Chapter Text
Oona is really fucking tired of Ramona leaving for a year only to drop back in on a whim. It’s only been the second time, but once was more than enough. Except, the difference between now and then is that when she comes back, she’s smiling. And she means it this time.
It nearly makes her sick. What an awful person she must be to see such a beautiful and perfect smile, only to flinch at the sight of it. What a terrible best friend she must be to only want that smile to be because of her. Though, she’s not quite sure “best friend” really fits in her mouth anymore when she thinks of Ramona.
They haven’t been next to each other in a year, and Oona’s been too much of a coward to open her letters, much less pick up the damn pen herself.
Oona has always been the one to say that running away is the worst option. That they can’t bail on one another.
Except, Ramona left, and Oona let her. Sometimes, she thinks that was the worst decision she could have made, but as she sees Ramona’s skin glow, with her eyes even brighter, she knows it was worth it.
A part of her is glad that Ramona hasn’t stopped by to see her. Oona knows that she’ll come eventually—she always comes back—but she isn’t quite sure how to deal with that.
What can she say? Sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I’ve just been busy.
Instead, she’s left to watch her from a distance, from behind the thin curtains of her boat windows. Oona skipped out on work all week, and it’s a miracle that Joe hasn’t fired her from the Marina. Though, she suspects Ellis has been covering for her. Some lame excuse about how she’s studying for final exams.
If it weren’t for Sully, Oona wouldn’t pick up a textbook at all.
So, Oona watches as Ramona stops by the Marina nearly everyday for her shift. She still dodges Joe, still doesn’t look twice at Oona’s home. But, when she thinks about it for even a second longer, she’s actually really pissed that Ramona hasn’t barged in to confront her. With all of her attempts to reach out over the past year, one would think that she’d reach out to her now that she’s here.
Oona snaps out of her daze, quickly jerking the curtains closed when Maple stomps down from the upper deck. She has her Marina Crew shirt on with a baseball cap flipped backwards. Every time Oona looks at her, she’s suddenly grown a little taller, her hair a little longer.
Oona feels herself tearing up whenever she comes to the startling realization that her sweet baby sister won’t stay little forever. Although, what does that mean for herself? She hasn’t exactly dreamed much for her future, just knows Maple will be in it, and maybe her mum if she returns with the world’s most meaningful apology. Even then, she still might not want to keep her in her life. But Maple would want to finally have her back.
Outside of that, she’s thought of traveling some more, maybe somewhere in Latin America or East Asia. Thought of adopting a dog, maybe to go on hikes with. Thought of meeting Kaia Gerber again.
Even then, Oona doesn’t dream. She’s never allowed herself to.
“Are you ever going to talk to her?” Maple asks knowingly, placing her copy of Flights on their bookshelf. This has been a recurring contention between them for the last year, and it has been incredibly difficult to evade the conversation the longer Oona’s continuous dismissal draws out.
Oona has half a mind to wave her off and play dumb, but she doesn’t. “Not yet,” she replies lamely, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “I’m waiting.”
“For what exactly?” Maple retorts, still as childish and snappy as ever. “For pigs to fly? You can’t ignore her forever.”
“I’m not ignoring her.” Oona frowns, defensive. She picks at a loose thread on the pillow, twirling it around her finger. “I’m just, you know…”
“What do you call this then?” Maple stalks toward Oona’s bed, frustrated and tense, mood switching at a moment’s notice. A hand shoves beneath the pillows.
“Wait no—!” Oona launches herself the short distance across her mattress. She tries to bat Maple away. “Don’t!”
Maple yanks the pile of unopened letters out anyway, and Oona tugs her onto the bed by her shirt, struggling to reach the stack clutched so tightly in her little sister’s hand. Maple wriggles violently beneath her, slamming her fists against Oona’s shoulders.
“Get off of me!”
“Then let go!” Oona tries to pry the envelopes away from her, watching in horror as the paper creases. “Stop! You’re crumpling them—! Fuck! That was my tit!”
As a painful throb radiates through her chest, Maple finally slips free from her with a harsh twist. The letters go flying. They flutter through the air before scattering onto the floor.
Oona dives after them, uncaring for her own body as it slams into the floorboards. With shaky hands, she picks up each and everyone with tender care. Once more, she’s forced to look at the scrawl of her name over and over until her eyes begin to burn.
Maple touches her shoulder gently, kneeling beside her. With kind and sympathetic eyes, she offers two more letters that were missed. “I’m sorry. I just- It sucked having to watch you mope all week.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Oona shakes her head, accepting the last two. Her finger carefully traces Ramona’s handwriting. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”
“You know that isn’t what this is about,” Maple insists, eyebrows pinching together. “It just feels weird seeing Ramona without you around. And I sort of miss hanging out with the both of you… and Annie and Sully and Ellis.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Sometimes, she thinks that’s the only thing she can say. “It’s just hard, you know?”
Maple reels back as if that was the exact thing she didn’t want to hear, snapping back into her frustration. “You always say that. Fuck—”
Oona flinches at her cussing, entirely unaware of when she started doing that.
“—Why can’t you be honest with yourself? With her?”
“Excuse me?” Oona shoots to her feet, looking down at Maple. Her voice raises as her heart clenches harder now. “I’m not some liar, Maple. You don’t get to just call me that.”
“Oh yeah?” Maple stands up, already reaching for her sister’s closet. A grey shirt is swiped from the shelf and hurled at her face. “Then prove it.”
An offended gasp slips from her lips. “Maple!”
Her little sister doesn’t look back once as she storms outside and jumps down onto the dock. Oona stares at the space she had once occupied, unable to process what the hell just happened. It takes longer than a few moments for her to unfurl the shirt, blinking down at the bold, blue font of Marina Crew.
She scoffs and flings it at the wall.
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“Oona~!” Her name is sing-songed as the front door swings open, chiming.
