She's already sat at a table when I walk in. In a black ruffled skirt that hangs almost to her shins and a tight white shirt with very short sleeves, hair up in a ponytail. Nothing too formal, because this isn't a date.

I'll repeat that, to my pounding heart: This is not a date.

I've gone for blue jeans and a low-cut purple button-up. Again, nothing too formal. Because this is not a date.

As soon as she sees me she's on her feet. She scurries between tables with a smile on her face and pulls me into an aggressive hug. The waiter that was about to seat me hangs around awkwardly for a few seconds, then darts off elsewhere. I wouldn't be so soppy out loud, but the journey down here was almost worth it just to feel Mabel in my arms.

She pulls back and says, "god, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"Why are your eyes sore?"

"It's an expression."

"I know that. People usually say that when there's something bothering them. Like, 'I've been having a hard time lately, so it's good to see you.'"

"Oh. No, everything's dandy. Come on," she says, tugging my wrist. "Come sit."

It's straight out of a romance movie, the way that we glance around at the insignificant objects on the table, before our eyes meet and we both break out into shy smiles.

"You look beautiful," she says.

"Thank you. So do you." I clear my throat, remembering myself. "But it doesn't matter."

"Right."

"Because this isn't a date."

"Right." She nods vigorously. "Of course. This is... just two friends, having dinner, catching up, and maybe eventually discussing the prospect of becoming more than friends."

"That's right." It's what we agreed on, knowing that our previous attempts at taking our relationship to another level have been ineffectual, at best. I was the driving force behind that decision - you may have noticed by now that Mabel tends to dive into things head-first, especially when it comes to love. And as hard as it is to not throw myself across the table and kiss her gorgeous pink lips, I need to know that she can be patient, that she'll wait for me if need be. For the first time in my life, I'm standing up for my own heart.

So I order a Sprite and we talk about small things. I tell her about the drive to Cali and my new apartment, which she will see after dinner. Every time she talks about college or work I stare too long at her rosy cheeks or her mascaraed lashes, and I have to fight away the fluttering feeling in my chest.

"Have you heard from Stan at all?" I ask, between bites of my salad.

"Mhmm," Mabel hums. "He arrived back on land last week. We had a really long talk over the phone, which is so unusual for Stan. Normally he likes to wrap things up in five minutes to keep his phone bill down, but he just talked and talked and talked. He must have been so lonely out at sea."

"Aww. Did he tell you where he's been?"

"Nope," she sighs. "We talked about Ford a little bit, but he didn't tell me anything about the clues he'd been given. I don't get why him and Dipper have been so secretive about it. I told them about the Aurora Mysterialis right away." Her face softens. "He didn't sound the same. He sounded like all the life had been sucked out of him. And I don't think it's just because he's getting older, I think it's because of Ford. I've read things about... losing a twin. It can throw your entire world off course. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Dipper. I think I'd just stop functioning completely."

"Jesus," I say. "I thought we were keeping the conversation light."

She laughs while chewing and covers her mouth. "Sorry."

"I think he'll be okay," I tell her. "Give him some time back on land and he'll be back to his old self. I think if he's been traveling for seven or eight months with the sole purpose of obeying his brother's every wish, then Ford was going to be on his mind the whole time. But that might be what he needed, like a really long, proper goodbye. That's more than most people get."

After a few silent seconds I look up from my plate and find her staring at me. Just as I'm about to ask if I said something wrong, she smiles with enough love to send my head reeling. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she says.

Now, I don't know if there's some kind of demonic higher power up in the sky that has myself and Mabel hooked up to puppet strings, but sometimes I think that there is. Something out there must siphon a lot of joy from driving a wedge between us when things are going well, because it happens too often, and I'm afraid to say that tonight turns out no different.

We're halfway through dessert. Mabel ordered a rocky road sundae and I thought, shit, that sounds good, so I asked for one as well. I hear her phone vibrating in her purse, which she ignores, but when it begins a second round of buzzing right after, she licks her fingers and reaches for it.

It's not often that you witness the color drain from somebody's face so up close. I slowly bring my chewing to a halt. "What's wrong?"

The phone stops vibrating in her hand, and Mabel glances up at me and then around the restaurant, as if she forgot for a moment that she was in public. "It's, um- it's Jason."

My body sinks against my seat.

The phone buzzes again, just once. "He left a voicemail," Mabel murmurs.

Jason. Ex-fiancé Jason. The abuser. The man who was sent to prison for six months. And guess what? Six months is already up.

Mabel slides the phone back into her purse, and begins to stir her sundae with her spoon, fixated on the tablecloth. With every clink of spoon against glass, I feel more and more invisible. "Mabel?"

