Friday evening, and I'm pretty damn totalled. We got out to Al's today, dropped off all the tools, did all the safety paperwork, and then met some of the guys we'd be working with. Guys and girls. And then we started getting into the drive chains and bearings at the feed end of the jute line. It's like hessian, what they weave the carpet through. But this line also takes the completed carpet through an upper set of rollers. The jute has latex applied to it from a tray using a special spreader, and then the two lines are pressed together and heated in a massive drying oven. Luckily we don't have to help cleaning that out.

I get a text from Belle, about helping Adam move out. Tomorrow afternoon, if we can manage it. I text back, telling her it'll have to be Sunday, because we've still got work tomorrow, unless the stuff will fit in the work van. Looks like it will be Sunday then, which is fine by me. I have to check with Kristoff though, in case there's any work stuff we need the trailer for. That is simply me using our advanced communication system of shouting into the kitchen. Because I'm too tired to get up. Kristoff at least gets to the door.

"Sunday's fine. Just a few things, right?"

"That's what Belle says."

"Shouldn't be a problem for us."

And now Joan is just coming home. Much later than she should be. Also, dishevelled. And with a distinctive glow in her cheeks. I don't think she was expecting to see me on the couch. Not with how much redder her cheeks are now. The car pulling away outside doesn't surprise her either. She looks at me, then upstairs.

"We didn't know you were going to be late." I am pointedly avoiding the real issue, for her sake.

"You didn't get my text?" She's already taking out her phone as I grab mine.

"Uhh, no…" I flip it so she can see the most recent messages.

"But I—Oh," It's like someone's flipped a switch. "So, that explains that, then…" she doesn't show me her phone.

"Why don't you just get cleaned up," I wave tiredly towards the stairs. "That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"You're not mad?" She seems surprised.

"Too tired to be mad today," I smile at her. "Plus, it was an honest mistake. It's not like we haven't made mistakes."

"Okay."

I flop back down on the couch as she thumps up the stairs. "Question time can wait anyway."

"…what?" Ah, the glorious embarrassment.

"Just get cleaned up. Dad's working on dinner."

"Okay." She sounds less sure this time. I do have to keep her on her toes sometimes. I'm not being mean, I just want to make sure she was safe.

Ten minutes later and she's back, wearing sweatpants and a fluffy woollen jumper. She fixes me with a harsh stare. "I feel really stupid about it, okay?"

"We've all made stupid mistakes like that. It's fine," I wave my hand lazily as she drops onto the couch. "So, can I ask what happened?"

"We just wanted to uhh—do things—without having to arrange a sleepover," she's staring at me, slightly confused. "Wait, why am I telling you this?"

"Because I've been honest with you about stuff like this. And also, because I was a bit worried, okay?"

There's a long pause before she replies. "Okay."

I sit up a little straighter, stealing a bit more blanket. "Your body, your feelings, your choices," I give her a little lop-sided grin. "I know you don't want or need a lecture from me, but sometimes it's kind of scary seeing you be independent like this."

"That scares you?" She seems very surprised by that admission. I am too, but more that I did admit it.

"It does," I nod slowly. "In ways you might not know. Because even though I know you'll grow up and move out one day, I'm afraid there'll be a time when you don't need me anymore."

She shuffles over to fall on top of me, looking up at me. "Mom, you're an idiot."

"Yeah… I suppose I am."

"Elsa knew it too…" she puts just enough pushy questioning behind that.

"Probably," I glance over at the clock. "I can tell you more about us. It might even be time for a montage."

She just groans.

"Highlights then, between that therapy session and the next—where I made some real progress, and kind of felt like shit afterwards."

"Mom!" Language! is what she wants to call me on, I know it.

—∞—

"Ow. Hot. Hot, hot." Elsa scrambled over to the sink to grab a glass of water.

"I told you to leave the cake alone." I had. Twice. She was fascinated by the melting jelly crystals in the cake, and even though the cake was cool enough to eat, I knew the crystals were going to keep that heat a little longer.

"Cake is better when it's warm."

"It's also better if you wait for me to ice it, woman."

"You say it like that, after you tell me it's an 'apology' cake." I can tell she's having fun from that evil little twinkle. "I think you'll need to make another."

"You could always help…"

She just smiled and shook her head, holding her hands out. "You've seen—and tasted—my efforts before now. You don't want that."

"Look, with a steady hand—" I hugged her from behind, taking hold of her wrists "—and somebody to guide you, you'd be fine."

Her hands took mine lower, resting against her stomach. Our fingers twined as she moved our hands lower still. I had to stand on tip-toes so I could rest my chin on her shoulder.

"No," I said softly. "Not yet." I hated leaving it like that. "I'm sorry."

