"Who the hell is texting you this early?" Stacie asks groggily into my hair, not moving except to wrap her arm more tightly around my ribs.
"First of all," I say, "it's already eight. Second of all, it's Chloe."
"Eight is early. What does she want?"
"She's just bored. Beca's still sleeping."
Stacie sits halfway up and blinks into my face before asking, "She stayed with Beca?"
"Apparently they drank 'all the beer' and she couldn't drive."
"Huh," Stacie grunts. She settles down against me again, warm and soft, and I am so thankful Chloe didn't come home last night.
"She says she wants to make breakfast but there's no food. She can't even find coffee."
"Yeah, Beca's not very good at keeping food in the house. Tell her if she can find Beca's key to my place she can raid my kitchen."
"You're the best," I tell her as I tap out another message to Chloe.
"No, you are," Stacie replies, doing her best to snuggle even closer. "It's kind of funny, you know, us waking up together here and our best friends waking up together there."
"I feel like they're probably not naked," I say.
"You never know," she says with a chuckle. "Though I kind of hope not."
"It would be awkward," I agree.
"Yeah, but Beca would never."
"Never what, hook up with Chloe?"
"Hook up with a drunk straight girl," Stacie clarifies. "My little B is cranky and a tad misanthropic, yes, but she would never take advantage of anyone. Especially a drunk straight girl."
"Good to know," I say.
"Did they have fun with Amy?"
"She says it was the best night ever," I say. "Though to be fair, she says things like that a lot."
"Well, Amy is always fun," Stacie says. "And Chloe and Beca have that weird connection."
"What do you mean?"
Stacie sighs and shifts a little, rubbing the front of her body against my side, and it's really quite distracting. "Like they - I dunno - like they're totally different but they're also kind of the same? Like in a slightly different world, they'd be dating."
"I can see that," I say. "In a world where Chloe wasn't straight, they'd totally be dating."
"Is anyone completely straight?" she asks. "Like, philosophically."
"I don't know about philosophy, but I do know Chloe has never shown an interest in dating women."
Stacie hums and starts moving her fingers against my stomach; it feels like it might be cursive, but I can't follow it. "Her loss," she mumbles.
"Hey, she does OK," I say. I have to defend her, right? "She has a date almost every week." Of course, they're all first dates, but Chloe's always said she won't find the right guy unless she looks around thoroughly and discards the not-right ones. "I think Beca's good for her, though," I add.
"So she has someone to keep her company when you're - occupied with me?"
"No!" I say, but it's more of a reflex than anything. "OK, maybe a little, but it's not like we don't still spend time together."
"I know, sweetie," Stacie says gently. "I was just fucking with you."
"I know," I say, and I do, but I can't help that even a joke about the possibility I might neglect Chloe rankles a bit. Possibly because I worry that having a girlfriend could cause me to do just that. I should take Chloe to brunch soon. Or shopping. Or something. "Really, though, Chloe's had a run of mediocre to awful dates recently, and I think it was getting her down a bit. She seems happier lately. I think making a new friend, a real friend, and sort of gaining this circle of friends as well has really cheered her up. Or at least distracted her from her fears of dying alone."
Stacie seems to have had her fill of talking about Chloe, because her fingers are working their way higher and she's nuzzled aside my hair enough to get her mouth on my neck and mutter "That's nice" directly against my skin.
It occurs to me that Chloe hasn't actually been on any dates in the past few weeks, and that's a bit odd, but the thought can't gain traction. I can't stay focused on anything but Stacie, and I can't think of a reason why I ought to try.
I smell coffee.
I'm not in my bed, and I smell coffee.
Where the fuck am - oh, right. I slept on my own couch because I let Chloe have my bed, which I guess I'm gonna have to burn because how the sweet hell am I supposed to sleep in it now?
Speaking of Chloe, I guess she's awake. Coffee tends not to make itself, after all. Although I'm not sure how she did it, since I didn't think I had any coffee. Again.