Immediately lighting up at the sound, Oona tosses the waiter pad onto the front corner as she twirls around and opens her arms. “Hi baby.”
Annie squeezes her tight as if they hadn’t just seen one another earlier that week. Her luxury perfume slightly masks the scent of sunscreen, but it’s a familiar blend that’s soothing. She pulls back only enough to look Oona in the eye. “I’ve been missing you at the Marina, you know?”
Oona shrugs, unsure of how to reply. Instead, she asks a simple and easy, “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Annie drags the word out a little, almost anxious as she tries to string together her next words. “We’re having a party tomorrow night.”
“Ooh, the Jacobsons are having a lil party,” Oona teases, smiling wider. “You know I’m always down.”
“Right, about that.” Annie steps back and lets out a nervous chuckle. Her sunglasses push back her hair, elegant and charming. “It’s a, uhm— It’s a welcome home party for Ramona.”
“Ah,” Oona hums, reaching to hold onto the front counter’s edge. It’s cool and smooth, something to ground her. “That’s great. I mean, really. It’s good that she’s visiting.”
“I mean, that’s not really,” Annie swallows thickly, nearly collecting sweat on her forehead. “She’s not just visiting, you know? She’s home.”
Oona lets out a sardonic laugh. “New York is her home. She made that perfectly clear when she fucked off there for a year.”
“You know that isn’t—” Annie clears her throat when her voice nearly cracks, suddenly hyper-aware of where they are. Oona’s eyes flick around, watching closely as a few curious glances are thrown their way. Then she catches the critical look from Sully’s mum who’s at the furthest side of the counter, and she finds that the floor looks rather interesting.
Annie crosses her arms behind her back. “It would mean a lot if you were there.”
Oona tries to think of a boring excuse, except all of them fall short. Maple can stay home by herself for one night, or even camp upstairs in Annie and Romana’s room if she only wants to hang around in the chaos for thirty minutes. And Oona already finished classes a week before, though Joe is the only one who doesn’t know.
(She actually has graduation in a week, but she’s desperately trying to forget that. It’s really not a big deal.)
I can’t is on the tip of her tongue, but then a patron waves her down. And like the world’s largest idiot, all she can do is swipe the waiter pad from the counter and point behind her with a pen.
“I’ve got to get that.” Oona takes a large step back. “I’ll see you—”
Annie’s eyes widen, hand reaching out. “Wait!”
“Behind you—!”
Before Oona can even blink, a blunt edge slams into her back and cold liquid sloshes down her clothes. Wet and sticky. Stunned, she doesn’t move, watching in slow motion how Annie gapes before her face pinches in sympathy.
“Right.” Oona unties her apron with one sharp tug before tossing it onto the counter, crumpled by her strong grasp. Tension builds up at the back of her neck, and a dull throb presses into her skull.
When she turns, scared, wide eyes look back at her as a stream of I’m so so so sorry! is gasped. They’re one of the newer faces that got hired just this past month. A face that is quickly becoming ghastly. Pitying them, she lightly squeezes their shoulders. “We’re okay, babe. We’ll talk about this later, yeah?”
After receiving a sharp nod, Oona pats them on the shoulders once more before rushing out the front door. Barely, she hears Annie ask, “So, is that a yes?”
The humid air clings to her skin the moment she steps out. It’s been sitting at about 25° for the past week, and she’s wildly tempted to jump into the nearest lake. She tugs off her shirt, grabbing a fist full of damp fabric at her back before the whole thing slips over her head. The corner of her lip tugs downward as she sees her white work shirt freshly stained brown.
Little Gem, all splotched and ruined.
When she bunches it up, ready to walk around the building to the back in shame, her eyes catch on the figure standing at the end of the block. They’re already looking at her. Oona doesn’t even need her eyes to focus, knowing deeply well that’s the shape of Ramona.
The sun casts at just the right angle, scattering its light across freshly cut hair that now falls just below her shoulders. Her freckles are so familiar. Her tattoos are the same. Kind eyes are cast towards Oona, honeyed by the sun, warm and familiar.
A red, sleeveless shirt stops just at her waist, and Oona remembers being sprawled on Ramona’s bed as the scissors cleanly cut through the fabric. Jorts hang loosely off her hips, and all she can do is stare, taking in every detail. All the way down to the carabiner clipped to her belt loop, and how she can remember the exact chime her keys make when they jostle with movement.
Ramona smiles, blinding and beautiful, and Oona is stuck between running towards her and bolting in the opposite direction. She can’t make up her mind quickly enough, so when Ramona makes the decision for them, Oona doesn’t walk away.
She’s a big girl. She can talk to her ex- best friend and be chill. (Hundred percent. Very chill.)
When Ramona walks over, shortening the distance to less than a meter apart, Oona’s arms open wide automatically. It isn’t a conscious act, just a reaction of Ramona being so near. There is no hesitation as Ramona steps closer, arms tightly wrapping around her waist as Oona drapes herself over her shoulders. Too intimately familiar with all the places Ramona perfectly settles into.
No words are shared between them, just a quiet understanding drifting between the two. They stay there long enough that the pounding in her skull now aches behind her eyes. The steady presence of Ramona is nearly intoxicating, too used to Romana’s desperation to flee. It’s been a year, and fuck, a vulnerable and scared part of her thought that maybe she would never be held like this again. Because, that part of her did think she was going to be forgotten and abandoned, again.
Still, somehow, never enough.
Ramona’s cheek presses into her bare sternum, and she feels a little more exposed than usual with her top off. It worries her a little, how Ramona can likely hear—feel—the rapid thumping of her heart.
Oona breathes deeply, chin resting against the crown of Ramona’s head. She kisses the top of her head once, brief and fleeting, before she pulls away and crosses her arms. Her throat tightens miserably as she scrambles for something to say.
“I—”
“—You smell like an espresso machine.”
Oona gasps, amused, unable to hide the little grin on her face. Her shirt unravels in her hand and lightly whacks Ramona’s side. “Rude, it’s almost like I work at a market café.”
