Thank you as always for your comments! I hope this chapter delivers... I was supposed to be done like two days ago but it was like 'bish u think?' and I wasn't and I kept adding stuff and... yeah. Just a quick announcement: I've started classes again, and while I hope it doesn't affect the regularity of my updates I feel like I should tell you guys in case I take a bit longer in between chapters (and just so you don't think I've given up on this story because I HAVE NOT).
Enjoy!
Anna spends little less than ten minutes roaming about the room like a caged-in tiger. Her heart is aching, her mind is full of doubts. She is pacing around, hoping that her relentless steps will keep her mind preoccupied with something other than her haunting thoughts.
To no avail.
She decides to take a shower on the spur of the moment. It's helped her clear her mind before—to get rid of a writer's block, not to push her emotions away, but on this thought she chooses not to dwell—. The short walk from the room to the bathroom is accompanied by very little noise. The muffled voices she hears coming from the deck are Kristoff's and Rapunzel's, and Anna wishes for a moment that she could be there with them instead of having to lick her wounds in silence and alone.
You brought this on yourself...
But did she?
The back of her eyes burn with unshed tears.
Once inside the bathroom she begins to undress distractedly; lost in contemplation. Her shoulder blades are sore from having her elbows propped on the back of the car seats for so long, and the balls of her feet hurt a little when she steps on them from all that walking she did yesterday.
She sighs. Yesterday seems so far away now.
Anna starts the shower and waits for the water to run hot before she steps in. If anything, she thinks, the pressure will soothe the aches of her body.
She lets the water trickle down her skin, engulfing her in a comfort that only works as a placebo effect; because the real comfort is a person and she is sitting outside, at a distance that feels far greater than only a handful of meters.
A single tear escapes her and Anna covers her face, willing herself to stay calm, to keep this from escalating when it doesn't need to.
Yet, there is a thought hammering itself onto the back of her mind that is forcing her to go places Anna wishes she could stay away from. If only Elsa would give her a straight answer. If only she wouldn't dodge a subject that shouldn't even matter this much in the first place. Because what was it about Tracy that provoked such a reaction out of her? Was Anna not seeing something that's been right there since the beginning?
So distracted is Anna by her thoughts that she forgets if she's washed her hair and has to do it all over again. She then scrubs her body, rinses it, and places her face under the downpour of the shower until she needs to gasp for air. The image of Elsa sitting outside strikes her mind and her throat tightens. She inhales, then exhales shakily for one, two, and three times until she can breathe without it hurting. She is frustrated. She wants to scream.
When she steps out of the shower room she pads over to where the mirror stands covered in fog. Anna wipes it with her hand. A pair of teal-colored eyes, stifled by the emotions swimming right beneath, are staring back at her. She wants to be angry at Elsa but the only emotion that encompasses her heart is aimed right at herself. She is angry at her own insecurities; angry at herself for allowing nothing more than a stranger to dwell inside her mind for long enough that she's gone and blurted out the wrong words.
Then again, had they been the wrong words?
Her eyes travel down towards the patch of freckled skin bruised by Elsa's searing mouth: right where her collar bone ends and her shoulder begins. The tips of her fingers go up to touch it. The action evokes a rush of memories fresh from the day before.
Can you yearn for something that hasn't been lost?
The corner of Anna's lips twitch where a smile threatens to appear but refuses to spread. A thin line between love and hate. Where has she even heard that before? Wasn't there a freaking movie with that title? Some people say it all the time. A boy and a girl quarrel—oh, they're crazy about each other, they just can't see it yet. What a silly notion. There is no way Elsa could feel the same way about Tracy than she does about Anna. She knows this. Deep down, right below her doubts and swallowed almost whole by her insecurities, Anna knows this. Still, the frustration lingers and a demand for an answer, even more.
So she pats herself dry, determined to speak with her girlfriend even if it costs her a night of little sleep.
As she makes her way back to the room she does so quietly. There are no voices wafting in from the deck anymore but neither are there from anywhere around her. She passes by Rapunzel and Eugene's room and sees light coming in from under the door. At the sight, a wave of apprehension washes over her. Elsa must be back by now too.
Except that she isn't, and this ignites a twinge of bitterness that catches her by surprise. A bitterness that first surged when Elsa had not followed, that had dissipated quietly after her shower and was now back in full force. Like the incessant movement of a wave that the harder it hits, the more Anna thinks she will drown in it.
She sits on the bed with the intention of reading—a distraction. She's brought Madame Bovary with her so that she can finally finish it and move on with her life and onto the book Elsa's given her. She opens it near the end, skims over the same paragraph twice, and leafs through the book for a few more seconds, searching for a phrase that may catch her attention. Maybe she'll find an answer to her problem. Like a Magic 8-Ball. As for reading it: no, she can't. She should have brought something much lighter for this trip, like Gulliver's Travels or a goddamn children's book. Elsa had been right and it is exactly because of this that Anna wants to toss the book across the room. Wishful thinking. She does, however, toss it to the farthest corner of the bed before she stares at her journal lying next to her. Not a single urge in her body to reach out for it.
