A/N: Sorry this took so long. It went places I didn't expect. As promised: Reamy first date / Reagan + Karma coffee. It's a bit on the long side and half fluff and half angst so...Enjoy!
Amy doesn't think of herself as having led some sort of freakishly sheltered life.
Hell, she just spent weeks pretending to be a lesbian, came out on local TV, was named Homecoming Queen, and nearly had a threesome.
Sheltered probably wouldn't be altogether accurate.
But, beyond those recent… exceptions… there's still a lengthy list of things Amy's never done.
She's never bungee jumped. And, contrary to what she's told Karma, she really doesn't want to. Diving off a perfectly good bridge and trusting her life to something called a 'bungee'?
Thanks, but she's good.
Now, if maybe she could talk Liam into it…
She's never run with the bulls. And, if she wasn't crazy about the bungee jumping, then being chased down curvy cobblestone hills by pissed off goring machines is even lower on her list.
But, again, there's Liam…
Amy has never cheated on a test, though her Biology class is threatening to end that streak. She's never driven her mom's car without permission, though Karma has. She's never shoplifted, gotten a speeding ticket, kissed someone who knew she wanted to, or spray-painted a highway overpass.
She's never been on a date.
Until tonight.
Well…. wait… that's not exactly true. She's been on one date.
With Karma.
It was their two-week anniversary - their fake two-week anniversary - and it was their first and last date. Karma had insisted on the entire thing, on going out, on planning everything, on picking up the check.
"It's all for you," she said.
It's the least I can do, she said. It's the least I can do for my best friend who's so committed to helping me that she outed herself to her own mother.
Amy had nodded and smiled - and when you're friends with Karma Ashcroft, you do that a lot - and thought that if Karma really wanted to do something for her, the very least she could do was shut the fuck up about Liam fucking Booker. If not all the time, then at least during their anniversary dinner.
And when she caught herself actually using the word 'anniversary', Amy had realized, yet again, how truly fucked she really was.
To her credit, though, Karma had gone all out. Reservations at a nice (peanut-free) restaurant. A new dress that showed just enough leg and more than enough cleavage to make Amy glad she'd agreed to the stupid date in the first place. She made sure Amy wore something appropriate, all the while ignoring Amy's protests that any place where a doughnut shirt and bacon sweats was 'inappropriate' was not the kind of establishment they should be frequenting.
There were flowers on the table, shrimp on Amy's plate (and, months later, oh the irony), and a slow, hand-in-hand walk home in the moonlight.
And when paparazzi style pictures of their 'date' showed up on the Hester Tumblr the next morning? Karma was appropriately shocked and outraged.
How dare they, she cried. Invading our privacy that way. What levels of snooping did they have to do to even find us?
Amy might have bought it if Karma could have wiped the shit-eating grin off her face even once during her protests.
Actually, Amy still wouldn't have bought it. She knew Karma too well.
So, if she doesn't count that one night - and she really doesn't - then this is her first date.
And, to Amy, dating might as well be Calculus being taught by Greeks speaking Latin.
So far, and it's been fifteen minutes tops, she's avoided doing anything… well… anything Amy. She made it through walking down the stairs without tripping (though there was a slight moment of foot-stuck-in-carpet but nobody saw that. She thinks.). She made it through shooing Lauren upstairs before she said anything (else) embarrassing, through telling Reagan how beautiful she looks without (obviously) drooling, and even though smiling without blushing when Reagan returned the compliment.
And that took all of three minutes.
Hell, that was three more than she thought she'd last, so…
As she had followed Reagan out to her truck, Amy had focused on her feet, making dure every step was true. The last thing she needed was to face plant on her own driveway.
Plus, staring at her own feet kept her eyes off Reagan's ass. Which, Amy had quickly discovered, was a lot harder to do than she had expected.
She suddenly found herself feeling a little kinship with Liam.
Amy had slid into the passenger seat which, given the outer appearance of the truck, was shockingly comfortable. Reagan had crossed around the truck and climbed in behind the wheel. She turned to Amy and offered a smile, a far less polite and far more real, grin than she'd had back in the living room.
"Hey, Shrimp Girl," Reagan said softly, as if she hadn't said hello before. Not properly. "I'm really glad we're doing this."
And that, seven minutes into her first ever date, was when Amy knew.
This was way better than any two-week anniversary.
Molly Ashcroft has no idea how to handle this.
To be honest, she hasn't had any idea how to handle much of anything since Karma came out - again - as straight.
Which really shouldn't be surprising. How many parents would know what to do? There's no guidebook, no rules, no directions for what you do when your daughter fakes being a lesbian, breaks her best friend's heart, and then starts dating a boy you're pretty sure has the values of an alley cat.
But that - all of that - is nothing, is easy, is an absolute cake walk compared to this.
"Hi," says the beautiful girl with the partially purple hair standing on Molly's front step. "Is Karma here?"
Molly doesn't need tea leaves to know how this is going to go.
After all, she's known Karma her whole life. Tea leaves or not, Molly can see this train wreck coming a mile away.
"Oh," she says, mostly because she doesn't know what else to say and the sight of this girl - this girl she found out existed all of fifteen minutes ago - has her somewhat dumbstruck. "I mean, yes, please come in. You must be Ripley. Karma said you were coming."
"It's Reagan, actually," the young girl says as she steps through the door.
"Of course," Molly says. "I'm so sorry. I'm horrible with names. That's why we named Karma and Zen, Karma and Zen. So much easier to remember."
Molly finally finds her bearings again and settles into hostess mode, something she knows how to do, something that won't require her to think. She guides Reagan to the kitchen table.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asks, shuffling nervously between the table and the refrigerator. She needs something to do, something normal.
Because what's abnormal about welcoming in your daughter's fake ex-girlfriend's new girlfriend?
"How about some water?" she asks. "A smoothie? I think we have a few CherryMerryCherry ones left…?"
"Water will be fine, thank you," Reagan says. She takes a quick glance around the kitchen, mentally cataloging the few warnings Amy gave her.