“Ouch!” Ramona exaggerates a flinch, holding her side as if actually bruised. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing!”
“How else was I supposed to take it?” Oona feigns an affronted laugh, poorly masking the rush of joy that enters her bloodstream. “You left for a year and the first thing you have to say is that I smell bad?”
“You don’t smell bad,” Romana flounders, trying to argue. “It was just like a general observation.”
“A general observation, really?” She teases, too thrilled with egging her on for a reaction.
“You know that isn’t—”
“Oh.” Oona nearly jumps out of her skin when she turns and sees Annie. Her sunglasses are already slipped over her eyes, but her piqued interest is impossible to miss in her voice, near mischievous and meddling. “So, I’m guessing we’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Yeah, of course.” Oona clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair, trying to be as relaxed and unbothered as possible. “D’you want me to bring anything?”
“No need.” Annie grins wide, excited. “Just bring your pretty little head.”
“Cool, cool,” Oona replies, super nonchalant. She motions behind her, not in any direction in particular. “I’ve got to head out. Still need to change my shirt, and I’m not actually supposed to be on break right now.”
“Oh yes, you should definitely get that handled.” Annie graciously understands, nodding as she gives her an out. “Wouldn’t want to stink of espresso all shift.”
Ramona gapes, trying to back pedal once more. “She doesn’t stink. Like, there’s nothing bad about smelling like coffee.”
Annie’s lips press together, dipping slightly. “Well.”
“Alright!” Ramona pats Annie’s shoulder once. “Glad that’s settled. I still have to run some errands for the Marina, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There’s a pitch in Ramona’s tone as if she’s unsure, but her smile is hopeful anyway. Oona would rather die than see her hurt, so she gets over herself long enough to draw her hand back, prompting. Without pause, a crisp slap rings out when their palms meet, satisfying when their fingers curl into each other and shake once.
“Sweet, that one was delicious.” Oona grins, trying to tone down her natural charm. She overthinks her words and forces her eyes toward Annie, smoothly using her as an excuse to evenly pass around the goodbye gesture.
Although, when Annie goes in for it, her hand isn’t firm enough and her aim is just a smidgen off. The sound is feeble, less than rewarding, and Oona isn’t surprised but still a little disappointed. When their fingers fold into each other, Oona uses her other hand to cup Annie’s fist, meeting her eyes as she says, “Oof, babe, we still have to work on that.”
“Yeah, yes, mhm,” Annie nods, a little stressed as their hands release and her fingers begin to play with her necklace. “Both Ellis and Connor think I’m hopeless.”
“No, fuck them,” Oona protests, forearms crossing in disagreement. “Men just hate to see women succeed.”
A laugh bursts out of Ramona, unexpected yet genuine. Annie frowns instead, taking it literally as she tries to overcorrect and explain, “It’s not that they don’t want me to learn—”
“I’m joking,” Oona tells her, laughing when Ramona’s face pinches like she actually agreed with the sentiment. She assuredly pats Annie’s shoulder. “I’ll see you two.”
With a definitive turn, she goes to walk away, entering from the back to avoid Sully’s mum. Over her shoulder, she hears Annie yell, “Tomorrow! 8pm! The green cottage!” Oona shakes her head and chuckles, merely throwing her hand up in a half-hearted wave, not bothering to turn around.
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Oona considers herself as a rather laid-back and carefree person. She’s grown to not stress about the things she can’t control. Like the weather, the prime minister, her mum. She isn’t old enough to legally buy a drink in Muskoka, barely turned old enough to vote in April. With a little sister to take care of, she can’t exactly focus on much outside of that.
What she does stress about is the status of Maple’s study permit since Oona was stupidly slow to apply for renewal. She wasn’t aware that primary school permits only last a year, but from what she was told, the longest it takes to be approved is three months. And since she applied a month ago, Maple should be fine by the end of the summer.
What she also stresses about is her own work permit application now that she’s completed secondary school. It shouldn’t be a big deal, is what she continues to tell herself because it shouldn’t, but then she falls into a rabbit hole about next year when she has to renew their passports—
But that’s next year’s problem, right? She tries to find relief in that.
So, yes, outside of those rather pressing matters, she’s much more of a go with the flow sort of person.
Except when it comes to her fucking period. All bets are off the table then, and she can be quite an ass to be around. Overstimulated and upset just because a blood clot wants to slip out of her.
Her life is a joke. Jesus Christ, it would be her. Today of all fucking days?
“You coming to the party tonight?” Oona asks offhandedly, shuffling through her closet. Maple is tucked into the corner of cushions on her bed, still thumbing through her hard copy of Flights.
“Ramona’s welcome home party?”
Oona clears her throat but hums in agreement. She pulls out a few of her baggy button ups and crew-necks, holding them up to herself in the mirror. “Yeah, it’ll be chill. It’ll be a casual gathering even.”
Maple snorts, barely glancing her way. “I’m pretty sure Annie invited half the island.”
“It won’t even be that much of a rager, I’m sure.”
“You want me surrounded by drugs and alcohol?” Maple peeks over the pages of her book this time.
Oona huffs in frustration, overthinking her outfit and peeved by Maple’s new found mission to press her buttons. She hopes it won’t be like this all summer. Maybe she’s just hitting that point in puberty where she starts hating her older sister?
“Whatever, nevermind,” Oona brushes her off, dwindling down her top choices between a cream short sleeved paisley button up and a baggy camouflage crew-neck. “I thought you missed having Ramona and me in the same room.”
“I don’t like loud, crowded spaces,” Maple replies with a shrug. “And wear the button up, you always look cooler in them.”
Oona has half a mind to bring Maple with her as emotional support, but she’s right. What kind of big sister would she be dragging her thirteen year old sister to a place where Oona herself will be too inebriated to take care of her. God knows Annie invited all the trust fund babies from Rosseau who are only there for a summer away, but she supposes it’s fitting since Annie and Connor, and even Ramona now, are trust fund babies themselves.
