Thanksgiving at the Sullivans' had become a tradition after Frank insisted he'd had it with Angela's relatives—and if Angela hadn't agreed that they were a lousy lot, she might have fought him on it. Instead, her family was told that the Rizzolis could no longer afford half-week trips over to New York for the holidays, so off it was to one of Frank's old army buddies. Many other families whose men had served with Sullivan also attended, including Alberto Gilberti.

"Janie, is Giovanni Gilberti seeing anyone?" Angela asked, turning around in the front seat to look at her daughter.

Crammed between her brothers in the back seat and stuck holding an enormous tray of mashed potatoes, Jane wasn't in a happy mood to begin with. "I don't know," she scowled.

"Aw, leave her alone, Ange," Frank said, his tone light. "Giovanni's a sweet kid, but Jane's way too bright for him! You oughtta aim high for your daughter, sweetheart!" His words made Jane feel optimistic, like maybe he'd sway Angela to lay off mentioning guys altogether. Unfortunately: "How about Jim's boy? You know, uh—Bill! Plays quarterback for BCU."

"Ooh, he's a real hunk and a half!" Angela laughed, smiling at Jane.

All three of her children looked severely put off by the language she used to describe a person much younger than herself. "Bill's all right, I guess," Jane mumbled.

Angela rolled her eyes. "But?"

When Jane stayed silent, Tommy piped up, "He doesn't like girls who're more sporty than him."

"I don't blame him," Angela said. "Let me tell you something, Jane, and I think your father will agree with me whether he says so or not." She conspiringly held a hand up to the side of her mouth and whispered, even though they were all full aware that Jane wasn't the only one who could hear her. "A man's most sensitive spot is his pride. Bill's a big sports star! Of course he shouldn't get shown up by his girl."

"Ma, would you quit talking like we're picking out linens already?" Jane griped. "Guy like him's probably already got a girl, anyway."

"Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of other nice boys at this party," Angela said, turning around to face forward again.

"Yippee," Jane muttered, sinking lower into her seat.

When they pulled up to the Sullivans' home, a man and his wife were just getting out of their own powder blue Cadillac. The man waved to Frank, who faked a poor smile, and the man started chatting with his wife as they walked up to the house. Angela asked who it was, but Frank just waved her off, telling her to go on inside. Tommy got out of the car so Jane could hand Angela the potatoes, and when he made to follow her, Frank called him back so he could say something to him and Frankie. Angela took the tray of potatoes from Jane and told her to go back for the trimmings and host gift that had been stashed into the trunk. With Tommy's car door still open, if Jane strained her ears, she could hear what Frank was telling his sons in a hushed voice:

"...name's Del Rossi. Sullivan says the guy's been 'cured' of it, so we gotta be civil, but I don't think I buy it. Listen here, boys: don't you spend a second alone with him, get me? And if he does anything—if he tries to do anything, makes you uncomfortable? Deck him. Get outta there but beat it out of him first if you have to. Don't hold back."

"I don't get it," Tommy sniggered. "Married to a bombshell like that? How could a guy stay a fairy?"

Juggling the host gift and a jar of gravy, Jane slammed the trunk of the car and walked away before she could hear any more of the conversation. As soon as she walked inside, she was greeted by Sullivan, who took the items out of her hands before she could ask where to put them. She was glancing around to see if there was anyone in here she might remotely consider talking to, and her eyes zeroed in on the legs of Del Rossi's wife. Before she could even worry about getting caught staring, her father's friend Jim walked right up to her.

"Janie!" he roared, drawing her into a one-armed hug. "How ya been, kid? Your mom said you were just dying to talk to Bill—wouldn't talk about anyone else on the whole drive up, huh?" He laughed, giving her a joking elbow in the ribs as she sputtered and tried to correct him. "Don't blame you. My boy's got all the coeds going nuts! He's out back throwing the old pigskin around with some of the fellas."

"I don't—I—"

"Ah go on, he'll be tickled to see ya!" Jim chuckled, shoving her in the direction of the back door.