Don't drink the smoothies.
Don't mind the smell. It's probably just the brownies.
Don't, under any circumstances, eat the brownies.
Molly hands Reagan a bottle of water and sits down at the table with her. "So," she says, smiling broadly - maybe a little too broadly - as the young girl takes a sip. "You're a lesbian?"
Reagan has to bring a hand to her mouth to avoid spit-taking all over Karma's mother.
"Um…" she says, swallowing down the water. "Yes," she says, though even to her it comes out sounding almost like a question.
"Oh, don't worry," Molly says. "No judgments here. This is a safe place." She pats Reagan's hand on the table. "After Karma and Amy came out, I joined PFLAG. I'm totally supportive," she says.
"Well… that's… great," Reagan says. And where the fuck is Karma, she wonders. "I wish all parents could be as supportive as you."
Molly smiles, pleased that an actual lesbian - and God, how weird is it that she has to make that distinction? - appreciates her efforts.
"Were your parents not OK with your sexuality?"
Molly is much like her daughter. No concept of boundaries.
Reagan smiles, weakly, glancing around quickly, praying for Karma, which only makes this even more surreal than it already was. "My dad was," she says. "My mom and I don't really… talk… much. But that was the way it was before I came out so…"
Molly nods, understandingly. "Mothers and daughters can have tricky relationships," she says. "I remember when Amy and Karma came out, Farrah didn't handle it so well."
Reagan nods. She remembers Amy telling her about homecoming. "I'm sure that was just the shock," she says. "Farrah's much better now."
She's not sure why she feels the need to defend Farrah. Or why she feels slightly put out at the way Molly subtly rolls her eyes when Reagan does.
"Actually," Reagan says. "Farrah's been the closest thing I've had to a mom in a long time." She's never said that out loud, not even to Amy. "I didn't really know how much I missed that until I had it again."
Molly's eyes soften. She's known Farrah a long time, and while she's never doubted how much the other woman loves Amy, she might have let Farrah's aversion to Karma cloud her judgment.
"I was surprised when Karma said Amy had a girlfriend," Molly says. "I didn't know…" She pauses, not sure how to phrase what she's trying to say. "I knew Karma had faked it, and I knew she said Amy wasn't, but…"
"But you thought maybe Amy was only a lesbian for Karma?"
Molly blushed a little. "It had crossed my mind," she said. "But I mean, obviously, since you two are…"
"Yeah," Reagan said. "I guess I'm the official proof," she smiled at Molly. "Trust me," she says. "Amy is 100% gay, which is great for me, right?"
Oh for fuck's sake, she thinks. 100% gay? Really?
"And you love her," Molly says softly. "I can see it."
Reagan remembers some of the stories Amy's told her about the Ashcrofts. "Is it in my aura?" she asks.
Molly shakes her head. "No," she says. "Your eyes. They light up every time you say her name." Molly smiles at the younger girl and fidgets with her hands on the table, the same gesture Karma made earlier. "I'm glad Amy's found someone. I know she took… things… hard."
You mean your daughter ripping her heart out floats through Reagan's mind before she can stop it. "I'm sure it wasn't easy on Karma either," she says. "Amy's told me a lot about her and I know she would never hurt Amy intentionally."
Molly nods. "No," she says. "But you can't always help who you love," she says. "Or who you don't."
"You ready?" Karma asks as she walks into the kitchen. She doesn't look at Reagan or her mother, instead she leans against the fridge with her hands stuffed in her pockets and her eyes focused on some point far out the kitchen window.
"Yeah," says Reagan. "Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Ashcroft," she says. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around." She stands up and waits for Karma to lead her out the door.
Molly stays sitting at the table. She's got no idea how to handle this, but she knows it isn't going to go well. She may have been surprised by Karma coming out as a lesbian and totally gobsmacked by her coming back out as straight, but she knows her daughter.
And she knows that when it comes to Amy, Karma doesn't play nicely with others.
Molly just hopes that, for once, the daughter she knows and loves - the one that would do anything to make Amy happy - shows up.
"Good luck, Reagan," Molly says under her breath.
You're going to need it.
They're halfway to where ever the hell they're going (and since Amy has no idea where that is, she can't really be sure it's halfway) when there's a lull in the conversation. And silence plus Amy plus a new situation?
That can't equal anything good.
She lasts all of a minute, maybe two, before she starts desperately searching for some way to break the silence. Something to talk about. Anything.
The weather? They live in Texas. It's dry and hot.
Movies? She and Reagan had gone back and forth about movies for two or three night's worth of texts. Reagan didn't understand Amy's love for documentaries or how she had never seen The Princess Bride.
Karma?
Let's be real here.
Amy feels her mouth opening and closing, but hears nothing, so she knows she isn't talking, which is worse, really, because sitting there flapping your jaw like some big mouth bass has got to rank oh, so high on the 'this girl is a psycho' scale.
And then, without warning, Reagan reaches a hand over, rests it on Amy's thigh, and gives a gentle squeeze.
"It's OK, Shrimps," she says, and Amy immediately likes this shorter version of her nickname (and that has nothing to do with the feel of Reagan's hand on her thigh or the momentary short circuiting of her brain that feeling causes). "Just because we don't talk for a minute doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to get bored with you and shove you out of the truck,"
Amy laughs, her entire body relaxing - except for that thigh, where Reagan's hand still sits - and she shakes her head. "Am I that obvious?"
"Well," Reagan says. "It was either that or you were chewing the world's biggest piece of gum." She gives Amy another soft squeeze then returns her hand to the wheel.
And Amy does her best to not miss the contact.
Though, if she's honest, her best isn't near good enough.
"Sorry," she says. "I guess I'm a little out of practice with this whole dating thing."
Reagan steers the car around a corner and Amy realizes they're in a part of town she's never seen. "When was your last date?" Reagan asks.
"Ummm… never?" Amy is glad the sun is setting, casting pinks and oranges through the windshield, so maybe her blush won't be quite so visible.
