Well, that was a surprisingly long day. We were at Al's—the carpet factory—and we were just getting a bunch of winders and spinners ready to move. I mean, it's simple enough to dismount these things, it's more that there's six of them, and we have to make sure all the main fixtures are reusable. To that end we left a pallet stacked with air lines, conduit, and lengths of cable tray in the corner of the beaming room where we were working.
"So, think she's recovered yet?" Kristoff's voice snaps me back to the present. He's talking about Joan of course, who probably didn't even make it to school today. I know she didn't fight, but it still seems like the weekend took a fair bit out of her.
"We'll see when we get home. I don't have a huge number of texts from her. You?"
"Work, work, you, Bulda, work. Nope." Kristoff flips his phone shut as he climbs into the van, ramping up the motor.
With the tools stowed and the doors closed I bang twice on the side panel of the van. It's a habit I picked up so long ago I can't even remember when I started. My signal that we're all good to go. I swing myself up into the passenger seat, and then we're off. Traffic is heavy this afternoon, probably from school—oh, that's right, Al's place normally starts shifts an hour earlier than usual, so of course we've ended an hour early. Right in the middle of the after-school rush.
Kristoff lets out a frustrated sigh, and then we just sit and wait in the crawl. It gives me time to think; to remember. About other times I got home early, or Elsa got home late. One in particular sticks in my mind, but it's not time for that one yet. Also, I don't think Joan really wants to hear about the beginning of her mothers' sex lives. But there's another one too, a quieter one; one I think she'll like if she's tired. Kristoff navigates around a broken down semi-trailer—so that's really what's holding everything up—and suddenly the road is clear and home seems a lot closer.
Joan's lounging around on the couch when we come in the front door, a small stack of papers next to her, on the floor.
"Oh, hey, you're back early. Tink just dropped off some supposedly important homework."
"I thought I recognised that car down the street." I direct that at no-one. "Anyway, you feeling better?"
"Yeah, I think I was just super tired from everything. I got tired just watching some of those fights; they were intense."
"Well, maybe next year you can fight too."
"Totally, mom. So, what's for dinner?" That's our daughter, always asking the important questions.
"Chicken. We've got more than enough time to do a nice roast. You going to help?"
"Sure," and she peels herself off the couch, giving Kristoff a quick hug. "Sorry about last night, dad." I give him a look, he just shrugs. Whatever it was, or is, it's between them.
Dinner is—well, the prep is a lot more fun than usual. A lot more talking. It feels like we're just a normal family—I mean, not that we're not, but sometimes it's just so hectic with work, and school, and life in general, it's just nice to slow down a bit every now and then. Appreciate what it is you have. Even if you can't have everything you want, maybe what you have is better. I remember you telling me that, after… God, what was it we'd done? I wanted something, and thought you'd got it for me as a gift, but it turned out to be something else entirely. You were right, in the long run, it was better. My locket, with that picture of you in it. I still wear it.
Then dinner itself is just… normal. Me and Kristoff clean up, and Joan goes up to her room, ostensibly working on her homework, but more than likely chatting with Tina, or playing games. Then again, she's not grounded anymore, and she'd been doing more than her share recently. Maybe I was just used to doing less myself. I say as much to Kristoff, and he agrees with me. We got comfortable with the situation, that's all.
"Hey feistypants, I can finish up here."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I think Joan might like a bedtime story." And he winks at me. Subtle, reindeer king.
He's not wrong though, and Joan is actually doing homework, just lying on her bed, scribbling on the paper. She perks up when she sees it's me.
"So, I think you kinda left off where you and Elsa were just enjoying a boring afternoon after mowing the lawns."
I think back. "Yeah… nothing much happened after that for a little while though. Just kind of adjusting to each others schedules as she started dance practice again, and I got more shifts. A week or so later, maybe."
—∞—
It was late, very late. The clock on the wall said eleven, but it felt a lot later. I'd been waiting for Elsa the whole evening almost, and she still wasn't back. I was scared. What of, I don't really know. It was a vague, non-specific kind of fear that I might not see her again, despite how crazy the notion was. We'd both been working odd shifts for the past week and had only really passed each other in the mornings and evenings. There were times she slept in the guest room, simply because she didn't want to wake me. I'd done the same. Kristoff noted once that I was a lot more irritable, but I just brushed it off. I shouldn't have, but I just didn't feel like talking about it.
So I just lay on the couch, not watching some late night movie about a corrupt lawyer that seemed unable to keep it in his pants. I had a bowl of popcorn somewhere on the floor, mostly empty. The movie before was a lot better. I changed the channel, some cartoon about kids with magic powers. The animation actually looked pretty good, so I decided to stick with it for now. Anything to take my mind off the waiting. I didn't have any shifts on Thursday, so I could stay up as long as I wanted.