Seeing as there was nobody in here to talk with anyway, Jane made a mental note to yell at her mother as she stepped outside. Bill was indeed involved in what appeared to be a very serious football game with boys varying in age from junior high to their early twenties. It wasn't long before Frankie and Tommy came barreling out the door, the latter almost knocking Jane over in his eagerness to join in the game. Jane stumbled down the porch steps, staying on her feet thanks to the porch railing.

Bill caught her eye and waved, and was soon joined in his waving by Giovanni, who skipped over to her.

"Want in on the game, Jane?" he asked.

"Nah, but thanks."

She'd tried joining in on their games before. Nobody but Giovanni ever passed to her, and even if they did, nobody would have dared tackle a girl. The one time she'd gotten the chance to tackle a boy, she'd of course made a mess of her clothes and Angela had scolded her all the way home. So, she wandered back up the porch to where a group of girls were sitting, recognizing some of them as daughters of her dad's friends.

"Hi, Jane!" one of them greeted her, pulling up an empty chair. "How's it going?"

"Well Kathy, it's going, I guess," Jane sighed, sitting next to her. "What're you all doing?"

"My mother keeps forgetting the boys don't like walnuts in their jello salad," explained one of the girls. "Taste rules over aesthetics, it seems, so we're picking them out. Care to join?"

"Sounds grand," Jane snorted, leaning back in her chair. "Think I'll just watch."

"Well at least do something entertaining and watch the boys," Kathy laughed. "Bill Jenkins' a real cutie, isn't he?"

Jane shrugged. "You still playing softball?"

"You bet!" Kathy said. "As a matter of fact, I just came over here from a game. We beat the pants off the other team, and I had to change in the car ride over. How'd you like a souvenir?"

She took a blue baseball cap that had been placed on the railing and tossed it at Jane. Laughing, Jane put the cap on backwards and pounded the fist of one hand into the palm of the other, leaning forward and spreading her legs. Kathy laughed and said she really looked the part of a catcher.

"HEADS UP!"

The football from the boys' game was flying in their direction, and Jane turned just in time to catch it. Doing so almost made her fall out of her seat, and the edge of the muddy ball caught her cheek. Jane stood up and chucked the ball to Frankie. The throw had a pretty good spin on it, and she was miffed that none of the boys thought to at least compliment her on it. Glowering at the lot of them, Jane turned and went back into the house to wash her face.

On her way to the washroom, her arm was grabbed by her mother, who yanked her over to introduce her to some people.

"Honey! Have you met Adamo Del Rossi? He was in your father's unit!"

"Hi," Jane said stiffly, extending her hand for Del Rossi to shake.

He seemed an amiable enough guy, well-built but with a weak chin. His smile was nice, though, and with one arm around his wife's waist, he nodded at her and said, "Nice to meet you, kiddo! This knock-out here's my wife—"

"Mamie van Doren," Frank said, walking up to stand by Angela.

Del Rossi shot him a withering look, matched by Angela's. "Roxie."

To Frank's point, Roxie Del Rossi appeared to be the type of woman Angela usually made a point of telling Jane never to emulate or admire. Given the weather, her skirt was strikingly short, putting her nylon-covered legs on full display. Her lipstick was a daring shade of red, almost as shocking to the eye as her platinum blonde hair. The neckline of her sweater was a little low (probably intended to be worn with a shirt underneath it) and aided her rather magnificent bra in showing off a very well-endowed chest—one that Jane was struggling not to stare at.

"Hi," Jane said, quickly removing her borrowed baseball cap.

"Roxie, hello," Frank said, shaking her hand. "Now, tell me—how did you two meet?"

"Korsak introduced us," Del Rossi explained, nodding at a jolly looking man a few clusters away. Jane recognized him as a beat cop she'd seen around town. "Roxie was a WAC, you know."

"A babe like you? Get out of town!" Frank laughed.

Roxie just smiled. "Yes, sir. Navy mechanic."

"Wow," Jane breathed.

Roxie grinned at her more genuinely. "What'd you say your name was, honey?"

"Jane."

"Jane," Roxie purred, reaching over and pinching Jane's cheek. Jane's first instinct was to pull away before she realized Roxie was wiping some dirt from the football off her face. Her touch seemed to be lingering needlessly. "Look at you, you're adorable! How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she said, a little put off by Roxie's condescending tone.