"No shit?" Reagan asks, and Amy is genuinely thrilled - and slightly surprised - at the lack of judgment in her tone. The fact that Reagan is older and, Amy assumes, more experienced has been one of the most nerve-wracking parts of this whole experience.
"So, no dates, at all?" Reagan continues. She slows at a crosswalk, waving a young woman and her daughter across. "Not even a night out with a boy, him trying desperately to get in your pants, you trying desperately to feel something, just so you could be 'normal'?" She pulls her hands from the wheel to mimic the air-quotes around 'normal'.
"I did kiss a boy once," Amy confesses, meaning Oliver because she's so not thinking - or counting - either ill-fated encounter with Liam. "He was sweet and made these cute little paper cranes."
Reagan laughs, and though Amy's heard it before, both the first night at the rave and a few times over the phone, she still marvels at the way the older girl's laugh sounds so… alive. Like it come rolling up through her body, from her toes, building a head of steam until it comes barreling out.
"So, paper cranes but no sparks?"
Amy shakes her head. "I wanted sparks," she says honestly. "It would have made… a lot of things much easier." She wonders, for just a moment, how much simpler everything would have been if she could have just fallen for Oliver. "But it was all just wet lips and too much teeth and the poor boy, he was more nervous than I was. He was shaking so bad, it felt like kissing an earthquake."
Reagan slows to a stop at a red light and tosses a quick glance in Amy's direction. "I bet lots of people feel like the world's shaking when they kiss you."
And Amy's sure this blush can be seen even in the dusky light. Probably from outer fucking space.
Reagan turns away, looking at the light. "Sorry," she mumbles. "It's been a while since I've been on a first date," she admits. "I'm a little out of practice, so that was probably a bit too forward." She fidgets in her seat and sighs, clearly uncomfortable.
And that shouldn't make Amy happy. But it does. Just a little.
It reminds her that she's not alone.
And in a moment, one of several she will never forget from this night, Amy finds her voice.
"Maybe I like forward," she says.
Reagan's head snaps around, one perfect eyebrow arched practically off her head. "Really?" she asks, the challenge and intrigue rippling through her husky voice.
Amy shrugs, aiming for nonchalant but landing somewhere closer to 'yeah, I'm gonna keep trying to be smooth'. "Maybe," she says. And then, as Reagan takes her foot off the brake and steers the car through the green light, Amy finishes the thought.
"Or maybe I just like you."
The first thing Karma notices as she climbs inside of Reagan's truck is that it smells vaguely like Amy. That, she figures, is probably because Amy spends so much time in it
Or, maybe, Reagan's one of those crazy chicks from the documentaries Amy always wanted to watch. Maybe she's some kind of obsessive nut job who buys all the perfumes and lotions her girlfriend uses and spreads them all around.
It puts the lotion on its skin runs through her mind and Karma, briefly, considers the possibility that Reagan's just luring Amy in and eventually she's going to cut her up and harvest her organs.
Stranger things have happened, she thinks.
Like Amy being a lesbian.
As Reagan backs out of the Ashcroft driveway - without even looking, Karma notes, the girl's a fucking menace - the redhead takes a quick survey of her surroundings.
And she realizes that she and Reagan may, technically, be alone.
But it's like Amy's right there with them.
There's an empty Starbucks cup in the cup holder. 'Hot Chocolate' noted on the side, right above the name 'Amy'.
There's a hairbrush with few blonde strands on it and a copy of Old Man and the Sea, the novel they're reading in English class on the seat.
Two ticket stubs from a recent showing of The Hunger Games sequel are tucked into the passenger side sun visor.
Karma remembers Amy mentioning she'd already seen it. Karma thought she'd said she went with Shane.
There's a small picture taped to the dashboard, right above the - seriously? - tape deck.
Amy and Reagan, on the swing in Shane's backyard.
It's official. She 'asked'. I said yes.
Reamy is a thing.
Why, Karma wonders, didn't she suggest they walk?
Karma tries, so very hard, to find something in the car that doesn't stand up and scream 'Amy Raudenfeld' at the top of its lungs. She settles on a little figure, like one of those hula dancers that shake their hips as the car drives, attached to the dash.
This one's a little dark-haired girl with headphones - a DJ, Karma figures - and its head bobbles in time as the truck bumps down the road.
"Cute," Karma says, tapping the little DJ on the head.
Not that she's fantasizing about doing that to anyone else. Not. At. All.
"Farrah got that for me," Reagan says. "She found it at some weird store in Houston when she was there at a conference for the TV station. She said it reminded her of me."
Karma wonders, for just a moment, what might remind Farrah of her.
She decides, quite quickly, that she's better off not knowing.
"So," Karma says, since apparently the conversational seal has been broken. "I heard you and my mom talking." She watches as the little DJ's head nods and nods and nods. "Amy told you about… us?"
Karma doesn't wonder, not even for just a moment, about why she doesn't say something else. Why she didn't say 'Amy told you we faked it' or 'Amy told you about our little lesbian adventure' or, pretty much anything other than 'us'.
Reagan nods and, if she's bothered by Karma's word choice, she doesn't show it. "She told me you two faked being a couple to become popular," she says. "She realized she really is gay, was in love with you, you rejected her, you ended up with Liam, and you and Amy ended up just friends."
It's odd, Karma thinks, having something - the biggest fucking something - ever in your life boiled down to the blurb on the back of a DVD case.
"Yeah," she says. "That would about cover it. I'm just… surprised she told you. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd advertize to a potential girlfriend. Hey, look at me, I was a fake lesbian! But I'm for real now, I swear!"
Reagan glances at her for a moment, and Karma's pretty sure she struck a nerve.
Either that or Reagan glares at everyone like they just shot her dog.
"I guess it's a good thing we were already together when she told me," Reagan says. "Not that it mattered. We've all got some crazy shit in our pasts, right?" She turns the truck down a side street towards the small coffee shop just at the outskirts of Karma's neighborhood.
"Besides," Reagan continues. "All that faking it stuff didn't really matter . There was only one thing I needed to know."