"I… I can wait until you're ready." I could hear the edge, the determination and desire in her voice.

"I know how frustrating it is, but I don't want to push too hard like last time, or knock you off the bed again, or anything like that, and because it's all so tangled up and even with the therapy it's just—I have to say it. I have to. I'm afraid of being hurt. And I know you wouldn't, and I trust you, and I love you so much, and sometimes that makes feel like a failure of a girlfriend because we never have, but I want it to be good as much as you want it to be right. And I'm just… I… I don't know."

She turned to hug me, arms around my shoulders. "And that is what cake is saying."

"Yeah."


Elsa slid the laptop over, showing me another picture.

"So that one looks nice."

"Not sure I'm a fan of the pixie-cut. Or that piercing."

"Behave, you," she gave me a playful spank. "You know exactly what I mean."

She had suggested I really treat myself for Christmas. It was still a couple of weeks away, but one of her suggestions had stuck. Mostly because I'd seen her actually wearing her corset a couple of times, and helped her into it. It did wonderful things for her breasts, and I was hoping I could have the same effect. The one she'd found for me, in green, looked really nice. There was a subtle forest or leaf pattern sort of embossed on the fabric outside, and the inside was lined with cotton. I frowned when I saw the price, and again when I saw the delivery timing.

"Why does it take so long if it costs that much?"

"Because they custom make them, Anna," she snuggled into my shoulder. "Look, you have to give them all your measurements here, and they make it to order. You can choose other options here, see?"

"This is the same place you got yours from?"

"Yes. That is why I recommend them."

"I need to get you something for Christmas as well." It was an idle thought, but I did need to do something.

"Or you could make something, you are good with your hands."

"I suppose I am," I hugged her just a little too tight, my hands easily finding her breasts.

—∞—

"There's more to that one, but I'm going to skip it for your sake."

Joan gives me a slightly awkward smile. "Thanks."

—∞—

I turned when I heard Elsa slip against the stairs. She brushed it off and came down at a more reasonable pace. The towel she was wearing had slipped considerably lower. I wondered if it was deliberate. The slight blush and coy smile told me everything I needed to know. Then she shook her head and beckoned for me to follow.

"It's okay," she whispered to me at the top of the stairs. "I am not asking tonight. Just be with me."

"I can do that," I gave her a one-armed hug. "Always."

It was when we got to the attic that I saw her plan. Again, with blankets and pillows everywhere. And more than a little cold. If the window was open it wasn't such a great plan. Only then did I see what she'd unpacked the other day—a telescope. Just a small one, but enough to see some hidden detail in the night sky. And suddenly she was next to me, talking softly, hands guiding mine on how to set the angle and elevation. Declination and ascension she called them. She wrapped us up in all the blankets, then showed me the stars.

Despite the cold, it was an amazingly romantic gesture. One I deeply wished I could repay. More than we'd done the other night. Later, when I was sleepier than I would like to admit, I asked her to leave the towel behind. She helped me to undress, slow and gentle. Even the first touches. But then that feeling of self-loathing and shame hit me full force. And the fear. And I hated how it made no sense. No sense at all. But in a way, it did make sense. I wondered if I'd done this to myself. Punishment for letting him do that to me for so long. So I sat there, arms around my knees, and tried not to cry.

"Would you like to talk?" I felt Elsa's back against mine. Somehow she managed to get a blanket around the both of us.

"No…" it wasn't more than a whisper.

"Would you like a hug?"

"Yes." So she hugged me, for just a moment. "Hey…"

"Would you like a longer hug?"

"Please."

She hugged me again. Somehow, it felt a lot better. Warmer. Safer. She broke the embrace slowly.

"Was that long enough?"

I nodded, tidying my hair with one hand. "It felt better too."

"Because I had an idea," I could hear her smile. "About touching, and consent, and how vulnerable it makes you feel."

I let out a slow breath. "I think I need to talk about this with doctor Spiros," I turned to face her, meeting her eyes for moment. "You still can't make it?"

"No," she shook her head. "I keep asking about changing that schedule, but they won't let me. Not until someone else wants to swap to my time."

"Maybe a video call?"

"It would not be private enough," she leaned her forehead against mine. "I am not alone in that room. I do not think you want strangers hearing everything."

I shook my head, then threw myself backwards into the pillows. One was conveniently close enough to scream into. I heard a stifled laugh, and then Elsa was lying beside me, keeping her hands to herself, and where I could see them—and I almost resented that until I understood how seriously this meant she was taking what she'd just said. And also that if I wanted anything, I would have to ask for it.

"I'd like it if you could kiss me."

We tried a few things, but it was late, and we were both tired. I still remember my last 'request' though.

"I'd like it more if you were a blanket right now."