"Aww, just a sweet young thing."

"Get a load of her!" Del Rossi laughed. "She's only just twenty!"

That only made Jane feel all the more annoyed at the condescension, and she excused herself to go to the washroom.

Dinner passed uneventfully, and Jane spent most of it shooting down her mother's suggestions of which boys at the party might be eligible for her. Everyone wanted to know what her plans were after graduation, and she made a few casual remarks about schools she'd applied to—failing to bring up the one she'd ambitiously filled out for BCU. Talking to Maura about it had encouraged to try, just to see if she could get in. So far she'd managed not to tell a soul, and she planned to keep it that way until she found out whether she'd made it.

Through most of the meal, she couldn't help but let her mind drift to Maura, and the sumptuous party at the Fairfields she was attending. What was she wearing? Was Garrett with her the whole time? Did she laugh at his jokes? Was there music, did they dance again? And today was her birthday—had there been a cake for her? Presents? Had Garrett planned anything special?

Other times, she found herself wondering about Del Rossi. What had made him queer? When had he first kissed another man, and what prompted him to feel like he was safe to do so? Or had the other man initiated it? How could you do something like that, and be certain that the other person involved wouldn't bolt, or beat you, or report you? Was he really cured now? It didn't seem possible that any man could fail to be attracted to a woman as beautiful as the one he'd married. More than once, Jane's fork missed her mouth because she'd been staring at Roxie. Gratefully, no one seemed to notice.

It was a bit overwhelming.

As dessert was consumed by all and more drinks were had by the adults, Jane found herself conversing with one of the few sober men left at the party, Officer Korsak. He was a nice enough guy, and didn't talk to her like she was an idiot, which she appreciated.

"So you're shooting for a higher education, huh?"

"Thought I'd try, yes, sir."

"That's a mighty good plan, kid. Mighty good. I think a girl ought to be educated."

"Well sir the way I see it, my best friend's a girl, and she's the smartest person I know. I feel like she could just about save the world if she got the chance, but I don't know if she'll ever get it."

"Save the world, huh?"

"Eh, not like Superman. Like a super scientist. She could leave the rough stuff to me."

"Brains and brawn, huh? Always makes a good match. If you're really blessed, you can have both."

He tipped his glass of water at her, and Jane just laughed back.

As her family was later preparing to leave, Jane stopped in the washroom one more time. The door had been propped open, leading her to believe it was unoccupied, but this assumption was proved incorrect when she saw Roxie Del Rossi staring into the mirror.

"Hi, Janie," she drawled. "How'd you know I was in here?"

"Oh—uh—I didn't," Jane said, trying to back away, though her hand was still on the knob. "Sorry, I—"

Roxie pulled Jane inside the bathroom, slamming the door shut and cornering Jane against it. "Save it, sweetheart. You think I haven't noticed the way you've been staring me down all night?"

"I'm—I have not," Jane said, though without much conviction.

"Tsk, tsk. Lying, to boot! Honey, it's a shame you're not old enough to drink."

"You're hammered!"

"No," Roxie sighed. "I've had enough to be brave. Any more, and the next stage would be weeping. Tell me, sweet thing, which of those boys out there is your sweetheart? Or haven't you got one?" When Jane's only response was a stunned silence, Roxie just tittered into the back of her hand. "Oh, of course you don't! Of course you don't, you... you cute little butch in femme's clothing."

"Hey," Jane said softly, feeling by Roxie's tone that she ought to be insulted.

Roxie stepped closer. "You ever kissed a girl, Jane?" Jane could've sworn she felt her heart stop, and Roxie's prompting continued. "Hm? Ever wanted to, at least?"

She put a hand on Jane's shoulder, and Jane swatted it off at once. "Leave me the hell alone," she muttered, dodging away from Roxie and back out the door.

She felt numb the entire ride home, rendered silent by the thought of what had just happened to her.