She looks up, manages a weak smile.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't realize how long it's been."

I nod, and glance down at my ice cream. The sight of it makes me feel sick. I'm trying really, really hard not to be selfish, and to put myself in Mabel's shoes. She was with the guy for four years - a phone call after six months of not speaking is a big deal, no matter how much of a monster he is.

"Let's not think about it," Mabel says. She reaches across the table and touches my hand. "I don't want it to ruin the night."

But of course, neither of us can stop thinking about it. We split the check, even after Mabel makes a show of waving her credit card around and slapping the wallet out of my hand. We walk out of the restaurant, along the street to Mabel's car, my hair occasionally being whipped out of order by the wind. I almost threw away my jackets when I was packing my stuff up in Oregon; I see now that that would have been a mistake. When we last drove through the streets of Sacramento nightlife, on the way to Mabel's dorm, I remember that the lights and the crowds enlivened me, as cities often do to a small town girl. Tonight, the lights are spotlighting clumps of litter along the sidewalks, and the crowds bombarding us are merely drunk idiots yelling to be heard over each other. Scary how your mood can mess with your perspective.

When I shut the door to Mabel's Jeep and the noise is muffled, I feel a split-second of relief before doubting that the suffocating silence between myself and Mabel is any better than being outside. We smile at each other before she starts the engine, the kind of smile with zero conviction behind it.

"I'm excited to see Spark again," she says.

"Yeah. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

I direct her around my new neighborhood, circling the same block a couple of times because I forgot what street I live on. Eventually we get a parking space right out front of the apartment, and Mabel shuts off the engine. I step out. She doesn't. She gazes through the windshield at nothing, then says to me, "I'm just gonna listen to that voicemail."

I swallow. It hurts. "Okay." I walk up the path to my front door, trying not to look over my shoulder. Spark jumps up at my legs and then becomes gravely concerned by the car parked outside. I tell him to sit still at my feet while I watch Mabel listen to her phone, but her expression is so unwavering that it's impossible to tell what Jason is saying.

It takes about thirty seconds, then she comes up the path and fusses over Spark in the doorway for a moment.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she sighs, sweeping fur off her hands. "He said sorry about five times. Wanted to meet up to talk."

"Are you going to?"

"I think so, yeah."

How many more bombs are going to be dropped on my head tonight? I'm becoming a threat to national security. "Oh."

She tilts her head. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you think it's a stupid idea. He only wants to talk."

"And you want to listen?"

"Yes. Pacifica, the last time I saw him was out of one eye. Right after he hit me. You never saw it, but he wasn't always like that, he wasn't always in that... crazed, jealous state. He did good things for me and he loved me. I don't know if I want the last memory of our relationship to be me cowering on the floor while he yells in my face."

"Well, why not? That is what happened, and you left him for it. Now as soon as he's out of prison you want to run into his arms and let him talk you down? He's manipulative, Mabel. You're falling into a trap."

She folds her arms and takes a step toward me, speaks in a soft tone. "Pacifica, sweetie, there is no trap. If I'm going to meet him it'll be in a public place, in the daytime. Nothing will happen." She frowns. "Wait, you're not worried that I'd actually consider getting back together with him, are you?"

"No." An outrageous lie.

An outrageous lie that she has clearly seen through, judging by the flash of anger on her face. "How little do you think of me? I would never even dream of it."

"Really? Because you jumped into bed with me pretty easily when you started dating him."

It's one of the few things I've said in my life that I've wanted to take back before I was even done saying it. Ever since her cell phone rang the images of the two of them together have been mounting up in my head, making me sick, and I've dealt with it by falling back on my old ways and dishing out a catty remark that's barely even relevant. In fact, I'm only one punch away from being the jealous maniac that Jason was.

Mabel's mouth drops open slightly, and I think I see her blink away tears when she spins around and hurries to the door.

"Mabel," I say, but all I get in response is slam. Spark looks between me and the door and whines, clearly distressed that his two favorite humans are arguing. He scratches at the door and barks (go after her, you idiot!)

And I do - I open the door and run down the path to the road but I'm too late, and as I turn to my left, I'm confronted with the haunting, familiar image of her car disappearing from view.

The mailman around here is fucking persistent; he's been spamming my doorbell for at least three minutes now, but I'm pretty cosy in bed. Must be a city thing. The wrinkly old mailman in Gravity Falls would usually deliver everything to my downstairs neighbor and then fall asleep in his van before his round was even halfway done.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table - Mom's calling.

"Yo," says my groggy morning voice.