Karma takes the bait. "And that was?"
"If Amy was still in love with you," Reagan says. She pauses the truck at a stop sign and turns to look Karma in the eyes. "And, for the record?"
Karma stares right back. As if she's going to blink, like that would ever happen.
"She's not," Reagan says, a slight smirk crossing her lips, a definite fire raging behind her eyes.
Karma blinks.
Amy's not entirely sure when it hits her, but when it does, she can't believe that it took her so long to notice.
Being with Reagan is just about the polar opposite of being with Karma.
And, much to Amy's surprise, she's already thinking of that as a good thing. A very good thing.
Sure, she's basing this on all of half an hour and a few phone calls, but the differences are so stark, so stunningly clear, that Amy is quite sure it wouldn't be any more obvious a day or a week or a month from now.
Some of it, she knows, is the lack of familiarity. With Karma, Amy could predict every moment, every word, every action and reaction. That was how she knew -no matter what Shane said and no matter how much her lovestruck heart tried to convince her differently - that Karma never felt anything for her beyond friendship.
And, as comforting as that familiarity was, Amy's quickly discovering that the spontaneity and newness of everything with Reagan might not be so comfortable, but it's a lot more… alive.
She's not sure there will ever come a moment when something about Reagan or something she does or even just the way the older girl looks at her won't surprise her.
Moments like right now.
They're just making idle conversation and Amy can't remember the last time she laughed so much. She's tried and tried to get Reagan to tell her where they're going, but the sexy DJ just shakes her head and smiles.
"Trust me," she says. And, for some reason, Amy does.
"So," Amy says, still not entirely comfortable with the conversational lulls (that's the one plus she can think of for the familiarity of Karma), "tape deck?" she asks, pointing at the slot in the dash where Reagan's stereo should sit. "I figured super cool DJ girl would have some fancy high-end six disc changer or something."
Reagan laughs again and Amy tries to ignore the way that sound keeps making an ever increasing warmth rush through her body. "Well," she says, "when super cool DJ girl gets a super cool job that pays a little more super cool money than cater-waitering, maybe she will." She rolls her eyes, as if to say that's not happening anytime soon. "In the meantime, the tape deck will just have to do."
Amy runs a finger across the front of the deck, carefully, as if she's afraid it might break. "I didn't even know they still made tape decks," she says. She presses the eject button and pluck the small white cassette free, glancing at the name in the haze of the street lights. "Billy Joel?"
Reagan nods, a small smile on her face. "Billy's the man," she says. "My parents used to play his music in the car whenever we went anywhere. I knew all the words to Piano Man by the time I was five." She gazes at the tape in Amy's hand for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. "You have heard of Billy, right?"
Amy nods. "I think so," she says. "I think my mom listens to him. Or did, when she was young and her taste hadn't drifted to shit that could pass for elevator music." She flips the tape around in her hand. "Didn't he do that song from Lion King? Circle of Life?"
Reagan groans. "Oh, God. That was Elton John." She shakes her head. "I'm on a date with a heathen."
Amy feigns indignation, but the smile on her face betrays her. "Heathen? Moi?"
"Yes," Reagan says, "you." She points at Amy for emphasis. "You haven't heard of Billy, you apparently only know Elton from a Disney movie…" And the shudder that flows through her at the mention of Disney is about the cutest damn thing Amy's ever seen. "You've never even seen the Princess Bride."
"I know," Amy says, nodding. "It's inconceivable."
"Damn right it…" Reagan trails off, then shoots a quick glance at Amy, who tries (and fails) to imitate the older girl's eyebrow game. "Wait…" she says. "Inconceivable… you keep on using that word…"
"I do not think it means what you think it means," Amy finishes the sentence, grinning like a fool.
This, she thinks, is what it must feel like to actually surprise someone.
"You saw Princess Bride?" Reagan asks. Amy nods. "When?"
"Last night," Amy says "Turns out Lauren owned the collector's edition DVD - go figure that - and when she heard me telling you I hadn't seen it, she practically hog tied to me to the couch."
"And?" Reagan waves a hand at her, motioning for her to keep going.
"And…" Amy frowns. "And you were right." She tries to ignore the smirk crossing Reagan's face. "It was awesome. "
"And…?"
"Fine," Amy sighs. "Robin Wright was a… how did you put it?"
"A total smoke show," Reagan laughs.
"Yeah," Amy says. "That." It's her turn to laugh. "God, I'm on a date with a fifteen year old boy."
Reagan pulls one hand off the wheel and presses it to her chest. "Moi?"
"Yes, you," Amy replies. "Ogling actresses in movie, listening to oldies rock and roll. You've probably even named your truck." When Reagan doesn't reply and, in fact, turns and glances out her window, Amy knows she's hit a nerve. "Oh. My. God. You named your truck! You did."
Reagan stares straight ahead. "All the best cars have names," she says.
"Let me guess," Amy says, turning in her seat to face Reagan. "Butch? Louise? Francesca?"
Reagan does her best to bite back a giggle. "Francesca?"
"I don't know," Amy says. "I've never had a car, so what the hell do I know about car names?" She reaches over and puts a hand on Reagan's arm. "Tell me? Please?"
Reagan would, if she could. But something just forced all the air out of her lungs and the blood from her brain and, oh fuck, if just the touch of her hand can do this… "It's…. um…"
"Um?" Amy asks. "You named your car 'um'?"
Reagan manages to shake her head and takes a deep breath. Shit, she thinks, I'm in trouble.
"Lightning," she finally gasps out. "Her name is Lightning."
Amy sits back, taking her hand with her and Reagan immediately wishes she hadn't. "Lightning," she says. "Lightning." She nods as she says it, as if it agrees with her.
Which is good Because right about now, Reagan would probably agree to Butch or Louise or even Francesca if Amy asked.
"So, is that Lightning as in Greased Lightning?"
