Brenda has a run in her pantyhose. "Oh, shoot," she moans, reaching up under her skirt and yanking them down. She falls back onto the couch when she realizes she's still wearing shoes and has to unbuckle the straps before the pantyhose will come off and that's how Sharon finds her when she walks in unannounced. Hose around her ankles as she struggles with tiny buckle on the shiny black shoes.
"Okay," Sharon says sounding resigned and unsurprised. "How can I help?"
"I just ruined these," she says trying not to be embarrassed. "I think I caught 'em on somethin'."
"Want me to get you another pair?" Sharon asks trying not laugh but she has that weird duckish expression she gets when she's holding in laughter. Brenda rolls her eyes.
"Help me with these," she says. Sharon sets her purse down, shrugs out of her coat and lays it across the rocking chair and then perches on the corner of the coffee table and eases Brenda's feet into her lap. "Thank you."
"I won't ask if you're ready," Sharon says, managing the first buckle and then the second just as easily because these are the types of thing that come to Sharon easy. Clothes and fashion and mothering someone in desperate need of a little mothering. She eases both heels off and then grasps the saggy top of the hose and pulls until Brenda's feet are free. She pats one bony ankle affectionately. "Do you have another pair?"
"Not black," Brenda pouts. "Just sheer."
"Sheer will look even better," Sharon says, shoving her feet off her lap and getting up to throw the ruined pair away.
"They aren't as warm," Brenda complains.
"So, we'll mostly be inside," Sharon says. "Come on, go finish getting ready."
Brenda knows she's teetering right on the edge of something and she knows it because it's a familiar feeling. She's always walking that fine line of morality, of not quite enough sleep, of a big change she isn't sure she wants except for that she knows things can't stay the same. Tonight it's that same old feeling of being overwound, of trembling hands and frayed nerves. It should be easy because she's just going to some parties and she's only going with Sharon and there are no expectations past showing up. This is what she tells herself as she digs through the top drawer of her dresser to find a clean and unmarred pair of nylons. She feels Sharon hover in the doorway for a moment and then fade back into the kitchen.
She pulls out the pair she was looking for, stretching both legs out to make sure there aren't any obvious holes. She can hear the soft bump of a cupboard door closing and the sound of glass against the countertop. She's sitting on the side of the bed, balling up one leg of the nylons to stick her foot inside when Sharon comes back holding a shot glass.
"Starting a little early for the DD," Brenda says, easing her toes in and pulling up to her knee before starting on the other side.
"Oh," Sharon says, low and sultry. "This is not for me."
"I don't need a drink," Brenda huffs, standing up and tugging to get the nylons on. She flashes Sharon a little in the process but doesn't care enough not to. She twists, inspecting both legs and then smoothing out her skirt. They're both in black tonight in deference to the semi-professional functions they're going to attend. Brenda's dress is tight and long sleeved and stops just after her knee. Sharon is wearing lace with see-through sleeves and a pretty, scalloped neckline. Her hair is down and sleek and she's got on heavy makeup, silver jewelry. Brenda likes when Sharon wears bracelets, how they slide around her wrist and catch the light.
"You need a drink in the worst way," Sharon says. "I need you to relax."
"I'm relaxed," Brenda scowls, plucking a stray hair off her shoulder and then her breast. She's been shedding like crazy, more than usual, even.
Stress, her mother whispers but Brenda ignores her and takes the shot glass from Sharon. It's clear which means straight vodka.
"Humor me," Sharon says. Brenda rolls her eyes but gets all down in one go, sputtering a little.
"And warm, too," she says hoarsely, handing the shot glass back. "Thanks."
"Now," Sharon says stepping away and giving her an obvious once over. "I brought you something to wear."
"Are you kidding me?" Brenda says. "It's a black dress! What can you possibly have to dislike about this?"
"Not clothes," Sharon says. "Earrings."
Brenda reaches up to touch her own earlobe. She's got on little studs. She hadn't put much thought into jewelry because she's not much of a jewelry wearer. Simple studs to work and she doesn't even wear her wedding set which was the only other jewelry she ever bothered with. She'd tried to give the rings back to Fritz and it had offended him so she'd let the matter drop and now they're in her jewelry box, waiting to taunt her should she ever look inside. Another reason not to bother with baubles.