Of course, it's entirely possible my exhausted body had other ideas, and that would explain the packet of candy—also on the floor—and the cup of coffee sitting on the table. In the dining room. Cold. I sighed. I couldn't remember how long ago I'd made the coffee, but decided I still wanted a hot drink. So, back in the kitchen I poured the coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug, and made a hot chocolate—and discovered we were out of marshmallows. I made a second hot chocolate and left it in the microwave. Either for me, later, or for Elsa, when she finally got home.
Quarter past eleven. I'd only managed to kill fifteen minutes. The cartoon was getting pretty good though, with a big set piece kinda battle. More of a duel, actually, one guy trying to hide his fire powers, versus a guy with rock powers. And that was not a nice ending. The townspeople threw him out for defending them, and after some kind of flashback about his father, he just rides off on some bird thing into the sunset. I changed the channel again. Some documentary about the pyramids.
Eleven thirty. The documentary was really just re-hashing stuff I already knew, and not even in a good way. Elsa still wasn't back. I'd heard a couple of cars, but neither of them were her. I changed the channel again. Re-runs of Firefly. I couldn't say no to that. I wasn't that geeky when it came to sci-fi shows, but Firefly was always something of a guilty pleasure. Plus plenty of good looking guys, and a surprising number of shirtless scenes.
What?
Anyway, it was the episode when the engine breaks down—Out of Gas, I think—and only just starting, with Simon's birthday and the explosion. I curled up with my hot chocolate, preparing for about an hour of good TV. I might even have been able to sit still through all of it too. But nope, couldn't even do that. I had my laptop out, browsing my social networks while I half-watched the show. I really was terrible. It helped kill the time at least.
After midnight. Well after midnight. I could feel my eyes drooping and my concentration flagging. The sugar probably didn't help, because that felt like a righteous crash. My own half-snore woke me up, only seconds later. Tired. Very tired. But I was going to wait up for Elsa, because damn it, I was getting lonely, and we hadn't really, properly talked for almost a week. I was gonna do something about it—and falling asleep would not be that thing. That I didn't know what to talk about was beside the point—I just wanted to talk with her.
Which is why a car driving off woke me up just after one a.m. I blinked slowly, checking the clock. Well, at least I hadn't slept too long. I heard footsteps out the front, and someone fumbling with a key. It was kind of cold out. I managed to lever myself upright as the door opened. Elsa turned as soon as she entered, quietly closing the door behind her. She thought I was already asleep. She stopped on the second step, slowly turning to face me, looking confused.
"Anna?"
I couldn't quite mumble a coherent reply.
"You waited for me?"
I nodded, pulling myself from the couch with quite some effort.
"You're tired. You should sleep."
"I missed you, Elsa. I wanted to talk."
She nodded slowly, walking into the living room. "It is not easy right now, for us, I know." I saw a hard sadness in her eyes, and heard the edge in her voice. It took me several long seconds to process what she thought I wanted to talk about. As in talk.
"I don't care if it's hard, I just want to talk to you."
"That's all?" she smiled. I smiled back, sinking onto the couch. She sat next to me, leaning into my shoulder, brushing my hair aside to whisper something else to me. "Only ever talk?"
Wait… she's teasing me. "Well, now. I mean later I might… I dunno, 'talk' to, uh, other parts of you…?"
She shook her head slowly, laughing softly in the night. "Anna, why did that sound like a question?"
I could feel an almost incandescent blush as I looked away. "Because… well… I might not know… what to do with another woman…"
"But would it not be more fun to explore, Anniken?"
I blinked, looking back at her. Did she just…?
"But probably not tonight; you are very tired. So am I."
"I wanted… I…" I shook my head, not sure what I was trying to say. Not really sure exactly what I wanted either—except her. I just wanted to be close to her.
"You do not have work tomorrow." I shook my head. "Lie down."
And as she spoke she half-rolled against the back of the couch, cradling my head against her chest. I couldn't help the smile I had. she fumbled for the remote, turning the TV right down. I stared up at her and she smiled down at me, pressing my ear to her chest.
"What do you hear?"
I smiled at her, tears in the corner of my eyes. This was exactly what I'd needed. A simple closeness, a reassuring sound. Her heartbeat was a quiet murmur, but in that moment it drowned out every sound. I could feel myself drifting off, and there was nothing I could do. I felt someone gently stroking my hair, lulling me to sleep. I also heard someone complaining about me being heavy, and then deciding to use me as a blanket. I smiled, sleep reaching out to take me and ferry me to my dreams.