She stands up, unwrapping the towel from around her hair as she goes. She drops it on the armchair (must every guest room feel like a hotel room?) and walks over to where her backpack sits on the floor. There is the brush that Elsa—damn her—was mindful enough to pack. Her ever mindful girlfriend. Anna adores her; she absolutely loves her for this.
So why is she not being mindful right now?
Just as she is about to start brushing her hair, the door opens. Elsa holds her gaze as she enters, closes the door behinds her and stands by. She is holding a mug with steam coming off it.
"I'm going to sleep," Anna mutters. It is the opposite of what she wants to do, or even say, but the words come out before she has the time to stop them.
Elsa sighs. "It's not even nine, Anna... Are you seriously that tired?" She goes to place the mug on the bedside table before she looks at her again.
Anna doesn't answer. She brushes her hair in silence with her head turned away from the blonde. Every motion of her hand is done with irritation, and the more the silence prolongs itself, the harder it is for her to contain it. Mindful, she scolds internally.
"What was that all about?" She hears Elsa ask.
"You know what it was about."
She turns to face her then, and they regard each other for a moment. Anna can't read her eyes this time and something, somewhere in the back of her mind, tells her it is because Elsa is trying to read her as well.
"You've kept this in for a while, haven't you?"
"Nice of you to notice."
"Stop acting like a child, Anna."
"No," she steps closer. The brush is discarded like an afterthought; thrown on top of the backpack before it falls to the floor. "Do not patronize me, Elsa. You want to know if I've kept this in for a while? I sure have, because every time I try to bring up the subject you dodge it like it's a fucking bullet."
The bite in her own words is unexpected but considering everything that's lead to this moment, Elsa acting like she's the adult sounds like an ironic load of bullshit.
Elsa winces slightly before her expression hardens. "What part of I don't like talking about it don't you understand?"
"Is that seriously all you have to say?"
"What else do you expect me to say? Why is it so hard for you to just let it go—"
"Because you get all weird every time I start talking about her! At first I just thought, okay she's not in the mood, but how much longer are you planning on keeping that up?"
"You are blowing this out of proportion."
She is exasperated. "Am I? Just put yourself in my shoes, Elsa. What would you think if you kept trying to discuss someone I disliked and instead of giving you a clear answer, or even a damn list of all the things I hate about her, I just continue to shut off and tell you I don't want to talk about it... How would you feel?"
"Don't pull the victim's card on me, Anna," she flares up. "You're the one who said that stupid nonsense about love and hate as if I would ever cross that line."
Anna frowns. The words sting. "Stupid," she mutters with distaste. "You call it stupid of me to feel those things when you don't even have the courage to tell me what it is about Tracy that's got a stick up your ass."
"I call it stupid when I have never given you a single sign! A thin line between love and hate. Seriously, Anna? What exactly do you think is going to happen? That she'll sweep me off my feet? That I'll cheat on you with her in London? What is it?"
The redhead goes dead silent. She is searching for something—anything—that will tell her to stop pushing, but there hasn't been a single answer to any of her questions, and Anna is having a hard time reading her girlfriend at all.
"Are you not attracted to her then?" She tries.
Elsa looks like she's been slapped. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
She wants to scream. "For once just say yes or no! Stop acting like a prick—"
"No, Anna," she forces out. "After everything I've ever said and done to you, how can you even think for a moment—"
"Do you guys have some history then?" She pushes. Her fears are out now. Mocking her, spitting right back at her. "Something you may have—I don't know—failed to mention all these months?"
"Listen to yourself!" Elsa nearly shouts. "I just don't like her. Stop making such a big deal out of it. Since when is it a sin to not want to talk about someone you don't like."
"When you start acting like there's something else going on! And you not telling me anything at all—how the hell am I supposed to trust you—"
"Stop," she seethes, pointing a finger at her. "Out of everything you can say this is by far the worst and you know it. Accuse me of shutting myself off if you want. Accuse me of being a cold hearted bitch too if that makes you feel any better, but don't you dare accuse me of lying to you."
Frustration is an emotion that is sowed deep in the heart of those who let it in, and more often than not, it is anger what it reaps. Anger that Anna finds in Elsa's eyes with glaring clarity, piercing through her like lighting and sending dread as cold as ice down her spine, before the girl turns away with finality and storms out of the room.
The door slamming shut pulls the air out of her. She has never seen Elsa this upset but even more frightful is the fact that they have never acted this way towards each other before. It draws hot, angry tears out of her eyes, and she feels them falling down her cheeks before she has the time to stop them.
Her throat clenches with hateful distaste at what they've become, and she grips at the corner of the bed before she sits on it with wobbly legs. A hand goes up to wipe off the dampness from her cheeks before she presses down on her eyes. She shouldn't have said those things. She shouldn't have pushed Elsa to the brink of anger. But Elsa hadn't been clear... Why was it so hard for her to just be clear? What was it about Tracy that bothered her so much? It couldn't be that she was an arrogant asshole. That didn't make any sense. Elsa encounters arrogant assholes all the time. She does, too. This is New York for fuck's sake.