Sharon had gone to her purse but is back now with a black velvet box. "These are for you to borrow," Sharon says. "I was looking for my bracelet and I saw them and thought… well, they were a gift from Jack so I don't wear them anymore and eventually I'll give them to Emily, but I thought you might like to take them for a spin since it's kind of a fun night."
Brenda takes the box with a furrowed brow and opens the box. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Sharon arches her brow in amusement.
"Jack was a shit husband," Sharon says. "But he knew his way around a jewelry store."
It's a pair of diamond earrings, square cut, and they must be at least three carats each, maybe more. They're the most beautiful earrings Brenda has ever held in her hands and easily the most expensive. She looks up at Sharon, shaking her head.
"These are too nice," she says.
"Come on, live a little," Sharon says. "If we're going to be each other's arm candy, we may as well go all out, right?"
"Is that all I am to you?" Brenda asks, handing the box back and reaching out to remove her earrings. "A pretty face?"
"The whole package is pretty," Sharon assures her. Sharon's earrings are lovely too, dangling silver drops and they catch the light and play peekaboo between strands of her hair. Sharon's hair has been on the darker side lately, a fresh dye job, maybe. More brown than auburn until light shines down on her, anyway. She gets the earrings free and Brenda puts the ones she removed on the nightstand and takes the first diamond.
"What if I lose them?" Brenda asks.
"Don't you dare!" Sharon says. "Just don't and it'll be fine."
Brenda puts the earrings on and then goes to the mirror to inspect them. They're heavy and beautiful even in the crummy light of her bathroom. She's got her hair half up but she undoes the clip and rearranges it into a low twist, something that showcases the earrings. Sharon comes in, looks her over.
"Good," she says. "But take off that pink lipstick, that's not doing you any good."
"Barbie dress up time," Brenda says. She pulls open a drawer that is packed full of makeup with no organization whatsoever. Sharon looks into the drawer with a hand to her chest, scandalized.
"Brenda, get your life together," she says. "This is no way to live!"
"Seriously, shut up," Brenda says, reaching in and pulling out a few different lipsticks. Sharon points to a nude one and then carefully reaches in to the drawer to pull out a black eye pencil.
"You need more," Sharon says. "Thicker. Bolder."
"Yes, mama," Brenda says. Sharon rolls her eyes at Brenda as she leans in to add to her eyeliner and then wipe off her lipstick and put on the new color.
"Good," Sharon says. "Better. You look more… I don't know. Controlled? Is that right word?"
"Only if you already know that my life is constantly in shambles," Brenda says, tossing the cosmetics into the drawer and slamming it closed. "Can we go?"
"Yes," Sharon says.
Brenda gets her shoes back on and as they're making their way down the stairs out into the night air, she realizes she can feel the shot, warm in her tummy. And that while she feels still wound up, it's not so bad. She feels bolder with Sharon, more beautiful even though she only feels beautiful because of Sharon's additions. Pretty earrings, bedroom eyes, her wide mouth made smaller with a neutral color.
"So is this David's party or a work party?" Sharon asks as they make their way to the address Brenda had put into her phone. It spits out directions in a monotone voice and Sharon follows them precisely.
"It's not hosted by us, but I think it will be mostly work people and families and stuff," Brenda says. "I tried to say I wouldn't go but David was pretty insistent that I would be welcome."
"You're a likable person, you know," Sharon says, turning into a parking lot. "You should let them like you."
It's valet only and they hand the car over to a guy in a red vest - Sharon pockets the ticket and gives him a tip right up front.
The party is in a restaurant rented out for the night, an old industrial building with exposed brick and pipes along the ceiling. There's a full bar along the back and while there is some seating along the walls, mostly the long, rectangular room is filled with small round tables meant for standing. Appetizers and cocktails.
"I'll just make the rounds," Brenda says. "We don't have to stay long."
"This looks fine," Sharon says. There's music playing and the lights are on the dim side and it gives it a sort of relaxed air even though everyone is dressed up. "I'll take your coat, you head for the bar."
"That's a good plan," Brenda says. There's a coat check and Sharon takes their things over there. Brenda tries to head straight back but she knows too many people and gets caught up in a conversation with some paralegals, another short burst with two of her investigators and she's only halfway through the restaurant when she finds David standing in a group of people.
"Chief!" David says. "Wow! You look great. Wow!"
He must be a little drunk.
"Thank you, David," she says, reaching up reflexively. She stops herself just short of touching one of the diamonds. "Seems like this party is a real hit."
