A/N: From the WIP graveyard, I bring you more lesbian!Kristy and Mary Anne. As if I could ever grow sick of writing these two. Inspired by Taylor Swift's Lover , because above all, I am Swiftie trash.
001.
"You know, we could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January. It's our place, after all. We can make the rules," Kristy points out from her spot on the stoop.
It's a perfect wintry December day, the kind where snowflakes drift through the frosty air like little reminders of childhood snow days gone by. Sure, sitting on the steps was a mistake - Kristy's jeans are practically frozen solid on the slate, but she'd never miss a moment with Mary Anne.
That's what best friends are for, after all.
Mary Anne pauses, her hands frozen in mid-air, laden with tangled strings of fairy lights. "We've always taken them down on Boxing Day. You know that."
Kristy's voice is soft when she speaks. "He's not here, Mar. It's up to us now."
"Don't you think we're a little too old for obsessing over Christmas?"
The diet coke stings Kristy's nostrils when she snorts. "Never. There are some things you never, ever, grow out of."
The Christmas lights stay up until MLK Day, when lights are exchanged for Dawn's hand-painted banners that inspire occasional cheers from the passersby (and one well-intentioned yet awkward note in their letterbox that gets hung on the fridge for months to come).
Mary Anne silently vows to continue the tradition the following year.
Kristy secretly orders a whole new box of lights online to decorate their backyard.
It's the little things.
002.
Mary Anne and Kristy go together like sugar and spice, like pumpkin and pie. That's a fact that everyone knows, of course, and Kristy's sure that Mary Anne knows her place better than anyone else.
Kristy doesn't stop to think otherwise until the night of Mary Anne's college graduation.
It's five past two, and they're late - so late - and Mary Anne's told Kristy to just wait for the umpteenth time, that when she breezes out of their bedroom with an air of confidence that stills every errant thought in Kristy's brain she can't even rationalise her way out of it.
Mary Anne, all dressed up in a demure baby-blue shift dress, curls piled atop her head, is so dissimilar from anyone that Kristy's ever cared to notice. Sure, they'd kissed that night of their senior prom, and they'd whispered ridiculously gushy secrets into the darkness of the night that made Kristy's toes curl with humiliation in retrospect, but they'd ended up settling into their own little groove so far removed from any relationship Kristy had ever known.
First, it was Mary Anne's dad. Mr Spier liked Kristy - how could he not? - but he didn't like her as Mary Anne's girlfriend, and that stung.
Then, Mary Anne had become doubtful, closing off her affections to Kristy like pages in a book snapping shut.
They had always been best friends. Nothing could ever change that.
At least, not until that linen dress left the hanger that had precariously hung over Mary Anne's door for the past six weeks.
The tantalising swish of the fabric had stolen every rational thought from Kristy's brain, leaving behind only continuous musings on Mary Anne's immeasurable beauty. She knew Mary Anne in almost every way, and yet there was still something so mysterious, so dazzling about her. Had Kristy known her for twenty seconds, or twenty years? Would she know her for twenty more?
When Kristy says her prayers (semi-jaded, as always) late that night, she makes sure to slip in a little plea to her God: please, if you are real, let me be hers.
Between wishes on shooting stars and dandelions and birthday candles, she's sent millions of offerings into the universe.
Maybe, if she does it just right, Mary Anne will love her in return.
Kristy thinks about it every night.
(Mary Anne is thinking too, but she's not gay. No way.)
003.
Mary Anne signs her first Big Girl contract with the gorgeous, inky fountain pen that she received for her twenty-first birthday. She'd put the moment off for days - signing the papers would make it real, and all she wanted to do was live in a state of make-believe for as long as she could pretend.
Signing the papers would mean taking the job.
Taking the job meant moving to Delaware.
Moving to Delaware meant leaving Kristy.
And leaving Kristy was totally, utterly, unfathomable, even if the alternative - making things real, in the we're-together-together sort of way - was entirely out of the question.
Mary Anne had asked for a moratorium on their relationship the summer of her freshman year, and Kristy, so rarely the picture of patience, had begrudgingly obliged her. Of course, her agreement was underlined with a casual sort of confidence that only Kristy could pull off, but she could only put on that brave face for so long. She'd waited for Mary Anne though everything, even though it was painfully obvious that it was hurting her, and still Mary Anne couldn't bring herself to say yes.
Still, life without Kristy was no life at all. She'd never known a day without her best friend beside her, even in the intermittent moments where they bickered, or in the increasingly frequent incidences of Kristy excusing herself from the room after a particularly awkward interaction.
Honestly, kissing Kristy would be easier than coming up with all her excuses as to why she was studying her face so intently.
She just had a nice face. That was all.
(Not gay, no way).
Mrs Schafer had once said that it was better the devil you know than the devil you didn't, and though Mary Anne loathed to think of anything so sacrilegious, it was true. Living with Kristy - living in sin, as her father put it - gave her greater comfort than anything else in the world could offer.
When she signs the contract, she ends her signature with a flourish, making her letters as big and loopy as the butterflies in her stomach feel. She mails it back to the company in a bright yellow envelope, tucking the tracking confirmation sheet under the mattress.
She doesn't tell Kristy until the week later, not until they call and leave an exuberant 'welcome' message on their shared answering machine.
(Kristy hears it first, because of course she would).
Mary Anne fumbles through a stammering explanation, but Kristy only looks more and more confused as she speaks.
"Well, you know my boss needs two weeks' notice. I guess I'll just have to meet you at the new house," she shrugs, relaxing her furrowed brow.
"What?"
Kristy stares at her as if she's got a screw loose. "You go first. I come later."