A woman who might have been a pin-up model for a nude calendar had just flirted with her. Or—that's what she'd been doing, right? Maybe that had just been the alcohol acting up. Maybe Jane had misread it. But Roxie had also called Jane out on the one thing she was determined never to let anyone know, and that was by far the most harrowing part of it. Was it so obvious that Jane felt so disconnected from most of the other girls at the party? Had anyone else noticed that she'd kept shooting glances at Roxie's breasts all night, sometimes looking down to stare at her legs? Fear that she hadn't been as subtle as she'd thought consumed Jane to the point that she was tremblinh.

She didn't like feeling this nervous. Not at all.

Roxie was brazen, and Jane learned that she did not like being made to be the chump. She liked calling the shots, deciding when to take initiative. Maybe that's why she'd always had a hard time with guys; they took it for granted that they were responsible for starting things, ending things, taking the lead. She didn't like being caught off guard, and had always said to herself that if she'd ever gotten the chance to have the dominant role in a relationship, she wouldn't abuse the power.

Her family could barely get through to her as she trudged into the house and went right to bed, though her mind wasn't at all quiet enough for sleep yet.

What did it all mean? How could a woman who looked like Roxie even know about the type of girl Jane believed she was turning out to be?

On the other hand, maybe it meant that Jane wasn't imagining it when she could swear she saw lust in the eyes of someone as feminine as Maura. Maybe it meant even girls who enjoyed their femininity could be attracted to other girls... or maybe only when they were tipsy. Actually, the whole night was sort of confusing: given her father's assessment of Del Rossi, she'd expected him to be a tiny, limp-wristed guy. In reality, he looked like he could have bowled over a tank with one fist.

Back to Roxie: why was it so hard for Jane to take some of her own medicine? She'd been much more take-charge with Maura sober, and it had never really bothered her. Maybe it hadn't been in the best of taste, but she'd figured it was harmless. Had it bothered Maura as much as that small incident with Roxie had bothered Jane? Had she ever made the girl feel cornered, scared?

I liked her, I took it out on her. I like her. I think maybe I love her a little bit. God, please. Change me like you changed Del Rossi. Help me stop feeling this way. Help me stop thinking about Maura this way. Help me be okay with just being her friend. I don't want to lose her. Please, God, don't let me lose her.

Not even a minute after she'd prayed to stop feeling this way, Jane couldn't help thinking of Roxie's question—if she'd ever kissed a girl, or wanted to. She started imagining in great detail what it might be like to kiss Maura. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and closed her eyes, trying to picture it. She'd been kissed before, of course, but this would be different. How, she wasn't entirely sure. The more sleep came to her, the bolder her imagination grew, but no more concrete. They were still hazy images that were just out of reach, and now she found herself praying for the courage to grab them.

One thing was sure: her first order of business the next day was to visit Maura.

They had decided that as nice as it was for Jane to want to give Maura a gift on her actual birthday, there just wouldn't be any time for it: the Rizzolis wouldn't be home until very late, and Maura was just as sure to be out later than usual as well. So, they had agreed for Jane to come over that morning before her job interview at the Skylark Country Club.

Eager for Jane's arrival, Maura was already waiting on the front steps by the time Jane got there. Holding a package of her own, she lead Jane around to the back of the house, settling on the porch swing and patting the spot next to her.

Sitting down, Jane said, "You do know that on your birthday, you're not the one who's supposed to be giving presents, right?"

"Not according to J.R.R. Tolkein!" Maura said happily.

"Who?"

"Haven't you ever read The Hobbit? Or The Lord of the Rings?"

"No," Jane laughed, remembering when the latter books had come out a few years ago and Frankie had devoured them. "I can't get into goblins and elves and stuff like that, I guess. I'm kinda surprised you can, to be honest."

"Tolkein was a linguist above all else," Maura said, now feeling embarrassed for loving something that Jane clearly thought was dumb. "That's the whole reason why he started writing, to create his own languages and cultures. The characters were just excuses to exercise his linguistic creativity."

"Linguistic creativity," Jane snickered. "Sounds like a chef who's a genius with linguini."

"Do you want this present or not?" Maura huffed.

Jane held her hands up to offer peace. "I'm sorry, yes. I didn't mean to make fun of you."

"There is a tradition among a certain race of characters in his novels, the hobbits," Maura went on, though her pride was sufficiently ruined by the fact that Jane was trying not to laugh. "On their birthdays, they give gifts to others."

