Kailor: Howdy, my babies! Hope you enjoy!
Chloe misses saying goodbye to the girls.
She really means to get up and see them off. She won't see them again until the weekend. She'll miss them. But when she shuts her alarm off and rolls over to make sure it didn't wake Beca, all of that goes out the window.
Because at some point during the night, Beca's shirt has ridden up.
She's on her stomach, arms up, face so buried in the pillow that Chloe is concerned whether or not she can breathe. The blanket is wrapped around her legs and tugged down to her hips. And her shirt is up, nearly around her shoulders. She can just see the bottom of the pink lotuses and vines that grow up her shoulder blade. And there, right across the center of her spine, is a tattoo Chloe hasn't seen before.
Equalizer bars. Music, right there on her skin.
And before she can think better of it, Chloe's tracing the lines.
Beca's skin is so soft under her fingers. As soft as it had been under her lips the night before.
Chloe follows the rising and falling lines of ink, propping herself up on an elbow to get a better look. She wonders if it's a specific beat, what it means to Beca. If it's the only tattoo she hasn't seen. When her fingertip reaches the end of the tattoo, she smoothes her entire hand flat across it, covering it completely. Beca doesn't budge. And Chloe moves on autopilot, her hand sliding down the curve of Beca's back, thumb following the gentle bumps of her spine to her waistband and back up. Her fingers fan out across Beca's side, hovering over the spaces between her ribs, the dip of her waist. Not quite touching. And she thinks this should be weird. Creepy, even.
But she remembers the insistent press of Beca's fingers in her hair. She'd wanted Chloe to continue. She'd liked it, just like Chloe had. And that had really sealed everything into place for her.
She likes Beca. Loves her and every one of her quirks and charms. Is very possibly in love with her. And Beca has kissed her multiple times since they arrived here. Beca kissed her. Honestly, she'd expected any kisses they shared during this trip to be brief and chaste, all initiated by herself, and followed up by some time peeling Beca off the ceiling. But instead, Beca had kissed her under the red maple like it was something they had always done. Familiar and comfortable and solid. And then she'd been perfectly normal after. Maybe a little peppier than normal Beca, but still.
Then she'd kissed her at the Swansons' and barely batted an eye about it. Which is insane, because Chloe's still reeling from it.
But that kiss at the lake had really shaken her to the core. Because it wasn't necessary. And she knew Beca knew that. And it had been so small in comparison to their other kisses, but it had knocked the wind out of her sails.
She's not sure how long she lays there, tracing Beca's newly revealed tattoo and her spine and the small scars peppered over her skin.
The three slashes a few inches from her waistband where she'd been scratched by her aunt's cat when she was a teenager. She smiles, remembering Beca recounting the story and twisting to show her the three white lines on her back. "And the little bastard jumped right out of the Christmas tree and attacked me! I told her he had it out for me!" It takes a few minutes to drag her fingers away from those scars.
The hooked one on her hip. A trophy of a particularly amusing fight with a metal clothing hanger while she was breaking into her own car after locking herself out. "And then I tried to turn and the end got caught in my shirt and then in my skin and I just ended up calling my dad. And then he took me to the emergency room because we couldn't get it out."
The white line down her side where her friend from high school-Jesse probably, Chloe realizes-accidentally shoved her into a set of shelves. "I had to get stitches. My mom made them put me in the stupid hospital gown so we could take pictures in our 'matching outfits'. ...I kept the gown, though. Those things are comfortable as hell."
It thrills her that she can name where every line came from. That Beca's opened up enough since they moved in together to tell her these things. She wants to kiss every jagged white line, every splash of ink.
But first, she has to deal with Mickey. Then, once that's settled, she's going to drag Beca back up here, lock the door, and kiss her.
For now, though, she runs her fingers once more over the equalizer bars, then grips the edge of Beca's shirt and tugs it back down. Beca's barely moved at all, but her head is turned enough that her ear is peeking from her hair. So Chloe rests a hand on Beca's back and leans in to press a soft kiss to the tip.
Beca breathes deep suddenly and rolls until she's facing Chloe, her arms awkwardly crossed over each other and thrust down into the space between them. Even in sleep, Beca has no idea what to do with her limbs sometimes. She doesn't wake. Just adjusts and settles back into place, the back of her fingers brushing the top of Chloe's thigh. And Chloe wants to wake her and ask if she feels this too-this sparking, rushing thing between her ribs whenever Beca's near her, touching her, kissing her. When she's helping Eli practice sign language. When she's playfully taking Cynthia Rose's five dollars because she won their "who can eat the most" bet. When she's showing Aubrey her equipment. When she's pushing Stacie over on the couch back home so Chloe has enough room to spread out, then tumbling into her armchair and napping all afternoon. When she's standing behind Emily at the coffee shop and grumpily complaining that she looks like her daughter.
It's not less, Chloe thinks. So she rolls out of bed and dresses quickly. Soon, she'll talk to her. But for now, she lets Beca sleep.