Maple can’t be around that.
“Did you skip out on laundry?” Maple asks. Oona is changing her clothes, listening to Maple’s previous fashion advice as she ends up in brown linen shorts and matching cowboy boots.
“Laundry day is tomorrow, you know this,” Oona replies as steady hands use tinted eyebrow gel. “Why?” Her makeup is quick and easy, filling her eyebrows, lining her waterline, applying extra mascara.
“Something in the laundry basket smells like espresso.”
Her mascara tube clatters into her makeup bag, and all Oona can do is sigh.
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There is something else that Oona has thought of. Something she doesn't dream for because dreams are often crushed, and she’s tired of being left disappointed. Her mother is more than adequate enough to disappoint her for a lifetime.
Oona has, however, thought of finally having a goddamn home to stop feeling so untethered. Sometimes, all she can imagine is a green cottage, the route it takes to get there, the stone steps leading to it. Annie had invited her and Maple to move in, but Oona couldn’t stomach the idea of living in a place where Ramona’s absence felt real, impossible to ignore. And if Oona didn’t want to go, then Maple didn’t either.
Unfortunately, Maple was right when she guessed Annie had invited half the island. Whoever is on aux is blasting EDM that she thinks might be drum and bass, echoing it far enough across the water that she doesn’t even see the cottage while cutting through the east woods.
She’s not quite sure how Ramona would even let that happen, but she supposes it was a two-thirds ruling. Something that Connor likes to bring up often.
Oona arrives late to avoid being greeted at the door, wanting to slip in without issue. Although, it seems she wouldn’t have to worry about that anyway because there’s a crowd of people she has to wade through who are posted inside the porch. She honestly can’t recognize most of their faces.
Despite Annie telling her not to bring anything, she does anyway. It’s nothing big or significant, tucked away in her pocket but fully intended to gift later, if wanted.
No one greets her when she’s properly inside, and her first and immediate thought is to find Sully, entirely ready to cling to them and pretend everything is good and chill, preferably with a joint in hand. Instead, as if the universe had heard her, she runs into Connor first on her way to the kitchen.
“Yo! British lesbian lady!” Connor laughs, still coated with that dude-bro accent. His words are just loud enough to hear over the music. “It’s been forever, man! How you been?”
Oona daps him up, pleased by the sound and unworried by the beer that nearly splashes onto her. “Oh you know, school, work— Wait, oh my god, you and Annie haven’t had your graduation ceremony yet, right?”
“Oh yeah, we’re flying back to New York at the end of the month,” Connor says, taking a swig of his brewski. Some brand that seems distinctly American. “I think, we’re throwing our graduation party there too.”
“Well congratulations, man.” Oona pats him on the back. “I’m sure it’ll be massive.”
“Fuck yeah, it will! I’m thinking it’ll be Hannah Montana themed this time,” he says, holding his hands in L-shapes as if imagining the scene. “But not the movie because ‘The Climb’ is too sappy. Then we’ll bring Miley out at midnight.”
Oona nods, eyebrows raising. “Oh wow.”
“Wait,” Connor puts out his hand as if asking for a pause. “You’re graduating too, right? We have to cheers this! Let me grab you a drink.” He motions to the kitchen and Oona follows without pause.
Her shoulders knock into a few people despite how hard she tries to avoid them. When a girl casts her a nasty side-eye and scoffs, Oona sheepishly smiles and attempts to placate, “Sorry, babe. That’s my bad.”
Oona watches in real time as she gives her an owlish look before breaking out into a grin, giggling the slightest. Her dark eyes brightened. A hand runs through her brunette curls. “Oh no, it’s okay baby— Wait, this outfit eats. I love your style—”
Before Oona even has a chance to reply, Connor grabs her wrist and pulls her away from the interaction. “Hey man, you can’t just leave me hanging like that.” He still holds onto her as they shuffle through to the kitchen, and it feels wildly similar to a time Annie had done the same when they went to a club.
It doesn’t take long for Oona to learn that “a drink” to Connor actually means a double-shot. He smacks two shot glasses onto the counter with finality, and she can’t help but laugh when she sees one of the designs:
DANGER
GIANT PENIS
Ridiculously in comparison, the other one has DoodleBob on it. So, naturally, Connor pours some brand of top-shelf vodka into them. The pungent smell nearly makes her wince.
Before they can grab them, a guy slips behind Connor and pats his back. “Hey man! You weren’t going to leave me out, were you!”
He’s a few inches taller than him with freshly bleached hair and curtain bangs. His smile seems naturally charming, especially on a face that seems perfectly chiseled. He could be found on a promotional ad for Dior, she’s sure.
Connor brushes him off, motioning to Oona with a stray hand. “Nah, actually, this round is just for us. I’ll get you on the next one though!”
Oona is a little surprised he didn’t let the other guy join in. It didn’t occur to her that Connor might’ve wanted this moment just for them.
Another laugh escapes her when Connor grabs the DoodleBob glass, and he insists, “What! He’s an icon!” He then prompts her with a nod and wide eyes, which translates into Say the thing!
She snorts, entertaining his request, “Me hoy minoy.”
“Exactly! Me hoy minoy!” He then raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. “And, I mean, hey. For all I know, you could be packing—!”
“Shut up!” Oona shoves his shoulder, gasping. Affronted yet smiling, her face flushes more than it should. “Oh my god, just drink.”
Connor gives her a shit-eating grin. “To having big dicks and graduating!”
Oona rolls her eyes, though her face quickly mirrors his. “Cheers!” She taps it on the counter before swallowing it one gulp.
The vodka burns going all the way down, regrettable and unforgivable. Oona’s always been much more of a weed person, but that doesn’t stop her from holding in her reaction. Connor’s whole head shakes, exhaling roughly like he just took a hit to the face.