I could probably fall back asleep if I just stayed curled up here under the warm blanket and didn't open my eyes. I have no idea what time it is. Did I sleep three hours? Ten? Am I actually still tired or just still half asleep? Do I want to - ugh.
I sang to her. I sang her to sleep. Who the fuck does shit like that? Now she's gonna expect me to, like, sing along to the radio with her or something. Or everything. Probably everything.
Well, now I'm awake. Time to get the old brain going a little, if possible. If she made coffee, she might be in the kitchen yet, and if that's the case then she can see me from there. I am - yep, I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt, so it'll be safe to get up and pee, which is great because my bladder is super full.
One eye first. Open one eye, look around, try to see where she is and what she's up to. Probably perched on the coffee table beside me, waiting for me to show signs of life so she can pounce. Probably full of energy already, and ideas, just waiting for the moment she can inflict them upon me.
I crack an eye slightly, blink it a few times to clear it, sweep it around the living room and as far across the kitchen as I can without moving my head. Still don't know how much it's going to hurt when I do. Really looking forward to that.
Chloe isn't on the coffee table, thank fuck. She's curled up in the recliner, not far from my feet, with a mug on the side table and a book in her hands. It's 'The Blade Itself,' which is mine. I know it's mine because I can see the stain on the cover from the time Sarah spilled spaghettios on it, the bitch.
Chloe's wearing glasses. Fucking glasses with blue frames. She's sitting in my chair wearing glasses with blue frames reading one of my books, and she's the cutest goddamn thing I have ever seen, and I hate her a little bit for that. It's not fair, I know, but life's not fucking fair, now is it?
Both eyes open, now, and those are neither the clothes she had on last night nor the ones I lent her to sleep in. "Dude," I croak. I swallow nothing a couple of times before going on. "What are you wearing?"
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she says cheerfully but quietly. She has a grin on her face. "Can I borrow this?" she asks, holding up the book. "I really like it." She appears to be quite a ways into it already. How fucking long has she been up?
"Morning," I say, carefully sitting up so as to have time to assess my head and stomach. It's not too bad. Bit of a headache, but nothing a few cups of coffee and a handful of ibuprofen won't fix. "And sure."
"Thanks," she says. She says it like I've done her some big favor. "And I got these clothes out of my car."
"Huh," I say. "Be right back."
In the bathroom, I pee for what seems like half my life, and then I sit there a few minutes longer while the sleep fog clears.
While I'm washing my hands, Katie pops into my head. She texted me last night, wanting to meet up, and I begged off with the explanation that I had a drunk friend to take care of. I didn't lie, and I didn't do anything wrong, but I still feel a little guilty.
About what, exactly, though? Do I feel guilty for blowing off the girl I'm sort of dating because I was already out with the girl I'm super into and can't have? Do I feel guilty because I'm keeping Katie in the dark about that little tidbit? Do I feel guilty because, for reasons I've never bothered analyzing, I haven't told Chloe about Katie?
Plenty to choose from, there. I think I'll take 'all of the above' and call that enough introspection for the day.
I am such an asshole.
Chloe's in my kitchen when I return, fussing with the stove. There's a cup of coffee on the breakfast bar next to my laptop, so I slide onto a stool and take a sip of it while I organize my thoughts.
It's good coffee, with plenty of cream and no sugar, exactly the way I like it.
"So," I say, "you had clothes in your car?"
"Yeah," she says. She turns to open the fridge, and I can see that she's got a pan on the stove and a spatula beside it on the counter. I don't know what she thinks she's gonna put in there. She's wearing shorts and a tank top. Her hair is damp. "I like to be prepared."
"So you woke up, went down to your car, came back, showered, made coffee, and raided my bookshelf while I was still asleep?"
"You're a heavy sleeper," she replies. "I don't think you even stirred at all."
"Where did you get the coffee?"
"Stacie's place," she says. "I also got eggs. You have, like, no food, did you know that?"
I did know that. "I have bagels," I say lamely.