A sob escapes her.
It hurts. They were supposed to talk, to clear things up, not yell at each other. Nobody was supposed to storm out of the room. Nobody was supposed to cry at this.
Her nose is stuffy now and Anna groans in exasperation. She doesn't want to risk stepping out of the room looking like this so she stands up, forcing herself to take a mouthful of air that she lets out in shaky puff. Her heart aches and part of her wants to go after Elsa, but she knows that would be of no help. Anna had hit a nerve and Elsa had done so, too.
There is a clean napkin from Taco Bell that she had stuffed in her backpack earlier that day. It feels like sandpaper against the reddened skin of her nose but that will have to do.
She hates all of this. The crying, the accusing, the mistrust that shouldn't even be a thing. But most of all she hates Tracy and if she were in front of Anna right now she would sock her with the brush.
For the sake of having something to do, she goes to pick up the book and her journal from the bed, stacking them together and placing them neatly on the bedside table. The tea Elsa brought with her is still warm and a thought suddenly strikes Anna that she must have brought it for her.
She closes her eyes in quiet sorrow and sighs, wondering where Elsa went. She also wonders if she's as shaken as Anna feels. If she wants this to be over just as much as she craves it to be.
Slowly, she tugs at the covers of the bed, making it look as though she were simply waiting for Elsa to come back before sharing a goodnight's kiss and falling asleep in each other's arms. Another placebo effect; let her have this. Anna needs to cling to the notion that things will be okay.
Quite some time passes between Elsa storming out of the room and her coming back in. The harshness of her eyes is gone, replaced by a subdued dejection that she directs at her girlfriend as soon as she closes the door behind her. Anna had been sitting at the head of the bed all this time, working on finding a calmness that she knew she wouldn't be able to attain until they could fix this together.
The blonde sits close to her, and Anna can finally see that her eyes are red and weary. Those blue eyes that she's come to love as much as the girl herself.
A pang of guilt ensues.
When she's about to open her mouth—to utter what, she's not sure. Look how it all went down the last time—Elsa extends a hand between them. Her palm is facing up, searching for hers.
Anna has to think very little to meet her halfway.
"I'm sorry, Anna..."
"I'm sorry, too," she mutters.
Another tentative hand goes up to her face. A thumb caresses her tear-stained cheek.
"I shouldn't have left like that."
"Maybe it was for the best," she says, and means it. "I think we both needed to cool off."
"Maybe," Elsa smiles sadly. "But still. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
Anna bites her lip. "Just tell me what's on your mind... Why do you avoid talking about Tracy so much?" She asks this with as much softness as she can muster, afraid that this will cause another outburst between the two.
She watches her girlfriend in silence, deciding this time not to push for an answer. She wonders: had she not pushed too far, would things have turned out differently?
The blonde's chest puffs up with a long withheld breath that comes out tiredly. "I had to really force myself to think about this..."
Anna waits for her to continue. Elsa turns her attention to their intertwined hands.
"Do you remember how I told you once that I felt like she was playing a game with me?"
"Yes."
Another pause. The blonde tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she raises her eyes to meet with Anna's.
"I keep thinking that she feels like she has a grip over my reactions that I can't shake off, and it makes me feel like I don't have control of the situation..."
"But—" Elsa squeezes her hand. She goes quiet.
"I get... upset. And bitter. I don't like talking about her because whenever I do it feels like I'm giving her the satisfaction. And the fact that this all seems to be a game to her makes things worse because then I end up looking like an idiot, taking things seriously when she doesn't."
Anna raises a single index finger. "Can I say something?"
She chuckles dryly. "Yes."
"Maybe the fact that you feel like you have to have control is what's making you get upset in the first place... I mean, you barely know her. Is control really so important?"
The blonde sighs. "I guess... no, not really."
"Easier said than done, I know... but maybe if you work on that your reactions towards her won't be as hard to control. Cause like, who cares right? She's just some girl who's got the hots for you but is really bad at displaying it because she's full of herself."
Anna feels like half of what she's saying is impromptu therapeutic nonsense but they're talking, and jeez... was it really so hard to do that?
"You're right," Elsa whispers.
The silence that follows works like a soothing balm. In it, the two find themselves conveying through their eyes what sometimes words fail to express. A single and unequivocal emotion: Love.
"I'm sorry if I said I couldn't trust you," Anna says. "That was... a bit uncalled for."
Elsa tilts her head. "Did you mean it?"
"I'd like to say that I didn't..."
"But part of you did," the blonde finishes.
She gives her the faintest of nods. "At that moment."
Elsa shakes her head, discontent with herself, and Anna wishes she could do something to change it.
"I don't want you to think that I'm constantly thinking about her or that there's any history between us," she tells her; blue eyes set hard on their conviction. "The last thing I wanted was to make you feel like you couldn't trust me."
"I was scared that you were keeping something from me," she admits.
Elsa's hand squeezes hers. "No—never. It was stupid of me to avoid the question so much and reacting the way I did..."
"Well you can't be smart all the time," she whispers.