Oona slings an arm around him, teasing, “That goes down smooth, huh? Just like water.”
The guy from earlier scoots in again, swiping Oona’s shot glass. “Fuck man, I didn’t realize you were such a pussy at taking shots. She didn’t even flinch.”
Yup. Okay. Oona slips off of Connor, running a hand through her hair. It’s definitely time to return to her original goal.
“Woah, woah.” Connor raises his hands, tensing the slightest. “Nothing wrong with having a little reaction.”
“It looked like Rocky swung at you, man!”
“I’m not a pussy, Sung-ho. Pour me another!”
Sometimes, she thinks Connor can be a really decent guy. After all, he was raised with Annie. It’s just so unfortunate how easily he can switch up when another toxic man is around.
Sully is leaning against the staircase railing when Oona finds them, talking to someone with a bright grin. She thinks about not interrupting them, never one to ruin a moment. Except, it doesn’t matter because Sully wiggles their fingers at her, expecting her to come. So she does.
They squeal when Oona pulls them into a hug, and when they pull apart, Sully motions to a white boy who seems vaguely familiar. “Oona, this is Henry. We met last year after Maple’s talent show at camp. Henry, this is Oona. The sweetest, most charming woman you’ll ever meet.”
“That is some high praise!” Henry says, reaching out for a handshake. Oona meets him for a fist bump instead, and he laughs nervously when he notices the switch up. “Right, sorry. Too used to work mode, y’know?”
“Oh yeah? What d’you work in?”
“Well, right now accounting,” he says it through the side of his mouth, near conspiratorially. “But I’ve been meaning to work in theater production—”
Oona doesn’t hear the rest of it. Instead, her eyes cast outside to the bustling of the porch. Reflexively, she fiddles with her hands and twists her rings. Everything else sort of falls away.
Ramona’s shoulders shake with an excited laugh, standing outside with a drink in hand.
So, it seems, Ramona does have new NYC friends. She swallows thickly, a little too aware of how dry her mouth feels. Oona expected this, truly she did. It wouldn’t make sense to remain a loner at school for a whole year; at least, Ramona’s too cool not to have anyone to hang with. They seem so confident but also chill, and all of their skin is so clear. It’s just—
Ramona and Oona at parties don’t exactly mix. Even last summer was a testament to that. Sometimes, she thinks it was all a fever dream back then. Something short and sweet she conjured up to make herself feel better after Ramona left. Except, it wasn’t sweet at all, only leaving her with bile in her throat and a terrible aversion to the green cottage she’s forced herself to stand in now.
When Ramona smiles, it’s blinding and utterly genuine. It’s so hard to see her as she is now, and a part of her regrets being so stubborn about writing her back. Except, she knew it would hurt too much to know Ramona was out there on some wild adventure, and Oona can’t be anywhere but here.
Sometimes, she hates her mum for it. For fucking off and leaving her with her little sister who deserves to have a mother around. She can get upset all she wants but what the hell can she do? Plead for her mum to start acting like one? Beg her to stay when it’s also the last place she wants to be? She can only tolerate having children for four weeks a year, and she just visited the past holiday season.
And fuck, why did her mother come home for the winter and not Ramona? It just feels like she isn’t wanted or like she isn’t enough, and she tries so hard to pretend that feeling isn’t there. But she just can’t get rid of it. It sits so deeply in her soul, and she remembers it any time Maple makes an achievement and glances around just in case, this one time, their mum decided to show up for her.
It’s all bullshit. But she misses her mum, and she misses Ramona even more.
Sully sighs from beside her, grasping one of her hands. “Either talk to her or grab a drink with me. Because what we aren’t going to do is yearn longingly while at a party. I know lesbians love to yearn—”
Oona snaps her attention to them, scoffing, “Not all of us do that, okay?” Sully gives her the look, the one that tells her she’s not fooling anyone. “That is a false stereotype, and you know it.”
Sully doesn’t let up, lips pursed. “Sure, babes, but you and Ramona are exceptional at it. Now, come on.”
Oona rolls her eyes playfully, and Sully finally breaks out into a grin, tugging her away from the stairs, the porch, Ramona. She isn’t immune to Sully’s sunny attitude, so she mirrors them, feeling better in an instant. Within only a few minutes, she’s back at the kitchen counter again.
Three cans spawn before them, White Claw Lemon Mints. Oona’s nose screws up, not too enticed by the flavor. It doesn’t stop Sully from nudging it into her hand, alongside a house key.
“No pressure at all, but you do look like you need it,” Sully says, leaning against the slightly sticky counter top. “And who doesn’t love a little party trick?”
Oona looks at the can once more, feeling the condensation. Music still reverberates throughout the place, quick and entrancing. Amusement overcomes her. “Ah, fuck it!”
A hole is punctured, the top cracked open, and before she knows it, fizz and artificial lemon are swallowed down in large gulps. Sully and Henry cheer her on, screaming in joy and drumming on nearby furniture. When it’s finished, she crushes it in her hands and wipes at the leftovers on her chin.
“Holy shit, man.” Oona desperately tries to ignore the taste in her mouth. “You and your seltzers.”
“Exactly, because why would I drink anything else?” Sully cracks open their can and waterfalls it into their mouth, uncaring for how messy it spills.
Oona just shakes her head at their ridiculousness, but their time together doesn’t last long. A concerned looking Ellis finds Sully, asking to quickly chat. When Sully leaves with a quick sorry, Oona blinks at Henry uselessly. He waves her off, opening his own White Claw. “You can go ahead, no worries.”
Without thinking, she dunks her hand into the nearest cooler. The icy water relaxes her immediately, needing to calm down after the rush of chugging so vigorously. Her eyes flick around as she fishes for whatever is in there. Oona is typically fine with crowds, but it just doesn’t feel right seeing so many strangers in a cottage that once felt so intimate to her.
There are so many people pressed together, dancing and drinking. It’s much more suffocating here than it was last year, nearly damp with the sweat suffusing into the air.
