Hi! I'm Carrie! I enjoy poetry, sunsets, and long walks on the beach!
Carrie read it back over and then immediately deleted everything. "No I don't," she mumbled. "And no one would ever want to date all those exclamation points."
Hi! My name is Carrie, I have a useless film degree from Gotham State, but I am a pretty talented photographer, so if you're conceited and want me to take some pretentious photos of you walking on the beach at sunset or whatever, I'm your gal.
Carrie groaned as she read it back. "This is so stupid."
Regardless, she decided to move on.
Looking for…
Carrie stared down at the three options the app provided: 'Men', 'Women' or 'Men and Women'.
Her finger hovered over the 'Men' option for some time before she removed it, setting her phone down on the desk in front of her.
She hated this, being almost 30 years old and still…unsure. Still confused. It made her angry, actually, and Carrie never got angry. But this, sitting here, alone on the eve of her birthday—again…stupid. It was just stupid.
Anthony would come over, sure. And Bruce would be there, and Selina, and Barbara and Dick, Damian would begrudgingly put on a party hat and Harley would probably be there too…and Jo—she would attempt to bake a cake, and it would turn out dry because she would get distracted, and then Bruce would order one to replace it but Carrie would eat Jo's anyway because she'd tried. She'd fail, but she'd try, and Carrie liked that she tried for her.
But then she'd blow out the candles and be 30 and confused. Not 29. And that…sucked.
Carrie had a picture in her mind of the person she'd end up with. They'd be…funny, and smart, and maybe a little mean, but like in a teasing way—that was just the sense of humor Carrie was used to by now. They'd be…well, they'd have to be athletic—or active, at least. Carrie wanted someone who could keep up with her. She knew she was, at times, annoyingly energetic. Preferably they'd be very pretty—or handsome! Or handsome, or handsome. And they'd be taller than her, and sort of…effortless about everything. Like they could dress up if they wanted to, but also look great just…at the gym or—
Carrie jumped when her phone rang on the desk, that picture of Jo with her nose crinkled and her tongue sticking out at the camera popping up onscreen.
The redhead cleared her throat, running a hand through her short hair as she picked the phone up before answering.
"Ayye, pretty lady," Jo greeted immediately, before Carrie even had a chance to say hello. "What'cha up to?"
Carrie considered the sad online dating profile she was putting together. About to look for cats to adopt in my area? "Uh, nothin' much. Why? Are you—,"
Faintly, the chorus of Peter Gabriel's 'In Your Eyes' began to waft through her open window.
"—Outside your fucking window?! You bet I am!"
She could hear Jo's grin through the phone as she went to her widow and pulled up the blinds to find that—yes—Jo was in the driveway, hanging out the driver's side window of her Mother's wheelchair van, and yes, she was—indeed—grinning.
"Are you gonna make me watch Cocoon?" Carrie asked, smirking.
"Only if you teach me how to drive," Jo countered. "Wait—am I Lloyd or Diane? Damn it, I'm Lloyd. My bad. Whatever, hey, get your ass in the van, Ma and I are going to IKEA and we need another set of hands."
Carrie glanced down at her sweatpants and t-shirt. "Uh—OK, fine, but I have to change."
"Is there fabric covering your panties, Care Bear?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"Good enough," Jo said before abruptly hanging up.
With a smile, Carrie got up, swapping her sweatpants for a pair of jeans and pulling a varsity jacket over her t-shirt.
She then began the arduous process of navigating Wayne Manor's expansive and convoluted layout in search of the door. Carrie had lived there since she was 12 years old and still somehow managed to get herself lost about once a month or so. But today she made it to the front door in record time.
"Jinkies, Daph!" Carrie exclaimed as she walked down the driveway. "Where's the rest of the gang?"
Jo looked down at her purple shirt and then the blue van she was driving. "Jeepers," she exhaled, waiting for Carrie to climb into the passenger seat to say: "Now I kinda want you to change into a turtleneck…"
Carrie snickered. "Did you download Peter Gabriel just for me?"
"Yeah, well, couldn't find a boom box," Jo said, sounding almost disappointed with herself. "I know you love that John Hughes shit."
Carrie smiled, turning to look in the back. "Afternoon, Dr. Q."
"New glasses?" Harley asked from where her wheelchair was strapped to the floor.
"Carrie's a huge Rachel Maddow fan, Ma," Jo winked, pulling out of the driveway.
"Hey, who isn't?" Harley's question was rhetorical and she offered a kindhearted smile, which Carrie gratefully returned before pulling her attention back to the front seat.
"What are we doing at IKEA?" she asked.
Jo sighed. "Buying everything in triplicate. Thank God we're rich as shit."
Carrie didn't try to hide her surprise. "You're keeping them all?"
