Chapter Text
Chapter Sixteen
Running did not get rid of the MS hug, apparently. No matter how fast Agatha ran, or how hard her feet pounded the pavement from her house to the gallery, to the park, and back, she could still feel the phantom vice around her ribcage. It caused her to stop several times as she ran, bending over to catch her breath, which continued to come out way too shallowly as she pressed her hand between her breasts and rubbed.
Her pulse was racing, but her lungs refused to work correctly. Agatha felt as though she were drowning, and there was a stitch in her side that just wouldn’t let up until she was walking at a leisurely pace. She was lapped by an old lady with five-pound weights in her hands and a tracksuit the same color as Nickelodeon slime.
Agatha wrinkled her nose at the woman as she passed.
The woman didn’t even glance her way.
Agatha checked her watch, frowning when she saw that she had run about three miles in the time it usually would have taken her to run six or seven. She let out a groan and stomped her foot like a toddler.
The old woman glanced back at her over her shoulder, frowning at her. Agatha bit back the rude words she wanted to call out after the old bat.
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, instead. But it was hard to breath with so much pressure in her chest. She felt as though there were a snake wrapped around her middle, flexing every time she attempted to take a deep breath, making it shallower and shallower until she became even more frustrated and let out breaths like they were made to spite the snake.
But there was no snake. It was just her own stupid spine and nervous system making her feel this way.
Agatha gave up with a sigh and turned in the direction of her house, keeping a slow pace as she continued to rub her sternum, trying desperately to get her lungs to function like proper organs rather than the useless lumps of muscle and meat that they were. She could practically hear Jen in her ear, reminding her how to take ‘grounding breaths’ like she did when she was meditating.
“Breathe in for eight. Hold for eight. Out for eight. Count evenly each time.”
She would demonstrate, using her perfectly manicured fingers each time.
Agatha had just watched her, rolling her eyes. When Jen’s cheeks were puffy with her held breath, though, Agatha reached forward, poking one of them with her finger, giggling when the air came out from between Jen’s lips sounded like a fart.
“You are a child.”
Agatha giggled at the memory now, then winced as another ache vibrated through her. She hated this. She hated every part of this. And this was meant to be the next, what? Fifty years? Longer? Shorter? She didn’t even know how much time she was meant to have with this disease.
She didn’t know if she could handle it.
Tears started burning at the corners of her eyes for the third time that day as she turned the corner on her street. She stubbornly blinked them away as she reached into the pocket of her shorts for her house key.
“Finally!”
The voice startled her, and Agatha let out a tiny shriek as her eyes snapped up to the body that had been sitting on the front step right outside her door. She glared as Jen stood up, brushing dirt and whatever off of the ass of her burgundy suit pants. She was dressed for work, looking as though she’d had a morning full of meetings. Her sunglasses were perched on the top of her head as she gave Agatha an annoyed furrow of her brows.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been calling and texting you for, like, an hour!”
Agatha reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, frowning at the screen. “Your first text came in forty-two minutes ago,” she said. “And I’ve been running for, like, an hour.”
That wasn’t exactly true. Agatha had spent, at most, about 35 minutes running. The other 25 minutes had been spent attempting – and mostly failing – to catch her breath.
“Shouldn’t you be wrapped up in the sheets with your little rocker girlfriend, anyway?” Agatha huffed, striding past her to the front door. She tried not to breathe too heavily lest Jen catch her struggling to bring air into her lungs.
“It’s Monday, Agatha,” Jen said. “Some of us have work to do. Hell, you should be at work!”
“I didn’t feel like going in today,” Agatha said as she unlocked her front door and stepped into the foyer. She kicked off her sneakers and padded toward the kitchen with Jen following after her, the heels of her pumps clacking on the hardwood floor, then echoing off the linoleum. Agatha padded to her fridge and grabbed a couple of water bottles, tossing one behind her back at Jen.
It just narrowly missed hitting Jen in the face. She dodged it, then fumbled to grab it, mid-air, before it could hit the floor. Agatha didn’t even notice as she opened her own and downed the contents in seconds.
Jen waited for her as she took a few sips of her own. When Agatha tossed her bottle into the recycling, Jen set hers down on the counter, folded her hands in front of her, and leaned forward.
“So,” she said, “what happened?”
Agatha furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Nothing happened.”