Her girlfriend dismisses the statement with a little smile and a roll of her eyes. "You know I wouldn't lie to you though, right?"
Anna shakes her head.
"And you know that I'm not attracted to her either."
"Not even a tiny bit?" She braces herself. "It's okay if you are."
"I don't think you mean that second part," she says, smiling. "But no, not even a tiny bit."
The redhead turns her attention south to where her hand is fidgeting with Elsa's fingers. She is tired and worn out but her chest doesn't feel constricted anymore.
If only she could sock Tracy with a brush.
"I'm sorry for calling you a prick."
"I deserved that."
Anna doesn't say anything. She glances sideways and Elsa chuckles.
"Anna... as much as I hate it, Tracy is still going to be around for a while. I know that all of this was my fault—"
"I shouldn't have pushed you though—"
"No," she drawls, "but if I had been an emotionally intelligent human being we wouldn't have gotten there in the first place."
Anna stares at her. "It was nobody's fault, Elsa... Not really."
"Just Tracy's."
"Just Tracy's, yeah."
Elsa scoots closer. For a moment she thinks the blonde will lean in to kiss her because her hand has gone up to rest at the nape of her neck, but her mouth is not what she's looking for; it is her cheek. A tender kiss that lingers for enough seconds to draw a soft smile out of her.
"I'm sorry, baby."
"I'm sorry, too," she whispers when Elsa leans back. "I know she'll still be around but can we not let her get in between us again?"
"Couldn't agree more."
"And you have to remember," she adds, "that if something or someone is bothering you, you can tell me. You don't have to bottle things up, Elsa. Especially if we're gonna be hating on the same person."
Elsa gives her a little grin. She nods once, resolutely. Then she asks: "Can I scooch in with you?"
There is nothing but love on her face when she says, "You don't even have to ask."
The blonde crawls over until she is sitting beneath the covers with Anna's arm wrapped around her shoulders and her own hugging tightly at her waist.
"Where did you go by the way?" Anna asks. "When you stormed out."
"...I didn't storm out."
"Uh, yeah you did. Fiery eyes, door slamming shut, the whole shebang."
The blonde looks up at her with a sheepish expression. "Yeah, that was very cringy. The door was lighter than I thought it would be... I almost stormed back in to apologize."
Anna laughs. It is hoarse and brief, but the amusement is there. Of course Elsa would consider apologizing—to Anna and to the door.
It had been the deck, she tells her after Anna is done teasing her. She offers to take her but Anna is much too content by now with the girl in her arms. "But tomorrow," she says.
Tomorrow, when all of this will be nothing but a memory.
There is something about mornings that changes the outlook of things. As though it were shining a new light upon them, making them clearer, less marred by heavy thoughts. Like a catharsis displayed by the first rays of sunlight that seep through the window.
Anna lies awake with Elsa's head on her chest, playing with the tresses of her hair. She's thinking of last night, but even more so, of the future. Of Elsa's six months in London.
She wonders how tough the distance will really be. If things will change between them. Will Tracy become a real problem? She closes her eyes and tilts her head in order to rest her lips against her girlfriend's forehead. She really hopes not.
"Anna," the blonde grumbles.
"Yes?"
"What are you thinking?"
"What makes you think I'm thinking?" She cringes. Dumb question. Dumbly worded.
Elsa pulls back to stare at her. Her hair is tousled, her eyes are puffy. How can she still look like a show-stopper?
"Just something I can tell. Like you can tell when I'm worried."
She bites her lip. "I was just thinking about you... and London."
"And last night, too?"
Anna nods and the brightness in the blonde's eyes dims.
"I'm sorry..."
"No," she hushes. "It's not the argument I'm thinking about. I guess... I'm just hoping it doesn't happen again. Not because of her."
"I don't want it to happen again," Elsa says softly. "I think the biggest problem last night was me not opening up."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Never feel like you can't, Anna."
She assimilates those words. Then: "Why did you shut off in the first place?"
The blonde holds her gaze but this time Anna doesn't struggle to discern what goes on behind her eyes. Because here in bed, and alone with each other, Elsa's eyes are nothing but intimately vulnerable.
She is an open book and Anna is her most avid reader.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I wish I could tell you. I wish I knew it myself... But I've always kept things in when they bother me and I know it's not good but it's almost like a reflex, and the more people push the more I distance myself."
Anna looks away. "I pushed you too much, didn't I?"
Elsa pats at her mane of a bed head with love and a dash of amusement. "We just deal with things differently, Anna. I know you would have already given me a list of a hundred things you hate about Tracy along with a Power Point presentation of why she's just so annoying. For me, the less I talk about her the better."
"I understand..." And goodness gracious, she does. She had to learn it the hard way, but there it is now.
A hand sneaks under her shirt and is laid flat against her belly. "It doesn't mean that I'm secretly harboring feelings for her."
"Okaaay," she drags out.
Fingertips begin to dance and tickle the skin above her belly button. "Or that I find her attractive."
"I believe you," she giggles.
"I mean I don't know if you've noticed but redheads are kind of my thing."