"Half the lawyers in Los Angeles are here," he says.
"Not the sales pitch I'd start with," Brenda says. "But it seems fun."
"You know Sarah," David says gesturing to the woman on his right. "This is Mark, and I think you know Sean."
"Yes, yes, how y'all doing tonight," Brenda says. "Having fun?"
David's not the only one who has been drinking because Sean leans forward and says, "You're my boss's boss!" And then laughs.
"Guilty," Brenda says, glancing at David who just closes his eyes and shakes his head. "But we're all off the clock here. Tonight I'm just Brenda."
"What did I miss?" Sharon walks up behind her, says it over her shoulder into her ear and then hands her a flute of champagne.
"Oh, you beat me there!" Brenda says, taking a half step back to accommodate Sharon into the circle. "Thank you."
"They had wine but it looked terrible, they had a chardonnay and a 2011 burgundy," she says.
"Yikes," Brenda says. "David you remember Captain Raydor."
"Of course," he says. "I remember her from two weeks ago when she was in your office."
"Hmm," Sharon hums over the rim of her own glass. "Charming."
"Sharon, this is Sarah Barenstein, she investigates fraud, Mark Wallace, the Director of Victim Services and Sean Brennan, he works for our professional standards department. Everyone, this is Captain Sharon Raydor of the LAPD."
They all stare at her for a moment, surprised, and then politely shake Sharon's free hand.
"And David and I are old friends, aren't we?" Sharon says.
"Yes, Ma'am," David says.
"I'm Sean's boss's boss," Brenda says, winking at the poor man. His face colors.
"Well you aren't my boss so go find out where those little quiches are coming from, I'm starving," Sharon says, nudging her. Brenda rolls her eyes but complies, handing her drink back to Sharon stepping away, winding around until she sees a few caterers with trays. She grabs two quiches as well as a crab cake and a tiny something wrapped in bacon - she takes two of those - and piles her goods onto a napkin.
She finds Sharon and David chatting where she left them, though the others have moved away.
"Here," Brenda says. "This is gonna have to tide us over until Will's thing."
"Oh, you guys have another party?" David asks.
"Yeah, we can only stay a short time here," Brenda says trying to sound apologetic. "Chief Pope is making Sharon go to his party."
"Party slash fundraiser," Sharon says. "Attendance is not mandatory, I just have to go."
"I bet that's gonna be swanky," David says. "No wonder you two are dressed to kill."
"You like?" Sharon says, giving a little twirl.
"Don't flirt with my employees," Brenda says. David just laughs, puts up his hands.
"Don't worry, Chief, I know your date is outta my league," he grins.
"Are you seeing anyone, David?" Sharon asks, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
"Not seriously," David says. "My grandmother reminds me that she's gonna die soon every time I see her and that I need to get married before that happens but… after Ann, I don't know. It's hard to trust people."
Sharon gives him a sympathetic look, nods. Brenda reaches for one of the quiches but Sharon slaps her hand away.
"That wasn't your fault," Sharon says. "No one blames you for that."
"I blame me," he says. "Anyway, I've moved on and I like the D.A.'s office. I'm so grateful to you, Chief, for bringing me with you. I hope you know that."
"Thank you, honey," Brenda says.
"You should come by the murder room," Sharon says. "I'm sure everyone would love to see you."
"Oh," David says. "I don't…"
"Brenda came by yesterday," Sharon says. "That was fine, wasn't it?"
"Three murder suspects offered me non-consensual sex and I only saw Julio." She manages to snag a quiche and winks at David before saying, "It was good fun," and popping the appetizer into her mouth.
"You know how the holidays are," Sharon says. "Anyway, think about it. But we're monopolizing you, go on. There's a very pretty woman over by the bar who has been looking at you."
David whips around to see who she's talking about. Brenda isn't convinced that Sharon didn't just make that up on the spot, but David must like whatever it is that he sees because he holds up his empty cup.
"I am about due for a refill. Please excuse me."
Alone, they tear through the rest of food and Brenda finishes her drink.
"You had enough of this place?" she asks. Sharon nods.
"I was worried I'd see Jack here, but I've managed to dodge that bullet." She smirks. "He's probably in Vegas."
"Oh, I didn't think about that. He does work for us, doesn't he?"
"Have you met him?"
"I don't think so," she says. "Sorry, Sharon."