“That’s not what Rio said,” Jen retorted, pretending to inspect her nails when Agatha looked up at her, eyes wide.
“You spoke to Rio?” she asked.
“She showed up at the gallery looking for you,” Jen revealed.
“She did?” Agatha felt her entire body warm at that. The pressure around her torso eased a bit at the same time. She took a deep breath, sighing in relief. “What…what did she say?”
“Not much,” Jen said. “She just said that she needed to talk to you and asked if you’d be coming into the gallery today. I said probably not because it was already, like, two by the time she made it in. You never come in that late.”
Agatha nodded in agreement, looking down at her own hands folded on the countertop. She suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Rio had come looking for her and she wasn’t there.
Then she felt a wave of irritation. Rio had been the one to shut her out in the first place, the reason Agatha had felt the need to leave so quickly this morning. She hadn’t even let Agatha explain…
About what?
She shut her eyes tight against the memory of those words in her head, and her hands began to rub at her sternum again. Her breathing was going shallow again and now there was an ache in her lower back. Everything just felt…wrong.
“Hey,” Jen said, suddenly right next to her. “Hey. Breathe, Agatha,” she said, her hands on Agatha’s shoulders. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Agatha opened her eyes to find Jen’s face right there.
“Breathe,” Jen instructed again. “I’m right here. Just take a deep breath. Remember what I taught you. Inhale for eight.” She situated her body next to Agatha’s, placing her hand right behind her lungs, rubbing firmly on that spot. It did help Agatha’s breathing just a little bit.
Agatha inhaled, counting to eight in her head.
“Good,” Jen coached. “Hold it for eight, too.” Agatha held the breath in her lungs, trying desperately to relax her shoulders. “Exhale for eight,” Jen said, “or as long and slow as you possibly can.” She continued to rub Agatha’s back through it. “There you go. Feel better?”
“Marginally,” Agatha huffed. “I fucking hate this.”
“Yeah, panic attacks suck,” Jen agreed, still rubbing Agatha’s back.
“It’s not a panic attack,” Agatha argued. “It’s the MS Hug.”
“MS Hug?” Jen asked, furrowing her brow. “That sounds fake.”
“That was my first thought,” Agatha snorted. “But nope. It’s real. Doesn’t feel like much of a hug, though. Feels more like a snake is wrapped around my bare lungs and squeezing the hell out of me.” She took another deep breath – or tried to. It was considerably harder when Jen wasn’t talking her through it, even if Jen’s hand was still on her back, still rubbing up and down. “This is the rest of my life, apparently.”
“Well, that sucks,” Jen said.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Agatha huffed, even as she lay her head on Jen’s shoulder. “Ugh, I cannot stand this. It’s been happening all fucking day.”
“When did it start?” Jen asked, guiding Agatha toward the kitchen table.
“This morning,” Agatha said, “when I was grabbing some water after spending a little time with my canvas.”
“Ooh,” Jen said, “you’re working on a new piece? Can I see?”
“Can you focus?” Agatha huffed. “This isn’t about my art, Jennifer.”
“Sorry,” Jen murmured. “Well, did you feel this hug thing while you were at Rio’s?”
Agatha was silent for a moment before she shook her head. “No,” she said.
“And what, exactly, causes it?” Jen asked.
Agatha shrugged. “Dr. Calderu said that it could be caused by stress.”
“And what, exactly, is stressing you out today?” Jen asked, but her voice suggested that she already knew the answer – and she was rather certain that Agatha knew, as well.
Stupidly, though, Agatha shrugged. She refused to meet Jen’s eye as she did, though.
“I have no idea,” she murmured.
“Girl,” Jen huffed. “Don’t play dumb. As much as I call you a dumb bitch, we both know you’re not.”
“Can I get that in writing?” Agatha asked, turning back to her.
“Absolutely not,” Jen snorted. “Now answer the question: what do we think is stressing out Agatha Harkness today?”
“That could be any number of things,” Agatha huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Agatha.” Jen flicked her between the shoulder blades.
“Fine!” Agatha took a few steps out of Jen’s embrace, avoiding her gaze as she pressed her lips together so tightly that they turned white. She swallowed thickly and exhaled. “We had a great night last night,” she started. “We didn’t, like, have sex or anything,” she hastened to add, knowing Jen, “but it was…nice. We kissed…a lot.”
“Gross,” Jen said with the same inflection that one might say, “cute”.