"Oh. Well, that's something I think I can get on board with!"

Maura rolled her eyes and handed over the package. "I thought so."

Exhibiting no restraint, Jane tore into the gift and her mouth dropped open. "You remembered!"

"You like them?" Maura asked. It was a pair of Ray-ban aviators, and Jane excitedly slipped them on. "I'm sorry I couldn't afford a bike to go with them on my allowance."

"That's all right, what d'you think I'm getting a job for?" Jane asked, and Maura thought she just might pass out from the effect those sunglasses and that smile were having on her. Feigning an official, serious voice, Jane said, "Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to pull over. Any idea how fast you were going?"

Maura tucked her legs up onto the swing, resting her elbow along the top of it and smiling at Jane. "I don't think a soul exists who'd mind getting pulled over by Officer Rizzoli."

Jane laughed uneasily and pushed the shades up to the top of her head. "Thanks, Maura. I love 'em."

"You're welcome."

"Okay, now open yours."

Maura took the small bag Jane had thrown in her lap. A small note was tied to the top, which read: Roses are red, violets are blue, here's something almost as pretty as you.

Mistaking the look of adoration on Maura's face for one of derisive amusement, Jane said, "I'm sorry, I didn't have time to come up with something sharp or poetic."

"You're sweet," Maura said, looking up and smiling at Jane. "The rhyme may be rudimentary, but it's sweet. Thank you."

Smiling with relief, Jane just shrugged and told Maura to go ahead and open the bag. Inside it was a silver locket just over an inch long, intricately detailed with an opal in the center. It had cost Jane most of her own allowance, and she had pawned some of her own jewelry that she never wore. When she'd first seen it, she had thought of Maura, and set out to obtain it for her. Seeing Maura's reaction made it clear that this had been a good choice.

"Jane, it's beautiful," she murmured, opening it. She looked a little melancholy. "There's nothing inside it."

"What, you think I was gonna give you that and stick a picture of me in there?" Jane chuckled. "I want you to put whatever you want inside that locket. It's yours."

Maura straightened up, looping the chain over her neck. The locket rested just over her heart, and she clasped her hand around it. She loved the thought of keeping something right there that Jane had given her, had thoughtfully picked out for her. Jane's arm was resting on the back of the swing, her palm close to Maura's shoulder. Raising her eyebrows hopefully, she tapped her fingers against the top of Maura's arm, and Maura scooted over to fit into Jane's one-armed embrace. Her head rested against Jane's shoulder as Jane's arm curled around her, the fingers of their free hands interlacing.

"Pretty ring," Jane commented, tracing Maura's finger.

She sighed and nudged the ring with her thumb. "Thank you. Garrett gave it to me."

It took a moment for Jane to remember that she had no rightful claim on Maura, to be able to indignantly ask how she could wear a boy's ring when she had just taken Jane's locket. Instead, Jane did her best to laugh. "Wow! He gave you a ring? Moves pretty fast, doesn't he?"

"An engagement ring would be on my left hand, Officer Smartypants," Maura said, and Jane chuckled. "I don't care for rings much, actually. Garrett noticed I didn't wear any, and said he thought all girls should wear rings. I think it's turning my skin green."

"So why are you wearing it?"

"I want to be polite, I suppose," Maura said. "There's a chance our paths may cross today, and I don't want to be so rude as to not be seen wearing it the day after he gave it to me."

"Oh. Um...y'know, if you don't like that locket, you don't have to w—"

"No, Jane, I love it!" Maura cut her off, shifting her head to look at Jane. One hand had flown protectively to the locket, as if she worried that Jane might try to remove it from her.

Jane looked her over, half-smiling. "Yeah, I bet you told Garrett the same thing."

"Of course I didn't," Maura said. "You know I can't lie."

"So what'd you tell him?"

"I thanked him for it and said I'd never seen anything like it. He assumed it to be a compliment, so there you are."

"There I am," Jane said, feeling satisfied again that at least Maura honestly seemed to enjoy her gift. "So how was your little soiree, anyway?"

"Nothing little about it," Maura snorted, returning her head to Jane's shoulder. "It was extravagant and, until the band arrived, excessively dull. I wish I could have been with you. Did you enjoy yourself at your family friend's party?"