"Don't apologize to me. You do know your ex-husband is going to be at the next party for sure, right?"
Brenda had not really thought about that.
"That's fine," she says. "I'm fine. That's fine."
"Are you sure?" Sharon asks, stepping into Brenda's space so they can speak more quietly. "Because the last thing I want is for you to feel-"
"It's fine," Brenda says. Sharon reaches out and squeezes her arm.
But when they're in the car headed back toward downtown, Sharon must still be worrying about it.
"When is the last time you saw Fritz?" Sharon asks.
"When we signed the papers," Brenda says. "Really, it's bound to happen. It's a small town."
"It's the second largest city in the country," Sharon says.
Brenda looks over at her, shaking her head. "Not helpful."
"Sorry."
"Do you see him a lot?" Brenda asks.
Sharon flicks on a turn signal, slows to stop at a red light and lets her hands fall into her lap. "Not a lot. Sometimes."
"How does he look?" Brenda asks, though she feels stupid and weak for wondering.
"Stressed out," Sharon says. "Mostly."
"Well." Brenda sighs, pulls out her phone though the only person who texts her is in the same car, so there's not much to see. A few emails in her inbox. "Do you talk about me?"
"God, no," Sharon says. "Why, you want me to casually bring you up?"
"No," Brenda says. "I do not."
"Good," Sharon says. "What would I say? Oh hi Chief Howard, nice to see you, did you know that Brenda is my best friend and I know all about her and you're a fool for letting her go? No? Oh well, too late!"
"He didn't let me go, Sharon, Jesus."
"I'm kidding," she says.
"That isn't funny."
"I apologize," Sharon says. "Honey, I'm sorry. That was thoughtless."
"It's okay, I just… I don't want people to look at me and think about how far I've fallen. Why did I give up my life for a one bedroom apartment and a job I don't love and a husband who wanted me to stay?"
"First of all, you did that because it was a shoe that didn't fit," Sharon says, gunning it into the intersection. Sharon's driving, she's in charge, but they're in Brenda's car. Sharon doesn't like to take the motor pool car around when she's not working and Rusty has her personal vehicle most of the time. When Brenda had finally gotten the second key back from Fritz, she'd given it right to Sharon.
"You're the only other person who drives it anyway," Brenda had said. Sharon had smiled, eased it onto her keyring.
"That's true," she'd said. "Thank you."
"People don't know that my life didn't fit," Brenda says now.
"So what?" Sharon exclaims. "So fucking what?"
"Sharon!"
"Brenda!" she says. "From the very first day I ever saw you, from the first words we ever exchanged, you made it perfectly clear that you do not give a damn what other people think about you, so why, why is this different?"
"I don't know," Brenda says, burying her face in her hands. "Haven't you ever just felt fragile before?"
Sharon laughs, a deep bark. "Yes."
"I feel fragile."
"I'm sorry," Sharon says. "I forget sometimes."
"Forget what?" Brenda asks, furrowed brow and confused.
"That you're one of us. A human," Sharon says, glancing over at her with a sly smile. "That you aren't… I don't know, better."
oooo
The second party, Will's party, is in a ballroom in the Hilton downtown and it's nice enough. One of the walls is a row of french doors that open up onto a terrace. There's a live band, caterers in black and white, a full bar, a dance floor. It's probably the fanciest party Brenda will ever find herself in and hopefully the last because she immediately feels like she doesn't belong. They hand their coats over to the coat check and Brenda hesitates when it's time to step into the crowd.
"Let's go to the restroom first," Sharon says. Brenda nods. At the sinks, standing next to one another, Brenda snags her wrist and looks at Sharon's watch.
"Oh, God, it's not even eleven," Brenda says.
"We just have to make sure Pope sees us, that's it and then we can go home."
"No," Brenda says. "You know we gotta stay till the ball drops."
"Okay, yes, I do, probably, but you don't," Sharon says. "I'll be fine."
"I'm not leaving you," Brenda says. "But I will need a drink. So let's go and get this over with."
Brenda knows a lot of people at this party. A few people she knows well - Will, Taylor, people who'd worked closely with Major Crimes over the years and there are people she recognizes but couldn't say why or how. She expects Sharon to deposit her somewhere and wander off to make her rounds, but she doesn't. She keeps Brenda by her side. Gets her a drink with some soda in it because Sharon says she looks like she needs a little caffeine and then walks with her, introducing her to some people, re-acquainting her with others.
