6) things you said under the stars and in the grass
disclaimed
...
"Do you ever think about the future?" Riley asks, hooking her pinky around Maya's.
It's dark where they are, upstate at Shawn's cabin, and Maya focuses on the stars rather than the girl next to her or the point of contact between them or the sick feeling that she's started associating with the thought of high school ending.
She doesn't say this.
Instead, she makes a non-committal noise, letting Riley's pinky slip when she pulls her arms in to cross over her chest.
They've been—
it hasn't been fighting. Not quite, not yet. But it's been something close and this trip had been viewed with growing dread, mounting rapidly when Shawn announced he'd have to ditch halfway through for work, because believe it or not, Maya's not super pumped to have her girlfriend try and guilt her into going to college.
As junior year had wrapped up, Maya'd thought that she'd escape the ever growing pressure from literally everyone else, had thought that the relative newness of their relationship would be distraction enough for Riley, who'd been talking about beach days and road trips and whether or not she should get a snapback (which she absolutely should).
Maya was wrong, of course.
On the last day of school, Riley had dragged her into an empty study room in the library. Maya had been hoping for some clandestine making out, but no, Riley had stacks and stacks of college information; color coded and collated, the piles were intimidating enough even without the slightly unhinged look in Riley's eyes.
Maya'd stormed out after fifteen minutes.
They've been not-fighting ever since.
Because here's where she's at: Riley's going to college. Maya isn't. Not that she doesn't want to (though she's not sure if she does), but more in that there's absolutely no way she can drag her grades high enough or save up enough or score high enough on any test to get her in anywhere, let alone anywhere near the caliber of schools that Riley's looking at; to be clear, part of Riley's college plans include California or fucking Hawaii, places that are Maya-less spaces and are far too expensive for her to visit on the regular.
So yeah. That's where she's at with the whole future thing.
Riley huffs, moving from somewhere beside her though Maya makes sure not to look over, knowing already how the moonlight is shadowing the planes of her face, casting her silver and ethereal. Knowing already that she's weak for actual goddess Riley Matthews and that if she looks at her, upset and irritated and annoyingly beautiful, she'll give in, will give the half hearted promise to try even when she knows she'll fail.
"Since you're going to keep sulking," Riley snaps, "I'll tell you what I think of when I think of the future."
Leaving me. Never looking back. The thoughts alone are enough to knock the wind out of Maya.
"Scenario one: after we graduate, we'll probably go to different colleges."
The words sting more than Maya was expecting, and she wonders if Riley can tell.
"I'll call you in the morning to make sure you're up for class and to tell you that I love you. You'll call me at night because you'll know it's hard for me to sleep without knowing you're going to be coming in through the window in the morning."
Maya tears up.
Riley continues. "We'll be that gross long distance couple that texts and FaceTime's constantly and our friends will hate us. I'll never get tired of you," she says, confirming what Maya's known for a while, which is that Riley one hundred percent can read her mind. "You'll always be one of the best things in my life," Riley adds.
When Maya opens her mouth to argue, Riley cuts her off. "Not done yet," she huffs, and Maya finally turns to look at her. Her eyes are blazing and it makes Maya feel some kinda way, and who could blame her? Riley's jaw is set and her eyes alight and the moonlight hits her hair at all the right angles to cast a halo around her and if this is Maya's big religious advent, she's fine with it.
She can feel her resolve crumbling, can feel herself starting to say alright, I'll apply to a few places, even as she knows that she'll utterly fail.
Riley doesn't let her voice such thoughts. "We're going to get married," she says evenly, as if she can't tell that Maya's heart just jumped at the thought. "We might have kids—I usually picture us with four. We're going to be disgustingly happy and probably find a unicorn to adopt, because we're really good at getting impossible things to happen for us."
"Riles," Maya starts, voice cracking because the picture she paints is a pretty one, one that Maya desperately wants. One that Maya knows is flawed.
"Scenario two: if you don't go to college," Riley says quickly, crawling over the damp grass to lie beside Maya, who rolls onto her side to face her girl. "If you don't go, then everything is the same. We'll still probably do the long distance thing, depending on where I go. You'll figure out what you want out of life and you'll make it happen for yourself, because that's what you do. We'll get married and buy a house and get a dog for the kids that I already may or may not have named to grow up with. Our unicorn will live here at the cabin and we'll visit it regularly." She reaches out to tug one of Maya's hands away from her chest and holds it between them.
"That's what I see in the future for us," Riley finishes. "And the funny thing is that no matter what the details are, no matter what scenario I throw us into, we're still us and we're still in it for the long game."
So like—
how the fuck is she supposed to argue with that?
Her anxieties don't melt away, but the voice in the back of Maya's mind quiets enough that she can really look Riley in the eyes, can really picture the future she imagines for them. There's a part of her that still sort of expects this all to be some intricate, wonderful dream and that when she wakes up, she'll still be in love with Riley and Riley will still be in love with everyone but her.
But there's a larger part that's okay even if that's the case. Because Riley will still love her and wasn't that her party line for so many years? It didn't matter how Riley loved her, as long as she did. It didn't matter in what capacity Riley was in her life, as long as she was.
And that's what Riley is telling her. That no matter what, she still loves her and will always be in her life. That nothing can get between them—not test scores or titles or miles.
"You make a compelling argument," Maya finds herself saying, her voice rough from holding back a sob.
"Can we kiss and make up yet?" Riley asks, a smile blossoming on her beautiful face.
Maya huffs out a laugh. "Duh."