She has missed calls and texts from nearly all of the girls and Mamma. Quickly, she reads Mamma's messages, which are asking her to come over once everyone has gone home so they can deal with Mickey. She texts back, then asks Stacie to come over and get Beca and entertain Eli for a while.
She's just pulling on her socks when Stacie and Emily arrive. She lets them in and runs back up for her shoes. Stacie immediately starts digging through drawers and talking loudly about rooming with Cynthia Rose while Emily shushes her and keeps worriedly glancing at Beca's prone form. At some point, she'd rolled onto her back and her arms are crossed over her chest. She kind of looks dead. Chloe pauses to stare at her. No, her chest is moving. All good.
Mamma texts her again, asking if she's coming over, so she hurries out, trusting Stacie to be able to wake Beca.
Eli's sitting on the back porch and he grins when he sees her crossing the yard. "Chlo!" He hops up to meet her halfway, throwing his arms around her waist.
"Hey, E. What you doing?" She strokes his hair back, trying to flatten it. She fails.
"Mamma said Stace and Em and Beca could take me riding." His smile slips, brow furrowing. "Are you going talk to Mickey too?"
She sighs, cupping his freckled cheeks. He probably doesn't remember Mickey that well. Eli had been four when Mickey left for college. "Yeah. Did you see him?"
Eli shrugs, picking at the hem of her shirt. "I saw him down the hall when Mamma was sending me out." He pauses. "He looks like Dad."
Something about that chafes at her. Something about Eli saying it is wrong. She squeezes his face, rocking his head side to side so his hair flops around. "You look like Dad." Continuing to drag his head back and forth, she starts moving toward the porch.
"Ah, Chloe! Stop!" He laughs, twisting out of her hold, his hair wildly mussed now.
She grins. "Be safe. Wear your helmet this time."
Running back up on the porch, he grabs the thick black helmet off the bench Uncle Lew had built to go under their kitchen window. "Got it!" He jams it on his head and jumps the stairs, running off toward the garage with the clips still hanging around his ears.
Taking a moment before she has to go inside, she watches him run across the yard, jumping invisible obstacles and carefully avoiding a patch of little white flowers. She wishes she could go with them.
The back door opens and Mamma sticks her head out. "Chloe? Ready?"
She watches Eli bend over to tie his shoelace, his helmet falling off. "Yeah. Ready."
Mickey does look like their dad. He's got the same thin face and scruffy chin. The same eyes, more gray than blue. The same thick eyebrows and dark red hair, even if it's longer that Dad ever kept his. It brushes his collar when he moves.
But he doesn't smile the same. He barely smiles at all as he sits at the dining room table, watching Mamma bustle around in the kitchen. Chloe sits across from him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her light jacket. There's a string loose in the left pocket and she tugs at it.
Mickey looks at her briefly, eyes darting down to the mug in his hands and back to Mamma. "Sorry for last night. I didn't mean to yell."
"It's fine," Chloe says. It's not.
"It is not," Mamma snaps, slamming a mug down in front of her a little too hard. Coffee drops hit the counter and Mamma hurries away to get a paper towel. "I said it last night and I'll say it again. If you start yelling, we're done talking. And this time, you can leave as well." She returns, wiping up the table with quick, jerky movements. "I won't have it."
Chloe thinks about arguing with her, saying he can't help it. But she watches his hands tremble on the tabletop instead and doesn't say anything.
"Let's try this one more time." Mamma settles down beside her, hand automatically moving to grab Chloe's. She pulls it from her pocket and lets Mamma take it. "Why are you here, Michail?"
Mickey flinches at the name. Chloe's only ever heard it before when Mickey was in trouble-over the PA at school when he was called to the office, under her father's breath when Mickey wrecked his first car, at the top of her mother's lungs when he punched cousin Terry at the family reunion.
He taps his fingers along the rim of his cup, biting his lip. It's scarred, right where he's digging his teeth in, and she wonders if it's from him biting it too much. "I want to come home."
Mamma's thumb strokes the back of Chloe's hand, comforting even though she's the one that's tense and breathing sharply through her nose. "We asked you to come home years ago."
"I know." His gaze has drifted, catching the dust particles dancing near the kitchen window.
"Michail."
He blinks and refocuses, sniffing. "I'm here."
The kitchen is quiet and Chloe sees his attention waning again. "Mickey, where have you been?"
His eyes land on her and stick, more alert now. "Chlo." His lips press together in a flat line that might look like a smile to some people. "Uh. Florida. Just, all around there, I guess."
She knows that. His rare Facebook posts all came from Florida, though, admittedly, she mostly saw him on Facebook in the memories. Pictures of him at graduation, lifting his then-best friend, Jasper, into the air. Quick shots of him sleeping in his crib from Mamma's albums. Him in Dad's suits before he left-his shoulders too small to fill them out completely. Football team pictures reposted by his old friends. "Yes, but where have you been?"
He shrugs, sighing through his nose and shaking his hair back. "In and out of friends' places. Does it matter?" There's an edge to his voice now, clipped and warning her off.