The hand is beginning to make its way towards her waist, and Anna squirms. "I'm the only redhead you know, Elsa," she says through a laugh.
"I stand corrected. You're kind of my thing."
Anna never stood a chance in this tickle attack; her girlfriend had a head start since the beginning.
They are the last ones to get out of bed. However, this isn't the rarest occurrence of the morning—nor are Anna's screams for mercy. The rarest occurrence is the commotion happening in the kitchen after Eugene and Rapunzel's decision to make—no, attempt to make—chocolate chip pancakes.
There are more ingredients than are probably necessary on the counter while the couple argues over the fact that they should have bought the pancake mix instead of the basic stuff.
"None of the recipes I found online used a pancake mix, Eugene. There's gotta be a reason for that."
Kristoff is setting up the coffee machine as far away from them as he can and it is he who spots the girls patting into the kitchen first. He greets them both and advises them to stay close to him unless they want to get involved in the pancake debacle that's been going on since those two came back from the grocery store.
"It's a riot," he tells them. "If I knew it would be this crazy to make pancakes I would have suggested cereal."
Sven comes running in from the deck. He jumps at the sight of them, wagging his tail and licking whomever's hand he can reach first. Anna ruffles his brown, furry head distractedly while she looks over at Rapunzel reading the ingredients out loud at her boyfriend.
"I'm just gonna read this to you one. More. Time. All-purpose flour—"
"Check."
"Baking powder—"
"Check."
"Salt—"
"Check."
"So how are you two?" Kristoff asks them.
The girls look at each other in confusion before Elsa responds: "We're... alright?"
He rolls his eyes. "I mean I eventually caught on to the tension last night," he says as he turns to the coffee machine. He forgot to start it. "So how are you guys, for real. Am I gonna have to turn this into a couples' therapy retreat?"
"—oh shit, I had to whisk the dry ingredients first. Eggs aren't dry, why didn't you tell me!?"
"I thought you read the instructions!"
"You're the one doing it—"
"I think you'll just have those two as clients for now," Anna chuckles. She turns to Elsa who gives her a warm smile.
Her girlfriend eventually decides that she's heard enough bickering somewhere between the heating of the skillet and the first layer of butter. She steps in with the patience of a Buddhist monastic, sets the two apart, and takes over. "You're getting on every single one of my nerves," she tells them with a murderous smile. Anna becomes her aide-de-camp, which really just means standing by her side, chatting and passing over the batter.
When all the pancakes are wolfed down they set out to pack their bags. They're meant to spend the day at the lake's beach; something Anna didn't even know was a thing but there's always something new to learn every day.
Nevertheless, the time has come for Elsa to wear her black bikini and Anna would build a beach if she had to.
It seems to be too early still for a proper beach crowd and only a few people are hanging around the shore when they arrive. Like a rocket, Sven swishes past them, jumps in the water, them comes back out. He runs after Kristoff. Kristoff speaks to him in his weird animal-talking-voice, and Sven runs back to the lake.
As soon as they choose a spot Anna turns to her girlfriend. The blonde is wearing a black swim cover up blouse and jean shorts, but the real deal is hiding right underneath.
"Elsaaa," she bemoans lowly. "Come on. You're doing an injustice to the rest of us mortals by not showing off that bikini."
The blonde stares at her. "There's only like ten people here, Anna. Three of them we know."
"Seven people you're doing an injustice to," she retorts.
"Your arguments are fallacious but okay." She discards her shorts first, showing off her thighs and that sinful black bottom. Then, after a moment of hesitation, her blouse falls off her shoulders.
But what is it about bikinis? Anna has seen Elsa in her undies. She's seen her naked—too many times to count at this point. And anyways, a bikini is just underwear you can wear in public. So why does Anna feel extremely flustered at the sight of this woman whose only fault was to have won the lotto right before she was born? She doesn't know, and most importantly, she doesn't care. Elsa is hot. Elsa is her girlfriend. Elsa is staring at her with an overtly amused grin.
"Anna, close your mouth. You'll catch a fly."
The blonde sits by her side with a dash of self-consciousness that Anna tries to appease with a kiss on the cheek.
"There are no flies here. Also, you're gorgeous."
"A bee then," she smirks. "Also, have you seen yourself?"
Rapunzel lies down close by, plugs her headphones in, and tells everyone not to bother her. She's getting her tan on, thank you very much. Eugene and Kristoff head for the water with a soccer ball. Sven tags along.
Anna sits watching everyone and everything around her. There is a large family with two kids brawling about who gets to use the boogie board first. They opt for diplomacy and play rock paper scissors. The little girl wins. The older brother fumes and kicks at the sand. The adults remain deep in their talk about whoknowswhat. Elsa has settled next to her with an extra towel propped behind her head for support. She is reading a book: Human Heart, Cosmic Heart and Anna makes a mental note to ask about it later.
She pulls out her polaroid camera and aims it at her girlfriend. She waits for a couple of seconds in case Elsa decides to look at her. When she does, resting the book on her chest and with her face lightly scrunched up to keep the sun from hitting her too hard, Anna pushes down the button.
