Chapter Text
“Why did you even answer the phone to begin with?” Yaz throws the phone on the bed after a quite long conversation with her mother about this new relationship she’s in.
James, for her part, looks like she feels bad about it. “Your phone was making a racket and then I saw her name on the screen and like thirty unread messages and so I tried texting her back to tell her you were with me but then she called and —“
“Why didn’t you just tell her you were a friend?”
“I panicked!” James defends. “She were askin’ so many questions so fast and I didn’t wanna say I’m your fake-girlfriend, so I just said girlfriend!”
“Fat lot of use that were,” Yaz quips. “She wants you to come over to dinner soon.”
“I know.”
“And you just said yes?”
“I didn’t wanna say no!” she practically shouts. “That seemed rude! And —“ James points at her. “Your mother seems very scary.”
Okay, Yaz has to give her that. Her mum can be intimidating, especially to Yaz’s significant others (she stared down one girl so hard at dinner that she’d flat out refused to come over ever again).
(Granted, she also broke up with Yaz three days later for her best mate, but that’s an entirely different point.)
Yaz sighs and sits down heavily next to James. “Right, so. Got two options.”
“Two?” James questions, crease deepening between her brows.
Yaz shrugs. “I could wait a day or two and tell her we broke up.”
“Would she believe it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“And the second option?”
“You could come to dinner, pretend to be my girlfriend one last time, then a few weeks later I’ll tell her we broke up,” Yaz says, looking over at her.
James chews on her bottom lip for a few moments, then a grin forms on her face. “Right. So what’s for dinner?”
“Oh mate,” Ryan laughs, almost doubling over on the couch. “You’ve really fallen for her haven’t you?”
Yaz throws a pillow at him which he does not duck fast enough to keep it from hitting him square in the face. It only makes him laugh harder.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan,” Yaz grumbles.
“So let me get this straight — you hired her to pretend to be your girlfriend for one party, then you show up at her bar a month later —”
“I didn’t show up at her bar, Jack and Bill did,” Yaz defends. It sounds lame even to her own ears.
“Right. So Jack and Bill show up at her bar, and you just tag along, get drunk, shag —”
Yaz chokes on her tea. “We absolutely did not shag.”
“Right, sorry. Slept together, in the same bed. And almost had a bit of a snog —”
“Okay, we did not —”
“Yaz, mate. C’mon.” Ryan rolls his eyes at the look Yaz gives him. “You look like you feel sick, and the last time you looked this way was when that girl in year ten tried to kiss you during spin the —”
“Alright, I don’t need a play-by-play of my life, cheers.”
“I’m just sayin’, mate. You look like a lovesick puppy.”
“I’m not lovesick, Ryan. I barely know her.”
Ryan snorts, taking a drink of his soda. “You know enough to stay the night with her, apparently.”
“We were drunk. I didn’t have much of a choice.” This excuse sounds even worse than the last.
“Right. Listen, mate, I’m just sayin’ — you might wanna figure those feelings out before Thursday.”
(He’s right, she knows he’s right, but you’d have to literally kill her to get her to admit it.)
“I really don’t know why I bother coming over here,” Yaz deadpans, pressing play on the remote and starting the game back up. Ryan quickly picks up his controller but Yaz’s character has already delivered some nearly fatal blows.
“So now she’s coming over for dinner with your parents?”
Yaz sighs. “Looks like it.”
“Think they’ll buy it?”
“God, I hope so.”
“Please wear something normal,” Yaz says into the phone held between her shoulder and cheek. She’s in the middle of her shift and trying to finish filling out this paperwork before she gets back to the station but James had called in a panic about clothing choices.
“I always dress normal, Yaz!”
“Like with pants that reach your ankles, at the very least.”
James sounds offended. “Excuse me, it’s called fashion. And if they reached my ankles I wouldn’t be able to show off my cool socks all the time.”
“Socks decorated with puppy dogs are not considered ‘cool’ in any sense of the word.”
“They match me underwear!”
Yaz rubs a hand down her face. “Please don’t show my parents your underwear,” she practically begs.
“What if they ask?”
“They won’t.”
“But if they do can I —”
“Absolutely not.”
Yaz can practically hear James’ frown on the other end and she sighs. “Alright, if you wear the glow in the dark socks I’ll let you shut off the lights to show my dad.”
“Really?” James sounds bloody thrilled.
Yaz smiles despite herself — the blonde’s energy is infectious, even over the phone. “Sure. Who knows, he might like ‘em.”
“Who wouldn’t? They’re pretty cool socks.”
“Right.”
“They are.”
I’m downstairs.
Yaz shuts her phone off and practically sprints to the door, shoving her feet into her shoes and slipping her arms into her jacket quickly.
“Slow down, Yasmin. There’s no need to run,” her mum calls behind her.
Sonya snorts. “Unless she thinks her girlfriend is gonna book it before she gets up here.”
Yaz ignores her as she leaves the flat, walking down the long hallway and taking the lift to the ground floor. Her fingers tap nervously on her thigh as she waits for the slow moving elevator.