"Hello. Are you home?"

"Yeah, the friggin' mailman's giving me a headache."

She's quiet for a beat. "What mailman?"

"The mailman. Must have rung my doorbell like, twenty times. I think he's finally given up, though."

"Pacifica, that's me. I said I'd be here at twelve."

I pull the phone away from my ear and check the time. 12:06. "Oh, shit."

Mom looks concerned when I open the door. "Did you just wake up?"

I glance down at my sleep shorts, the white tank top with an orange splotch from my late-night spaghetti. I look in the mirror to my left and my hair resembles one of those giant spinning brushes in a car wash. "Maybe," I say.

She tuts and steps inside. "If sleeping were an Olympic sport, you'd be the champion. Late night?"

"Kinda. Couldn't sleep."

"Go get yourself showered and I'll put some coffee on," she says, holding her hands to her chest as if my filth is contagious.

I oblige, and although twenty minutes later I smell like a fresh meadow, I still feel like a walking turd. The memory of Mabel's tear-stricken face storming out of my apartment has been playing on repeat, and it's been... fourteen hours. No end in sight.

When the aroma of coffee lures me back to the kitchen, I find my mom hastily rummaging through all of my empty cabinets. "Um. What are you doing?"

She spins around. "Nothing."

I take a cup from the counter and roll my eyes. "I haven't been drinking, Mom. I promise."

"I'm just making sure. Have you looked up local AA groups yet?"

"I moved in yesterday. Give me a chance."

She plants her hands on her hips. "If you're going to be moody all day, it's not going to be a nice start to my vacation. I already had a disaster at the hotel last night. I asked them for another pillow but nobody came up to give me one, so I had to walk down to reception, and the lady said-"

At some point I tune her out and think about Mabel again. She'll be awake and going about her day as usual, maybe hanging out with her college friends. We've always been polar opposites after a fight - she finds comfort in her routine, anything to keep her mind away from it, whereas I prefer to lounge about for hours upon hours and mentally rewrite the offending conversation in my head. And man, last night needs a whole lot of rewriting.

Mom and I end up having quite the pleasant day. We spend the afternoon shopping for frivolous things, and the sparkling silver anklet I buy takes my mind off of Mabel for all of five minutes, before I decide that she would have loved one for herself and I run back to the store to buy another. If she decides to never speak to me again, I'll give it to charity.

We eat dinner on the terrace of a restaurant overlooking the river, and watch ferries sail past while the sun sets behind the city. When it gets dark, pretty colored lights from the surrounding bars and restaurants dance on the surface of the water. I'd love to have some time to appreciate it, but Mom's finished her third glass of wine and has decided it's the time of the night to diagnose her daughter's love life.

From across the table she hisses, "psst," about as indiscreetly as psst can possibly be uttered.

"What?"

She tips her glass in the direction of four dolled-up women that are just sitting down a few tables behind me.

I repeat, "what?"

"Any of them look like your type?"

"Oh, for god's sake."

"Four girls there. I read a statistic somewhere - one in four people in California are homosexuals."

"Where'd you read that? Obviously Bullshit Magazine?"

"I'm just trying to get a sense for your likes and dislikes," she says, leaning in and whispering, as if this is the part of the conversation that needs to be kept quiet. "I'm going to want grandchildren eventually, you know."

"Great. Well, why don't you go tell those ladies that?"

She lowers her brows. "Do you actually want me to?"

"No!" A couple sitting by the door to the restaurant turn their heads and I clear my throat. "There's something I should tell you, anyway. And I didn't want to tell you while you were drunk, but, hey, maybe it'll go down better. Mom..." I glance up. Her eyes are so soft that I almost blurt out that I love her. That would be embarrassing.

"I moved here because I'm in love with Mabel," I say. "And she knows that, and she says that she's in love with me, and I believe her, I think, but I keep getting a sinking feeling that she's still hung up on her ex-boyfriend. And I kinda told her that last night and she didn't take it very well, and now we're not talking, and-" it dawns on me, mid-sentence, that I'm asking my mother for help - "and I don't know what to do."

Mom takes a few seconds for all of that to sink in, then reaches across the table and squeezes my fingers. "Oh, honey, you moved all the way here for a girl?"

I wince, unsure if I'm about to cry. "Was that a bad idea?"

"Well... I'm not sure. Does it feel like a bad idea?"

And... yep, there it is. I'm crying. In a very public place. "It does right now, yeah."

"Oh, Pacifica, don't cry." She riffles through her purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, holds them out to me.

I widen my eyes. "Mom."