Groaning, Jo said: "Please don't remind me. Damian insisted on naming the boy 'Terrence' and obviously that's not going to work as the name of my only fucking child. I mean—Terry's kinda cute, so fine, but then he said I could name the girl but the idea of aborting one of them was just, like…I don't know, felt like too much of a dick move. So yeah—Jolene I. Quinzel, cause of death: suffocated beneath her mass of children at the age of 25."
"Remember when I suggested you get a dog?" Harley asked. "you should have gotten a dog."
"Yes, thank you, Mother, for your undying love and support," Jo dryly retorted. "Long story short, you ready to be a Godmother, Care Bear?"
"I…I guess," Carrie mumbled. She'd never—not in a million years—thought Jo would go through with this whole thing. She'd honestly assumed she and Damian would end up childless like Babs and Dick. Not that she didn't think Jo had the ability to be a good Mom, no…that was in there somewhere, but this was all moving rather fast. Seemed like not too long ago Jo was putting on her Batgirl suit for the first time, pissing Damian off by managing to push every one of his buttons. Now they were married, they were having children, and it—well, Carrie supposed it would take some getting used to. In the meantime, though, her stomach had tied itself into knots and she wasn't totally sure why.
"—and I already bought the overalls, so don't worry about that."
Carrie blinked, realizing Jo was talking again.
"So whaddya say?" Jo prompted, grinning. "You in?"
What? "For IKEA? Well, yeah…I'm already in the car."
"For the 80s painting montage," Harley helped her out.
"Hey now," Jo laughed. "We're not married; you don't get to ignore me—I have a husband for that."
"Sorry," Carrie apologized, her face hot. "An 80s what?"
"Painting montage," Jo informed her. "We're gonna paint the nursery in overalls while listening to 80s music because I got an entire 5 hours of sleep, don't have to get on a plane or cut a single ribbon today…and Damian's at work so I can do whatever stupid shit suits my fancy."
Harley raised her fist in the air. "Housewives revolt!"
"Hell yeah," Jo agreed, reaching back to give her Mom a first-bump. "And don't worry, Carrie—work wives totally count."
"I—thanks," Carrie smiled softly. She liked feeling included, and Dr. Q had always made it a point to help her feel comfortable and at home when she was around them. Everybody: Anthony, Jo, even Dr. Isley. Not that Carrie didn't love her real family—meaning Bruce and Selina and Damian and the rest of em'. They were the best! But Dr. Q was like that cool aunt everyone secretly wished was their Mom instead. She gave away hugs for free—just because! Selina hugged sometimes too, but only when she knew Carrie really needed it. Which was fine, really, but…Dr. Q's hugs were the best. And she made everyone so happy. Like Dr. Isley. She was sorta…prickly, but a few times growing up Carrie had overheard conversations only meant for she and her wife and they just…made her happy.
Jo and Anthony were the same way. They could make people happy with just a smile or a touch or a chuckle…they were magic. The way they talked, the way they…were. Anthony was smart, but never made you feel stupid, and Jo was…well, her voice sounded like Pamela's. Smooth and velvety…but she spoke with Harley's cadence, so everything came out in an excited frenzy. Her mind worked quickly, like Damian's did. Carrie used to like listening to them talk to each other back when it was just teasing…until every conversation ended in a lip bite and a crooked finger…or worse, a suddenly passionate make-out session. Carrie tended to just awkwardly slink away once those started.
"Why do you even know this song?" Harley was laughing. "You were born in 2013."
"Because it's been used by every writer ever to hammer home the most obvious point possible—or it will be by this one, at least," Jo turned the radio up, singing along: "You know I feel so dirty when they start talkin' cute / I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably mute." Stopping at a red light, she pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, dramatically tossing her hair as she turned to Carrie. "And she's watchin' him with those eyes / and she's lovin' him with that body I just know it."
"I wonder if they have this song in alternate universes." Harley remarked.
"Where can I find a woman like that?" Jo turned the radio down again. "Why?"
"Because I want to change the lyrics to 'Joker's girl' and send it to all the sad Ivy's out there," Harley chuckled.
Carrie attempted to shake off the blush in her cheeks to say: "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's, uh—so evidently there are other worlds and universes out there where different versions of us exist," Jo explained the joke after laughing at it. "And in more than a few the Mistress of Malpractice back there is fucking The Joker with Poison Ivy as her side chick."
"W—what?!" Carrie felt oddly offended on Dr. Isley's behalf. "The Joker? Wasn't he the psycho that paralyzed you?"
"Mhm, in this universe," Harley acknowledged. "In the other ones I guess Barbara is the one in the wheelchair."
"That's—no," Carrie shook her head. "God—why, Dr. Q?!"
Harley laughed. "Don't look at me! I can only control what happens in this universe. And really, I can't even do that—obviously," she gestured to her immobile legs.