Agatha rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the heat in her cheeks or the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips as she remembered Rio’s mouth on hers. Rio’s hands had gone under her sweaters, her thumbs pressing into Agatha’s belly, making her snort and giggle against her lips even as she moaned, as well. Rio’s hips had pressed into hers, sending heat surging through Agatha as they—
“Can we please focus?” Jen huffed, snapping her fingers in Agatha’s face. “What exactly happened that stressed you out this much? Why did Rio come to see me today? What aren’t you telling me?”
Agatha took a deep breath. “I just said something stupid and hurt her, I guess.” She shrugged. “I tried to apologize immediately afterward, but she shut down and didn’t really let me…so I left.” She furrowed her brow, turning to Jen. “Didn’t she tell you this already?”
“More or less,” Jen admitted, “but there’s always two sides to every story. And I’m pretty sure I have an obligation to take your side – since we’re sisters and everything, you know?”
“Even when I’m definitely in the wrong on this one?” Agatha asked.
“Ride or die, bitch,” Jen said. “Even if I wanna kill you half the time.”
“Aww, you say the sweetest things,” Agatha cooed, flipping her off.
Jen returned the gesture.
“Anyway,” Jen said, “have you tried to text or call her since this morning?”
“No,” Agatha sighed. “I decided to give her a little space. My phone is on Do Not Disturb.”
“Idiot,” Jen huffed.
“Why?”
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“What’s with the animosity all of a sudden?” Agatha asked, taking her phone out of her pocket and turning off DND mode.
Immediately, notifications flooded the screen, rolling in one after another from the past few hours. There were texts and calls from both Jen and Rio, as recently as an hour prior.
Jen’s were mostly along the lines of “where are you?” and “when are you coming to do your job, bum?” and “why is your girlfriend in my office?” whereas Rio’s were mainly just requests to talk and apologies.
Her last text just read: I’ll be at the support group tonight. I hope I’ll see you there?
The question mark made Agatha’s stomach both flutter and tighten at the same time. She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out shallow again. She let out a groan as she placed her phone face-down on the counter.
“Fuck,” she groaned, rubbing her sternum again.
“What did she say?” Jen asked, coming up next to her. She didn’t reach for the phone, but Agatha saw her eyeing it.
“She said she’s going to the support group tonight,” Agatha said. “She hopes to see me there.”
“That’s it?” Jen huffed, lifting eye brow skeptically.
“No, of course that’s not it,” Agatha huffed. “But it’s none of your business. I don’t ask questions about your relationship with Alice.”
“It’s going well,” Jen offered anyway.
“Good for you.”
“I really like her.”
“Fantastic.”
“It is. Thank you,” Jen said, smiling happily.
Agatha wanted to punch her stupid face.
“Your relationship could be this happy,” Jen said, “if you let it. If you stopped being such a dumbass.”
“Fuck off,” Agatha grumbled.
“Am I wrong?” Jen retorted. “Girl, you had a nice time last night. You could have what Alice and I have, easily! You just have to let yourself have it!”
“It’s not that easy,” Agatha retorted, but even she knew that her argument was weak. She knew that Jen was right. And she hated it. “I don’t do relationships.”
“Yet, you’re in one,” Jen pointed out. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you and Rio…it’s a thing. Just accept it.”
Agatha had to fight the urge to deny it. She didn’t even want to deny it, really. She could admit that she and Rio were…something. She didn’t know if she was quite ready to call it a relationship yet. She hadn’t been in many relationships, after all. She didn’t know if she were capable of a real relationship…
But with Rio…she felt her heart flutter. The very thought of Rio made her insides melt a little, which was embarrassing, to say the very least. She’d known the woman less than two weeks now, but she knew there was something there even if she was still too scared to admit it to herself – or anybody else, for that matter.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Agatha asked. “I mean, I hurt her this morning without even trying to. And you know me. You know what happens when I get angry. You know how…mean I can get. What if I do that to her?”
“You could try therapy again,” Jen suggested.
Agatha scoffed.
“I know,” Jen said, before Agatha could give her a smart retort, “that you’ve tried it before and it didn’t do much for you. I get it. But you’re standing here, telling me that you’re so worried about hurting your situationship—”
“Ew, don’t call it that,” Agatha said.
“—that you’re attempting to talk yourself out of it even though you know and I know that it’s something you very much want.” Jen leveled her with a knowing look, daring Agatha to refute it.