"Chief Investigator Johnson," Sharon always says.
"Brenda," Brenda says to the ones who smile at her and reach for her hand.
Sharon's deep in conversation when Brenda realizes her drink is empty so she touches Sharon's back to excuse herself and makes her way over to the bar. She leans against the bartop and when she gets the attention of the bartender, she says, "Vodka coke and a club soda with lime."
"Club soda, huh?"
Brenda spins, a smile already on her face. "Lieutenant Provenza!"
"Chief Johnson," he says.
"What are you doin' here?" she exclaims. "Sharon said Will only ordered department heads to attend."
"I lost a bet," he says. "And I don't want to talk about."
"Okay," she says. "What are you havin', it's on me."
"Scotch," he says. "Thanks."
The bartender comes back with her drinks and she tacks on the order, sliding cash across the bar. Of course Will wouldn't have an open bar.
"I can't say I expected to see you here either," Provenza says, glancing at the drinks in her hand. "It's nice that you've patched things up."
Brenda rolls her eyes. "Lieutenant, we've been friends for months now, come on."
"Well, you're better at divorce than I am because I can still hardly stand to be in the same room as any of my ex-wives!" he says with a chuckle.
"Oh," Brenda says. "Oh, no, no, I'm uh, I'm not here… I'm here with Captain Raydor."
"Captain… Captain Raydor!" Provenza says. "Oh! I saw the club soda, I just thought…"
"She's drivin' tonight," Brenda says. "So..."
"Right," he says. "How responsible."
"Anyway," Brenda says. "Fritz and I are not… um, not real close."
"More natural that way," Provenza says. She smiles at him, strained and uncomfortable.
"Come say hi to Sharon," she says. "You should get some credit for bein' here."
Sharon is talking to another woman, someone Brenda remembers from the luncheon. Brenda slides back into her spot beside Sharon, takes her empty glass and hands her the fresh one. Sets the empty on a passing caterer's tray.
Sharon murmurs her thanks, says, "You remember Brenda Johnson?"
"Of course," the woman says.
"Look who I found," Brenda says.
"Lieutenant Provenza!" Sharon says. "Here you are!"
"Here I am," he says. Sharon crosses her arms and looks positively smug.
"Oh my god," Brenda says, looking between them. "The bet was with you!"
Sharon glances at the woman, at Provenza. "We don't have to talk about that."
"Captain," Provenza says, though he looks like he's sucking on a lemon. "Would you care to dance with me?"
"Oh, Lieutenant, wouldn't that be just lovely? Yes, of course," Sharon says, handing her drink back to Brenda. "Excuse us."
"Do I even want to know?" the woman asks.
"Probably not," Brenda says.
It's unrealistic to be with Sharon the entire night, so Brenda wanders off onto the terrace. It's cold enough that it's not very populated so she buys herself a little alone time. It's about fifteen minutes until the new year and then, hopefully, they can go home. Sharon is better at this than she is, better at small talk, better at mingling, better at keeping the expression of utter boredom and disdain off her face. Brenda has spent the entire night reminding herself to smile and her cheeks ache from the effort.
The doors behind her open and Brenda hears laughter, turns to see a tall, dark haired woman and her ex-husband stepping out into the moonlight.
"Oh," Fritz says. "Hi."
"Hello," Brenda says. There's a long enough pause that the tall woman with her bright blue eyes smiles uncertainly and steps forward, extending her hand.
"Hello, I'm Allison," she says.
What's there to do but shake her hand? Brenda lifts her arm, takes Allison's long fingers. She's so tall. Does Fritz like tall, dark haired women?
"Brenda," she says.
"This is Fritz," Allison says.
"No kidding," says Brenda. Whoops. She'd been trying to be nice. But now that she's off the wagon… "I'm his ex-wife."
"Oh," Allison says. "Right, Brenda. Right."
"The second one," Brenda adds, helpfully.
"Didn't know you'd be here tonight," Fritz says.
"I came with Sharon," Brenda says. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just go find her."
"No, that's okay," Allison says, holding up a hand. "We'll go. Nice to meet you, Brenda.
Brenda wiggles her fingers in a wave.
Sharon finds her on the terrace a few minutes later. She's not hiding, she's just still stuck to the spot in shock, still too shaken to go in and put on a brave face for Sharon. It should have occurred to her that Fritz would see other women. He's handsome and nice and good husband material, she should know.