"Oh, God no," Reagan says, forcing herself to calm the fuck down. "Not all gays like the musicals, Shrimps. And I, for one, hate that fucking movie." She pauses for a moment, "But… Olivia Newton John in those leather pants…"
Amy laughs and it hits Reagan right then just how much she'd like to hear that sound more often.
"So it's just Lighting?" Amy asks. Reagan shrugs, which even Amy recognizes as code for 'no, but I'm not telling you', and she is so not going to let this go. "Oh, come on," she says. "You've already told me part of it. You can't leave me hanging here."
Reagan shakes her head. "Nope," she says. "Not gonna happen."
"Fine, don't tell me," Amy says. She turns back in her seat, crosses her arms and stares straight ahead. "And in case you can't see it," she says. "I'm totally pouting right now."
Reagan smirks at how quickly she's regained control.
Which, she knows, is utter bullshit. Because if Amy keeps pouting…
"Pouting," Reagan says "doesn't work on me."
And when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Amy turn to her again, with the most incredibly evil (and so fucking sexy) grin on her face, Reagan immediately thinks pouting might be better.
"So, no pouting," Amy says. "So, what does work? How about this?" She fixes Reagan with her best come hither stare, which mostly means she looks slightly constipated. "How about this?" Amy attempts to shake her chest like the girls in the music videos.
Reagan laughs so hard she nearly crosses into oncoming traffic.
Amy sits back for a moment, studying the older girl. And then, in a flash of inspiration, she unbuckles her belt, leans over, placing her hand back on Reagan's arm, resting her chin on Reagan's shoulder, her lips just inches from Reagan's ear.
"How," she whispers "about this?" Her breath is warm on Reagan's ear, her fingers ghosting small circles on the skin of the older girl's arm.
Reagan cracks like a cheap walnut.
"McQueen," she says. "OK? Lightning McQueen. Now just go back over there," she says, waving one hand in the general direction of Amy's seat. "Before you know, we get in an accident or something."
Amy doesn't move for a long - so very fucking long to Reagan - moment. She's not trying to torture Reagan, really she isn't. But it's suddenly hit her, what she's doing. And if Reagan was surprised by it?
Amy's fucking stunned.
She - finally - leans back in her seat, slipping the belt back around herself. "Sorry," she says.
"Sorry?" Reagan asks, only slightly mortified by the way her voice cracks slightly. "What are you sorry for?"
"For… that," Amy says quietly. "I don't know what came over me. I was just teasing you and we were laughing and having fun and…" She sighs. "And then there was the touching and the whispering and the being all breathy and shit..."
Reagan steers the car into a small parking lot, taking a spot near the back. "Shrimps?" Amy sits silently, staring straight ahead. "Amy, look at me."
Amy turns to her, and Reagan can see it all over her face. She's scared and confused and for all the confidence she showed a minute ago, Amy clearly has no idea what the hell she's doing.
It's so fucking adorable, Reagan could cry.
"Do I look like I'm complaining about the touching and the whispering and the…"
"Being all breathy," Amy adds.
"Right," Reagan says. She slides out from under the seat belt and leans over, laying one hand on top of Amy's. "I'm going to be blunt here, Shrimps. I'm attracted to you. Like way more than I should be."
Amy frowns and Reagan realizes her mistake.
"It's not that I shouldn't be attracted to you," she says. "But we've actually hung out together for about an hour now. And usually it takes me a little longer than that to get to… this point."
"What point?" Amy asks as she turns her hand over beneath Reagan's. tentatively sliding her fingers between the older girl's.
Reagan bites down on her bottom lip at the contact. "The point where scrapping our date and taking you back to my place sounds so very appealing." And even in the low lights of the parking lot, she can see Amy blush, but she can also see her smile. "I'm guessing you don't hear that sort of thing very often?"
Amy shakes her head. And her breath hitches as Reagan laces their fingers together.
"Then everyone you hang out with is either dumb, blind, or a gay guy," Reagan says, marvelling to herself at how well their hands fit together. "Trust me, Shrimps, if you ever let out whatever part of you just dropped all that sexy on me, you'll be beating the dudes and the lesbians off with a stick."
Amy looks down at their hands in her lap. And suddenly the idea of going back to Reagan's apartment sounds pretty good to her too.
"We don't have to stay here," she says, and even though she hears the words and knows that's her voice saying them, she's still surprised.
She's more surprised that she thinks she means it.
Reagan gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Believe me, Shrimps, I am sorely tempted."
"But?" Amy asks.
"But," Reagan says. "I spent ten minutes in your driveway tonight freaking out. I was terrified - for various reasons we're not going to talk about on a first date - but I finally got out of the car. Not because I was attracted to you or wanted to take you home. But because I really want… this..."
Reagan trails off. It had been a while, sure, but even she knows this isn't the sort of thing you were supposed to say on a first date.
"I want it, too," Amy says. Reagan's eyes shoot up to meet hers. "I want to go on our date. I want to talk to you and get to know you, and I really want to know why you named your truck after a cartoon race car." She smiles and so does Reagan. "So, how about we save the deep stuff for later and just have some fun for now? Deal?"
Reagan brings their entwined hands to her lips and ghosts one soft kiss across Amy's knuckles. "Deal." she says. "But I'm so not telling you about the truck."
Amy pops open her door, stepping out into the parking lot. She pulls Reagan out, never once dropping her hand. "Oh, you'll tell me," she says. "I have my ways."
And Reagan knows she's right. But she doesn't mind a bit.
She's not.
She's. Not.
Well. OK. That's good. Glad we're getting past that.
Keep telling yourself that Karma. And let me know when you believe it.
Reagan pulls into the coffee shop parking lot, and takes a spot by the door. She cuts the engine and leans back in her seat.
"I'm sorry," she says, so softly that Karma almost doesn't hear her.
"What?" Karma shakes herself back into the here and now. "Did you just say you were sorry?"
Reagan nods. "That was a bitch move," she says. "Telling you Amy doesn't love you like that." The older girl shakes her head. "Here I am worrying about you getting territorial and I come out with that? I may as well have just peed on Amy."
