When she meets a stranger in the refrigerated section of a small convenience store, she doesn't expect anything to come of it.
The store is along a dusty, neglected road in the literal middle of nowhere in Montana. Logan made her run in really quick to grab snacks and drinks while he idles out front by a couple of broken-down gas pumps that were probably last functional way before either of Louise's parents were born.
Despite these sketchy factors, she'd grudgingly obliged and entered the place. It is hot and definitely not the most sanitary here, so she plans to make it a quick in-and-out kind of stop.
Then she opens one of the frosty glass doors to grab Logan's stupid dark blue Gatorade out of the cooler, and another hand rests on top of hers.
"Hey there," a low voice says. Louise follows the arm connected to the hand, and finds a pretty— okay, no, gorgeous— brunette around her age connected to the arm. She has on tight jean shorts, a plaid shirt tied just above her belly button and unbuttoned to show maximum cleavage. The rim of her cowgirl hat is drooping low over her forehead, almost concealing her eyes.
"Hell… ooo," Louise drawls, blinking several times as if to clear her vision of this beautiful thing. Surely she'll be met with reality in just a second.
"Don't you blink so much, it's makin' me dizzy," the girl teases. She takes Louise's hand, detaches it from the Gatorade, and lets the freezer door fall shut. "Besides, I wanna see as much of those eyes as I can."
Louise lifts her brows until they must be damn near her hairline. "You… like my eyes?"
"I do," the stranger affirms. "I like green eyes."
Louise tugs on one of the flaps on her bunny ears. "Well, they're more hazel. I mean— no one's ever said that to me before. Logan says they look like sizzling mini swamps when I'm angry."
The girl laughs. "Who's Logan?"
"He's my… he's… a person I know."
Cowgirl steps closer to her, sandals sliding smoothly over the sticky linoleum. Louise notices how shiny her lips are. What is it about other girls' lips? They must have to apply lip balm every thirty seconds for them to stay that shiny, and soft, and… kissable, Louise thinks as those shimmery lips touch hers.
It reminds her of the time she made out with Jessica in eleventh grade. Well, more like times. She'd known her friend was gay for a while before that— she had just somehow missed the memo that Jess was gay for her. And those times were nice. Smoking weed on the school roof, terrible peach Schnapps swimming in their veins (the stuff was stolen from Linda's liquor cabinet, of course, and replaced with another Schnapps bottle filled with water— thank god for clear alcohol), their lips melding together like hot magma.
Something about girls makes Louise all weak and stuttery. She can always keep up a confident front around guys, but with girls she's a hot mess like Gene with a chocolate fountain. The high feeling her brother got when he made chocolate angels in a puddle of chocolate with half-eaten strawberries surrounding him is similar to the feeling Louise is getting right now.
"If ya'll have to do that in here, at least do it in the lav!" shouts the cashier behind the counter. Louise stumbles back, her Converse squeaking on the floor as if they're startled by the sudden movement.
Cowgirl giggles and offers her hand to Louise. "Whataya say, green eyes?"
The shorter girl's head moves from those slender fingers to the door. Someone enters the store, and the blast of heat from outside wakes her up. She shakes her head and sprints straight out.
Louise collapses, panting, into the car. Logan looks at her in confusion. "Where's the stuff at, Four Ears?"
"Just fucking drive," she breathes, flattening herself against the seat. "Hit the gas now, dude! The people in there are…"
"Are…?" he prompts as they putter up to exit the small lot.
"… bonkers," she finishes.
Soon they're going seventy-five down the dusty, neglected road, skimming over potholes. It's a bumpier ride than a roller coaster, Logan is yelling with delight, and Louise feels like she's discovered herself all over again.
oo0oo
"I didn't know you wanted to take business classes," Rudy speaks up abruptly a few weeks later.
She grins stiffly at him. "Wow, you must've been holding that one in for a while."
"Aw, c'mon, Lou," he groans, batting away her hand when she fans away a pretend fart. "I feel… bad, y'know?"
