Author's Note: This is Part 5 of the Skate AU. Previous to this are Skate, The Dog House, Six Hundred Miles, and Turkey's a Little Dry.
The day after Christmas, a cold, clear day in Arcadia Bay. The doorbell rang. Max ran down to open it, clutching her favorite new toy. She flung open the door, whipped the camera to her eye, pressed the button. When she lowered it and grabbed the photo that spooled out, she found Chloe standing stunned, a surprised look on her face, a wrapped gift in her hands.
"Just great," Chloe said. "Now I've got you and my dad randomly pointing cameras at me."
"Can you blame us? You'll be a model someday."
"As if. I don't want to be a model."
"Well, I want to take your picture, so too bad. Take a look!" The photo was revealing itself: Chloe, wide-eyed, still smiling, the small, flat box hanging loosely in her hands. Her bike was visible behind her, propped up against the side of the house.
"Just a scrawny geek, Max."
"My scrawny geek. Get inside, it's freezing out there."
Chloe stepped inside. She briefly gave Max a hopeful, searching look, then the expression was gone. "This is for you," she said, holding out the present.
"Wait, I have to get yours! Upstairs." They scampered up the stairs to Max's room, where Max set the camera down, then rummaged under the bed, coming up up with a wrapped gift of her own. "You go first," she said, handing it to Chloe.
Chloe took it eagerly, tore off the wrapping. "Cool, a mix CD! What's on here?"
Max had just labeled it "Chloe Mix" with a little heart. "You'll find out when you listen to it!"
"A double surprise. OK, open yours."
Max unwrapped her present, opened the box within, took out a small loop of colorful, braided cord. "It's… a rope?"
"It's a necklace, dork! I made us each one, they match, see?" Chloe pulled back the collar of her sweater, revealing an identical braid hanging from her own neck.
"Awesome!" Max enthused. She usually didn't pay much attention to what she wore, had never really thought about jewelry, but she'd wear this. She slipped it over her head, lifted her ponytail over it. "I'll never take it off. Let's take a selfie." Chloe pulled her own necklace out over her sweater, and leaned close to Max. Max awkwardly held up the camera, snapped the shutter.
The photo was poorly aimed; they occupied the right half of the frame, the top of their heads cut off. But at least you could see the necklaces. "Hmph," Max grunted. "I need to practice."
"You'll get it," Chloe said. She reached out, felt Max's necklace between her fingers. "I'm glad you like it."
"I love it."
"I want to listen to this CD. Put it on!"
Max popped the CD into her little stereo, then flopped onto her bed. Chloe sat on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame. As the music started, she reached a hand back toward Max, who took it and held it. Chloe's fingers lightly stroked hers; Max felt a warm buzz of happiness. It didn't seem like a big deal.
They shared a studio on the top floor of a converted industrial building, not far from downtown Seattle. Not a glamorous locale, but cheap and an easy bus ride from their apartment. On one side was Max's white backdrop and lights, her editing workstation, and a big equipment rack where she kept her gear. The other side, facing the old, tall windows, was Chloe's; a high workbench covered in jeweler's gadgets, a big red tool chest, and a chunky safe for storing precious metals and finished product. Between them, a cheap folding table with a microwave and a mini-fridge served as a makeshift galley. An old stereo sat silent.
Chloe perched on a stool, hunched over her bench, her jeweler's loupe stuck in her right eye, muttering. She'd set up one of Max's flood lamps on either side; it wasn't even five o'clock and it was already dark outside. Max lounged at her desk, sifting halfheartedly through older photos on her computer. It was her slow time of year, not many weddings, bad weather ruled out most outdoor photography, not much else going on. Usually she enjoyed it, work nicely easing toward the end of the year as winter set in. Chloe, though, was swamped with holiday orders, much more so this year than in the past. Which was good, in theory, but it meant she was busting her ass in the studio while Max had little to do. They were out of sync, and it sucked.
Something on Chloe's bench snapped and clinked and she shouted, frustrated, "Fuck! Get over here, you little bitch!"
That seemed uncalled for. Max got up and walked over to the workbench, leaned against it. "Yeah?"
Chloe started, turned toward her, dropping the loupe from her eye into one hand. "Huh," she said. "didn't think you'd answer to 'little bitch'. Good to know. But… I wasn't talking to you. Sorry."
"It's not my preferred form of address, but if you really need to blow off steam, hey, I'm here for you. Who were you talking to?"
"I was talking to this little bitch right here." Chloe held up a tiny, baroque piece of brass, part of some larger work. Her style tended toward the mechanical, blending the machinery of watchmaking with the jeweler's art. Even her simpler designs were often made up of multiple materials, joined in interesting ways. Which meant a lot of weird little parts that had to fit together exactly right, or the whole thing wouldn't work. "I do need to blow off steam. No time." Her phone lit up, made a cash-register's cha-ching sound. "Aaand… another order. Christmas can't come soon enough."
"What are you making, anyway?"
"Right now? Ah… it's complicated."