"Oops," she squeaks. "Sorry, hold on." She dives back into the bag and retrieves a packet of pocket tissues. "Here."

I take the tissues but eye her warily.

"I haven't smoked in years," she says. "I keep them in here in case of an emergency. Listen, I know for a fact that you didn't move here just for Mabel. You moved here for this," she gestures around at the terrace, and the surrounding scenery, "for the city. This is your change of pace, your change of lifestyle. You've been talking about it for years and now you're finally here, doing it, and it feels a little overwhelming, right?"

Somehow that causes more tears to emerge and fuck up my make-up, but I nod along to what my mother is saying.

"It'll take some time to get used to. That's why I'm here with you, for this first week. And ultimately it doesn't matter whether you have Mabel at your side or not, but all I'll say is, if she does choose that man over you, then she doesn't know what she's missing."

I swallow a lump, the possibility of it - of Mabel choosing him - causing me more pain than I'd like to admit. "She wouldn't still want to be with him, would she? I mean, I can't see how she could, but then I remember that she stayed with him for four years, so there must have been something about him. And if there is then she could easily fall for that same part of him all over again."

Mom glances down at the table and takes a breath. "Sometimes we love people through the ugliest of ugliness." She pauses. "Your father, he was never abusive, but he was... loud, and angry. And sometimes he made decisions without a trace of thought as to how it would affect the rest of the family."

My shock seems to have clogged up my tear ducts. In my young adult life I have not heard my mom talk remotely openly about her relationship with my dad; it's rare that his name is even mentioned.

"But I loved him right up until the end. Through all of the ugliness."

I have a vivid flashback to my dad's funeral. I remember hearing the quiet sob beside me and glancing sideways to my mom and thinking why are you crying for that man? I'm only twenty-one. Maybe I don't know as much about love as I thought I did.

"I love you," I say, taking a few seconds to realize I've said it out loud.

She stills for a moment but smiles. "I love you too, honey." She leans across the table. "Hey, what do you say we get the check, get some ice cream from the 7-Eleven, and watch some trashy reality TV in my hotel room? That always makes me feel better."

At 10 o'clock the next morning, I'm woken by the doorbell again, and when it rings the second time I'm snapped out of my sleepy stupor, because Mom isn't coming round today. That can only be Mabel. I throw on a t-shirt and stagger to the front door, barely awake enough to keep both my eyes open. I don't know how awful I look and I don't know what I'll say but I know that I need to see her, because my mood swings have been wild since our fight, and with every hour that passes I worry that we've already slipped into the kind of stalemate that kept us from talking for four years.

But I open the door and Wendy's standing there, holding a dinky cactus in a plant pot.

I blink a few times. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She frowns.

"Wow. Sorry, that was really rude. I mean, what are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come and apologize in person. I brought you a housewarming present," she says, holding up the cactus.

My lips curl upwards and I step aside to let her in. "You're sweet," I say, taking the cactus. "You drove all the way here to see me?"

"Yeah, it was gross. I've been up since six. But, um, yeah. I am really sorry I've been ignoring you. I don't have a lot of friends left in Gravity Falls, and you're one of my favorite people, so... it was hard to see you go. I felt kinda betrayed. Which I realize now is totally irrational, but I didn't at the time."

"It's okay," I sigh. "I felt the same way when Nina moved out. I don't think either of us respond well to change." I place the cactus on the kitchen counter and plod to the coffee machine.

Wendy scans the living room curiously, and then her eyes land on my bedroom door. She steps up next to me and lowers her voice to a whisper. "So is Mabel here?"

My eyebrows drop. "No. Why would she be here?"

"Because you came here to confess your love to her, didn't you? Oh no. Don't tell me she rejected you."

"Nobody rejected anybody. And I didn't come here to 'confess my love to her,' I came here so we could talk, and maybe, eventually, start dating. But I don't think that's going to happen anymore." My blasé tone of voice falters, remembering what I last said to Mabel. Now that I'm awake I can't imagine what I would have said if it was her at the door. I could have easily made things worse.

Wendy scoffs, like a child not getting their way. "Well why the hell not?"

"Because Jason's out of prison. And as soon as Mabel found that out, she wanted to meet up with him. Well, Jason called her, asking to meet him, but she wants to do it."

"So? That doesn't mean anything. They might be... giving each other their stuff back, or something."

"You weren't there. You should have seen her face. We went out to dinner on Friday night and after she got that call she just spaced the fuck out, like I wasn't even there. For the whole night. And-" I huff, realizing what I'm saying - "I know that it isn't that simple, I know that they were together for a long time and even though he's an abusive piece of shit, she's still going to have feelings for him, but... I don't know. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I said some things to her that I shouldn't have, and I'll call her in a couple days to apologize, and then we'll go back to being friends like we always have."