She didn’t.
“Please,” Jen said, “go see a therapist. I can recommend a good one.”
“Of course you can,” Agatha sighed.
“Seriously, Agatha,” Jen said, her voice losing all brevity as she leveled her with a hard gaze. “Think about it. Please.”
Agatha took a deep breath. “Maybe,” she said.
“And while you’re thinking about it,” Jen said, “go to your group therapy and talk to your girl. She deserves that at the very least.”
Again, infuriatingly, Jen was right.
Agatha would rather pry her own teeth out with her bare hands than say it, though.
So, instead, she just rolled her eyes and said, “Whatever.”
Rio was the first one at the community center that night, but it wasn’t because she was hoping to see Agatha there. She knew it was more than likely that Agatha wouldn’t show up – if she ever came to another session again after how Rio had treated her, that was.
It was more that she didn’t really know what else to do that night. She had spent the majority of the afternoon after leaving the gallery wallowing in her own self-pity, rotting on the couch with a bag of chips and watching television – she could not even tell you what she had watched, however, as she had spent the majority of it inside her own head.
By the time Dulce had returned home from…wherever the hell her baby sister had gone that day, Rio had fully disassociated and was staring blankly at the QVC channel, passively contemplating ordering a pair of dinosaur-shaped salt shakers (even though the forms were entirely inaccurate to the shapes of T-Rexes). It took Dulce literally grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her to snap her out of the trance she was in.
“Hmm?” Rio said, blinking up at her in the low light of the living room. When had the sun started to set?
“Okay,” Dulce sighed. “Get up. Go take a shower because you stink, and then we’re going to therapy.”
“We?” Rio had asked.
“Yes, we,” Dulce huffed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen everybody, and I don’t have work tonight, so I might as well join you.”
“But, I—”
“Nope,” Dulce said. “No buts. Go take a shower and put on something clean.”
“Dulce, you don’t—”
“I don’t care what you have to say right now, stinky,” Dulce said. “You reek. The cats don’t even want to come near you and they shit in a box.”
Reaper and Swan were hanging out on their cat tree in the corner, where they rarely spent any time when either of their humans were around, preferring to lounge on either Rio or Dulce, but they hadn’t even attempted to climb into Rio’s lap since she returned, probably sensing the bad energy rolling off of her in waves.
“Go take a shower,” Dulce had said, pulling her from the couch and shoving her in the direction of the bathroom, making Rio stumble against the wall. “Sorry,” Dulce said, even as she started spraying the couch with Febreze and opened the windows to air out the living room. Rio had flipped her off as she stumbled into the bathroom.
After a long, cleansing shower and a change of clothes (jeans and a dino-patterned button up) Rio and Dulce headed toward the community center for group therapy. They showed up twenty minutes early, but that was fine. The local high school was still using the space for their girls’ basketball practice. The coach had them running drills.
“Hey, look!” Dulce said as they walked in together. “It’s Coach Rambeau!”
“Who said my name?” the tall black woman asked, turning around with a clipboard in her hand. Her eyes found Dulce and Rio almost immediately, a smile appearing on her lips at the sight of them. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, “am I hallucinating? Is that my star player I see?”
Rio rolled her eyes, flushing. “I was far from your star player,” she huffed.
“Girl, you still hold the record for most three-pointers in a single game,” Coach Rambeau said, approaching her with arms outstretched. Rio didn’t resist the hug the taller woman gave her, squeezing her just as tightly back. “How have you been, Vidal?” she asked. “And is this baby girl Vidal?”
“I’m not a baby,” Dulce huffed, much the way she had when she’d been a precocious four-year-old, sitting on the bench next to the coach during their practices and games. She and Coach Rambeau’s daughter, Monica, had shared snacks and cheered on the girls.
“Not anymore,” the coach said, cupping her cheek. “My my, look at you! So grown up now! You still a genius?”
“Maybe,” Dulce replied, coyly. “How’s Mon?”
“Ask her yourself,” Coach said. “Monica! Look who’s here!”
Across the court, working with a few girls on their jump shots, was another familiar face. Monica had that same dimple in her right cheek that a much younger Dulce had insisted meant that they must be long-lost sisters or something despite looking nothing else alike at all.
She beamed the second her eyes landed on Dulce, waving at them before returning to the girl at her side and instructing her to make her shot. She gave the girl a high-five when it sailed through the net.