She can just stay out here until the party is over and everyone else goes home and it's safe for her to emerge again. Except she doesn't have her coat and it's freezing up here and so when Sharon comes out to get her, she's secretly glad for it.
"How you doing, slugger?" she asks.
"You saw?"
"I saw Chief Howard dancing with a woman and I saw them come out here," Sharon says. "I didn't make detective for nothing."
"He looked at me like… like I was the one who had no right to be here," Brenda says. "Was he right?"
"No."
"I left the LAPD but I'm still here," Brenda says. "Why should he feel bad about bringing a date to his office party?"
"You aren't here for the LAPD, you're for me," Sharon says. "Come on, let's go in, it's almost time."
"I don't want to go back in there," Brenda says. "I can't."
Sharon looks around, crossing her arm against the cutting wind and says, "Come on."
Brenda is about to put up a real fight about it but realizes that Sharon is already walking away from her and she's not headed toward the party. The terrace wraps around and it looks like there's another ballroom. This one is dark, the doors closed, the chairs stacked. It also seems like it's smaller, though it's hard to tell. Sharon tries one door and then the one next to it, but they're locked.
"Gimme one of your pins," Sharon says.
"Don't break in on my account," Brenda says.
"I'm just doing a public safety check," Sharon says, reaching up and carefully pulling a bobby pin from her hair. It's the one holding the front piece of her hair back and hair falls into her face. She tucks it behind her ear.
"You couldn't have picked a less important pin?" Brenda mutters.
"I chose the one I could see," Sharon says. "I'll give it back when I'm done."
"When it's bent out of shape?" Brenda says. She watches Sharon try to put it in the lock. "No, you gotta pull the round part off the little edges or it won't fit."
"What?"
"The little covers so it doesn't scratch you," Brenda says. "Hand it here." She sticks the end of it between her teeth and bites, scraping off the end of the prongs and spitting out the tiny rubbery bits. "Like you've never done this before."
"Well, no," Sharon says. "Not like this. Have you?"
"You've met my father, what do you think?" Brenda says. "I was always sneaking in and out of our house."
"I can do it with a lock pick set," Sharon says.
"My grandma could do it with one of those," Brenda says and then manages to get the prongs into the lock. She jimmies it for a moment and then twists. "Oh, it's just a deadbolt, all we gotta do is get it to turn."
The lock clanks.
Brenda pulls open the door.
Inside Sharon says, "You always manage to keep surprising me."
They can hear the party through the wall. They can even see the light shining through the top along the seam of the ceiling.
"I think you can push this wall back and make a bigger room," Brenda says. "Bet Will has us all crammed in there because he didn't want to pay for the extra space."
"Oh sure, no overtime for us anymore but there's a line in the budget for this party," Sharon says.
Brenda leans against the collapsible wall and puts her cold hands over her face.
"You're okay, you know," Sharon says, stepping up to her. "You're doing just fine."
Brenda lowers her hands and reaches out to take one of Sharon's. "You're a terrible liar," she says, giving her fingers a squeeze. She's about to let go, but Sharon hangs on, so she doesn't.
"I'm a very accomplished liar," Sharon says. "But I'm telling the truth."
"Thanks," Brenda says. "I just feel like… if I haven't already let everyone down, I'm about to."
Her throat burns, her vision swims. She can count on one hand the number of times that Sharon has seen her cry. For as maternal as Sharon can be and often is, tears of self-pity don't seem like something she'd put up with for very long. She's going to put her hands on her hips, elbows jutting forward, and say, "Pull it together, Johnson!"
But when the first tear falls, Sharon's face softens.
She lets go of Brenda's hands and instead cups her face. "You're okay."
Brenda nods, Sharon's hands moving along with her.
"You're fine," Sharon says.
"I know," she sniffs.
Brenda can hear commotion on the other side of the wall; it's got to be close to midnight. Sharon still looking at her in the dark room, their faces close, her hands cool against Brenda's hot cheeks. Sharon leans in, kisses Brenda's cheek, right on the cheekbone, the apple where she puts her blush, just underneath her eye.
"Say it again," Brenda says. Her heart is fluttering in her chest and she can hear Sharon's breath, feel it along her skin.
"You're okay," Sharon says and kisses her other cheek, down next to her ear where it flirts with turning into jaw. She leans back and looks at Brenda fondly, drags her thumb under Brenda's eye to wipe away the tears. "Feel better?"