Time goes by. The sun keeps on shining high above them. It is the boy's turn to play with the boogie board. Kristoff almost chokes on water when he races against Eugene. Rapunzel is starting to look like a peach. Anna flips herself over like a pancake.
Soon, a group of frat boys arrives with the raucous energy of being young and in charge. They sit a few meters away from them, which Anna doesn't care about until some of them start ogling her girlfriend.
Anna fumes in silence. She pulls Kristoff's towel out of his backpack and lays it flat on top of the girl's body.
"What's this for?" Elsa asks.
She doesn't miss a beat. "They keep looking at you."
Elsa's head turns to the other side. She locks eyes with one of them; a boy with dirty blond hair and dull blue eyes whose stare Elsa holds steadily until he looks away.
Oof, she thinks, what a woman.
Minutes later she feels a towel being draped over her back. She turns to Elsa in bewilderment.
"They're looking at you," she whispers.
Anna blushes but leaves the towel where it is. She doesn't want to look like a peach anyway.
From time to time, she glances over at the frat group. Some of them have left to play by the water but a couple of them remain where they are, chatting and sipping cans covered by brown paper bags. The glances they send their way are—Anna is now sure—directed at the blonde.
"Elsa, I really don't think—" She's cut off with a kiss. Elsa's lips linger, and when she's about to pull away Anna chases after them with a hand placed securely behind her neck.
When they separate she feels a little dazed and she doubts it's all from the heat.
"What were you going to say?"
"I forgot."
Elsa smirks.
Kristoff and Eugene join them eventually. Anna explains to Kristoff why she has his towel and he tells her to keep it, glaring at the boys as he does so. They wake Rapunzel up; she had passed out. She is looking very, very red.
There are no more glances coming from any of the frats and Anna scoots closer to whisper harshly, "Did you see that?"
The blonde closes the book and sets it aside. "See what?"
"The guys arrive and they stop staring. This is the twenty-first freaking century and we are still objectifying women until another man comes around."
Elsa considers this. "The objectification of women is a century old problem, sweetheart. Shall we fault the boys who will be boys, or shall we fault the relentless systematic pressure of being a girl in a man's world?"
Anna blinks twice. Her mind is torn between continuing this conversation until they can knock it out of the park, or saying something so idiotic she'll knock herself out of the park. She chooses the later of course.
She wiggles her eyebrows. "I like it when you talk feminism to me."
Elsa bites her lips to keep herself from laughing. She leans in until her lips are brushing against the shell of Anna's ear and purrs: "Gender equality, defeat the patriarchy, Gloria Steinem..."
The redhead sniggers and ducks away.
They stay at the beach for a few more hours. Anna coerces her girlfriend to get in the water with her, where she feels free to let go of her wandering hands. "Think of the children!" Elsa squeals when Anna tries to grab her butt for the umpteenth time.
After the pancake fiasco they opt for take-out pizza on their way back to the house. The boys suggest playing charades but when Elsa's blood drains from her face Anna persuades them to play a game board instead.
Scrabble is what they find in Kristoff's game pantry.
Another fiasco ready to happen.
"Ananas?" Eugene asks.
"Did you just make that up?"
"Ananas is not a word, dude," Kristoff states.
"Yes, it is."
"In English?" The blonde defies.
Anna retrieves the letters with indignation. "No one ever said anything about sticking to one language."
They keep on playing. Kristoff goes to the kitchen to get a beer and Anna asks for one too. Why this makes her feel empowered, she is not sure, but she is feeling competitive tonight.
Bring it on.
Kristoff comes back in time for his turn.
"J.E.E.B.I.E.S."
"That is—"
"This is outrageous."
"Jeebies is a word," he argues. "Google it."
"Give me a sentence."
"Rapunzel gives me the jeebies."
Eugene rolls his eyes. "Just because you can make a sentence out of it doesn't mean it's a word."
"What are you, a dictionary?"
Elsa is next. She takes her time, moving her set of letters away from the redhead's curious eyes.
"Fibrillation."
Kristoff groans.
"I hate this game—"
"Okay, who votes for kicking Miss Encyclopedia out?" Rapunzel raises her hand. Eugene does so too. Kristoff glances at them, then at Elsa, then at Anna who is giving him a death stare. He keeps his hand down.
Anna can only manage the word Cheese on the next round. Bullocks! She screams in her head. She looks down at her letters: O. I. L. K. H. A. N.
This is ridiculous.
"Xanax!" Rapunzel screams.
"How do you even get two exes at once?"
"It's called luck, look it up."
Before someone flips the table they move onto UNO. Another mistake. Everyone starts with seven cards. After twenty minutes, Anna is already hoarding seventeen.
"Elsa, I swear if you give me another four I'll break up with you."
The girl arches an eyebrow at her but her hand moves away from the card she was considering. She places a Skip card on the stack. Anna glares at her. The blonde bats her eyelashes.
More chaos ensues. Relationships are threatened. Rapunzel calls out injustice, demands a trial, Eugene was cheating. "What do you know, you look like a tomato!" Elsa swears her cousin is shuffling the cards wrong on purpose. "You keep getting the good cards—give me that." She shuffles them for the rest of the night.