“Fantastic!” she exclaimed, her voice reverberating through the court. “Good job, Gabby! Okay ladies, I think we can call it a night. What do you think, Coach?”
“I think we’ve tortured them enough for one night,” Coach Rambeau agreed. “Good job tonight, ladies. Go hit the showers, huh?”
“There are no showers here,” one of the girls said, furrowing her brow at Coach Rambeau as she slipped her hoodie on over her jersey.
“It’s an expression, Kayla,” Coach Rambeau sighed. “Just go wait for your dad.” The blonde girl shrugged and practically skipped toward the door, flanked by her friends, who were all giggling and nudging each other.
Rio watched them with a lopsided grin, remembering when that was herself and her teammates back in high school. Only they also had a toddler hanging off of their legs.
Said toddler was now standing next to her, nearly twenty years older, and staring at Monica Rambeau with wide eyes and pink cheeks. Rio nudged her shoulder and shot her a sidelong grin. Dulce nudged back, looking down at her feet as she grumbled something under her breath.
“Hey, Dulce!” Monica called out, jogging toward her. “How are you?”
Dulce looked up as she approached, smiling shyly at her. “H-hey, Mon!” she said. “I’m good. How are you? How long has it been?”
“Since Rio went away to college, I think,” Monica said, stopping about two feet away from them. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. Her brown eyes were soft as she grinned at Dulce, her cheeks a bit darker. “I can’t believe you abandoned us,” she said, looking at the older woman. “And for what? An education?” She scoffed, playfully.
“Sorry I didn’t want to spend my whole life in high school,” Rio snorted, reaching out to hug Monica. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good,” Monica said. “I got a sports scholarship at Princeton.”
“Princeton?” Rio gasped, pulling back. “Look at you, smarty pants!”
Monica rolled her eyes, bashfully. “Shut up,” she huffed. “It’s not like I went to college at, like, fourteen, like some people.” She eyed Dulce, whose blush deepened.
“Don’t be jealous,” Dulce said, lifting her chin and crossing her arms. She gave Monica a dimpled grin.
“So,” Rio said, “what are you doing now? Besides coaching girls in basketball?”
“Oh,” Monica said, “this is just my side gig – helping Mom and all that, you know.” She cleared her throat, running her hand through the tight girls on her head. “I’m attending grad school for chemical engineering.”
“Whoa,” Dulce and Rio said in unison, their eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Coach Rambeau said, coming up next to her daughter and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “Whoa. Her mama and I are so proud.” She pressed a kiss to Monica’s cheek. Monica blushed again, rolling her eyes even as she wrapped her own arm around her mother’s waist. “So,” Coach Rambeau said, “what are you girls up to now? What brings you to the community center?”
Rio and Dulce glanced at each other. Dulce bit her bottom lip and shrugged. Rio looked down at the cane in her hand, wondering if either of them had even noticed her leaning on it.
“There’s a support group tonight,” Rio said. “For people with MS.”
Coach Rambeau didn’t even look surprised. She just nodded.
“I was wondering about that,” she said. “I’ve seen a few of your videos on TikTok. How are you feeling?”
“I’m doing alright,” Rio said. “I might have to sit soon, though. I think my leg is going numb again.” She tried to shake it a little bit, but there was almost zero feeling in her foot. She frowned.
“Need a little help there, hon?” Coach Rambeau said, offering her arm. “Come on.”
Rio let herself be led to the bleachers, sitting down with the coach while Monica continued to pick up the basketballs from the court, tucking them all into a giant netted bag. Dulce wasted no time in helping her.
“So, how have you been, really?” Coach Rambeau asked. “How are your parents?”
“They’re not a part of our lives anymore,” Rio admitted. “Not since Duls graduated college, anyway. Long before that, though, if I’m being honest.”
Coach Rambeau nodded. “Not surprising,” she said. “I’m sorry, hon.”
“Don’t be,” Rio scoffed. “I’ve been a single parent pretty much since middle school, anyway. They never did much for either of us except the bare minimum. Barely even did that.” She took a deep breath. “Dulce and I are doing just fine without them.”
“You always did,” Coach Rambeau said. “But if you ever need anything, you know you can call me, right?”
Rio nodded. “I know,” she said. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Girl, I am not your coach anymore. Call me Maria.”
“I can’t do that,” Rio huffed. “That would make you a person instead of my teacher.”