When she finally pulls her hand out, the can clutched onto shines back at her. Oona fucking sighs.
Cutwater Rum & Cola
She runs a hand through her hair before cracking it open and swallowing it down quickly before the taste can settle. It nearly hurts and maybe that’s exactly what she needs. She could also go for some fresh air before she collapses from the stifling atmosphere. And a joint. She could really use a joint right now.
When Oona steps out onto the porch, she can breathe a little easier. A breeze flits through the bug screens, and she moves closer to them, trying to get more of it. She excuses herself as she passes through a few people, exceptionally mindful to not spill her drink onto them.
Though, it’s right as she escapes the biggest circle of them that a laugh cuts through all the music and chatter. Two people are pressed against a wooden post, sharing kisses between giggles. Even with the string lights twinkling above them, one of them is obscured.
She inhales sharply, throat tightening. Her eyes wide and scared as she looks on in horror. Somewhere within her chest, she can physically feel her heart plummet, plunging into a void. A pressure weighs down on her, trying to force her to her knees as if gravity had the sudden urge to magnify where she stood.
Oona can’t move.
There is no denying that Oona knows the sound, so deeply etched into her heart that only killing her could make her forget. Even then, it still couldn’t be scraped from her muscle tissue.
Because it’s Ramona. Oona might not know everything about her anymore, but she knows her. Intimately, devotedly, carnally. The gentleness in her voice when they fall asleep together and when they wake up. How she needs a coffee every morning or else she’ll die. Her craving for a joint when she’s overthinking and needs something to do with her hands.
The way she holds Oona’s hand even when her palms are sweaty. How she holds her breath every time Oona says she loves her like she never expects the words. Her need to be spooned yet only ever wants to be on top.
She knows her.
“Oona?”
She flinches at the sound of her own name. It’s jarring that she knows the voice, yet it’s coming from somewhere else. She turns to follow the sound and blinks.
When Oona’s underwater, her vision becomes hazy even in the clearest of lakes. All noise is distorted, muffled, and if she stays still for long enough, she might even hear her own heart thumping. She might even feel it everywhere.
Ramona waves at her, a little unsure, but she smiles anyway. A bracelet dangles from her wrist, distinct in its design though she hasn’t seen it before. Her clothes are simple, never one to overly dress—a white tank top, dark gray jorts, beat up converse. Even in her own cottage, her keys dangle from her left hip.
Oona doesn’t hear much past the thumping in her own ears, but she walks up to the circle of friends Ramona is in, barely registering anything except for her. Instinctively, she hugs her from behind, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek in greeting. Fleeting but meaningful.
“Hey, ‘Mona,” she hums into her ear. When Ramona’s hand comes up to clutch onto her wrist, thumb stroking soothingly, it’s enough to settle her mind. Her eyes finally glance around the circle, surprised to see Ramona mingling with a bunch of new faces. “Introduce me to your friends. They all seem very beautiful and charming.”
“Oh yeah, for sure.” Ramona leans further into Oona, grip tightening around her wrist like she needs something steady. Going left to right, she lists off their names. “Anya, Priya, Aria, and Jason. They’re all classmates from uh the city.”
They all smile kindly at her, easy-going and likely very inebriated. Unwilling to let go, Oona still drapes over her and raises her cutwater in greeting. “Lovely meeting you all. I’m Oona, from home.”
“You have such a pretty accent,” Anya compliments her, arm wrapped around Priya. Her hair is platinum blonde, yet her eyes are a deep brown. Priya seems to be intimately familiar with the sight, seeing as she hasn’t looked away from her. A golden bindi is pressed between her eyebrows, matching her nose ring. “Let me guess, Sussex?”
Oona can physically feel when Ramona tenses beneath her, can feel when she swallows down a reaction. “Ah, London actually, but it’s been a while since I’ve been there. You? I think I hear a bit of a Slavic accent?”
“Prague.” She flashes a wide, proud smile. “Jason thought it was Russian at first.”
“Apologies, apologies,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. He then lifts his Yankees hat a bit to scratch at his hairline. “Geography’s never really been my style. So, Oona from home, how do you like it out here?”
Jason is leaned up against a support beam, eyeing her up and down. He gives her the look™, charming and boyish. She’s almost surprised that he doesn’t rub his hands together or attempt a smirk. Oona snorts softly, amused as she rolls her eyes, before tucking her chin against the crown of Ramona’s head.
Oona shrugs, her lips curling upward when she looks back at Jason. “Sometimes I love it here. Sometimes I don’t. I like it a little more when she’s here though.”
Ramona shifts a little to look back at her. Her eyes look for Oona’s, insistent when their gazes lock, trying to get a read on her. Oona doesn’t care about her vulnerable position, too preoccupied with seeing Ramona’s eyes twinkle this close again. She can’t help it when the words slip out. “It’s true.”
Despite Oona wanting to, she can’t find any issue with her friends, but she also can’t do her usual flirting. But that’s her whole MO, isn’t it? Find new faces, make eye contact, and say all of the smooth compliments she knows before tugging them outside for some free time. Aria has even been giving not-so-subtle glances, so Oona probably wouldn’t even have to try so hard.
Except, all she can do is watch Ramona. The twinkle in her eyes. The bow of her lips when she smiles. The little breath she lets out when Oona states something so simple yet painfully honest.
The moment is broken when someone shimmies into the group, opening her Gucci purse only to sigh. “I forgot to bring cigs. Anyone have anything? And no, Ramona baby, I don’t need a joint.”
Ramona goes terrifyingly still, eyes blank and unfocused. Oona tilts her head a little, confused at her behavior. She hasn’t even looked at the newcomer yet, trying to understand the sudden shift in energy.
Ramona turns away from her, tapping twice at Oona’s wrist. She lets go without resistance, only left with quiet uncertainty. Her eyebrows pinch together, wounded at the idea that she somehow made her uncomfortable.
