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Chapter Seven
The seventh thing at Christmas that's such a pain to me:
The Salvation Army
(Facing my in-laws
Five months of bills!
Sending Christmas cards
Oh, geez
I'm tryin' to rig up these lights
And finding a Christmas tree)
"Why are we here?" Beca asks.
"To see the lights in the square," Chloe answers.
"The lights at home work now," Beca reminds her.
"Ow, Beca," Aubrey complains, crashing into her when she stops to zip up her jacket.
"Dude, walk on the other side."
"Of what?" Aubrey asks.
"Of Chloe." Beca tugs the zipper, which got stuck the second Aubrey slammed into her, to no avail. "Can we at least get something warm to drink?"
xxxxx
The lights on the square are the same as they've always been – which is actually kind of comforting. White lights line the shops and a giant Christmas tree, decorated in blue and silver, sits in a grassy area near the center of town. Beca has never bothered to ask which town they're in, but it's not very far from Atlanta. She wanders down the sidewalk, a few inches behind Aubrey and Chloe, hot chocolate in hand.
They're holding hands – Aubrey and Chloe. They both have a paper cup of coffee in one hand and the fingers of their other hand are interlocked. And, okay, maybe Beca got a little used to Chloe holding her hand over the past few years. Sure, she generally always pulls away or exhales a defeated sigh – but now she's watching Aubrey squeeze her hand whenever they see something that excites them, and, you know what? It doesn't matter. Nope. She definitely does not care. Let the two of them hold hands. It's not like they like like each other, right? And so what if they do? It's not like it affects Beca.
She trips over the curb and bumps into Aubrey, who gives her an irritated glare and a sharp 'watch it' like she hadn't just crashed into Beca minutes before.
It doesn't matter. It definitely doesn't matter. Only it kind of does. Beca clears her throat. "Hey, uh, Chloe."
Chloe looks back and smiles at her.
"This is really good," Beca exaggerates the taste of her hot chocolate "You should try it." She offers out the cup.
"Sure." They stop walking and Chloe releases Aubrey's hand to turn around and take the other cup. "That is good."
The plan works. Because as soon as Chloe hands Beca's cup back, she switches her own to her other hand and wraps an arm around Beca's shoulders. And then Beca feels really fucking bad about the brief disappointment that appears on Aubrey's face and the way she tucks her now-free hand underneath her other arm.
"Oh," Aubrey gasps, "We should go that way. That's where the band is."
Chloe releases Beca and is suddenly attached to Aubrey again, eagerly nodding her agreement.
"I was actually thinking we could go in some of the shops," Beca suggests.
"I thought you hated the shops," Chloe says, "Every year you say they're too crowded."
"They look less crowded this year." They look the same amount of crowded.
"Okay. The band will still be there later."
Aubrey frowns.
xxxxx
The Christmas festival is always packed with people. It's like walking in Times Square – only people are passing out coupons instead of bus tour flyers and trying to convince her why she needs to buy a pack of snow globes. They weave in and out of aisles and shops for awhile, looking at things that they like but not enough to stand in line to buy.
"It's cold out," Beca says between shops when Aubrey starts looking like she's ready to stab her with an icicle.
"Zip up your jacket," Chloe recommends.
"It's stuck. It got stuck when Aubrey ran into me."
Aubrey chucks her cup into a trashcan then folds her arms.
"Here." Chloe tries zipping it. It won't budge. "Yep. It's definitely stuck."
"I know that."
Aubrey rests her hands on Chloe's shoulders and tries to look at it. "Fabric is probably stuck in the back of it. You just have to pull it out."
Chloe reaches inside Beca's jacket to tug in the fabric near the zipper.
"Hey!" A bell ringer standing next to a Salvation Army sign gets their attention. "This is a family event not a Pride parade."
"She's trying to dress her, not undress her," Aubrey says, causing Chloe to look momentarily like she's considering pulling the zipper down rather than up. Then Aubrey murmurs something that sounds surprisingly like 'dickball' under her breath.
"Did you just call me a name?" the guy asks.
Aubrey draws herself to full height and turns halfway around when Chloe grabs her arm and shakes her head.
"You try," she says, stepping away from Beca.
Aubrey glances back then steps in to fix Beca's jacket.
"Dykes, move along."
Aubrey doesn't have to pull the fabric out. She yanks the zipper so hard, it goes all the way up to Beca's chin. And then she's marching toward the man – who looks more curious about what she thinks she's going to do than he looks frightened. (Beca knows from experience that he should probably be at least a little bit frightened.) She pulls the lid off his little red bucket and looks him straight in the eye as she turns it upside down – scattering coins everywhere.
xxxxx
"Way to go, Aubrey," Beca says leaning her head back against the cell wall.
"He was harassing us," Aubrey replies.
"You know we could have just moved, right?"
"He deserved it." Aubrey sounds steady and confident, but also she kind of looks like she wants to cry.
"First time in the slammer?" Beca asks her.
Aubrey clenches her jaw.
"I'm a regular here." Arrested twice in four years, both times for a crime she didn't commit. "That was pretty awesome though," she admits, "Did you see the look on his face?"
"Smug to devastated in a matter of seconds." Aubrey smiles and Beca laughs.
"He was not expecting you to do that. He looked like he'd rather you have punched him in the face. There had to be like fifty-dollars worth of pennies in that bucket."
"I bet he had to pick them all up."
"He's probably still out there on his hands and knees cursing the homosexual agenda and we're not even gay."
"We're all very strictly heterosexual."
"Super straight."
Aubrey nods.
"Stacie's on her way," Chloe says, being ushered back into cell.
"Why Stacie?" Beca asks.
"Would you rather stay here?" Chloe asks.
"Maybe," Beca admits.