I haven't even sipped my coffee yet and my brain seems to be running haywire. Wendy takes a sip of hers, somehow immune to the scalding heat, and studies me intensely.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I say.

She sets her cup down on the counter and takes a breath. "You know what you and I are gonna do? We're gonna have a 'fuck Mabel' day. Go have a shower, put on some pretty clothes that'll make you feel nice, and we'll go out and do stuff that'll take your mind off her completely. We'll go bowling. Or golf, you like golf."

"Can we call it something a little less... mean?"

"Nope. We are calling it 'fuck Mabel' day, because why?"

"Because... fuck Mabel," I murmur.

She pats my shoulder. "Go on. Run along."

I shower, brush my teeth, change into a zebra-print top and some skinny jeans. And Wendy's right, it does make me feel better, if only for a fleeting second when I admire myself in the mirror. It reminds me of dressing up for a night out, and the tantalizing prospect of finding a girl to go home with. I'm in a city now, in California. I could find another lesbian on the sidewalk outside my front door.

But in truth I know that I'm not going to meet anybody for a long, long time, because Mabel has set my standards unreasonably high. My smile in the mirror dissipates, morphs into an ugly pout. I'll call her tonight.

Wendy's van trundles around my new neighborhood, heading into town. I nibble on a cereal bar, gazing out the window at the passing houses, trying my best to focus on Wendy's story about walking in on her brother in a fursuit. We pass a girl on the sidewalk that looks like Mabel - mismatched socks and lustrous brown hair - but my heart calms down when I realize it isn't her.

And then we pass a plaque jutting out of a hedgerow that reads CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY SACRAMENTO. I glare at Wendy, who seems to have put on a smirk in anticipation. "What are you doing?" I ask her.

She doesn't answer. The van turns onto a road that I recognize from when I helped Mabel move into her dorm.

"Seriously, Wendy, where are we going?"

"Oh, you didn't think I was serious about 'fuck Mabel' day, did you? No, I love that girl. And so do you." She pulls into a parking space around the side of the dorm building and shuts off the engine. "In fact, you're crazy about her. So we're going to go upstairs and you're gonna patch things up with her."

I shoot her an incredulous look and fold my arms. "I'm not doing that."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. You're meddling with my life here, Wendy. You don't have the right to do that."

She opens her door but pauses, looks back at me. "How happy would you be if you were dating Mabel Pines?"

I shrug. "Extremely."

Wendy nods. "Okay. Meddling's worth it, then," and then she hops out onto the tarmac and shuts the door behind her.

"I'm not going with you," I call out through the glass, but she either doesn't hear me or pretends not to as she saunters away. I watch her disappear around the corner of the building. With the absence of the engine, the radio, and the air con, I'm left with nothing but a dull ringing in my ears and my own stupid thoughts. "God dammit," I mutter, and I run after her.

I catch up with Wendy in an elevator, just before the doors squash my shoulder blades together. A couple of guys sharing the car look me up and down and I catch a glimpse of my frazzled face in the mirror. "You're insane," I murmur to Wendy. "You're just gonna leave your van unlocked?"

She laughs. "I love my van, but it's a piece of junk. Nobody's gonna try stealing that." She points at the button panel. "What floor?"

I glare at her. "You don't even know what room she's in?"

"I will bang on every door in this building if I have to."

I exhale through my nose and press the button for the third floor. I remember her room number but I don't even need it - I remember the exact location of her door, despite how long and featureless the hallway is. It's hard to forget the painfully quiet walk out of here with Mabel the morning after we kissed, when she walked me down to the bus stop.

Wendy doesn't give me any time to compose myself, just raps on the door like I'm not even there.

I say, "she has a roommate, you know."

"So?"

We wait about a minute; three knocks. I'm about to say, well, she isn't here, but the door swings open and there she is, in a gray t-shirt, turquoise pajama buttons with little ice cream cones on, her hair disheveled. Her eyes flick between us, turn as wide as saucers, then she slams the door in our faces.

"Jesus," Wendy says to me. "What did you do to her?" She bangs on the door again - "Mabel? You okay, buddy? We just wanted to talk."

A thought makes my stomach churn, and my knees feel weak. "What if he's in there?"

"He isn't."

"How do you know?"

Her eyes narrow. "You really think she'd do that?"

"I don't know," I say, flinging my hands in the air. "Sometimes I feel like I have no idea what she's capable of."