A woman there basically called me a queer. She knew, and I hadn't talked to her all of five minutes. What d'you think of women like that, Maura? Lesbians? Think they can help it? What would you do if you met one? Have you ever wanted to kiss a girl? Would you ever want to kiss me? Maybe? Don't answer that. Don't, because even if you wanted to, I can't. I can't, I can't. It's wrong, don't you know that? You have to know that. Your scientific mind has to know it's unnatural.

Jane shrugged. "Wasn't so bad, I guess. I wish I'd been with you, too. Garrett treat you okay?"

"He was very polite, and very attentive."

"He tell you how pretty you are?"

"Yes."

"Did he mean it?"

The question threw Maura. "I suppose he did."

Jane started to rub Maura's arm. "You are pretty, you know," she whispered. "You've got the prettiest smile I've ever seen."

Piece by piece, Maura made things fall into place for Jane. Jane had never been any good at receiving compliments from boys, nor had she been much good at flattering them in return. Sure she could tell Casey he looked sharp or Joey that he had a nice build, but the comments were objective, made out of a sense of obligation. There wasn't that spontaneous desire to make the other person feel good, or flattered, or cherished.

Maura brought all that out. Jane found it astoundingly easy to compliment her, to want to keep her close.

"Any slow dancing at your party last night?" Jane asked, her voice soft.

"Mm-mm. I still have to learn."

Jane's lips grazed the top of Maura's head. "Let me teach you?"

"I'd like that."

"Me too. Till then, though...I should get going."

Maura held onto her a little tighter. "So soon?"

"Yeah. If I miss my interview, I won't have a shot at that job, which means I'll be that much farther away from getting that bike!" Jane said, pulling her arm away from Maura and getting up. "Happy belated birthday, Maura."

"Happy belated Thanksgiving, Jane."

She swiftly kissed Jane's cheek, and Jane just as swiftly returned it. The urge to grab Maura by the shoulders and kiss her on the lips was powerful, and Jane stood up fast to avoid further temptation. Smiling to assuage the concerned look on Maura's face, Jane waved her goodbye and said she'd call later. She was around the corner of the house and gone before she could see Maura's hand extended, as if reaching for her.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Constance, who had had a clear view of it from the library window. She had been perusing some texts herself when she innocently happened to pass the window and see her daughter nestled into Jane's embrace on the porch swing.

Maura soon disappeared from view, and Constance assumed she would be heading up to her room. Instead, a few moments later, she appeared in the doorway of the library. Constance looked up from the sofa and smiled at her.

"What a beautiful locket," she said. "Did Jane get that for you?" Closing the door, Maura nodded. Constance shut her book and pushed her reading glasses up to the top of her head. Her daughter's expression was starting to worry her. "Maura?"

"Mother, if I tell you something—will you promise not to laugh at me?"

"Darling, I would never laugh at you," Constance said softly, seriously.

Still standing by the door, Maura was trembling. "I only just turned sixteen. I can't know how it feels."

"Never let anyone tell you that you are too young to feel, Maura. Everything is relative. Anything you feel is valid, is true, because it is what you know. Please, dear, we wouldn't get anyplace if we didn't at least validate ourselves."

"But I think I'm in love," Maura blurted out, tears starting to fall out of her eyes. Her breath hitched and she impulsively reached for the locket, unsure of how to interpret the look on her mother's face. She wasn't sure if she was sad or grateful that Constance had yet to move from the sofa, to fully react. The distance felt safe for the moment, especially as she seemed unable to stop the rest of her thoughts from spilling out: "Gay, mother. That's what they call it, and that's wh—that's what I think I am."

Constance felt frozen. Even as she'd been expecting a confession like this to come about at some point, she hadn't yet prepared herself for the best way to respond to it, to tell Maura what she needed to hear. A rug had been pulled out from under with the timing of it, and for one of the few times in her life, she was afraid. She feared saying the wrong thing.

A small sob came out of Maura, and that jarred Constance out of her panic. Maybe words weren't necessary at the moment. She opened her arms and gestured for Maura to come to her, and just then, that was more than the child felt she could have hoped for from her mother.