Mary Anne tries - and fails - to not blush at the unintentional innuendo. "Right. I'll load up the computer, and we can look at houses."
She excuses herself before her expression can betray her thoughts.
If only she had known it would be so simple - that Kristy would go wherever she'd go, that they could always be so close, forever and ever.
Mary Anne sets the listing filters to only show 1-bedroom apartments.
(It's just to save money, it doesn't mean anything).
(Spoiler alert: it totally does).
004.
The leaves are turning brown the next time Kristy kisses Mary Anne, the wind whirling around them like some sort of fairy tale.
When Mary Anne says this after they finally break apart, Kristy laughs. "Yeah, or a dust storm. Is that romantic enough for you?"
It's not, but she'll take it. They walk hand-in-hand through the plaza, with Kristy jokingly swinging their entwined fingers high into the air. When Mary Anne laughs, it's as loud and full and elated as she's ever sounded.
They compromise - they're not girlfriends, because that's too queer for Mary Anne to say without blushing a furious red. Nor are they lovers, because Kristy waggles her eyebrows suggestively and they can never take the word seriously again.
No, after much debate, they finally decide: they are partners.
Partners in crime, together forever through the mess of it all (their relationship survived middle school, so it can surely survive worse tribulations).
Parts of a pair, still whole when divided, but better together.
Partners in life: best friends first, kissing second.
Through it all, Mary Anne will always have Kristy. The kisses are just a bonus.
(An excellent bonus, she decides. The kisses are here to stay).
005.
When Kristy sends the invites to their garden ceremony three years later, nobody RSVPs.
She waits a week.
Two, three, four.
Finally, she calls her mother, hitting the speed dial button on her house phone. She cradles the handset to her ear as she washes the dishes, craning her neck into that awkward bunched-up position that Kristy remembers all too well from her childhood, watching her mother bustle around the house in her trademark frenetic manner. After what feels like an eternity of waiting - probably only thirty seconds or so, but it feels like a lifetime - the receiver clicks into life.
"Hello?"
"Mom, hey, it's Kristy," she says, cringing at her unusually low tone.
Phone calls suck.
"Kristy, I hadn't heard from you in so long, I thought you had changed your number! Of course, I'm sure Mary Anne would tell me, but even so. You need to call me more, young lady."
"Yes, mom," she mutters, chastised. "Uh, so I was wondering if you got the card. The RSVP card. The one for the ceremony, you know, the one where we get married."
Her mom laughs suddenly, catching Kristy by surprise. Sure, she'd always been kind to Mary Anne - how could she not, since she was always around - but she's never really said anything about the two of them together. Or anything about Kristy coming out.
(Aside from okay, you know I love you - and that had been enough then).
"Kris, I sent that back three weeks ago. Don't you check the mail?"
Kristy cranes her head to peer at the letterbox through the open window, eyeing the lowered flag.
"Of course I check it," she says, frowning. "Nobody's RSVP'd. Not even Dawn."
"Hang on," her mom says, noisily rifling through papers (her journal, probably, she never does anything without the trusty behemoth). "I sent it on the twentieth to... the Spalding Drive house. You're still there, right?"
Her eyes go wide.
"Oh my god, I forgot to change the address," Kristy groans, clumsily slipping her sneakers on. "We moved last Spring, I didn't even think-"
"Kris. It'll be okay. Drive over there, honey, and knock on the door. I'm sure they'll have your mail."
So she does, hastily slinging the handset onto the charging dock and jogging to her truck. If she pushes forty on the back roads, avoiding the traffic lights, she can probably make it to the old house and back before Mary Anne gets home (Mary Anne doesn't need to know).
When she knocks on the old house door, it's with sweaty palms and trembling legs. She can't quite explain why, but going there is a big deal - the old house, the cards, the wedding - and she can't mess it up.
After all, it took well over three summers of loving Mary Anne before she could even steal a kiss.
Delaying the wedding might actually kill her. Or maybe it would just twist her soul. Either way, it would suck.
Eventually, footsteps shuffle towards the door, and she can practically feel her heartbeat echoing in her temples.
What if the cards didn't come, what if they were thrown away, what if nobody even mailed their freaking' cards -
The woman at the door offers her a curious smile, and it's only then that she realises how neurotic she must look.
Kristy clears her throat. "Um, hi. I accidentally told my friends to mail their RSVPs here - I used to live here, awhile ago - and I was hoping you might still have them, it's sort of important-"
She holds up her hands in gentle surrender, though her face is still the picture of welcoming. "It's okay. You can breathe. I've got them right here, hon."
She leans over to her bureau and grabs an overstuffed grocery bag, thrusting it into Kristy's hands before she can even exhale in relief.
"You've got them," she breathes in relief, staring down at the letters as if they were gold.
"I do. Hey, leave your address and I'll forward the rest on. You don't need to worry."
And after that, she doesn't.
Not when her father RSVPs not attending in crisp, red ink.
Not when Dawn shows up to the ceremony with her two partners.
Not even when her fat ass rips her tuxedo pants on her journey back down the aisle.
None of it matters, not when she has Mary Anne in her arms as her wife, with a ring on her finger and a beaming smile on her face. It's their first day of forever, and she'd be lying if she said the journey was easy, but after all those years and all those tears, they're finally together.
There isn't a single thing in the world that can take away Kristy's happiness.
(Aside from the Montreal Canadiens losing the Stanley Cup, but she tries not to think about that during their first dance. It's not very romantic, Mary Anne says).
(Mary Anne is right, most of the time. Except for the debate of who loves who more. Kristy clearly has that one in the bag).