Kristoff wins the first round, Rapunzel the second and, by miraculous intervention, Anna wins the third round.
They call it a night before anyone gets hurt.
Anna, high on her victory, forgives her girlfriend for any and all misconduct so she allows her to take her by the hand away from the bedroom and towards the deck. "I want to show you something," she tells her.
Outside, the breeze is gentle, as slow as the ripples of the water underneath. Anna sees more stars up in the sky than she has in all her years of living in the city while the moon, full and bright, casts its light down on them.
They sit on the bench they shared just yesterday, with Anna nestled against her girlfriend's body and her head resting on her shoulder. They talk in hushed tones, seeping into the quietude that only a night like this can provide. They giggle at each other, at the weird friends they've made out of the three people back inside the house, and despite the heightened emotions of the previous day, Anna can only relish the aftermath.
It is this she'll always wish to remember.
Three weeks go by, like a plateau of relative quietness that the girls attempt to get the most out of.
On mornings when the sun doesn't bear down on them like a hot cast iron, Anna accompanies her on a run. That is, Elsa runs and Anna does the same thing behind her for about fourteen minutes before she tells her to continue without her—"Don't wait for me, Elsa. Move on with your life. I'll be okay"—. The pros of this is that she gets to see Elsa's behind. That's a huge pro. Also, she is improving. About two minutes every other day, but improvement nonetheless.
The cons... there are no cons. Anna enjoys this more than she ever thought she would.
They visit Theo a couple of times as well. She tells them that she's done her check-up and passed it with flying colors, or as flying as they can be when you're 83, she jokes. They spend time together; some time apart, too. This is mostly for Anna's sake because there are times when she prefers some solitude to write—and how that is going is another matter (stupendously so)— because she has an idea in her mind that she's been constructing for the past couple of weeks, although she won't give out any details yet no matter how much Elsa tries to prod.
Some other days, they spend time in the company of their friends. The East Meadow in Central Park becomes their go-to spot because it fulfills everyone's little hearts' desires. Even Sven's. Especially Sven's. East Meadow is puppy heaven.
Tracy is not a thing of the past in its entirety but neither of them brings her up. It isn't out of avoidance, it is out of a lack of importance. Her shadowy presence in Elsa's life remains just that: a shadow.
For the time being, at least.
Elsa submerges herself in more books than Anna thinks is normal—even for her—because she is trying to grasp an accurate idea of what she will encounter in London (Anna thinks she is one book away from reading all about London's history) because these aren't just regular classes, she tells her, this is research and once she starts with it she will come back to more research. Research and preparation for internal medicine and rotations. All in all, a continuum of sleepless nights. Anna had stared at her horrified and mildly worried even if, in reality, she knew this would happen. She is no expert but she's always known that the further you go into your medical studies, the less amount of sleep you get. It's something you know, the same way you know dentists use medieval tools of torture no matter how much you may try to convince Anna otherwise.
Today, however, Anna doesn't go for a run and neither does Elsa. They spend time in bed early in the morning, relishing in each other's warmth before Anna has to get ready for her second interview and Elsa for the first day of her trip's preparation week.
She talks very briefly with her dad on her way over to the station. It feels like a matter of touch-and-go with her parents but Anna can't exactly complain. There is only so much you can work on in a relationship that is ruled by distance.
The offices in suite 1004 are buzzing with more activity than they had been the last time she was here. Everyone seems to have settled in. From deeper inside the suite, she hears one or two phones sporadically ringing. Somebody treads past her towards the exit and few seconds later somebody else treads in. There are a few people milling around in the conference room, sipping unassuming coffee cups that probably cost five dollars each, and discussing the weather. Anna doesn't know any of this—she's taking a guess.
"Miss Summers?" She turns to the source of her name and finds a man approaching her. He is younger than she had anticipated but not by much. Anna guesses he must be in his late twenties, early thirties, tops. His smile is wide and confident, and she finds it easy to stand up with one of her own.
"Hi, that's me." She extends her hand and a small sense of déjà vu rushes through her mind. His handshake is firm and Anna tries (hopes) that hers is the same. She rehearsed it with Elsa that morning, so many times that they ended up turning it into a game of who gave the most tepid handshake out of the two.
She begins following him through the hallway as she shoots a polite smile at the receptionist. He is explaining to her that he's just arrived a couple of weeks prior, and hopes she doesn't mind the mess in his office. Does she like coffee? He has a Keurig. Anna says she does but no, thank you. The corridor is the same, and so are the offices. It is the same carpet; the same unmistakable but not unpleasant scent of cleaning supplies, but Anna no longer harbors the feeling of eager nervousness from her first interview. This time it is something more feeble; something easier to control with a couple of breaths. Like a knowledge carried at an unconscious level that this will turn out okay.
The office is the same that Lauren Hoffman interviewed her in, except that today it actually appears inhabited. Mr. Zimmerman sits down and Anna follows suit.