"I found them," she says brightly. "Would you mind putting on some music? I don't know the password for your laptop yet." She touches the surface of the pan lightly with a fingertip, apparently decides it isn't ready, and turns to lean against the counter with her mug in her hands.
Yet? I don't even know where to begin.
"OK, but wait," I say, releasing my mug so I can wave both hands around, "You found my keys-"
"They were in the pants you wore last night," she says.
"Right, you went through my shit and found my keys in my pants and then you let yourself into Stacie's apartment -"
"She said I could," Chloe explains. "I was texting Bree, and she's with Stacie, so."
"Right," I say again. "Then you went through my shit to find a towel so you could shower."
She giggles. "Not really, the towels were easy to find."
"And you tried to break into my laptop?"
"I thought music would be a nice way to wake you up," she says, shrugging one shoulder and sipping at her coffee.
There's been a lot of invading going on. Of my privacy. I feel like I should be mad about this, but I'm not, really. That kind of pisses me off, though.
"You seem to have gone through my shit a lot already this morning," I finally say.
"Are you mad?" she asks, one eyebrow up, looking decidedly not worried.
I sigh. "Not really."
"Great," she says with a wide smile, "I'm making egg and cheese sandwiches."
"On bagels?"
"Yup," she says, "but I'm gonna need some cooking tunes." She nods toward the laptop and then comes around to stand behind me when I open it. I manage to get the password in before she can see it, and there's a very quiet 'hmph' from over my shoulder.
I smile because I'm quite proud of myself for (probably only temporarily) thwarting her attempt to get my password, but it falls right off my face when I realize the super embarrassing 'BC Dailies' playlist is still open. Fuck my stupid life.
"Is that a playlist," Chloe asks slowly, "of all our songs of the day?"
I wanna crawl in a hole and die. My face is hot and I want to smack it with both hands. All I can manage to say is, "Uh."
"I made one just like it!" she squeals in my ear. Then she snakes an arm around my neck, squeezes briefly, and saunters back to the stove with a "Play it!" tossed over her shoulder.
Am I less weird now that I know she made the same playlist, or is she more weird now that I know she made the same playlist? Ah yes, the great philosophical questions of Beca Mitchell, none of which are likely to ever be answered.
I set it to shuffle and press play. It's 'The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll.' Nice. Nothing like a slow, depressing song to start the day off right.
Chloe hums along with the first few lines, then says, "This is a great song, but it's too early in the day to be sad. Can you-"
I smash the skip button immediately. It's too early in the day for me to deal with sad Chloe face. 'Oh Valencia!' begins to play. An upbeat, depressing song. Perfect. I make ready to skip this one, too, but Chloe just starts bobbing her head and singing along softly.
"This one isn't sad?" I ask.
"A little," she admits, "but it's also romantic, don't you think?"
"She dies, dude."
"I love The Decemberists," Chloe says, ignoring me completely as she watches the butter sizzle in the pan. "They've got spunk."
"Spunk?"
"Yeah, I mean, they put out a few albums and everyone was like 'OK, you're an adorably odd, literary folk band, that's nice.'" She cracks an egg into the pan before continuing. "But then they put out 'The Hazards of Love,' like they wanted everyone to know they were even weirder than they seemed and they didn't give a single, shining fuck about it."
My laughter is immediate, and surprising, and loud. Chloe turns her head enough to stick out her tongue. "Actually, I kinda sorta agree with you," I admit. "It's just, the way you say it - it's - I don't even know, dude." Given a moment to think, I add, "You could say the same about 'The Crane Wife,' though."
"You could not," Chloe argues, turning her entire body long enough to wave the spatula at me menacingly.
After she turns back, I ask, "Why the hell not? There's the whole weaving crane storyline. It's weird as fuck."
"It's all weird as fuck," Chloe says, working her weapon/cooking utensil in the pan. "'The Hazards of Love' is also dark, and hard, and every song contributes to the same story."
"Am I about to get an english teacher lecture about 'The Hazards of Love'?"
"That depends. Are you gonna get off your ass and toast the bagels for me?"