Scandalized, Carrie turned back around, her eyes glazing over in thought as Jo pulled into the handi-cap parking spot.
"What about this one?" Harley asked some time later, pointing to the white crib on display in front of them. "It looks…safe."
"Mmm…" Jo narrowed her eyes critically. "No."
Harley had lost her patience four cribs ago. "Why?!"
Jo pointed at the area she was having issue with. "Butterflies. I don't like em. I don't want em painted on my kid's crib. Have you ever seen a close up picture of a butterfly's face, Ma? Shit will give you nightmares. I'm already probably gonna be a sub-par Mother anyway—don't need to add butterfly nightmares to their plates."
Harley scoffed. "Jo, they're cartoons!"
"Yeah, sure," Jo granted. "And like a lot of other things, the cartoon version is clearly the best. But in this context, I can't support it. I just can't."
"How about this one?" Carrie proposed. "Look, comes in different colors: red, green, pink, purple…that's cool, right? I mean, it'll help you tell em' apart in case they look too much alike."
"Ha! I love it," Jo laughed, leaning down to kiss Carrie on the cheek.
It was hard sometimes, for Carrie to explain what it felt like to be around Jo. You really had to share a space with her to completely understand, but when she looked at you it felt like…sunshine. And when she smiled at you, you'd have to force yourself not to reach for a camera. Her smiles were so…practiced, so pristine, her teeth so straight and so white. It was different than Harley's, Carrie noticed. She'd seen enough of Dr. Q's real smiles to know when she was faking it. It was pretty easy, actually. There was something a bit…unsettling about her feigned happiness. It was maniacal, in a way—the happiness painted on her lips but never reaching her eyes, their blue icy and cold…
But Jo…there was no way to tell the difference. Her eyes would light up just the same if she wanted to kiss you or stab you. Maybe that's why some people were scared of her. She had no tell, she was an actress, above all else—one like Poison Ivy, the difference being that Jo was never too proud to accept a role rather than establish it, and as a result, she was a more versatile performer.
To know Jo was to love her, and if you couldn't love her than your respect for her was still implied. She was King Midas—with a single brush of her skin or squeeze of your hand she could make anyone feel like gold. Feel seen, feel important.
It was a very special super power indeed, and Carrie knew she wasn't the only one effected. Damian—angry, angst-ridden, unpleasant, closed-off, closed-minded Damian Wayne was…different now. Jo had done that. She'd waltzed in and with a look, a smile and a touch he was her Damian. And that was just as well, Carrie decided. Damian had crafted wings in the form of walls to hide his heart, ones that melted only enough to make them transparent as he flew closer to the sun. Carrie didn't have any walls, she never did. She wasn't strong enough to make the journey. So she watched instead, from afar or from right beside her. Jo was her friend, and despite the deep blushes, sweaty palms, pangs of jealousy, or instinct to only stare at her lips as she spoke Carrie experienced at times like this—when they occupied the same space—that's all she would ever be. And that was…fine! That was good. Yes, when Carrie pictured that person she wanted to be with, it more often than not bore a striking resemblance to Jo…but it was a fantasy. That's all it would ever be and that's all Carrie would ever want it to be. Jo was her friend. She didn't have many friends, and female friendships felt extra special.
But there were other reasons too, like Carrie wasn't even gay!
…
…
OK, yeah, fine, Carrie was gay. And every single person in her life seemed to have realized that fact before her. And it wasn't like Carrie hadn't been exposed to the gay lifestyle or whatever—in fact, from her experience, it looked a whole helluva lot like the straight lifestyle. But it was like…Carrie didn't know how to get there. Harleen and Pamela had been happily married for all the time she'd known them. With two kids and a big house and nice cars and perfect hair…they'd made it seem so simple, like you'd just know, like it just was what it was. But Carrie was struggling. Her parents…they'd neglected her, left her starving and to her own devices. They'd only had one room in that shitty apartment in Central Gotham, and her parents hadn't been…well, they hadn't been sh—she'd seen…even now it made her sick to her stomach.
But that was…that was what a relationship had looked like to her. Before Bruce and Selina, of course. They'd saved her, and they were—affectionate, yes, but also private, and after Steph died, Carrie was the only girl in the house (aside from Selina) and…it was confusing!
So maybe it wasn't just Jo Carrie was enamored with. Maybe it was the whole Quinzel family—their dynamic, their lifestyle, their…warmth.
"Carrie."
She blinked.
"Caroline," Harleen said, squeezing her hand in an attempt to get her attention. "Honey, are you crying?"
Carrie wiped her eyes with her free hand and found that, yeah, she was. Thank God Jo was nowhere around otherwise she would die of embarrassment.
"Are you OK?" Harleen asked.