The door opens again and Mabel leans against it, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Through foam, she says something I interpret as, "hey guys. Come on in."

Wendy accepts the invitation and I follow behind. I don't look Mabel in the eye but she says directly to me, "and no, he isn't here," which makes me blush furiously. Wendy and I stand in the small living area and listen as Mabel runs to the sink in her bedroom to spit. She comes back in, wiping her hands on her pants, and smiles. "How are you both?"

I don't even have time to answer; Wendy cuts right to the chase and says she's going to go see if she can score some weed. I doubt she's lying - we could smell it on our way down the hall.

"Oh," Mabel says. "Okay."

"You two should catch up. I'll be back in a little bit."

The door opens and closes behind me. Mabel smiles again and sits on the arm of her couch, gestures to the other couch opposite. I can't really feel my legs, so I stay put.

"Did you sleep in late?" I ask.

"I did."

"That's not like you."

She shrugs. "I haven't really been sleeping well since the other night."

My body relaxes a little, relieved that our argument seems to have weighed on her as much as it weighed on me. And then I feel awful, and selfish, because of course she wouldn't be in here with Jason. I mean more to her than that. "I'm really sorry," I tell her. "For what I said. It was vicious, and stupid. I was mad that you wanted to see Jason and, well, you know me. Sometimes I like to say the worst thing that comes into my head."

Mabel's eyes soften. "It's okay. I mean, you were right. I haven't exactly given you many reasons to trust me."

I shake my head and take a step toward her. "That isn't true. I didn't think that you were actually going to... do anything with him. And listen, I was worrying about the wrong thing. I was being selfish. If you want to meet up with him to talk then I want to go with you, make sure you're safe. I mean I won't listen in on your conversation, or anything, I can wait outside, as long as I'm there, in case-"

"Pacifica," she says softly. "I went yesterday."

Despite all the talk about trust, and understanding, my heart falls slightly. "Oh."

"We met at a coffee shop down the street. My roommate, Amy, she came with me. She sat at a different table."

I shift my weight from foot to foot. "What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry. For everything. He started an anger management course while he was in prison and he's sticking with it while he's on probation. He, um, he asked me about you. Asked if we were seeing each other now. And I said no." Mabel stands up, steps forward, and picks up one of my hands. "And then I realized that I don't want that to be the case. Like, at all. Pacifica, you need to know that I'm done with him. Totally done with him, and I told him that to his face. I'm not going to see him again. You are the only person I wanna be with. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about when I'm going to bed."

Wendy bursts open the door at the worst possible time. Mabel's hand falls out of mine as I spin around and shoot fury out of my eyes. "Can you give us a couple more minutes?"

The door isn't even fully closed before my arms are around Mabel's waist. She lets out a squeak but responds instantly when I bring my lips to hers, pressing back with so much force that it almost hurts. I fight back and she stumbles into the couch, her butt landing on the armrest. She pulls me up against her, locks me in place with her legs, giggles, and I want to smile back but I think I'm paranoid that this will end the way it always has, with one of us deciding that it's a bad idea to kiss each other, so I lean back in and kiss her, and kiss her again, until I'm convinced that neither of us think it's a bad idea at all.

Eventually she cups my face and gently pushes me away. My hands, heavy from exploring her hair, drop to my sides and I fall against her forehead. She grins and bites her lip. "I haven't showered," she says. "I'm all sweaty and gross."

"No," I murmur, kissing her neck, then her jaw. "You're beautiful. So beautiful, all the time."

"I think Wendy's waiting for us outside." She allows me one last drawn-out kiss, then wriggles out of my grip and moves to open the door. Into the hallway she says, "hey. You can come in now."

Wendy glances back and forth between us and smirks; it takes me a moment to straighten out my hair and roll down my shirt sleeve. "Are you guys good?" she asks.

The next few seconds turn into a Mexican standoff between our eyes, but Mabel eventually says, "yeah, we're good," so nonchalantly that it doesn't sound nonchalant at all.

I would thank Wendy for her intervention into our personal lives, if I didn't want to strangle the smugness out of her. She looks so proud of herself that you'd think she'd ended world hunger. Mabel and I probably could have reached this point ourselves, given a few more days of moping around in bed and refusing to call one another.

We end up spending most of the day with Wendy. Mabel showers and gets changed and we go out to lunch at a diner nearby. Wendy and I watch Mabel wolf down a stack of pancakes like a human vacuum cleaner - at one point she looks up, wipes away the syrup dribbling down her chin, and at the horror on our faces she mumbles that she hasn't had breakfast. Honestly, I'm not bothered. She could spit on the waitress or pee all over the table and I'd still find her adorable.