Ramona awkwardly pats at her pockets as if to check. When she comes up empty, she just as awkwardly gestures with her hand. “Ah, sorry. I’ve got nothing right now.”
Oona finally looks over to the other girl, blinking when she recognizes her face. They met earlier when Oona had accidentally knocked into her. Her eyes and hair are still just as dark, but beneath the string lights, her tan complexion seems even more dewy. She’s in a leather halter top and matching low rise shorts, paired with heeled boots.
There’s no way her outfit is comfortable in this weather, tight and constricted.
Oona feels compelled to apologize again, remembering her previous side-eye. “Sorry again about earlier.”
“You’re okay baby, no worries.” She thanks Jason when he hands her a Newport, then turns back to Ramona. “I didn’t know you were friends with someone so stunning.”
Oona smiles at the compliment, though the sound of friend doesn’t quite land right in her mind. “I’m Oona. And you are, beautiful?”
“María,” she replies, smirking. Once more, Oona is looked over, up and down. Her next words are blunt. “Are you single? Into women?”
Oona laughs a little nervously, trailing her fingertip over the damn cutwater still in her hand. She sort of expected the question, though not so publicly. However, she can respect the confidence and shrugs easily, assuming an unfazed expression once more. “I’m not really looking right now. Not really into casual anymore either.”
“Nothing like Ramona then,” María says offhandedly, picking out a lighter from her purse. “She can really drive a girl crazy.”
When she winks at Ramona, Oona’s lips part just so. She can only watch as Ramona blankly looks at the nearest wall, trying to hide mentally when her body physically can’t.
Oona looks at her, begging for her to turn around. Her stomach sinks, watching far too many times as Ramona has tried disappearing into herself. Knowing all too well that it happens when she doesn’t want to face a hard truth. Her face scrunches the longer she waits—eyebrows pushing together, lips pressing thinly.
It’s difficult to hide how scared she feels. Even when María shifts conversation, trying to push past whatever is happening between them, Ramona still can’t look at her. Oona clenches her jaw tightly, then scoffs.
Tactlessly, Oona shoulders open the porch door and rushes down the steps, only stopping at the bottom to chug down the rest of her cutwater. Consumed by her frustration, she flings the can away, uncaring for where it lands. A few people look her way, but she ignores them and escapes toward the lakefront.
It hurts to breathe. Her throat narrows as if cutting off her air supply, and she doesn’t know why it’s happening except that it might be her body forcing her not to sob. There’s nothing rational about it. About the way it feels like her chest is cracking open, trying to be relieved of pressure. About the ache that pulses all the way down to her fingertips, a step away from grieving.
Oona doesn’t typically run from her feelings, even going as far as ignoring them altogether. Honestly, she should’ve just gone back to the kitchen and grabbed another drink. But the pounding in her head tells her she can’t be here right now.
Except, the dock is the closest her feet can run to before everything gets too dizzy.
Pacing along the creaking wooden boards, Oona fishes into her pocket and grabs a metal tin. With shaky hands, fingertips still pulsing in sorrow, she flicks it open and swipes a joint from it. One rolled in kief, specifically meant for tonight. A part of her knew something wasn’t going to end well, so she figured getting high out of her mind on their rooftop wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Snugly fitted between her lips, Oona lights it and nearly burns her hand on the flame. For a second, the idea doesn’t seem so bad.
Does Oona take a longer drag than she should? Absolutely. Will she regret everything in the morning? Who can say.
The only thing she’s really hoping for is that she’ll be the closest to her mum that she’s ever been. Blacked out and miserable. A calming breeze drifts into her, accentuated by the light splash of water lapping against the dock.
“Oona!” Ramona shouts after her, branches snapping with the weight of her hurried footfalls.
Oona thinks she’ll take one out of Ramona’s book and just pretend she isn’t here. Another inhale, and a plume of smoke escapes her nose, huffing. It hits the back of her throat harder than it should.
It doesn’t take long for Ramona to catch up, stopping to stand in front of her. She’s breathing heavy, face twisted in fear and concern. Oona’s never liked seeing her like this. Generally, it’s a rule for her to stop everything until Ramona feels better again.
Too overwhelmed by the idea that she’s hurting Ramona again, she doesn’t think to stop her when the joint is plucked from her fingertips. But instead of taking a hit, Ramona flicks it into the lake.
“Are you serious?” Oona watches uselessly as it drenches and sinks. “You can’t be serious.”
Ramona steps into her space again, and hurt is written so clearly on her face that Oona thinks she might start crying. “Can we talk, please?”
Oona sniffs, looking away from her. Her lips are beginning to numb, her mind a little hazy. This certainly isn’t the fucking time to be having this conversation, and she certainly doesn’t understand why Ramona thinks it is. She tries to focus on the water instead, finding it to be a calming presence compared to the chaos in her mind. “I’ve nothing to say.”
Ramona’s eyes narrow, unwilling to let Oona stay impassive. Her voice raises in exasperation. “You can’t pretend that everything is fine! This is all a mess, and you know it!”
Feeling her own defenses rise, Oona shouts back at her, “I never said everything was fine! Of course I know it isn’t! It’s been a year!”
“But you don’t act like it!” Ramona argues, confused and hurt and angry all at once. “You’re always trying to act so nonchalant as if none of this bothers you. As if you don’t fucking hate me!”
Hurt flashes across Oona’s face, and her chest squeezes painfully. “I don’t hate you—!”
“What the hell was I supposed to think Oona! I thought you didn’t want me anymore!” Ramona’s voice is unsteady, near shaking, and Oona hates it. She hates that this keeps happening. That she keeps hurting her. “Because yeah, I did leave, and I knew you would be mad, but I was holding out hope that maybe you didn’t fucking hate me. But suddenly, anytime I called Annie or even Joe at the Marina, who I still want nothing to do with, you were magically nowhere to be seen.”
