Chapter Text
Sometimes, when Sheila was worked up, she had a habit of saying “ What what what whaaat?” It was charming, in Sharon’s opinion. It was decidedly less charming when it was her own voice, and the only thought playing in Sharon’s mind. Over and over and over, like a broken record.
Ignoring how unsteady her voice was, she asked, “What do you mean by that?”
Sheila’s head lolled back to look outside of the car’s window, eyes watching sightlessly as the snow-covered scenery of South Park passed by. “I just mean… oh, well, I don’t quite know what I mean.”
Taking a deep breath to refocus her attention on driving and not the way that the voice in the passenger seat had rasped over her sentence, gravelly and attractive in ways Sharon didn’t want to think too hard about, she hardened her grip on the steering wheel. She tried to search for the words to say, the ones that might help her to solve this one mystery in the hundreds she was discovering, but there were none. Relaxing her grip, she said, “All right. You can just let me know when you understand what it means, yeah?”
Or we can work it out together, she didn’t say. That would be… that would be too much. Too much for right now, when her task was simply to return her friend home safely.
Sheila hummed distractedly, eyes slipping shut as a gentle sigh left her. Well, Sharon mused, I wouldn’t have gotten an answer anyways, with the state she’s in.
.*.
Back in her Jersey days, Sheila knew every hangover cure in the book. She could practically recite them all by heart, and personally recommend you the best ones based on the kind of alcohol you’d consumed the most of the night prior. The second she moved to South Park, however, that knowledge was no longer useful. It was difficult to get a hangover from a few glasses of wine enjoyed over the course of a few hours, in the company of those that she… was determining her feelings for.
It was times like these that she wished with all her being she had never forgotten those cures.
Groaning as she sat up in her bed, still in last night’s flowy sundress, Sheila patted around for her phone. Barely taking note of the empty, cold space beside her where Gerald would have slept alongside her [insert time period based on whether or not they’re already separated or not], she finally grasped it on her small nightstand. Belatedly, she realized she had no memory of arriving home. Or anything after her tenth glass of wine, for that matter, except for delighted laughter and the trace scents of smoke and char from Sharon’s backyard barbecue.
Dizzying head pangs stopped her train of thought, forcing her to get up and finally do something about it. She checked the time on her phone: 10:27. Much, much later than she would normally let herself wake up, even on a Saturday. Gerald would be at work now, then. Kyle was probably off playing with the rest of his little friend; she hoped that he had taken the time to eat something before leaving. Her Bubbie needed energy to play, after all.
Giggling laughter reached her ears from Ike’s bedroom down the hall, bringing a small but genuine smile to Sheila’s face. How she adored her boys.
Well, then. Time to start her day, make sure Ike had breakfast, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and got to the playground on time for his playdate. But first, some painkillers and a strong coffee were definitely needed.
A message notification on her phone was left unread as she got ready for her day.
.*.
Sharon woke up at 7:00 on Saturday morning, the perfect time for her to deal with the light headache from the drinks with Sheila before she had to get to work for 8:30.
A shower, a mug of coffee, some toast and forty-five minutes later, Sharon was in her car once more to begin the painstaking drive from the farm to the Rhinoplasty. Randy made enough now off of the farm to support them, so she didn’t have to work, but with his habits… Well, better safe than sorry. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of being penniless when everything inevitably crashed around her, as everything tended to do when it involved her husband. Partner. Whatever Randy was now.
What Sharon hadn’t prepared herself for, however, was the unbidden memories of last night. Sheila so gentle and soft from the alcohol in her passenger seat, her expression open and unguarded as she chattered inanely, trying to not succumb to sleep. It was adorable. It was perfect in every single way. If she focused, Sharon could remember the exact ways that Sheila’s lips twitched when she said certain words, the way her lips were dewy and soft from mindless licking.
Wait.
Sheila’s mindless licking—licking her own lips. From the alcohol. Not… not…
Well, there went any hopes of Sharon getting any productive thought processes done during her drive.
Actually, that plan was ruined the second she stepped foot into the vehicle. There was no way she would be able to put aside the memory of Sheila’s soft words, and the exposed honesty in them.
“I… Goodness, Sharon, I… really never want us to end.”
What on earth did that mean? Sharon knew that Sheila was very protective of her friends and family—she created a literal war against Canada, for crying out loud—so it wasn’t abnormal for Sheila to value their relationship.
Their very platonic relationship. On Sheila’s end, anyways. Sharon was… she didn’t think she was quite ready to admit what it was to herself yet, but whatever was beginning to blossom in her chest at the sight of Sheila was a little more than friendship. If the uncontrollable glances and the memories of Sheila’s lips were anything to go by, that is.
Sharon knew that Sheila had experimented some, back when she lived in New Jersey. It wasn’t something that Sheila talked about often, nor openly, but months of pleasant nights spent delicately sipping various alcohols tended to loosen one’s disposition. She had never expanded beyond the fact that she had made out with women, usually under the influence, so Sharon could assume it was harmless fun. They said that everyone experimented in college, after all.
Sharon had experimented. Once—just a single time. The girl had been twenty, herself nineteen. Sharon remembered barely anything about her, except for shoulder-length feathered black hair and big, beautiful green eyes. They were at a college party. All these years later, Sharon couldn’t even recall how or why she had gone. She was fairly certain it had happened at another campus entirely, in fact. But the other girl… Her name was lost in the ever-march of time, but Sharon didn’t think she would ever forget the taste of her watermelon lip gloss. Her lips had been soft, pleasantly tinged by the faint trace of rum and coke on her tongue. The kiss had only lasted a short while, hardly more than two seconds, but when they had parted the girl had smiled brilliantly and Sharon had laughed in return, high on the feeling of rebellion and exploration. Some of the louder and more obnoxious men nearby had cheered, creeps that they were, but Sharon had ignored them to shotgun the beer in her hand.
That was that. She never looked for the girl again—after all, she hadn’t hated the kiss, but she hadn’t loved it either. And it was a college party at another campus—it would be impossible to find one girl who had been in the throng of teenage and young adult partying. Sharon had never felt particularly inclined to value it, anyways.
But that brought the question.
Why was she thinking about a single kiss that had happened so long ago, so inconsequentially, now? When she had a… partner, and two kids whom she adored wholly. She had a life, and one she was happy in, at that.
Well. Happy enough.
Sheila… Sheila was amazing. More than amazing. She was phenomenal, a force of nature that forced everything in its path to tremble in reverence, that made the very fibres of Sharon’s being shake in awe. Really, she was lucky enough to have been graced with her friendship. Beautiful, beautiful friendship that let her spend time with Sheila, intimately and without restraint.
And by God, Sharon was going to do all she could to not jeopardize that friendship. Nor would she ever attempt to act on any feelings that might poorly impact her children. Her darling, wonderful children, who didn’t need to go through the pain of a divorce a second time.
So for now, she would settle for friendship. She was happy. She would disregard those soft, vulnerable words, and the beautiful voice that had uttered them.
And that would be enough.