Afterwards, we hit the bowling alley. Wendy is irritatingly good at it, putting her upper-body strength to use, hurling the ball at breakneck speed and showing up the rest of the building. My strategy involves choosing the lightest ball I can find, designed for children, struggling to fit my fingers in the holes, and then dropping it onto the lane and blindly praying that it makes it all the way to the pins. Mabel doesn't even bother retaining her dignity - halfway through the game she drags over one of the ramps that you roll the ball down, and promptly gets told off by a member of staff because she isn't under twelve years old.

And while I do have a lot of fun hanging out, just the three of us, it's clear from the smiles that Mabel and I exchange in private that we have unfinished business waiting to be dealt with. I can say with certainty that had Wendy not been out in the hallway of Mabel's dorm, my hands would have been a lot less timid with Mabel's clothes.

At the same time, though, I'm glad that Wendy's here, acting as a barrier between us, because when Mabel discreetly pinches my butt and a thrum of excitement rushes through me, it dawns on me that, holy shit, as soon as Wendy taps out of her role of third wheel then there's nothing holding me back from Mabel and the night that I've fantasized about for a long, long time. And that's nerve-wracking, to say the least.

So when it gets to 5 P.M. and we've been lounging in my apartment for a couple of hours, and Wendy says she ought to head home, I blurt out, "you could stay for dinner."

But she has work tonight, and she'll already have to put her foot down to make it there in time. Wendy bear-hugs us both and Mabel and I stand side by side in the doorway, watching her get in her van. We wave, and just as she's about to pull out into the street she rolls her window down and shouts out, loudly enough for the whole building to hear, "don't go at it too hard!"

I stare at the van as it speeds out of sight, utterly mortified, but Mabel just laughs and says, "she's fun."

She steps back inside. I wait for my cheeks to return to a normal color and close the front door. Mabel stands a few feet in front of me, hands in her pockets.

Is this it? This is it. Already. Shit.

She shuffles her feet. "So..."

"So."

A chuckle. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I mean, we don't have to rush into anything."

"I do want to do this."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

"Okay." I clear my throat and listen to the ear-piercing silence. What am I supposed to do now? Tear my clothes off and throw myself at her? "We should eat first."

"Definitely."

"I could... order pizza?"

"Sounds great."

So I flick on the TV and turn the volume up loud so I can't hear my heartbeat or my thoughts, I use the Domino's app to order a giant cheese pizza to share. It takes an agonizing forty minutes to get here. Mabel and I sit on opposite ends of the couch, and in those forty minutes, she gets up to go to the bathroom twice, which makes me wonder if she's freshening up somehow and whether I should be doing that too. During a commercial for Jack Daniel's, I realize I'm so nervous because I've rarely - if ever - done anything with a girl while sober. The craving for alcohol is far outweighed by the craving for the girl sitting next to me, though, which is unprecedented.

When the pizza does finally arrive I set the box down on my coffee table, along with two glasses of water from the kitchen. I make a conscious effort to sit closer to Mabel, and she notices and shuffles toward me, leaving about a foot between us. Still we don't talk. I make it through one slice of pizza before I feel bloated; Mabel does the same and puts the crust back into the box. With every passing minute that neither of us picks up another slice, the shock waves through my nerves increase in power, until I'm sure I'll totally ruin the mood by passing out.

Then comes a commercial break. I glance at Mabel out the corner of my eye then snap back to the screen. A second later her arm has snaked around my neck and her palm is on my shoulder. I turn my head and her eyes tell me that we're thinking the same thing - that this cannot and will not wait any longer.

Our kisses are tender at first, treading water. I cup her cheek with my hand and savor every second, every trace of saliva, and heat, and affection, transferred from her lips to mine, every touch and every moment and every feeling that we've shared having lead to this, the proof of how much our love can withstand, a climax in our story.

Then I inch my body closer and our knees brush and it ignites something inside Mabel. She swings her leg over and straddles me, brings our hips together. I take the short opportunity to bask in the desire in her eyes, so honest and intense, like nobody has ever looked at me before. Her lip curls upwards in the faintest of smiles and we venture further, our kisses growing aggressive, our tongues touching and then dancing and then fighting. My hands creep under her shirt, latch onto her bare back, and her hips lurch forward so forcefully that I brace myself for the couch to collapse underneath us, the gap between our bodies infinitesimal.

Eventually, the credits roll on whatever reality show we weren't watching and another commercial break comes on and maybe it's the grating voice of the realtor on screen, or a sudden aversion to capitalism, but we force ourselves off the couch and cross the hallway to my bedroom like a tornado, barely able to keep our hands off each other, our outer clothes flinging in every possible direction, smacking the walls.