"Or given her a hickey," Karma says, reminding them both of the series of bites that were clearly visible on Amy that morning.
"Yeah," Reagan says. "That too." She shifts in her seat so she can look at Karma. "Look, maybe we should just start over, you know? I mean, I know this isn't totally fair. Amy's told me all about you, and I've been kept a bit of a secret."
Karma snorts. "A bit?" Talk about your under-fucking-statement. "I didn't even know you existed until yesterday. And now you're sleeping in my friend's bed, giving her hickeys, getting her videotaped, you're friends with the wicked step-sister - who's threatening me by the way - and you're buttering up my mom like it's me you want to sleep with."
Reagan arches an eyebrow. "Tell me how you really feel, Karma."
"I feel shut the fuck out, that's how I feel." Karma's voice dropped. Yesterday, when Amy had told her about Reagan, she'd been too shocked and too angry to really feel it.
But now it was hitting her. Over and over and fucking over again.
Karma stared at the little DJ, with its head still bobbling along, not a care in the world. "My best friend, my soulmate shut me out of this huge part of her life for two fucking months. And if Shane doesn't open his mouth, I don't know if I'd even know about you now."
"Shane?" Reagan's confused. How does Shane factor into all this?
And now it's Karma's turn to smirk. "Amy didn't tell you?" She laughs, but it's a hard and painful sounding thing. "Shane screwed up. He mentioned you in front of me at lunch. After that, Amy couldn't lie anymore."
"Oh," Reagan says. And, to be honest, she doesn't really know what else to say.
"Welcome to my world." Karma says. She reaches out and presses a hand to the little DJ's head, stilling it. "How's it feel? How's it feel being the one lied to?"
"She didn't lie to me." Reagan says, hoping she sounds like she means it more than she feels like she does. "She told me you found out. The how doesn't really matter."
"Of course not," Karma says. "Because she told you. She told you about me. She told you about faking it for fuck's sake."
Reagan thinks, for just a moment, about telling Karma that it was Lauren that told her about faking it, or at least got the ball rolling.
But then she thinks better of it.
"Do you know what she told me?," Karma asks. And now that anger from the day before is rushing back, overriding everything else. "She told me to grow the fuck up. She told me that she needed something just for her. Something I couldn't fuck up."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Reagan makes a mental note to remind Amy to tell her things she might need to know.
"When," Karma says, and this time it's her turn to stare into Reagan's eyes. "When did I become the person Amy can't tell things to? When did I become the fuck up?" There's tears in her eyes but a bitter anger in her voice. "When the hell did my best friend decide I wasn't worth trusting with her heart?"
And the words leave Reagan's mouth before she can stop them.
"Probably right around the time you broke it."
Amy stares up at the big bright yellow neon sign and knot of fear ties itself off in her stomach.
"Planter's?" she asks. "Like the peanuts?"
Reagan bumps the blonde's shoulder with her own. "Relax, Shrimps. I haven't forgotten your allergy." Amy smiles weakly, not quite convinced.
"Planter," Reagan says, "was the name of the first owner and when his daughter was born, they found out she had a peanut allergy. So, he changed the whole menu over, all the way down to how they make the food."
She raises their joined hands and points to a sign on the door - a peanut with a giant red 'X' through it.
"When the owner retired, his daughter took over and she kept it all the same," Reagan says. "This is, without a doubt, the safest place for you to eat in all of Austin."
Amy smiles, for real, touched by how thoughtful Reagan is. "You know, under that super cool DJ girl exterior, you're nothing but a big old softy, aren't you?"
Reagan shrugs. Only for you, she thinks, but says nothing, instead just tugging Amy though the front door of the diner by their still linked hands.
It's the smell that hits Amy first. And between the feel of Reagan's hand in hers and that wonderful smell, the blonde is pretty sure she's just found heaven.
"Oh my God," she says. "What is that?" She takes in a deep breath. This, she imagines, is what a kitchen should smell like, instead of the rank smell of days old take out (a Farrah speciality) or some unholy mixture of veggies and herbs and, possibly, illegal drugs (the Ashcroft house in a nutshell, no pun intended).
"That," Reagan says, "would be those." She drops Amy's hand to point at a glass case by the front counter. And Amy, despite instantaneously missing the contact, is too transfixed by what's behind the glass to think about it.
"No. Fucking. Way." She rushes the case like a kid on Christmas morning, crouching down in front of it, barely even noticing when her breath fogs the glass. "Are those?"
"Yup," Reagan says, coming up behind her. "Twenty different kinds of homemade, fresh baked, totally peanut free doughnuts." She can't help but laugh at the way Amy's staring at the baked goods. "They actually have forty different kinds, but they rotate them in and out."
Amy presses her fingers against the glass. "So, we were planning to order one of each and just stay here the rest of the night?"
Reagan kneels beside her, putting one hand on Amy's knee. "Not exactly," she says. "But I did get you a treat." She stands back up, offering Amy a hand, which the blonde takes, but not before shooting one last wistful glance at the case.
Reagan leads her to a small table in the corner. "Your table, milady." She pulls out the chair for Amy, the one in front of a large box.
A large, yummy smelling box.
"If that's what I think it is," Amy says, as she sits down. "I may just have to marry you."
Reagan leans over and opens the box, allowing Amy to feast her eyes on two dozen beautiful doughnuts. "Just for you," Reagan says. But when Amy reaches for one, Reagan smacks her hand and closes the box. "For you to take home," she says. "For here, we're actually going to have a meal."
Amy pouts. Doughnuts are a meal.
Reagan sits down across from her, then waves back at someone behind the counter. A moment later a middle-aged waitress appears next to their table.
"Rea, it's so nice to see you. It's been too long."
Reagan stands and hugs the woman and Amy feels a slight pang of jealousy.
Not for the hug. But because Reagan knows the doughnut woman.
"Jana, this is Amy, my date for the evening," Reagan says. "Amy, this is Jana Planter, owner and proprietor of your new favorite place on Earth."
"You own the place?" Amy asks. "Are you hiring? I'd make a great taste-tester. You wouldn't even have to pay me."