"So, Miss Summers," he says, reclining in his chair; a grin wide and easygoing. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Thank you," she smiles. "I'm excited to be here."
His cellphone rings and while he reaches for it to decline the call Anna takes a look at the posters that caught her attention when she first walked in. The walls are covered in them: Space Odyssey, The Shining, A Clockwork Orange. Anna finds it somewhat odd that those are movie posters and not books, but the peculiarity in them doesn't strike her the wrong way. In fact, it's the opposite. And it's not that those are her favorite movies—she's never seen half of them—but the fact that he seems to have chosen to decorate his office with his own personal tastes.
"You know Clarke wrote that story here in New York?" He asks her as he places his cellphone back on the desk.
"Did he?"
He nods solemnly. "At the Chelsea Hotel."
Her eyes go wide. "I was there!" She exclaims, catching herself a little too late. She tries to tone her excitement down a notch. "Sorry, I—uh, I was there for my birthday recently. I didn't know he stayed there too, that's very cool."
His laughter lacks any mockery. It's a relief. "That place is legendary," he says and Anna nods in agreement, lost for a second in the memory of being with Elsa at the lobby. The pen. That kiss. Anna smiles.
"Anyways," Mr. Zimmerman continues. "I don't wanna hold you up for too long so let's get down to business, shall we?"
Business is such a foreign word to her still. How do people sit when they discuss business? Anna crosses her legs then uncrosses them. She crosses them again. Her hands intertwine and rest on her knee.
"I know Lauren's already gone over the basics with you so I won't bore you with the same questions about qualifications and whatnot. Mostly, I wanted to get to know you guys so that I could make my decision, and soon... I just got here and the work is already piling up."
Anna smiles. She can see that. There's a pile of manila folders on the corner of his desk, another pile of correspondence, and yet another one with printed documents. She's already categorized those in her mind: miscellaneous. She thinks she can do this. She's not the most organized person in the whole world (she still loses her socks to the bottomless black hole that is the underside of her bed) but she also didn't spend three years shelving and categorizing hundreds of books for nothing.
"Don't judge me too hard," he jokes, noticing where her eyes have gone.
"I'm not," she laughs a little. She's warming up to him. "It's normal to have this much going on, especially when you've just switched offices from one coast to the other."
"I couldn't even begin to tell you." He shakes his head in disbelief before he reaches for the pile of manila folders, picks a handful up and waves them at her. "These are all pitch works and query letters, and it takes me hours to go through a pile like this."
Anna bites her lip, unsure of what to say. She can't exactly say Geesh, that looks like quite an awful lot of boring work, mistah.
But Mr. Zimmerman is already moving on. He tosses the folders back onto the pile, mumbling about dealing with that later. "You also know the basics about being an assistant, of course."
"Sure. Arranging schedules, setting up meetings, answering phone calls..."
"The whole shebang," he grins.
She nods and mirrors the expression.
"So it's easy," he says, relaxing once more in his chair. "On paper... I just want you to be prepared, however, because I like to work at a fast pace; I won't sugar coat things for you. I mean, this is a literary agency and I'm no Wolf of Wall Street but still, the job can be very hectic. You'll have to travel with me to LA or Seattle or wherever the job calls, which won't be often—but will happen." He pauses, thinking over his next words. "You may be an assistant but I also want someone who has an opinion of their own, you know? Because you'll be meeting most of the people I encounter. Writers, publishers, editors... I don't need someone who can bring me coffee, I need someone who has presence... Do you think you can do that?"
Anna allows herself to actually consider this despite knowing there are only two options. Say yes and maybe—hopefully—get that job, or say no and might as well stand up to leave. She'll get to travel, she'll get to know this business from the inside, she'll get to know people who can later on help her build her own career. Anna is ready. She knows she can do this.
"I'm up for the challenge," she says.
Mr. Zimmerman claps once, delighted. It feels like sealing a deal. "This is good. Great even." Then, a thought: "How old are you, Miss Summers?"
"Anna is okay."
He points at her with a smile. "Anna, then."
"I'm twenty-two."
He nods solemnly. "You're young. Not that I'm old," he laughs, "but I know that being your age and a newbie in a business like this can be tough... Hoffman mentioned you want to be a writer, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"It will be hard, Anna. But I can tell you're someone with determination. I like that. It's a good thing to have."
Anna thanks him wholeheartedly.
They speak for a few more minutes about work and about what it entails to be a writer in a city like New York. Anna finds herself more and more drawn to the business and to this agency in particular, for the people she's met have been welcoming and willing to take her in as one of their own. In the company of Lauren Hoffman and Mr. Zimmerman she feels not like an amateur college graduate but as someone with potential, someone who can actually make it.
When she stands up to leave, her chest feels as though it's blooming with pure excitement. Mr. Zimmerman has made his decision.
"I hope you like working around here, Anna."
"I'm sure I will." She accepts the extended hand. This time she doesn't have to think about how strong her handshake is; her gratitude is reflected in it. "Thank you so much, Mr. Zimmerman."
"Please," he says with a grin that will become his staple. "Call me Hans."