Oona swallows, unable to think rationally at all. “I didn’t know what to say.” She shrugs, exhausted and aching. “I knew you had to leave— I wanted you to leave. You needed something different, and that’s okay.” Her voice cracks on the last syllable, and she feels the sting in her eyes.
“But what about you, Oona?” Ramona is quiet, scared. Her face is marred with anguish, distressed and pleading. “What did you need? Because it can’t possibly be this.”
“I needed you.” Oona barely can get the words out, swiping at her cheek when she realizes it’s wet with her own tears. “Of course I needed you. But making you stay wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“We could’ve made it work—!” Her words are distraught, upset at the wailing of a dying world they once loved each other in. Ramona breathes in deeply, trying to steady herself, but a sob blends into her words. “You didn’t have to lose me. You’re my best friend.”
Oona nearly chokes when she hears it, the inhale too harsh.
“Please stop pushing me away,” Ramona begs, desperate when she steps in closer. “I’ll just keep finding my way back to you.”
Oona blinks, slow and uncoordinated. A rush of bliss releases in her brain, and she feels exceptionally calm. The world around her morphs a little. She shakes her head, words drifting away. “No talking anymore.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ramona mutters, stepping even closer. They’re practically pressed together, and Oona just wants to look at her forever. Ramona watches Oona closely, worried. Without a single thought, Oona’s hands lift up to Ramona’s face, and her thumb presses between Ramona’s eyebrows, wanting to smooth out the crease. “You’re faded. Come on, let’s just go back.”
It takes her a moment before she can move. All she wants to do is carve her beauty into living memory. To imprint her palms with everything Ramona. She missed being this close to her. Missed being able to run her hands against the smooth planes of her face.
Sighing in defeat, Oona slings an arm around her when Ramona securely holds her waist, pacing her steps so Oona can easily follow. “Can we go home?”
Oona hears the clinking of her keys, and it’s a song she’s come to love. Ramona hums, squeezing her waist just so. “We are. Just keep walking with me.”
Her feet stumble, she’s sure. Music still reaches out to them, but it’s quieter now. There are less people, too. She can’t imagine they were outside for that long, but is anything real at this point?
“Missed you, y’know?” She nuzzles into Ramona’s hair, smelling the vanilla honey of her shampoo. It’s too much yet not enough. “Y’mean the world.”
“I missed you too,” Ramona replies softly. It nearly makes Oona’s heart flutter, listening to the subtle rasp. “It sucked not hearing from you.”
“Love you. So much.” Her words are slurred and clunky, but she knows that they’re being said. Oona would always make sure those words are heard. It’s important. Ramona needs to know.
She really hopes that she does.
Oona blinks for a long time then notices her surroundings. It’s the guest bedroom in the cottage. She’s not quite sure how she got up here, but she does feel her boots being slipped off. It takes her a moment to understand why, but then she feels the comforter beneath her hands. She all but sinks into the mattress.
Ramona helps her further onto the bed, her own limbs feeling limp and useless. She’s guiding her with words she can’t quite hear, but the hand motions are simple enough to follow.
There is a moment where Ramona looks at her. She isn’t quite sure how long it lasts, just knows that it’s sadder than Oona expects. Is she going to cry? That doesn’t seem right, even with how much the room spins. So when she tries to walk away, Oona all but flings herself up, reaching and reaching out to her. She feels so far, but she tries anyway.
Her hand gently clasps onto hers, fingers intertwining, begging her not to go. “Please stay.”
Ramona’s sadness deepens, but she swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah, of course.”
Oona shifts to make space, all but tugging her down. Ramona follows her without resistance, but then Oona feels a crunch in her pocket. She frowns as she dips her hand into her pocket. The joint holder slips out, along with her lighter, but she knows there should be something else.
Ramona swipes her things, placing them neatly on the nightstand. When Oona finally finds what she was looking for, she pouts a little at the sight of it. “Forgot about this.”
A meager looking coffee crisp sits in her hand. She offers it up anyway. “It’s s’posed to be f’you.”
Ramona lets out an amused little huff, taking it from her. “Wanted to have them on deck for the munchies?”
Oona shrugs, feeling somewhat sheepish. She doesn’t notice when she starts twisting her rings. “Your favorite.”
“Yeah,” Ramona softens, the corner of her lip curling just so. She’s only looking at Oona when she says it. “My favorite.”
No eating in bed rule be damned, Ramona tears open the packaging and gives Oona the larger of the two broken pieces. The moment is sweet—sweeter than the coffee crisp she doesn’t really like but eats anyway. It was meant for Ramona, but somehow she has more.
Oona’s heart drops when Ramona stands up, too quickly for her to stop. Her mind is reeling, trying to sort what’s happening right now. It takes a little while longer than it should to realize Ramona was only throwing away the wrapper and flicking off the lights.
They shuffle around the bed, finding the perfect position to settle. When Ramona’s head hits the pillow, she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling. It would’ve made sense to mirror her and see if the ceiling looks the same, but Oona doesn’t care about vaulted wood. She curls into Ramona, holding onto her arm and resting her head against her shoulder.
It’s calming to see how her chest rises with each breath.
Oona lets out a pleased hum when Ramona trails her fingers through her hair, placating and intimate. She can’t tell why in the moment, but she feels a fierce urge to cry. Like this moment is fleeting, and if she lets go, it’ll be gone forever. She really can’t lose Ramona again.
It’s why she can’t help but say it, tumbling out of her lips without a second thought. “I love you.”
Oona swims through the static in her brain, waiting patiently for a response. She almost stops breathing, not wanting to miss it. Ramona leans further into her, sighing gently. “I love you, too.”
Their hearts float in the space between them, drifting around each other in a ceaseless dance. If a tear slips down Oona’s cheek, neither of them say anything. And if she sniffles wetly, Ramona cradles her head fully, thumb swiping her cheek with tender care. It’s everything Oona wants, yet still somehow not enough.
How greedy of a person she must be to still want more.