She’s not even sure why she’s nervous — like, sure, she’s lying to her family, to their faces, but she and James have done it twice now and nothing bad has happened, so she’s pretty sure her family isn’t going to figure it out (also, who would go to this extent to lie about something like that?).
(She’s not nervous just to see James. That would be ridiculous.)
James is pacing at the front of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat (the grey one, not the leather one this time). She’s got that rainbow scarf on again and, surprise surprise, her signature boots and jeans that don’t come to her ankles. Yaz finds she doesn’t even mind — it suits her so well that it just makes her stomach warm when she sees them cuffed over the tops of her boots.
“I didn’t have any pants that reach my ankles,” James says as soon as Yaz exits the front doors into the crisp winter air. “I were gonna borrow some from Clara but she’s a bit shorter than me and her jeans definitely didn’t reach my ankles and then I were about to run late and —”
“You look great, it’s fine. I were mostly jokin’ anyways,” Yaz says with a fond smile on her face. “Could’ve worn more rainbows, I reckon.”
James looks down at her scarf and the shirt that has a rainbow stretched across the front. “I have rainbow braces in my car if you want me to get them,” she says seriously. Yaz doesn’t doubt it.
“Please don’t. Sonya would never let you — or me — live it down.” Yaz shoves her hands into her pockets. “Are you ready?”
“Ready to date Yasmin Khan? Course. Brilliant.” James grins, holding the door open for Yaz like a perfect gentleman.
The flat is warm, practically hot after being outside in the cold air for barely a few minutes. Yaz toes off her shoes by the front door and James does the same, not bothering to untie the laces and almost falling to the floor at the struggle her boots put up. When she gets them off she straightens up with a grin, her hair a bit messy from the struggle.
Yaz raises a brow. “Your socks don’t match.”
James looks down, then back up, looking quite chuffed. “I know! I figured since I can’t show them my underwear I’d wear two different socks, just so they know I have a bunch of cool pairs.”
Brightly colored dinosaurs on the right foot, cats that look like sushi on the left. James wiggles her toes.
“Alright,” Yaz says finally. She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the hook, James following suit. She’s wearing the pink shirt today and yellow braces clipped to the waist of her jeans frame the rainbow across her chest. God, her fake girlfriend dresses like a clown.
Yaz takes a deep breath, steadies herself, then takes James’ hand in her own and leads her further into the flat.
Sonya sees them first and she lets out a snort, looking over the top of her phone from where she sits at the table. Yaz glares at her. James looks like she didn’t even notice, an excited grin on her face. Her parents’ backs are turned to them and Yaz clears her throat.
“This is James, James this is my family. Sonya, my little sister, and my mum and dad.”
Sonya gives a short wave. Her parents turn and Yaz watches her mum’s reaction closely — but it’s not like it matters if she likes James, because they’re not even really dating and they’ll only have to do this once, but still. Yaz likes the approval.
Her mum’s face gives nothing away but she's polite and wipes her hands off with the dish towel as she approaches. “Najia,” she says, starting to hold her hand out. James, apparently not taking the social cue, pulls her into a hug.
“Wonderful to meet you, Yaz’s mum. You’ve made a very awesome human.”
When they part, Najia looks a bit taken back by the hug and just nods, muttering, “it’s Najia.”
Her dad sticks his hand out and James takes it, giving him a firm shake. “Hakim. Yaz hasn’t told us a thing about you, James.”
“Yeah, hasn’t even mentioned a girlfriend until last week,” Sonya adds. “You sure she hasn’t hired you on the spot or something?”
Yaz’s stomach lurches. Of course her sister would be the one to be skeptical and figure it out.
“Sonya,” their mum scolds.
James gives an easy laugh and tangles their fingers together, almost like it’s muscle memory by now. “Absolutely not hired. Yaz hasn’t paid me a cent to be here,” she says, which is technically true. Yaz hasn’t paid her at all — James just keeps agreeing to pretend to date her for free, for some unknown reason.
Sonya eyes their hands with a disgusted look on her face.
“Do you want to sit down, James?” Najia cuts in — her mum, ever the good host. “We’re almost done, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
Her dad is already back at the stove, finishing up cooking dinner. The table is set and empty plates sit at each place, with an extra one for James. Yaz sits across from Sonya and tugs James down into the seat next to her.
Sonya stares over her phone for a few uncomfortable seconds where James finally meets her stare head on, lifting her chin slightly like she’s ready for the attack. It’s sort of endearing, really; how she’s willing to take the third degree from Yaz’s little sister, even if they’re just pretending (really, what could she possibly get out of this? That question plays in the back of Yaz’s mind almost constantly as they keep ending up in these situations).
“Your socks don’t match,” Sonya finally says.
James smiles like that wasn’t the comment she was expecting. “Got excited, couldn’t decide which ones to go with.”
“Right. What’s your name short for?”
“Now that, Sonya Khan, is a great question. One even your sister never asked until our second date,” James says, turning her head to give Yaz a raise of her brow.
(Yaz feels the words second date bounce around in her head until she snatches them away, pinning them down and trying to erase the way it makes her stomach flutter just a bit.)