“And we can’t possibly humanize our teachers, can we?” Coach Rambeau – Maria – snorted.
“Exactly,” Rio said, nodding sagely. “I’m glad you understand.”
She glanced back at Dulce and Monica, who were now standing together in the center of the court, laughing about something, standing pretty closely together. She pressed her lips together as she stared out at them.
Coach Rambeau followed her gaze and chuckled. “Saw that coming from a mile away,” she said. “Even when they were little girls.”
“Really?” Rio asked. “I didn’t even know about Dulce until today.”
“Really? I knew Monica had a thing for her when they were six. All she would talk about was Dulce this and Dulce that. All damn day, every day. She cried when you were no longer on the team. And it wasn’t because she missed you.”
“I would feel more insulted by that,” Rio said, “if they didn’t look so cute together.” Monica pulled out her phone and said something to Dulce that made her blush to the tips of her ears. “I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing Monica more. I missed her. I missed you both.”
And it was true. Rio hadn’t seen much of Coach Rambeau and her daughter since high school. In college, she’d gone back to watch a few of her games and cheer on the teammates she’d left behind, but then she’d gotten too busy and lost touch with them all.
“Come by anytime,” Coach Rambeau said. “I’ll send you the games schedule, too. Your picture is still hanging up in the foyer at the high school, right next to the championship trophy. Some of these girls worship you. You’re practically their god.”
“Well, that’s flattering,” Rio said, “if a little creepy.”
Coach Rambeau laughed. It was that same warm, full-bellied sound she used to make when Rio was in high school. It was a sound that filled her with inexplicable joy. She loved making her coach – and anybody else – laugh. It was one of the first times she’d realized that she’d like to do that for a living.
“Rio?” a voice said, interrupting her thoughts.
Rio looked up to see Wanda approaching, her husband and kids a few feet behind her, carrying bags of snacks.
“You’re here early!” she said, smiling warmly at her. “And who’s this?” She eyed Coach Rambeau.
“I’m the basketball coach,” Rambeau said, standing up, “for the high school girls’ team. I used to coach Rio, as well.”
“You played basketball, Rio?” Wanda gasped. “Wow! I never would have guessed.”
“I feel like I’ve mentioned it before,” Rio said, flushing as she stood up. “Do you need help setting up?”
“We’ve got it,” her husband said. “Boys, go get the chairs, please?”
The two ten-year-olds raced off toward the supply room as Wanda’s husband approached the table that had already been set up in the back of the room and started laying out the snacks they’d brought. Wanda smiled after him, lovingly.
“Isn’t he great,” she said, grinning at Rio and Coach Rambeau.
“A real gentleman,” Coach Rambeau agreed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Have a nice session. Rio, call me, okay? We’ll get together soon.”
Rio nodded, allowing herself to be enveloped in a hug.
If she were being honest, she had latched onto Coach Rambeau as somewhat of a mother figure when she was in high school. She was always asking about Rio’s schoolwork and grades, making sure that she was eating enough and even bringing food in for the girls to eat after long practices. She’d take them out to eat after pretty much every game, win or lose. Rio wasn’t the only girl on the team with absent parents.
Coach Rambeau made sure that they were all being taken care of. Her and Dulce.
“Monica,” Coach Rambeau called to her daughter as she let go of Rio. “Let’s go, hon. Mama’s probably burning dinner by now and calling for a pizza.”
“What else is new?” Monica snorted. She turned back to Dulce with a bashful smile. “See you later?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Dulce replied, smiling just as shyly, her face practically crimson. “Definitely.”
Monica squeezed her shoulder as she passed, jogging to catch up with her mother. Coach Rambeau bumped her shoulder as they walked out together. She waved over her shoulder at Dulce, who waved back.
When Rio caught her eye, giving her a knowing smirk, Dulce flipped her off with a huff. Rio blew a kiss at her and snickered.
Dulce helped the twins set up the chairs in the usual circle, then gushed about how much they’d both grown in the last year, squishing a blushing Tommy’s round cheeks and mussing Billy’s hair. The boys laughed even as they pushed her away.
By the time others started wandering in for the support group, Dulce had claimed a seat next to Rio, fighting to keep Rio from stealing her Oreos. Rio pouted at her and called her mean, but she was finally starting to feel normal again.
Then Agatha walked in and everything seemed to stop.