"Why?" Louise rinses the radishes for the Burger of the Day (The "we're rooting for you!" Burger, with roasted root veggies), shakes the water droplets off them, and places them on the cutting board. "And if you're gonna launch into one of your spiels, I'm not in the mood for this, 'specially not at work."
"But—"
"Rudes, I'm holding a knife," Louise tells him, letting a creepy smirk taint her features as she holds up the aforementioned object. "Be warned, 'kay?"
That's when he explodes. He marches away and barges into the kitchen to face her head-on. "Louise, please listen to me! I- I feel like I pressured you into something you don't want! And I'd never want you to live a life you were forced into." His face softens, and he takes her free hand. "Lou, you know I love you, right? I'd never—"
She can feel the beads of sweat starting to form just under her skin, threatening to emerge. She jerks her hand away from his. "Woah, woah, buddy. Let's not throw the L-word around, alrighty? And Belchers only in the kitchen."
"I thought you said I was a Belcher!"
"Not yet."
"I'm not taking your last name, Lou," Rudy sighs. He leans on the counter, staring at her until he snags her gaze again. "Look, we don't have to do any of this, okay? We can call off the wedding, we can…" He trails off. His fingernails are embedded in his scalp again, and he's pacing and panting like a dog needing to go for a walk.
Louise rolls her eyes and resumes chopping the radishes. "Don't get your tighty whities in a bunch. My mother's already told everyone in the family and every person, friend and stranger alike, in a ten-block radius 'bout the dumb wedding. There's no going back now." Sheepishly, she raises her eyes to look at him. "Just… chill. Don't worry about anything I said before."
His eyes are large and pleading. "A- are you sure?"
She aims the knife in his direction and gives him an "I'm at my wit's end" expression. "Do I look pretty damn sure, Steiblitz?"
"Yep, yep," he mutters. "You sure do."
Quiet settles between them, as she slices and he leans on the counter restlessly. Soon enough the radishes are finished and she moves them aside on the cutting board. "Y'know," she says after a few minutes. "We could always put it up for adoption."
"Right," he rumbles irritably like a car engine that doesn't want to start. Then something snaps in his voice, a brittle twig breaking out of frost, and he adds, "You'd really give our baby away just like that?"
Louise looks at him unwaveringly and nods. "Yeah. Not like I'm attached to it or anything. Right now it's just a clump of cells sucking away most of my food intake and making me feel like shit every day at the crack of dawn." It was true— this kid sapped away her energy like a Hummer guzzling away gasoline. It was not fun, especially considering the active job she was expected to do on the daily.
His eyes follow the motion of her knife dicing an onion. "Well…" he sighs. "Maybe one day you'll feel differently."
"Maybe," she repeats, choosing her favorite word out of what he just said to focus on.
That night, they drift off in her bed with his hand resting lightly over her midsection. When he thinks she's asleep, he presses a fragile kiss to the still flat area. Under any other circumstance, Louise would kick away his embrace. But deep down, she frets she's already disappointed him enough. She wants to look forward to what's ahead, but when she dissects her heart all she finds is dread and regret. Working every day at the restaurant seems to be her only solace, the last shred of normalcy left in her life. Even her own parents, whenever she has a decent-length conversation with them, always manage to find a way to twist their chat in the direction of what's ahead. While everyone else sees a brightly-lit road ahead, the road Louise sees is lined with dead and dark street lamps.
And yet, when Rudy returns to being two hours and twenty-seven minutes away after spring break ends, she still feels the gentle weight of his arm cradling her in bed.
No, she tells herself sternly one night a few days since he's been gone. He wasn't cradling her. He was cradling their stupid clump of cells. She bets if he could carry the thing himself instead, he would. If only it was possible to transplant her sore boobs, nausea, and newfound flabbiness to him. Why does she have to be the one to suffer?
She feels nothing.
thanks for the lovely reviews! i hope you continue to enjoy :)