"Thanks to you," Brenda says. She leans in and returns the gesture, drops a light kiss on Sharon's cheek and rolls her eyes when she pulls back, a little embarrassed. Through the wall, she can hear people start to count.
"Ten, nine, eight..."
But something has changed in Sharon's expression. The warmth has turned into something else entirely and Brenda knows suddenly and with great clarity why, exactly, she's been so on edge this evening. Sharon's glossy hair, her long dark lashes, the way her green eyes keep glancing down at Brenda's mouth.
"Seven, six, five…"
Sharon's hands slide down, rest on the place where her shoulders become her neck. Brenda reaches out and touches Sharon's waist with her fingertips.
"Four, three, two…"
Brenda will give herself just this one magical, ephemeral moment to snatch a taste of what she wants. And then things will go back to normal and they'll see movies and buy dresses and eat dinner with Rusty sitting between them. They'll get coffee before work and lunch on Wednesdays and laugh over glasses of wine. They'll be friends, they'll bump into one another as they walk down the sidewalk, pick each other up from the airport, text during the day. They'll just be friends. Only friends.
But for now…
"One! Happy New Year!"
Brenda surges forward and presses her mouth to Sharon's. Sharon makes a little noise in her throat and curls her fingers against the back of Brenda's neck.
oooo
Brenda calls Sharon's landline in the morning but no one answers. She tries not to think about the ride home from the party, how Sharon had seemed overly kind and distant. Too polite. Had taken Brenda to her apartment and dropped her off, how she didn't want to come up because it was so late. The blank, far away look on her face and her fingers turning white on the steering wheel.
Brenda has made a mistake and now Sharon isn't answering the phone.
She thinks about calling her cell - maybe they're out? - but doesn't want to seem desperate so she makes herself wait three agonizing hours and then texts Rusty to see how his night had gone. It takes him almost ten minutes to reply, an eternity for someone his age. When he does reply, he says good and that Sharon is taking a nap. Like he's making sure that Brenda won't try to call again. He's protecting her from Brenda and it makes her sick to her stomach.
"Stupid," she whispers to herself. "You are so stupid!"
You just got confused, honey, and made a mistake, her mama's voice says. Now you know better than to make things uncomfortable for your friend.
It's the first time she wishes that she didn't still talk to her dead mama and that her dead mama didn't talk back. Obviously something is not right inside of Brenda, obviously she is broken. Full of jagged pieces, parts that don't click together. Inside she is bad and wrong and it's no wonder that she can never make relationships work, that she hears voices, that she longs for things that she can't and shouldn't have. Doesn't even deserve to have.
Sharon had been just trying to make her feel better and Brenda had stepped all over it, pushed too far and now it can't be mended.
She looks at her phone all day, takes it with her into the bathroom, sets it on the window ledge when she showers so she can hear if it buzzes. Carries it into the kitchen when she raids the freezer for sweets, takes it to bed with her when she decides to give up and burrow under her covers, maybe forever.
There's one moment when she's looking at the long string of messages between her and Sharon over the last several months, one moment where she sees the three little dots pop up like Sharon is typing and she watches them in agony but after a few seconds they disappear and no words ever come.
She cries into her pillow for forty minutes before flinging off the covers and going to the bathroom, yanking open a drawer and digging through its contents until she finds a Tylenol PM. She fumbles with the packaging, tearing through the thick plastic and manages to get the pills out. Puts them in her mouth and sticks her mouth under the sink faucet.
She'll never go to sleep on her own, she's stuck in loop of imagining Sharon's lips on hers, how her bottom lip had touched Brenda's top lip and how they had shifted to align, how Sharon's fingers had tightened, how her lashes had been resting on her cheeks when Brenda had pulled away, how big her pupils had been in the darkness of the room.
And then the way Sharon hadn't quite looked at her from the driver's seat of her car as she'd said goodnight and driven away.
Brenda realizes that Sharon still has her car.
But it's too late now. She'll have to deal with it in the morning. It doesn't take long for the exhaustion and the medicine to creep up on her and then it feels like she's only been asleep for a few minutes when her alarm starts to blare.
She gives herself an extra ten minutes when she leaves to walk over to Sharon's and claim what's hers, to maybe try to talk to her, to apologize, to promise to pretend that none of it ever happened, but when she goes out the front door of the building, her car is parked on the street.