Carrie looked down at the woman in the wheelchair—at a face she'd watched age before her very eyes. Slowly, yes, but Harleen was older now. There was no denying that, no hiding from it…Carrie had been starring at that same expectant expression from the couch in her office for 18 years now.
Shaking her head, Carrie said: "No."
…which seemed to surprise Harley. It must have been one of those rhetorical 'are you OKs?' that you were supposed to answer 'yes' to. But no, Carrie wasn't OK, and yeah—maybe they weren't in her office—but Dr. Q was still her therapist, right?
"No, I don't think I am OK, Dr. Q." Carrie admitted. "I feel like somebody pressed pause on my life, but time's still going by. I'm 30 tomorrow, but if somebody told me I was turning 20 instead I wouldn't even question it."
Harleen nodded slowly. "Who do you think pressed pause?"
Carrie shrugged. "Me, I guess. I'm in a—suspended state of adolescence."
Harleen laughed. "I like that. If you want to binge some Arrested Development, we've got the whole series at home." She squeezed Carrie's hand again, her expression changing to sincerer as she said: "the best way to move forward is to clear your path, Kiddo."
"How?"
"Mmm…I suggest dynamite," Harley winked.
Carrie smiled at that, a small weight lifting off of her chest.
"Some help you guys are," Jo was coming back up the aisle, carrying a large box on her shoulder. "The fact that this fucking store hasn't gone digital is just…it's 2038!" she dropped the box with a loud thunk. "What's the holdup?!"
"JOLENE QUINZEL!"
Jo and Carrie whipped around to face the sound…finding a blonde woman smiling broadly at the other end of the aisle.
"Should I say it louder for the people in the back?" the woman asked, playfully arching an eyebrow.
"Holy shit," Jo nearly doubled over laughing. "Olympic Silver Medalist Courtney Whitmore?! Can you sign my tape?"
Courtney grinned as she approached them. "Make fun of me all you want, that tape is framed on my wall right next to my medal."
Jo chuckled, pulling her into a hug. "That's far too kind."
"Well, I wouldn't have been there in the first place if you hadn't…" Courtney trailed off awkwardly, realizing too late what she was saying.
"Been diagnosed with cancer?" Jo smirked. "Yeah, hey, lucky you."
"Did you—uh—get my flowers?" Courtney asked, blushing the same way that Carrie did around Jo. "I sent them as soon as I heard…"
"Well, that was 10 years ago," Jo smiled, patting her on the shoulder. "But I'm sure I did. My bad if I didn't send a thank you card, I had a lot of self-pity to wallow in back then. Anyway, you look great."
Courtney glanced down at her shoes. "Yes, well, I—I saw you got married—meaning it, uh, it suits you. You look all grown up. I see you in magazines sometimes…"
"It's all Photoshop," Jo assured her. "But I'm being rude. Courtney, this is my Mother—Harleen, and my cousin, Carrie. Guys, this is Courtney. She took my spot on the Olympic team, remember?"
"And made out with you in the hallway," Harley added.
"That too," Jo laughed.
Carrie knew it was her turn to respond, but her throat felt like she'd been wandering around in the desert for a week it was so dry, and she was sure her blush was so severe at this point they were likely having a hard time discerning her face from her hair. "H—hi," she eventually managed to sputter out.
Jo raised an eyebrow at Carrie's odd behavior, but chose to move on. "So what brings you to this hell-hole?"
Courtney shifted uncomfortably. "I relocated here a while back, but my, umm…housing situation changed recently," she admitted. "I'm in need of new furnishings."
"Mhm…" Jo's eyes were narrowed suspiciously. "Well I sincerely hope you broke up with her."
The blonde cleared her throat. "I did not."
"Then she's an idiot," Carrie said quickly…out loud. Fuck! No! The others turned to her surprised, and Carrie was desperate to recover. "I just mean…you're…very pretty and—you know—an Olympian and stuff…"
"Smooth," Jo laughed. "Well, I'd love to catch up further, but I've got a meeting in a bit. Actually, though, we're having a party tomorrow at Wayne Manor—more a family get-together, really. Carrie's turning 30," she squeezed the redhead's shoulders. "You should come! It should just be me, my brother and sister, my Mother, Carrie, her parents and her bother—I'm sorry, I mean my husband," Jo laughed. "That's an odd way to refer to him. I mean, it's true, but still…"
Courtney looked somewhere between surprised and excited. "I—yes! I'd love to come."
"Awesome," Jo smiled. "I left my phone at home, unfortunately, so you should probably give Carrie your number. She'll text you the details."
Author's note: if any of you are confused because you remember the gymnast's name from ch. 38 being "Mandy"...it was meant to be Courtney to begin with, but I couldn't remember Stargirl's name, so I went back soon after that chapter was published to change it to "Courtney" when I remembered. My bad.