The ocean
Elphaba had expected to feel out of place in the Upland estate.
She had prepared for it, for the discomfort, for the careful balancing act of being tolerated but never truly welcome.
But, strangely enough, it wasn’t that bad.
In fact—it was dangerously easy.
Too easy.
Because Glinda made it that way.
It was Glinda pulling her into quiet corners, Glinda slipping her hand into hers for just a second too long, Glinda stretching across the couch with her feet in Elphaba’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was Glinda looking at her like she belonged there.
And Elphaba, idiot that she was, had started to believe it.
Which was a mistake.
Because people were starting to notice.
It started small.
Lady Upland’s lingering glances whenever Elphaba got too close to Glinda.
The slight furrow of her brow when Glinda absentmindedly fixed the collar of Elphaba’s sweaterbefore breakfast.
The way Ama Clutch’s gaze flickered between them when Glinda tugged Elphaba by the wrist toward the sitting room instead of the parlor.
None of it was enough to be explicitly questioned.
But it was enough.
Enough that Elphaba started choosing her seat more carefully, keeping her hands to herself, checking herself before letting anything slip.
Glinda?
Glinda did not.
If anything, Glinda was getting worse.
And maybe—maybe Elphaba should have stopped her.
Maybe she should have pushed her hand away under the dinner table, should have shifted away when Glinda leaned too close while reading over her shoulder.
But she didn’t.
Because Glinda was warm, and Elphaba was tired, and she had spent so many years being a walking caution sign that it felt impossible to care.
Until, finally—someone said something.
It was her ama.
Of course it was her ama.
Because she knew Glinda better than anyone.
And, more importantly—she paid attention.
It happened after breakfast, when Glinda had excused herself to get dressed for the day and Elphaba was lingering a little too comfortably in the dining room.
Ama Clutch was clearing plates, a task she didn’t have to do but insisted on anyway, when she spoke.
“She loves you, you know.”
Elphaba froze mid-sip, nearly choking on her coffee.
She set the cup down carefully. “Excuse me?”
She didn’t look at her, simply continued stacking plates.
“My Duckie. She loves you.”
Elphaba’s heart kicked against her ribs.
Her throat went dry.
She swallowed. “I—”
She finally turned, watching her closely.“She looks at you the way she used to look at the ocean when she was little—like she could get lost in it forever.”
Elphaba had no idea how to respond to that.
Ama’s expression softened slightly. “You make her happy. I haven’t seen her this way in years.”
Elphaba shifted uncomfortably. “That doesn’t mean anyone else will approve.”
Ama Clutch tilted her head.“Maybe not. But I do.”
Elphaba’s breath caught.
Ama patted her hand once, firm and warm.
Then, with a knowing look, she added—
“You should be more careful, though. My Lady isn’t blind.”
And with that, she walked away.
Leaving Elphaba, for the first time since arriving in this house, completely at a loss for words.
Elphaba spent the rest of the morning trying to ignore the way Ama Clutch’s words sat heavy in her chest.
She failed miserably.
Because, if she was being honest—she had already known.
She had known from the way Glinda looked at her in the quiet moments, had known from the way her hands lingered, from the way she pulled Elphaba in like she was something to be held, something to be kept.
She had known from the way Glinda said her name like it meant something.
And yet—hearing someone else say it out loud?
Hearing someone else recognize it, validate it, put words to the thing that had been left hanging between them for weeks?
That was something else entirely.
Which was why, as soon as they had a second alone, she grabbed Glinda by the wrist and pulled her into the nearest empty room.
Glinda, breathless, laughed at the sudden movement.
“Elphie, honestly, if you wanted to be alone with me, you could have just said—”
“Your ama knows.”
Glinda’s smile froze.
Her brows pulled together slightly. “Knows what?”
Elphaba huffed.“Don’t do that.”
Glinda tilted her head.“Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Glinda’s lips pressed together.
Elphaba let out a breath, raking a hand through her hair. “She pulled me aside after breakfast. She said…”
She hesitated.
Glinda leaned in slightly.“What? What did she say?”
Elphaba exhaled slowly.“She said you look at me the way you used to look at the ocean when you were little.”
Glinda’s mouth parted slightly.
A breath. A blink.
And then—a quiet, slow flush creeping up her neck.
Elphaba scoffed softly, shaking her head.“I don’t even know what that means.”
Glinda bit the inside of her cheek.“I do.”
Elphaba’s stomach flipped.
Glinda’s voice was quiet when she spoke again. “When I was little, I thought the ocean went on forever. I thought if I stepped in, it would just pull me away, and I’d never have to come back.”
Elphaba’s chest ached.
Glinda met her eyes fully now, open, unguarded.“That’s what she meant.”
The air between them shifted.
Elphaba felt it settle between her ribs, something warm and terrifying all at once.
Then, softer—“She told me to be careful.”
Glinda arched a brow.“Of what?”
“Your mother.”
Glinda’s expression turned unreadable.
She let that sit for a moment before nodding once, decisive.“Alright.”
Elphaba blinked. “Alright?”
Glinda tilted her head.“Yes. We’ll be careful.”
Elphaba huffed a quiet laugh.“You say that as if you’ve been careful this whole time.”
Glinda smirked.“Perhaps I’ll start.”
Elphaba rolled her eyes.“I doubt that.”
Glinda stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of Elphaba’s hair behind her ear.“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”
Elphaba let her forehead press against Glinda’s, just briefly.
And for now—that was enough.
The week passed too quickly.
Elphaba had nearly convinced herself that Ama’s warning had been unnecessary.
That Glinda’s mother was far too wrapped up in whatever charity functions and social obligations she had to worry about Glinda’s guest.
That, maybe, they had gotten away with it.
She was very, very wrong.