I think about it, I do, because that lecture might be interesting. In the end, though, I decide it's too fucking early for academics, so I get up to toast the bagels.
Restraint. That's the word of the day, here. That's what I have to remember: restraint. I want to squeeze Beca so hard for so long because she made of playlist of our songs and 'BC Dailies' is the cutest name, but I can't do that. She'll freak out.
It's been a long time since I met someone I felt so close to so quickly. I feel like I've known this grumpy, adorable little human forever. I feel so lucky I sat down beside her that night. Hell, I feel lucky I went on that horrible date. If I ever run into Brad, I'll probably thank him. He'll be so confused.
Only enduring him for an evening got me this lovely morning: cooking eggs in Beca's kitchen, thinking about how beautiful her voice was when she finally gave in and sang me a lullaby, watching her out of the very corner of my eyes as she shoves bagels into the toaster oven and bops her head and shoulders along to 'Watch the Tapes.' She's almost dancing. It's like she forgot she wasn't alone, like it's just her and the music.
I really, really want to grab her and make her dance with me, but I'm pretty confident she'd just freeze up. I can show restraint. I can be patient, and pretend nothing is happening, and maybe she'll loosen up a little more.
It's not terribly unlike sitting on a park bench, holding a peanut and hoping the squirrel eyeballing it will come take it from my hand.
Maybe if I don't call attention to her head bobbing, she'll forget herself enough to dance, and once she's already dancing, I can join her.
Maybe, if I'm super lucky, she'll forget herself enough to sing along.
Maybe if I pay less attention to Beca and more attention to these eggs, they won't burn.
There's only so much dancing a person can do while also doing something else, like cooking eggs, but Chloe is doing all of it. She's bobbing her head and shaking her hips to a song most people wouldn't consider dancing to at all, and it's catching as a fucking yawn. I started nodding my head a little at first and now, without even meaning to, I am dancing in front of my toaster oven.
And fuck it. I mean really, what's the point in fighting it? I like dancing around my apartment in PJs to songs that weren't meant to be danced to. Chloe likes dancing to anything, any time, so she's not going to judge me. She's the nicest, so it's like, it's OK.
It's not like she's even looking at me, so I can dance on over to the coffee pot to top off my mug. I can even dance the pot on over and top off Chloe's mug. I can wiggle my hips at the right time. I can laugh at her pretending not to notice me, because that shit is getting ridiculous.
When she finally turns her head to look at me, she's smiling. The big bright one, like I've done something that makes her happy. She winks at me, and we're both laughing until the toaster oven dings and I turn back to it. She starts singing quietly once my back is turned, like she's eased me into dancing and now she's going to ease me into singing as well, and I'm just gonna roll with it. She's already heard me sing, right, I mean fuck it.
She's a slow rolling avalanche and I am helplessly swept along. Swept gently, sure, but swept along nonetheless, and it's fun singing and dancing with her in my kitchen. It's just the two of us, and it's fun, and I am as sure of her acceptance in this moment as I am of Jesse's or Stacie's.
So I butter the bagels and Chloe cooks the eggs, and we shimmy and bounce and sing to 'Watch the Tapes' and 'Great DJ' and even 'Look at Miss Ohio' and she never makes it weird. She never comments on the un-Beca-ness of my behavior. She never even acknowledges it beyond a hip bump here or a wink there, and it's easy. It's so goddamn easy.
Half of me wants to apologize for this chapter's suck level, but the other half is just relieved to have finally strung enough words together to make a chapter, so fuck it. This fic feels like the best and worst thing that's ever happened to me.
I feel like I should admit that I would probably have hung onto this and tried to work on it longer but it's chapter 25 and today is the 25th and I have a weird thing about coincedental numbers, so here we are.
Thanks for reading this; y'all are stars.
Songs mentioned:
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll - Bob Dylan
O Valencia! - The Decemberists
Watch the Tapes - LCD Soundsystem
Great DJ - The Ting Tings
Look at Miss Ohio - Gillian Welch