And then there's a sobering moment in my bedroom when I'm facing her, both of us in our bras and underwear, and she steps towards me and I remember so vividly how she looked on that night in Wendy's lake house, how she looked at me through the dark. I mistook it then for a drunken haze, glazed over her eyes, but it was more than that - it was fear. Fear for a reason I wouldn't know until the following morning, right before I would leave a handprint on her cheek. Fear for a reason that - several years later - would yield her a black bruise.

I smile knowing that her eyes now are in total contrast. They brim with love, safety, certainty. And as if reading my mind she sweeps a strand of hair behind my ear and whispers, "this isn't like the last time. This means so much more. This means everything to me."

I take her palm, press it to my cheek. "I know," I say, voice breaking.

And she unclasps her bra, then my own, gently lowers me onto the bed, and she shows me just how much this means, and afterwards I roll over, switch our positions, and I show her that all is forgiven and forgotten. All of the memories from that last summer float away from us, balloons that will never be burst but will no longer weigh us down. I show Mabel how in love with her I am, and just in case it isn't obvious enough, I kiss her neck and whisper it in her ear.

When we've both released our shudders of pleasure we fall into the sheets and tangle up our limbs, hot, heavy breaths invading the air, and the occasional giggle from the bottoms of our hearts.

I don't know how much time passes like that, transfixed on the ceiling, Mabel's hands on my stomach and my legs threaded through hers. She rolls her head toward me and breathes, "that was the most fun I've ever had in my life. And I've been to Disney World."

I laugh. A light, melodic sound that I wouldn't identify as my own voice if it was played back to me. "I feel like I could lie here forever. Lie here forever and think about what just happened."

I see her prop her head up on her elbow and I turn to look at her. "What, instead of just... doing it again?"

"Oh, we're gonna do it again," I say, weaving my fingers between hers. "It would be an injustice not to."

"We're going to do that lots of times." She ducks her head and plants a long kiss on my lips. "I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you too."

For an hour we talk about mundane things that seem enthralling now that we're... an item? Girlfriends? I turn and gaze at her lips, dancing up and down as she tells me stories about the school she volunteers at. Mabel Pines. Girlfriend. It sounds so, so bizarre but so, so right.

At some point she falls asleep on my bare chest. I lie awake and stroke her hair, curl it around my fingers, her breath tickling my neck. In my serene state I also succumb to sleep, content in the knowledge that with Mabel at my side, I will never run out of reasons to be happy.

I wake up unnaturally early the next morning, and Mabel's absence from the bed makes me panic for all of a second, before I hear her humming to herself somewhere in the apartment.

It's 6 A.M. and a pale orange light spills through the gap in the curtains. I heave myself out of bed and put on a fresh pair of underwear and yesterday's shirt - not patient enough to put on pants.

She's in the kitchen with her back to the door, cooking something on the stove, wearing one of my black t-shirts and her shorts, her hair damp. I lean on the doorframe and watch her butt jiggle from side to side as she hums a tune, and a huge, perverted grin breaks out on my face because I don't even need to be subtle about my ogling anymore.

She turns to grab something from the counter behind her and jumps, puts a hand on her chest. "Oh! You scared me. I was just about to bring you breakfast."

"What are you making?"

She lifts a frying pan off the stove and holds it up. It's four slices of pizza, side by side.

I frown. "I think I'll stick to granola. Thank you, though."

She shrugs and picks one of the slices out of the pan, takes a bite.

I rub my eyes and groan at the onslaught of light through the kitchen window. "I don't think I've ever seen this hour of the morning."

"We fell asleep really early," Mabel says, halfway through chewing. "I got up two hours ago." She wanders to the door and kisses me. I can smell my soap and shampoo on her. "Good morning."

My arms settle around her waist. "Morning."

"We had sex last night."

"We did."

"It was kinda awesome."

"It was. What are we going to do today?"

Her fingers play with the hem of my shirt. "I have class at nine. And another at eleven. Then I'm at the school this afternoon."

"Class at 9 A.M. on a Monday? That sounds very skippable."

She jabs me in the chest. "I'm not going to ruin my perfect attendance record, thank you very much. Are you gonna be a bad influence on me?"

"Hey, you're the bad influence. If I keep waking up this early I might, like, die." I kiss her quickly and wriggle out of her arms. "I'm gonna take a shower," I say, leaning on the doorframe again. "You're welcome to join me."

A/N: Next week will be the last chapter. Thank you for reading this far!