Late to the Party ✔

16. Come hell or high water

She hid in the cover of darkness, weaving in and out between streetlights. Being seen around town with Jeanie in broad daylight was one thing. A midnight visit was a whole other. Her steps were curt and quick, fueled by determination and something akin to rage. That Jeanie would leave her again, by choice, without discussing it, without once breaking the charge that'd hung between them since she'd slid off that wedding band and allowed herself to feel. So many decisions had been made for them, rarely in their favor. Now they had a chance, and Jeanie wasted it.

She didn't have a plan, just pounded on the front door, persistently, with such force that she tumbled into the hallway when it was finally opened.

"Mary? What's going on?"

Jeanie's brown eyes were wide and watery in the dim light, her curls swept to one side like she'd repeatedly run her fingers through them, revealing the soft shell of her ear, the vast expanse of her freckled neck. She was in denim cutoffs and a band shirt and grimy socks, a bottle of beer held loosely in her hand. The jitters in Mary's stomach once more proved that she might've lost her mind; anyone else, she would've judged for their fashion choices. Jeanie, however, had never looked more stunning.

It only further ignited the familiar fire inside her.

She slammed the door behind her. The towering boxes and trash bags in the hall dulled the blow.

"I'm so mad at you, is what's going on!"

Jeanie closed her eyes and surrendered her head to the wall, the bottle dangling from her fingers. She breathed in deeply, rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. "Mare," was the word that fell from her lips, soft and pleading and hopeless, "Can we just —"

"No, we can't!"

Feelings crashed over her, tangled and giant and overwhelming like they only were when she let herself be true. This rage was not borne out of exasperation or irritation; it flowed straight from her heart, the other side of a coin that'd been given to her long ago, that she'd only stumbled upon again recently.

Her yelling took Jeanie by surprise; she blinked, her lips slightly parted. Mary had to force herself to look away from them, focus on the things she had to convey.

"You can't go around saying you want to..." she blustered, her cheeks warm as her gaze dropped again, "and then just leave."

Jeanie placed the bottle on a cardboard box. She raked her hands through her hair, hiding her face, then lowered them in defeat, shoulders slumping, the wall the only thing holding her up. "You can't even say it," she managed, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You run away whenever I get too close, and I just... I don't want to be someone who makes you uncomfortable. It brings up," she paused, a noticeable shudder running through her, "stuff."

Mary saw it then, the scars etched into the both of them, some deep, some shallow, some barely healed. Once, they'd been two girls who loved each other, and it had been simple, guiltless, a place of joy and contentment. Then, the world tore them apart, and the shame had erased the memories from her consciousness and moved them to her conscious. Relatively smooth, in comparison to Jeanie, who had no one left to care for her, who had been castigated for this thing that was entangled with her sense of self, who had to endure a year of no loving words, no safety, no peace. She was a complete fool for not realizing Jeanie would never be the one to take the first step. Second step? She lost count of where they were.

If she wanted this to happen, she would have to be the one to take the plunge.

She cast her eyes toward the heavens, silently asking God why He'd put her through all this, and finally looked back into the dazzling depths of brown. "Lord," she said, more a sigh than a prayer, "it's not that kind of uncomfortable."