Jana laughs and smiles and Amy immediately likes the woman even more.
"Rea said you had a thing for the baked goods," Jana says. "She also might have mentioned that you liked bacon?"
Amy's eyes grow impossibly wide. "Do you have a bacon flavored donut?"
Jana nods and points at the box on the table. "Fourth row, third from the top," she says. Amy reaches for the box and Reagan smacks her hand, again. "But, we also have something else you might like." She disappears behind the counter again and reappears with two plates, which she slides down in front of the girls.
Reagan and Jana both grin as Amy takes in the sight on her plate. "Is that? No. I mean, I've heard of them, but…" She looks up at the waitress and then over at Reagan. "Is it?"
Reagan nods. "Deep fried doughnut bacon cheeseburger," she says. "Best in the state. Guaranteed to raise your cholesterol fifty points just from looking at it."
Amy picks up the burger. "It's so beautiful," she says. "I almost can't bring myself to take a bite."
And then she takes the biggest bite Reagan's ever seen anyone take of anything, ever.
"What?" Amy says over a mouthful of deep fried deliciousness. "I said almost."
Exactly eighteen and a half minutes later…
"That," Amy says, "was so good, I think it got me pregnant. Which is fine, because if I was ever going to have babies, I would totally want them to be deep fried bacon burger babies."
Reagan stares from across the table, her face a mixture of admiration, fear, and - she'll admit it - arousal. "It was like watching one of those shows on the Nature Channel," she says. "The ones where they show the lion devouring its prey."
"I wasn't that bad," Amy says.
"I offered you the other half of mine," Reagan says, "and I thought you were going to eat my hand with it."
Amy smirks at her. "Lesson number one about me, DJ - never come between me and bacon. Or a doughnut." She thinks about it for a minute. "Or shrimp."
Reagan's phone vibrates its way across the table and she snatches it up. "Shit," she says. "It's work. I have to take this. Be right back?"
Amy nods as the older girl stands and strolls to the other side of the near empty diner to take her call. Jana appears to take their plates. "Thank you, Jana," Amy says. "That was so good."
"Reagan thought you'd like it," the older woman says as she collects Amy's plate. She's not even sure she'll have to run it through the dishwasher, its been licked so clean.
"Have you known her long?" Amy asks.
Jana nods. "Since she was little. Her whole family used to come in once a week." Jana's smile grows a little sad. "Even after the divorce and the move, Reagan stills comes in a couple times a month."
Amy knows she shouldn't ask her next question, but she can't help it. "So you must have met a lot of the girls she's dated?"
Jana smirks knowingly at Amy. "Trying to get a little inside info?"
Amy blushes. "No, it's just… this is my first date," she says, chalking her sudden forthcoming nature up to how can you not trust the Doughnut Woman? "And I guess I'm worried I won't measure up."
Jana glances over, sees Reagan still in the corner talking animatedly into her cell. "Well," she says. "I wouldn't really know. You're the first girl she's ever brought here."
The nice doughnut lady sees the surprise on Amy's face.
"Reagan doesn't date a lot, that I know of, "Jana says." she's always been more of a commitment girl. She was with Shelby for… a year, I think… and I never even met her. Heard all about her. But never met her."
She smiles at Amy again and clears the table, leaving the blonde to her thoughts. Reagan smiles at her from across the room and Amy smiles back, but those words keep running through her mind.
You're the first girl she's ever brought here.
It might not mean as much as Amy thinks it does. It might not mean anything.
But Amy thinks it does. She thinks it means a lot.
And she just hopes it means as much to Reagan as it does to her.
If looks really could kill, Reagan's pretty sure the glare Karma's burning into her right now would have killed her, cremated her, and spread her ashes to the wind.
And, as much as she hates to admit it, she might deserve it.
Right around the time you broke it
Could she have gone for any more of a cheap shot? Sure, it's the truth, and yeah, sometimes the truth hurts.
But still…
So much for two mature women having coffee and getting to know each other.
So much for a lot of things.
Karma finally breaks the silence and, since it's not by lunging across the cab of the truck to strangle her, Reagan's eager to listen.
"You don't know shit about that."
"Amy told me - "
Karma shakes her head. "I don't care what she told you. I don't give one single solitary fuck what she told you." She's fisting her seatbelt in her hand and Reagan wonders, briefly, if the redhead could get the belt all the way across the cab and around her throat.
"Look, Karma -"
"No." Karma hasn't stopped glaring, Reagan's not even sure she's blinked. "I will not look. I will not listen. I will not sit here and let you…"
"Let me what?" Reagan asks, her aggravation getting the better of her, again. "What is it I'm doing, Karma?"
"You're talking about things that are none of your fucking business,"
Reagan feels bad for what she said. Really. She didn't ask Karma for coffee so she could hurt her. That wasn't the plan.
But she's also starting to wonder if maybe a lot of this could have been avoided if someone had called Karma out on some shit a long while ago.
"Amy," Reagan says,"is my business. I'm her girlfriend, in case you forgot."
Karma smirks, and Reagan immediately misses the glare. "Yeah, you're her girlfriend. But do you really think that's going to last?" Karma, apparently, has decided not to pull punches either. "I mean come on, Reagan. You're hot and all. But your temporary. Do you really think 'Reamy' is endgame here?"
"And you think you're going to be the one to decide that, Karma?" Reagan hates the viciously territorial lesbian stereotype.
But that doesn't mean she won't live up to it.
Karma smiles at her and there's something so spiteful about it that Reagan can't help wondering what this girl would do if she ever found out about Amy and Liam.
"You think I can't?" Karma asks. "You think you're so far into Amy's life that I can't get you out, just. like. that?"
Reagan knows this isn't going to end well. Hell, it didn't start well. But now… now she appreciates just how far off the rails this has gone. And she's the older one. The supposed adult. She should stop it.
She should.
"Not her life," Reagan says. "Her heart."
