers; Christen recognizes some of the faces from the show a couple of nights ago. And then she has to giggle because the scene suddenly transforms into a harvest festival celebration. There’s Mr and Mrs Harvey, leading eight cows, and three of their farmhands corralling seven swans and six geese. It’s the last thing in the world Christen expected to see in their staid little town.
She’s so surprised it takes a while to come back to reality, but eventually she’s broken out of it by the sound of cheering: kids absolutely beside themselves with excitement, parents leaning down to encourage them to wave to the cows, older groups smiling and laughing. She sees the Dunns and Horans a little way down the street to her left, the O’Haras opposite them, and the Heaths lurking on the other side of the bakery trying very hard not to be spotted as they sneak looks at her and Tobin. All the people and things she loves best are here.
Tears prick at her eyes.
‘Chris.’
Tobin is looking at her tentatively, worriedly, one hand gripping her coffee and the other stuffed in her pocket. Christen wipes her cheek and stumbles down from the ledge. ‘Did you do all this?’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Tobin.’
‘There's someone at your house to deal with the animals. It’s all arranged. The Harveys were thinking of changing focus anyway and the farm’s going to gradually transition into egg production. Chickens and geese. You can keep some, if you want to, and visit the others whenever you like and, I mean, you never have to buy eggs or milk again as long as you live.’ Tobin bites her lip. She looks tense, like she might cry. ‘I never wanted to make your life difficult, Chris. I know I'm too laid-back for you, and I’m not - like, naturally smart or organized or any of that, but I did plan this. I meant it all.’
‘You’re not too laid-back for me. You’re not too anything for me.’ Christen feels like she’s brimming over, like she can’t contain everything she needs to feel, wants to say. ‘I don’t understand. Why this?’
Tobin blinks and shrugs a shoulder awkwardly. ‘I don’t know, really. I guess it’s just... One of the reasons I love you is how happy it makes you to see other people happy, and I thought - but I know it’s a crazy thing to do. I know it’s all been crazy. I was just trying to do something you’d never forget.’
‘It’s not crazy, not even a little bit,’ rushes out Christen, before her brain has fully caught up to the rest of the sentence. ‘Wait. What did you say?’
‘I noticed how happy it makes you to see -’
‘No, before that. What did you say before that?’
‘I don’t…’ Tobin begins, then trails off as she remembers. ‘The bit where I told you it was one of the reasons I love you?’
‘Yes,’ whispers Christen. ‘That bit.’
Tobin gazes at her for what, in the weight of her eyes, feels like a full minute. Then she puts her coffee cup down on the ledge and steps forward, gloved hands twisted in front of her. ‘I love you, Christen. I don’t mean as my best friend, although you are that too. I mean that I love you, and I think I always have, and I know I always will. I will, in whatever way you’ll let me.’
Christen is so happy she could float.
They can never agree afterwards who makes the first move. All Christen knows is that one minute she’s standing in the street and the next it feels like all her dreams are coming true at once. The kiss is gentle at first, almost careful, like neither of them wants to push their luck too quickly, but Christen’s hands find their way around Tobin’s waist and it’s like she can feel Tobin’s whole body thrumming. She can tell they’re both poised, ready to hold each other closer, which makes sense: now that she finally has Tobin in her arms, she finally realizes just how long she’s wanted it.
Tobin draws back first, and Christen feels anxiety settle at the back of her throat, but Tobin is just staring at her, almost dazed. She can hardly breathe until suddenly Tobin throws her arms around her neck and just hugs her, bursting with happiness. It only lasts a second before she takes Christen’s face in her hands and kisses her again. This time it’s clumsy and overenthusiastic but god, it’s right.
Someone wolf whistles, but Christen is so joyful she doesn’t care. She just smiles against Tobin’s mouth.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ is all she can say. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
***
Christen wakes on the thirteenth day of Christmas with Tobin’s arm draped over her waist and her chin tucked in the crook of Christen’s neck. As usual, they’re somehow right at the edge of the king-size bed, curled up around each other despite the acres of empty sheets on Tobin’s other side. In hindsight, that should have been a clue.
She shifts her position very very slightly, trying not to wake her - friend, she thinks out of habit, but she knows that’s not what they are any more. She’s sore, in a good way, and as she moves her legs she can tell she’s still wet.
Tobin mumbles something into her shoulder, stroking her stomach gently. Christen picks up her hand and traces the shape of her fingers, pressing a kiss to the last knuckle. ‘Good morning.’
‘Mmmf. Sleep well?’
‘Oh, you know. I was pretty tired.’
‘No kidding. We did good.’ Christen feels Tobin smile smugly against her skin. ‘So, I was thinking.’
‘Oh no.’
Tobin rolls onto her back. The movement drags the sheet down around her hips and Christen tries very hard to focus on her face. ‘Twelve partridges. Twenty-two turtle doves. Thirty hens. Thirty-six songbirds -’
‘I knew that was you!’
‘Sssh. That one was a mistake. Forty rings, forty-two geese, forty-two swans, forty cows. I counted and between the show and the party there were sixty-six people dancing. Twenty-two bagpipers. Twelve drummers yesterday.’
She looks at Christen expectantly. Christen blinks and has to laugh, because she’s honestly trying really hard to focus on what Tobin is saying but they’re still so warm and relaxed and her skin is so soft and her breasts are so perfect and right there. ‘What about it?’
‘It makes 364 presents. One for every day of the year but one.’ Tobin shifts onto her side and looks at her earnestly. ‘Let me get you something else, Chris. Just to round it off. Anything you like.’
Christen turns to face her, swinging her leg over Tobin’s hip and enjoying the way Tobin can’t help but press closer. She’s so happy it feels like she could stay here forever, completely at home, because it’s Tobin: it’s all of her growing-up, and the absolute rightness of being together now, and the way it feels like her future has opened up in front of her.
She tucks Tobin’s hair behind her ear and kisses her, just once, just gently.
‘Can I keep you instead?’