Chapter 2
and all the quiet nights you bear,
seal them up with care,
no one needs to know they’re there,
for i will hold them for you
- I Will, Mitski
*
There’s a postcard in the mail on Tuesday.
The front displays New York City’s dazzling skyline. Skyscrapers. Glowing lights. A spotted night sky to blanket all of it. On the back: well wishes - Mom and Dad.
So, that’s where they are. Lottie had forgotten. Or maybe they hadn’t told her. She’s not sure it matters. And if it does, it’s less a matter of where and more a matter of when. They haven’t been home in three months, which isn’t their longest stretch, but it’s cutting it pretty close.
Lottie takes the postcard into the house and pins it on the fridge with the others. New York, Dubai, Paris, Italy… she’s made herself a little collection. Staring at it, she supposes she should feel some resentment, but she understands the pressure of obligations. She has school, college applications, soccer. They have jobs, business meetings, and a daughter, too, even if they sometimes forget.
Her parents do love her, just distantly. She can’t say she’s unhappy with their arrangement - being a teenager with a big house and an unlocked liquor cabinet does have its perks. But she gets lonely. God, does she get lonely.
There’s too much space in this house for one girl. It needs another.
“Hey, Lot.” Nat greets, a few hours later, when she shows up. It’s dark out, and the streetlights are painting her face a dull yellow. No bruises, this time.
”Hey.” Lottie says, like it doesn’t matter. Like she can’t already feel the loneliness ebbing away.
*
Nat still sleeps on the couch, despite the offer of a bed.
She sleeps with her legs sprawled and her arms left dangling off the sides. She murmurs from time to time. Occasionally, she snores. Her chest moves with the noise, big and bellowing. Like a happy giant.
She takes up so much space.
Lottie has lots of it to share: empty rooms, stretching hallways, untouched beds. She’d told Nat, once, that she was welcome to take her house if she wanted. And she’d meant it. She revels in the sound of old combat boots creaking the floorboards, finds comfort in the steam leftover in the bathroom.
She holds her hand to the couch one morning, after Nat has come and gone, and feels the fading warmth there. Proof that, for a little while, she was not alone.
*
Nat seems fine most days. She says hello, at least. Makes small talk.
”Jackie needs to take the stick out of her ass.” She complains one evening, while lingering in the foyer. It’s strange how at ease she looks there, even in her ratty jeans and sleep shirt.
”Can’t. It’s embedded in her spine.” Lottie replies, and Nat laughs, filling the room with her sound.
In those moments, it almost seems as if they’re friends.
Other days, Nat goes straight to the couch without a word. She’ll wobble, just slightly, like her leg is bothering her, or she’ll hold her arm protectively to her chest. Those are long sleeve days, baggy sweaters and shirts layered over each other. Lottie grinds her teeth but ultimately says nothing.
Push too hard, and Nat will go away entirely. Push too little, and suddenly she becomes something she’s not: indifferent.
She never has been, really. Even as a kid, Lottie cried over roadkill and tried to save worms from drowning in the gutter. She buys the whole team pizza after every loss and sends her parents letters to remind them they’re still a family. She can’t bring herself to curl away from the world when it knocks.
But Nat’s a special case. Not a worm in the gutter or a dead animal on the side of the road. She seems to take kindness the way one might accept a splinter in their hand.
Still, Lottie thinks of something.
”I don’t need…” Nat begins to protest, predictably. It’s just a tube of ointment. Five dollars at the drug store down the street.
”Don’t make it a thing.” Lottie cuts her off shortly. She’d like to be sweeter about it, but that’s not what Nat wants.
If she’s entirely honest, she’s not sure if sweet is what she wants from this either.
She sees Nat watch her sometimes. Her expression is always suspicious. She’s sure Nat wonders why she’s so okay with opening her doors every night. Quite frankly, she’d like to leave Nat to stew in her curiosity.
It’s not that Lottie can’t make other friends. She’s not Misty. She knows how to socialize. And people like her. Boys ask her out, girls wave in the hallways. She has friends in the sense that she never eats alone at lunch and always has a lab partner, but there are still things about herself that she can’t tell anyone… things she’d rather keep contained to her medicine cabinet.
Income Nat, who really has no room to judge.
*
”Hey.” Nat corners her in the locker room the next day. She’s visibly tense. Lottie focuses on tying her shoes, just to give her some small sense of privacy. “Thanks, by the way. For helping me out.”
”Sure. What are teammates for?” Lottie finishes with her laces. They’re double knotted.
”Buzz buzz.” Nat says, with as little enthusiasm as possible.
Lottie follows her out onto the field, grinning.
*
They win the game.
Lottie’s so overcome with excitement that she throws herself at the nearest body, hugging whoever is near.
Whoever smells like familiar lavender.
Nat pulls away slightly to stare at her, her brows a bit furrowed. She looks as though she’s dissecting a problem that’s just been set in front of her. Lottie’s suddenly far too aware of herself, of her legs and her arms and the placement of her hands. Her palm has found the nape of Nat’s neck. The skin there is still hot. Slick. Flushed from exertion. Lottie can feel a wild pulse beneath her thumb, and only that. She’d thought it’d be easy, sectioning their quiet nights together away from everything - but now it seems they’ve been thrown, abruptly, to the light. You smell like me, she thinks, standing in the middle of the crowd, beneath a revealing sun.