Karma just laughs. Not a chuckle or a snort but a full on throw her head back and let it rip laugh. "Her heart? Babe, the only thing you're in is her bed. And trust me, I know how easy it is to get caught up in all that. How easily finally getting a little can blind you. It was like that with me and Liam in the beginning."
Reagan resists the urge to visibly recoil at the mention of the douche. "Amy and I are nothing like you and Liam," she snaps. "You wanted him because he was popular. He just wanted to fuck a lesbian."
Karma doesn't miss a beat. "And that makes him different from you, how?"
"I don't want to fuck a lesbian, Karma." Reagan leans forward, making sure the younger girl can hear every word. "I want to fuck Amy. And last time I checked? That was one thing you sure as hell couldn't give her."
"And that's all you can give her," Karma spits back. "You can't give her history. You can't give her ten years. You can't give her a connection. Not like ours."
Reagan undoes her belt. She's had about enough. "I wouldn't want to," she says. "You act like you have this sacred, unbreakable bond."
"We do."
"Yeah?" Reagan knows this is it.
This is the one she can't take back.
"So tell me Karma," she says. "When your best friend, your soulmate was at her most vulnerable, when she had just revealed to you her biggest, deepest, most frightening secret, when she had come out to you, what did you do?"
It's the one thing, the one mistake in ten years that Karma truly fears they'll never be able to get past.
And Reagan knows it.
"I broke her heart," Karma says. And the glare is gone. The fire and venom has fallen from her voice. And Reagan almost feels sorry for her.
Almost.
"You still don't get it," Reagan says. "It wasn't the rejection. It wasn't that you didn't love her like that."
Karma's lost, Reagan can see it in her eyes.
"You told her it was no big deal," Reagan says. She can still remember the night Amy finally told her everything about the wedding. How she could still recite Karma's words exactly. "You told her she was confused."
Karma's breaking right in front of her, but Reagan can't stop.
She's sinking in quicksand.
"You told her you slept with Liam."
Karma's eyes squeeze shut and that only serves to flush the tears down her cheek.
"Amy opened her heart to you, Karma," Reagan says. "She counted on that bond. Maybe not to make you love her like that, but to at least make you be the friend you always claim to be."
Karma shakes in her seat, shuddering sobs rumbling through her.
"You want to know why Amy might keep something from you?" Reagan swings her door open and hops from the truck. "After that night, if I was Amy, I doubt I'd tell you anything ever again."
Reagan slams the door shut and walks into the shop, leaving Karma sobbing behind her.
She hates that she said it. She hates that she did it.
But somebody had to. Somebody had to have Amy's back.
That used to be Karma's job.
Not anymore.
Amy follows Reagan across the street, over a trail through a small patch of woods, and then down a small hill.
Over the river and through the woods…
"Is this the part where you kill me and bury my recently fattened up body somewhere in the woods?"
"If I was going to kill you, Shrimps, I'd have just slipped some peanuts into your burger," Reagan says. "OK, we're here."
Here looks suspiciously like an old abandoned lot with a rickety swing set sitting right in the middle of the light from one street lamp.
"And here is?"
"An old abandoned lot with a rickety swing set," Reagan says, waving her arms to encompass all of it. "And also, my favorite place on Earth."
Reagan takes her Amy by the hand and guides her to the swing set, settling her on one, before she sits down on the other.
She points off into the distance, toward a small cluster of houses. "That's where I grew up, at least at first," she says. "We lived in that development. Me, my mom, my dad, and Glenn. He and I found this place one day, after we'd all had breakfast at Planter's."
Reagan swings gently and Amy waits. She knows this means something to Reagan and she'll let her tell it at her own pace.
"Glenn and I used to come here all the time," Reagan says. "Whenever our parents were fighting, which was basically all the time." Reagan stares off at the houses in the distance, watches as lights blink out one by one. "It just sort of became our place. I don't think I ever saw another kid here."
You're the first girl she's ever brought here.
Amy closes her eyes. She has to. If she looks at Reagan for one more minute…
"There used to be a movie theater up the hill, behind those houses," Reaga says. "When I was 11, my mother took me to see Cars there one Sunday."
Amy pushes herself gently on the swing, moving back and forth, just listening.
"A week later, she and my dad sat me and Glenn down and told us they were getting a divorce." Reagan hops off her own swing, moving behind Amy, giving her gentle pushes.
Using the motion to hide the tears.
"That movie was the last day my mom and I ever spent together, just the two of us."
And suddenly, 'McQueen' makes so much sense it makes Amy's heart hurt,
"I still come here," Reagan says. "When I need to be alone, when I need to think, when I need to let myself stop hating my mother and just miss her."
Amy stops swinging, spinning herself around, letting the chains get tangled up. She reaches out and pulls Reagan to her, slipping her arms around the older girl's waist.
"I don't know…" Reagan starts but then stops. "I've never brought anyone else here," she says. "And honestly, I wasn't even planning to tonight. I was just going to take you to Planter's and then maybe we'd go for a walk or stargaze from the back of Lightning… but then…"
"But then, what?" Amy asks, afraid she's done something without knowing.
"Then I saw you," Reagan says, smiling even though there are still tears in her eyes
"Saw me?" Amy asks.
Reagan nods as she brings one hand to Amy's cheek, her heart shuddering when Amy leans into the contact.
"When you came down the stairs in your house," she says. "When you climbed in my truck. When you saw the doughnuts, when you took that first bite of burger and dripped ketchup down your chin, when you - "
And her words are cut off by Amy's lips pressing against hers and, for just a second, Reagan forgets to breathe.
But then she feels Amy's tongue poking against her lips and she opens up and Amy's breathing for the both of them.
Reagan brings both hands up to cup Amy's cheeks and she feels Amy's hands as they clutch at the back of her shirt. And Amy tastes like doughnut and burger and ketchup and so many other things that Reagan thinks - no, she's sure - she'll never get tired of.
And for a very long while, even after that first kiss - and a second and a third and a few more - are done, they stay there, wrapped up in each other, listening to the sounds of the night and swaying beneath the light of that one street lamp.