Dinner was the first real clue.
Lady Upland had always been poised, measured, deliberate.
But tonight, she was watching.
Not just Glinda—but Elphaba, too.
Her gaze lingered a little too long when Glinda laughed too easily at something Elphaba had said.
Her expression tightened slightly when Glinda handed Elphaba the breadbasket without her having to ask.
And then, finally—she spoke.
“Elphaba, dear, how is your family?”
Elphaba stilled slightly.
It wasn’t an unusual question. It was, in fact, a perfectly reasonable question.
But there was something careful about the way Lady Upland said it.
Something searching.
Elphaba swallowed, keeping her tone even.“They’re well, I suppose.”
Lady Upland hummed, stirring her soup slowly.“And you’re close with them?”
Elphaba’s fork hovered slightly over her plate.
Glinda, beside her, had gone stiff.
Elphaba let out a slow breath, setting her utensils down neatly.“My father and sister are deeply committed to their beliefs.”
A measured answer.
A safe answer.
But Lady Upland was not a woman easily deterred.
She took a sip of her wine before continuing. “And do they approve of your studies?”
Elphaba’s lips twitched.
Ah.
There it was.
The real question.
Do they approve of you?
Do they approve of what you are?
Elphaba reached for her own glass, keeping her expression perfectly neutral.
“They have their opinions.”
Glinda cleared her throat softly.“Momsie, honestly.”
Lady Upland barely spared her a glance. “I’m simply curious.”
Elphaba smirked slightly. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Lady Upland.”
Lady Upland tilted her head just so. “Not when one already knows the answers, dear.”
The air in the room changed.
Elphaba knew.
Glinda knew.
Ama Clutch, from her place near the sideboard, definitely knew.
Lady Upland had drawn her line.
And, more importantly—she was daring them to cross it.
Glinda, against all common sense, opened her mouth. “Well, I, for one, think Elphie is a delight.”
Elphaba nearly choked on her wine.
Lady Upland’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened slightly around her fork.
She smiled. Thinly.
“Of course you do, darling.”
The rest of the meal passed in pointed silence.
Elphaba wasn’t sure who won that round.
But she was sure of one thing—this was far from over.
Glinda had been expecting this.
Maybe not tonight—maybe not quite so soon—but eventually.
So when her ama appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, hands folded, expression unreadable, and said, “Your mother wants to see you in the study”, Glinda only nodded.
She knew what was coming.
Elphaba had already retired for the night, pulling her hair up into a loose bun, retreating to the guest room with a book and a vague comment about getting some peace before the next battle.
And now, here it was.
The battle.
Glinda kept her back straight, chin lifted, as she stepped into the study.
Lady Upland was already seated, a glass of wine balanced effortlessly in her hand.
The door shut behind Glinda.
And the room felt smaller.
“Sit,” her mother said lightly, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
Glinda sat.
Lady Upland took a slow sip before finally speaking.
“You think I don’t see it, don’t you?”
Glinda kept her expression carefully neutral.
“See what, Momsie?”
Her mother smiled.
Not a kind smile.
A knowing one.
“The way you look at her.”
Glinda’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
Her mother set her glass down, folding her hands.
“You were always going to have admirers,” she continued, her tone almost indulgent, as if discussing an amusing childhood folly. “It’s natural. Expected. But this?”
She tilted her head.
“This is something else.”
Glinda felt the air pull thin.
She opened her mouth—to deny it, to redirect, to say something clever—but her mother was already speaking again.
“I don’t know what kind of influence that girl has over you,” Lady Upland mused, “but you have changed, my dear.”
Glinda’s fingers curled slightly against the arms of the chair.
“And not in the way I would have hoped.”
A quiet beat.
Then—“She makes me happy.”
The words slipped out before Glinda could think better of them.
Her mother’s gaze sharpened.
Glinda swallowed.
And when Lady Upland finally spoke, her voice was softer now, less clipped but still deliberate.
“You are an Upland,” she said. “And Uplands do not throw away their futures for fleeting things.”
Glinda felt something cold settle in her chest.
Fleeting.
Her mother thought Elphaba was fleeting.
Like she was some passing fancy, some reckless indulgence to be entertained for a season and then discarded.
She could feel herself trembling with restraint.
She took a slow, measured breath.
“And what,” she asked, voice almost a whisper, “if she isn’t fleeting?”
Her mother stilled.
For the first time, there was a crack in her composure.
A fraction of a second where Lady Upland looked at her daughter and realized—she was serious.
She wasn’t denying it.
She wasn’t redirecting.
She wasn’t pretending.
And in that moment, Glinda realized something too.
It didn’t matter what she said.
It didn’t matter how she framed it, how she reasoned it.
Her mother had already made up her mind.
But this wasn’t just about disapproval.
This was about something deeper.
Glinda saw it now—the conflict behind her mother’s gaze, the way she had already begun calculating the risks.
Lady Upland’s entire life had been built on prestige, on appearances, on carefully managed social standing.
She knew exactly what it would mean for Glinda to stray from expectation.
And—perhaps more terrifyingly—she knew what it would mean if she didn’t support her at all.
Because Glinda was her only child.
And if she pushed too hard, if she denied too much…
She might lose her.
Entirely.
Glinda saw the moment her mother came to this realization.
She saw it in the way her grip tightened around her glass, in the way she exhaled just a fraction too slowly.
And so, instead of arguing, instead of pleading, Glinda stood.
And for the first time in her life, she looked her mother in the eye and didn’t flinch.
“You don’t have to approve,” she said quietly. “But I won’t let you make me ashamed of it. Of her.”
She turned and walked out.
Her mother didn’t call after her.
She didn’t have to.
Glinda already knew this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
But at least now, they understood each other.