Brenda makes it until lunch before she decides she can't take it. She calls over to Major Crimes, but the phones ring and ring until a uniform picks up to tell her the whole squad is out and can he forward her to Captain Raydor's voicemail?
"No," she says. "Thank you, no."
How is she going to make this right? How is she going to apologize? How is she going to explain that it's nothing Sharon did, that the badness has been growing inside Brenda for her whole life? Maybe her heart isn't a garden at all. Maybe her heart is a tangle of brambles and the wall she keeps around it is to keep other people safe. Maybe she's nothing but weeds.
She figures the best she can do is give Sharon the space she so clearly desires, so she's a little surprised when Rusty shows up at her office the Thursday after the party. She's about to leave for a meeting and while she's happy to see him, always, today the sight of him makes her anxious.
"Honey," Brenda says. "Whatever this is has to wait because I'm headed into a meeting."
"I just need two minutes," he says.
She huffs, tucks her hair behind her ear and nods.
"Look, I'm not sure what happened the other night but you guys have to work it out," he says.
"The other night?" she says. "Nothin', nothin' happened. We went to a party."
"Um," Rusty says. "Sure, sure."
Brenda pulls her tote out from under her desk and shoves a few files into it. "It's fine."
"You don't have to tell me what happened," Rusty says. "In fact, I would prefer that, but please, please whatever it is, don't let it mess stuff up between you because I know she'll probably never say it, but I think your friendship is, like, super important to her."
His face is so earnest and she feels helpless.
"It's important to me too," she says. "But I don't think she wants to hear from me, kiddo."
"That's not true! She's been glued to her phone and I think if you just forgave her, she'd really-"
"What?" Brenda blurts. "Forgive her?"
Rusty nods.
"I don't think that's the problem," Brenda says. "And anyway, I have to, have to go now."
"I'll walk with you," he says. "Anyway I know she feels bad."
They head down the hall toward the elevator.
"She's upset I know," Brenda says. "But I think you're reading it wrong and if she's mad, I shouldn't push."
"Mad?" Rusty asks. "No, no way, she definitely feels guilty."
"How can you tell?" she asks.
"Well for one, when Sharon is mad she does not keep it a secret," he says. The elevator opens and a few people step off so they can step on. Brenda is going up three floors for a meeting that's going to take most of the afternoon. "Also she's been cleaning and she only does that when she feels guilty about something."
"People clean, Rusty," Brenda says.
"She bought a breadmaker yesterday!" he says. "A breadmaker! And I got up last night to get water and she was cleaning the grout in the kitchen with, like, a toothbrush. That is guilt cleaning, I mean, who does that?"
The doors open and Brenda steps onto the threshold so the doors don't close again. "What do you want me to do?" she asks.
"I don't know, call her? Come over? Tell her that it's fine? We seriously don't have the counter space for a breadmaker, Brenda."
She glances over her shoulder, sees the filling conference room. "Let me think about it, okay?"
He nods and when she steps all the way out, the elevator closes on his concerned, yet hopeful face.
She's an hour into the meeting when she feels her phone buzz in the pocket of her suit jacket. She pulls it out and glances at it under the table. It's from Rusty.
She just came home with a $400 vacuum.
Buzz.
There's twelve square feet of carpet in this entire condo.
Buzz.
She's vacuuming the drapes. THE DRAPES.
"I'm gonna step out for a moment," Brenda says, heads swiveling to look at her. "Y'all go on without me."
She ducks into the ladies' room and locks herself in a stall, leans against the closed door and pulls up Sharon's contact info. Looks at the picture of them that Charlie had put there, her little smile, Sharon's popped up foot.
She starts to write out several different messages before finally settling on something totally benign.
Was gonna order pizza tonight. You and Rusty interested?
It's only a few seconds later when another text from Rusty comes through.
Thaaaaaaank yooooou! It's followed by three little thumbs up pictures.
She doesn't wait for a text from Sharon. She powers down her phone and hurries back to her meeting. Whatever the answer is, it's gonna have to wait until she's off the clock.
Later, in her office, packing up for the end of the day, she remembers her phone, holds the button down to turn it on, the little apple appearing. By the time she's turned off her computer, packed up her purse, straightened out her desk, the phone has buzzed with a single text message. Two words from Sharon that help to ease the tension in her sternum, the weight that has been hard and heavy all day.
What time?