Max looked down at jumble of little parts, tools, and a stack of detail sketches, some of which were accompanied by mathematical formulae. "I can see that," she said.
"Just… I dunno. You'll see it when it's done."
Max moved behind Chloe, started to massage her shoulders. They were stiff beneath the fabric of her blouse, muscular and rigid with pent-up tension.
Chloe bent her head forward. "Dude, you're a lifesaver."
"Anything else I can do?"
"Well, in a few days you can help me photograph and ship a bunch of stuff. Until then… don't let me starve to death."
"I'll keep the fridge stocked. For now I'm going to head home, I'm just spinning my wheels here."
"Ciao." Chloe stuck the loupe back in her eye, returned her attention to the parts in front of her.
Max left through the heavy steel door, walked the long block to the bus stop. It had rained earlier, everything was wet, street lamps reflected in puddles on the street. She shivered in the cold.
Max looked at the photo of little Chloe in the doorway, the box in her hands. She remembered the day; one of those times when, in retrospect, she was deeply in love and had no idea. She'd made good on per pledge never to remove the necklace, until it had fallen apart less than a year later. Chloe would be embarrassed by such shoddy construction now.
She pulled out her phone, sent Chloe a text. "What do you want for dinner? I'll cook."
The reply was quick. "Ate a frozen burrito. Sorry, on a roll here. Home late. xo"
"Fuck it." Max sighed to herself. She put the album away, went into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, pulled out a blue box of instant mac and cheese. Cheap comfort food and TV. Again. She shouldn't be bitter about this; they could really use the extra income. And Chloe had had to endure years of Max's own absenteeism during her busy season. But still. Winter was when she wanted to slow down and cuddle on the couch with her wife. It was no fun to hibernate alone. She set some water to boil, then went back into the living room, turned on the lights on their little Christmas tree, which they'd topped with the Jolly Roger instead of a traditional star. But Max didn't feel much like a pirate this year. She flipped on the tube.
The evening passed in boredom, and she went to bed early. She was awakened at some late hour by the sounds of Chloe getting home, undressing in the dark, sliding into bed, sudden warmth and life filling the empty spot next to Max.
"Hey, Chlo-bear," Max said.
"Ah shit, I was trying not to wake you. 'Night babe."
"Goodnight."
Chloe put her arm around her and started snoring softly. Max lay awake.
December 23rd. Chloe was still slaving in the studio, and Max spent the morning doing last-minute shopping for the rest of the family. What do you get for a guy like David Madsen? Bullets? She settled on wool socks. Everybody needs socks.
She got home in the early afternoon, loaded down with gifts and groceries, determined to make a nice holiday dinner, with or without her wife. She started wrapping gifts on the living room floor, but she wasn't home long before the front door opened, and Chloe strode in carrying a small shopping bag, a triumphant look on her face. "Max," she said, "it is fucking done."
Max looked up from her little pile of presents and rolls of paper. "Does that mean I finally get you back?"
"Yep. We've just got one more mission."
"Which is?"
"I saved all the Seattle orders for last, and there's no time to ship. Everything is packaged and ready to go, but we've gotta hand-deliver tomorrow." Chloe reached into the shopping bag, pulled out a red Santa hat with white trim, tossed it to Max. "You're my number one elf."
"Who's number two?"
"There is no number two elf."
"OK… we're going to spend Christmas Eve delivering your jewelry orders."
"To all the good boys and girls. It's gonna be awesome. Put on your hat."
Max stared at the hat skeptically, then shrugged and put it on.
"Totally hot." Chloe reached into the bag again, produced a second, identical hat, and put it on. "Whaddya think, do I look the part?" she asked, striking an exaggerated showman's pose.
Max laughed. "You are ridiculous."
"No, we are ridiculous. This is something we do together, you and me."
"Be ridiculous? God, Chloe, you are so right."
"I usually am. Come on," Chloe said, offering Max her hand. "Get up, we're going out."
Max took her hand, stood up, then hugged her, hard. Chloe moved easily in her arms, hugged her back, lithe and strong. This felt like the real Chloe, back at last. Max breathed a sigh of relief. "Where to, Kemosabe?"
"I don't even fucking care. Outside. Let's go."
The next day they got up early, donned the bulky, warm rainproofs which were a Seattle necessity at that time of year, plus the matching Santa hats, and piled into the truck. It was pouring; cold, heavy drops rattled continuously against the outside. Chloe was driving. "I made a list, and we're going to check it twice because we really don't want to deliver the wrong thing to the wrong person. A lot of these have inscriptions that would be… so awkward." She handed Max a sheet of paper. "Every package has a number. We go in order, starting at the top."
"Wow, Chloe, this is so organized."
"I know," Chloe said, her brow furrowing. "I'm turning into my father."
Not the sort of comment Chloe used to throw out lightly. Max was surprised. "Happens to the best of us. The other day I found myself on the couch drinking beer and watching hockey."
"As long as you don't grow a beard."
Max stroked her chin thoughtfully, imitating her dad. "I think we're safe."