And then Van tackles her from behind, knocking them all to the ground in one large heap.
The world resumes.
*
There’s no pizza, but there is a keg and a bonfire and a party.
It’s a warm night. The trees are rustling with shrieks and laughter. The woods are pretty much the only place kids can get properly drunk without worrying about being busted. No cop comes out this far.
Lottie finds herself a beer to sip at and a tree to lean against. She’s not supposed to drink on her meds, but some liberties can be taken. She knows how to go easy. The same can’t be said for Randy and his buddies, who have already began their weekly cycle of chugging and burping. She casts a dismissive glance in their direction, watching Jeff dribble spit down his shirt. Not for the first time, she wonders how Jackie - clean, pristine, anal about everything Jackie - hooks up with him. Although, Lottie may not be the best frame of reference. Her attempts at sex with boys have always been rather underwhelming.
There was Luke, sophomore year. Jack, junior year. Twenty awkward seconds, and in the end she’d just felt pity for them.
Swirling her drink around, Lottie looks out at the party again. She starts counting teammates. Shauna, warming her hands by the fire. Misty, rambling to a bored-looking boy with a joint in his hand.
And Nat, right in the stoner den. From far away, she looks sort of mystical, blending into the smoke. Her body’s a willowy shadow, all leather on leather, black on black.
Nat meets her eye, raises her cup. Lottie raises hers right back.
“Lottie!” Somebody yells, each syllable overly pronounced. It’s Tai, trailing behind Van.
Lottie holds out an arm to catch the stumbling girl. “Someone’s drunk.”
”Someone’s going to fucking Nationals.” Tai says, much louder than necessary. Lottie grins, watching as they slip off together.
They think they’re being subtle, but she knows better. She’s seen Tai and Van kiss a few times. Always in the shadows, always hidden away. She’s already decided to show her support when they finally come out about it. She’d be grateful for the same kindness.
Not that she plans on outing herself anytime soon. Her attraction’s an inconvenience at best, something to iron out when it crops up, like a bad grade or a cold. She’ll say something about it one day. Sometime. Maybe in college.
Bullshit, a voice in her head mutters. It sounds suspiciously like Nat.
Nat. Lottie remembers that moment on the field from earlier. The warmth of her skin, the look on her face, the smell of her… it’s best to stomp out that urge before it festers.
She scans the crowd again, purposefully this time. The forest is full of dark spaces. Hidden in one is Kimberly Andrews, better known as simply Kim. Better known as the school’s biggest dyke, if you’re that particular brand of asshole. She’s nursing a beer, maintaining a careful show of boredom. Lottie doesn’t buy it. Her eyes are just a bit too clear, too focused. Too focused on Lottie, specifically. Lottie tracks the tilt of her head, the overly casual way she shrinks back into the bushes.
Satiate the urge.
Lottie finishes the last of her drink and follows.
*
After everything, Lottie just goes home. She’s reached her drink limit, and no one is missing her, anyways.
Still. She leaves the front door unlocked, just in case.
Upstairs, she cracks open a window. Digs through her cigarette stash. Takes a slow, steadying drag. She smokes for a long time, long enough that she begins to think that maybe Nat isn’t coming. A strange sense of sadness settles over her.
Before she has a chance to unpack it, she hears the click of a door opening. Then, the heavy rhythm of boots on wood.
”You really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked.” Nat approaches slowly. Her movements are lazy and sloth-like. Probably high - but nothing too strong. Just weed. “S’dangerous.”
Nat slings her leg over the windowsill, swaying a little as she balances her weight. She crooks her fingers vaguely. Like she wants something. Understanding, Lottie complies.
“You’re right. Someone might steal my cigarettes.”
“What are teammates for?” Nat returns, inhaling deep, just to blow smoke in her face.
”Bitch.” Lottie waves it away, laughing and coughing.
Nat shrugs. She’s looser with a few beers (and a little of something else) into her, more willing to slump into Lottie’s space. They smoke quietly for a while, passing the cigarette between them.
“You looked like you had fun tonight.” Nat says, eventually.
“I did.”
”Left early.”
”Yeah.”
Lottie watches Nat roll her shoulders, the action clear in the moonlight. She waits. If there’s something Nat wants to know, then she needs to ask outright.
Nat tries again, after a moment. ”Kiss someone?”
A slight tick of anxiety goes off in her chest. Surely, Nat hadn’t seen. “Maybe. Why?”
“Because…” All of a sudden, Nat is reaching out. Gentle fingers touch her throat, brush right over her pulse. The skin there stings mildly. “You’re all marked up.”
Lottie inhales, sharper than she means to.
Nat barely notices. Her eyes are glassy. She’s drunk. High. Something. Lottie bats her hand away. She doesn’t seem to mind.
“So? Dirty details?”
Lottie passes the cigarette from her right hand to her left, mostly to have something to do. Her face is uncomfortably warm. They’re wading into uncharted territory. If this were a sleepover - a real sleepover, with the girls draped all around her bedroom, trading gossip and braiding hair - she knows what she’d do. Blush, grin, spin together a story about some boy. Pretend. She’s gotten very good at it.
But Nat’s giving her one of those impenetrable looks, searching steadily for bullshit.
”Yeah, I did.” She waits a second before blowing out a breath, moving on. “So… no unlocked doors. How do you feel about a key?”