"Watch it," Mamma growls, quiet, and Mickey sits up straighter. Even after all these years, he seems to remember that Mamma rarely gets angry enough to yell. But when she's angry and quiet, that's when someone's really in trouble.
He sneers. It's a strange look to see on a face so like her father's. "You wanted me home and I'm home. Why's it matter where I was?"
"Because I don't want where you were to follow you here," Mamma says, tapping the table with her knuckle.
There's an awkward pause where Chloe's sure Mickey's forgotten they were even talking. He's staring at the kitchen window again. Then he speaks. "Eli's gotten so big."
His name on Mickey's lips trails flames down Chloe's throat. "Yeah, that happens in six and a half years." Mamma squeezes her hand tightly. But Chloe's back in that car, driving around downtown Miami, trying to find a guy named "P-Dot", hoping he would know where Mickey's gone. "He also speaks full sentences that make sense now. And he is learning sign language and he's part of the drama club at school and-"
"Chloe-"
She's crying. She knows she is, but she can barely feel it, and everything is pouring out of her mouth without permission. "And he keeps begging Mamma to teach him how to drive already and he likes Ed Sheeran because 'his lyrics are the best'." She chokes on the words. Mickey's eyes are wide and fixed on her.
"Baby-" Mamma wraps an arm around her.
"And he asks about you!" Chloe's the one yelling now. "All the time! He wants to know if he's anything like you, if you're going to visit, if you know his soccer team won the championship." It's getting hard to breathe and she pulls her hands from Mamma's, flapping them around, trying to calm down. Talking this loud hurts her throat, even all these years after her nodes surgery.
Mamma's rubbing up and down her arms, speaking quietly in her ear, but Chloe can't tell what she's saying. It's too much. Chloe closes her eyes. Freshman year, Aubrey had taught her to handle things that upset her by focusing on something that makes her ridiculously, blindingly happy without fail.
It's Beca that comes to mind first. Beca in her armchair, half asleep and humming along with the radio on top of their fridge. Beca speed walking down the street toward the subway, pressing close to Chloe's side to avoid elbows and purses and children. Beca leaning off the balcony of Stacie's apartment, dropping grapes on people passing below. Beca asleep beside her, music-inked skin bared.
"My Chloe," Mamma says softly, running her nails across Chloe's scalp. It helps. "Come on. Let's take a minute. Go breathe." She ushers Chloe up and toward the living room. "You stay here. I'll be back in a second," she says to Mickey. He doesn't reply.
Mamma leaves her in the living room and Chloe curls into the corner of the couch, wrapping her arms around her legs and turning her head to lay her cheek on her knees. She closes her eyes and thinks about Beca and the Bellas and the stained glass window above their sink back home.
After a while, she sits up, inhaling slowly. She pulls her phone from her pocket. There's more messages from the girls, telling her they've made it home or to work, then some missed calls from each of them. And a missed call and text from Jesse. She frowns at that one and calls him back. "Jesse?"
"Chloe!" He sounds a little breathless, like he's been jogging. "Is Aubrey with you?"
"No?" She thinks back to her messages from this morning. "I haven't heard from her since she got home last night. She texted me she made it."
"Me too." His voice trembles a little. "And I came home and passed out on the couch. I thought she went to work, but her car's still here, Chlo. And her phone. And she's not at work-"
"Whoa, Jesse, slow down." She listens to him take a deep breath. "She's not there or at work and her phone and car are?" He confirms it and her stomach twists painfully. It's not like Aubrey to leave her phone anywhere or to go off without letting someone know where she's going. The General's daughter always checks in. "Did you call all the girls? All her other friends?"
"Yes, yeah. I texted you first, but you didn't answer, so I texted the Bellas. And they weren't answering fast enough, so I called them. Amy said they all left this morning, so I called you. I texted Beca, even, but she didn't answer. I-"
"Okay." Chloe jumps in before he runs out of breath. "Okay, look. I'll call Beca and see if she knows anything. You're sure she's not at work?"
"The Lodge said they haven't seen her since Friday, Chloe. I'm-" He takes a breath. "Chloe, I'm freaking out."
Logically, she knows she should suggest cold feet or maybe Aubrey just needs some time to herself before the wedding. But she knows neither are true. This is Aubrey Posen. Always ready to take on the world, Aubrey Posen. Completely and madly in love with Jesse Swanson, Aubrey Posen. Solid, dependable, always checks in, Aubrey Posen.
"I know. Just hold on. I'll call Beca. If she doesn't know...maybe you should…" She hesitates, placing a hand over the clenching in her stomach. "You should call…"
"The police?" It's barely a whisper and she knows he hadn't wanted to say it any more than her.
"Yeah. Better safe, you know?"
"Yeah. Okay, I'll call them. Let me know if Beca answers you."
"Of course. I'll call you right back." She hangs up and quickly dials Beca. That twisting in her stomach is back and it forces her up and back into the kitchen.
Aubrey doesn't do things like this. And Chloe's shaking by the time Beca picks up.