They had a couple dozen orders to deliver, all over town. A tight schedule. They started to the south of the city, winding their way north-east around Lake Washington in a meandering arc. People were universally excited to get a visit from the artist herself, and the packages in the truck's cab were gradually replaced by wrapped cookies, brownies, candies, even a bottle of someone's home-made wine. Chloe, initially trepidatious at the prospect of interacting with her customers in person, slowly came round to the spirit of things and seemed to really be enjoying herself. Climbing back into the truck, after delivering a particularly expensive custom ring, she remarked, "You know, I make all this stuff and I send it out and I never hear about it again. It's nice to actually put it in people's hands myself, for once."
Max played the role of her "assistant", which gave the idea that Chloe was far more wealthy and successful than she actually was. As long as nobody noticed the ancient vehicle they'd arrived in.
Noon came and went, and Max's stomach growled. She looked down at her list of deliveries. "There's gotta be room in here for lunch." The were in the vicinity of Max's parents house. "We could stop by my folks' place."
"Nope, I've got a place in mind." Without further explanation, Chloe piloted the truck through familiar neighborhoods. She passed the skate park, a place loaded with happy memories, and parked outside the old hoagie shop. "This joint has a special place in my heart, and, amazingly, is open on Christmas Eve."
"Wow, we haven't been here in years…" The shop hadn't changed, but somehow it felt smaller, more shabby than it had when they'd frequented it as teenagers. It was empty, and the guy behind the counter didn't bat an eye at two young women in matching, slightly sodden Santa hats. Max left a generous tip in the jar. They sat at the little two-top in the window, and ate hoagies which didn't entirely live up to Max's memory. But, as always, Chloe finished the tail end of Max's sandwich with enthusiasm.
"If I ever eat the entire thing, will you divorce me?" Max asked.
"Interesting. Possibly. Let's not find out," Chloe said. She swallowed the last bite, washed it down with a swig of soda. "I mean, I love you and all, but a girl's got needs."
"I understand." Max smiled and leaned back in her chair.
They sat a while and watched the rain, ceaselessly coming down outside the window. Chloe shook her head. "You know Max, today would really suck if I were doing it on my own."
"I know. Don't worry, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
"Next house, I'll be you and you be me."
"What?"
Chloe grinned. "Come on, it'll be fun. You be Chloe Price, Noted Local Artisan for a while."
"There are photos of you all over your website. Everyone knows what you look like."
"Maybe I'm not the artist. Maybe I'm just the model."
"Hmm. Ok."
The next delivery was in Shoreline, just north of Seattle proper. A middle-aged man sporting glasses and a button-down shirt opened the door.
"Hi," Max said, holding out a box. "I'm Chloe Price, here with your order."
"Oh, wow… so you're Ms. Price! So good to meet you! Funny, I just assumed you modeled your own jewelry, but…" he looked at Chloe, clearly recognizing her.
"This is Maxine," Max said, introducing Chloe, "she's my model down at the studio."
"Hi," Chloe said, inclining her head and batting her eyelashes at the man.
"Oh… do you have a lot of people?"
"No no," Max said, "it's just Maxine and I. Yup, I make all the jewelry, she does all the modeling."
"Wow, ok. A full-time model, huh? Nice work, if you can get it."
"It's actually pretty boring," Chloe said, her voice lilting. "I spend most of my time just… lounging around in my underwear, waiting for Chloe here to put some new bauble or another on me."
"It can be tricky to get just right, for the photos" Max added, "and Maxine has to be in the right… mood. I guess you'd say it's very…" she turned to Chloe, reached up, ran one finger down the side of her face, "…hands on work."
The man scratched the back on his head. "I see… I… I'm an accountant, I don't… know anything about that sort of thing."
"Well," Chloe said, "you should stop by the studio sometime… see us in action. We're not shy."
Max twitched. She was struggling to suppress a giggle.
The man's eyes widened, then he regained his composure. "I don't… that won't be necessary. My wife… this is the bracelet?" He finally took the box from Max, opened it. "Oh, good, she's going to love this. I hope. Thank you, Ms. Price, have a happy holiday." He shut the door abruptly.
Max gave in to the giggles. Chloe, choking back her own laughter, pulled her back to the truck. "Quiet, quiet, he'll hear us!"
Safely on the road again, it all came spilling out. "Did you see the look on his face?" Max said, breathless. "Oh no, I hope he doesn't leave some weird online review!"
"I dunno… I kind of hope he does! Ok, next time, um, I'm me and you're you, but I'm like Scrooge, and you're like Cratchit."
"I'm your long-suffering Victorian clerk?"
"You're my long-suffering assistant and I am a stingy bitch. I apologize in advance for anything I might say."
"Wait, how is this different from normal?"
Chloe's face fell. "What?"
"Kidding, dork. You're the best wife ever."
"Oh. Yeah I am! Ok, get yourself as downtrodden as possible, the next delivery is pretty close."
"Please, missus, if I might have a biscuit? I haven't eaten since yesterday noon."
Chloe snorted. "Good. Maybe less nineteenth century."
"I'll work on it."