“How were I supposed to know your name is short for a whisky?”
James ignores her and turns back to Sonya. “It’s short for Jameson.”
“Jameson,” Sonya repeats.
“Yep!” James says cheerily. Her thumb strokes the back of Yaz’s hand absentmindedly, their clasped fingers resting on her lap. “Me mum hates it, but it’s alright.”
“Why does she hate it if she’s your mum? Didn’t she give you that name?”
“Sonya,” Yaz warns. She doesn’t want James to be uncomfortable again, and she doesn’t want her to leave before dinner even starts because her sister is asking invasive questions.
James squeezes her hand softly, twice. “Had the name when I were adopted. Was too late to change it by that point.”
“Sonya, come get this,” their mum says a few feet away, holding out a plate. Sonya just barely refrains from rolling her eyes as she gets up and takes the plate from their mum, setting it on the table in front of Yaz and James. Najia sets a bowl in the middle of the table a few seconds later and her and Yaz’s dad sit down on either side of Yaz and James. They each scoop food from the bowl in the middle and Yaz puts some on Jame’s plate, giving her two pieces of chapati before leaning over to whisper in her ear.
“Do you want me to help tear it?” Yaz asks quietly.
James looks around the table for a few seconds at Yaz’s family already starting to eat, Hakim asking Sonya about something to do with her job, then she nods. Yaz reaches over with one hand and quickly tears it for her, then tears her own with practiced movements.
“Just watch what I do,” Yaz says, folding the torn piece of chapati and scooping up some of the curry and meat. “Use your right hand.” James switches hands and folds the chapati like Yaz did before trying to mimic her scooping motion. She ends up with just curry and Yaz snorts, unable to help her reaction to James’ frustrated look down at her bowl.
“Where are you from, James?” Najia asks. The entire table turns their attention to James who swallows and only looks like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds.
“Oh, around,” she says, waving her hand noncommittally. “Moved around a lot as a kid. Sheffield is home now, though.”
Najia hums. “Do you have family here?”
James shakes her head politely. “Not a lot of family in general, I’m afraid. Growin’ up it were mostly me and me mum. Did have a nanny though! A few of them, actually.”
Yaz has thought it before, but she really should’ve asked deeper questions at that first meeting (not date). She might know things about this woman, about her life and personality and maybe that she has a dead wife, but once she really looks at the information she’s collected she realizes it’s all a bit shallow, all surface details. She didn’t know she moved around as a kid, didn’t know she didn’t have family — truthfully, she hasn’t even thought about it, and now that she is getting more in depth details she doesn’t want it to stop.
“Must be hard, being alone like that,” Sonya says.
“Sonya,” their dad warns.
“What? I’m just saying it’s nice she found Yaz, almost like fate.” Sonya flicks her eyes to Yaz for barely a second but Yaz sees the disbelief in them — she’s not buying the relationship and Yaz can tell.
“Don’t believe in fate,” James says. “Think we all make our own decisions, the universe around us is just shaped by which choices we go with.”
Sonya backs off, taking a bite of food and a long drink from her cup, staring at James the entire time.
“Have you got a job, James?” Hakim asks.
James breaks her look with Sonya and smiles in his direction. “Yeah, have my own business.”
“Really?” Yaz’s mum asks, sounding impressed. “What kind of business?”
“A bar,” James says with a proud smile.
You wouldn’t be able to tell if you hadn’t grown up with her but Yaz sees her mothers smile falter just a bit at the edges. Great, she thinks Yaz is dating an alcoholic.
“That’s quite impressive,” Hakim says.
“Thanks! Started it with my...friend.” This time it’s James’ smile that falters just a bit at the edges, though unnoticeable by the rest of her family. Yaz moves her knee until it bumps against James’, then she bumps it one more time just so she knows it was intentional. James waits a second before bumping her knee back two times.
“Must be an interesting job,” Najia says.
“Oh, it is. I like it though. Lots of people, lots of stories. You’d be surprised what people will tell a bartender,” James laughs.
“I would love to hear some of those stories,” Sonya says, leaning forward with interest. “Got any juicy ones?”
Yaz turns to James who has a mouthful of food. “You don’t have to answer that, please ignore her.”
James swallows and shakes her head in Sonya’s direction. “Mostly it’s just people complaining about love. Had a girl last week who talked to me for an hour about the guy she fancies who will never see her as anything more — said he takes her for granted. Quite sad, really.”
Dinner goes...well. Really, it’s not that bad — honestly it goes better than some of the dinners she’s had where she’s introduced a new significant other. Her parents ask questions and James answers them with practiced ease, even stopping to make jokes that her mum actually cracks a smile at (Yaz is impressed). Sonya studies them closely the entire meal and asks pointed, specific questions, apparently trying to get James to slip up but James answers confidently, giving vague details that sound specific but really aren’t.
They’re nearing the end of dinner, plates almost clean, when Sonya asks, “So, have any pictures? I haven’t seen anything on Yaz’s instagram yet.”
Her face is the picture of innocence — just asking a harmless question — but Yaz sees the way her parents latch onto it, turning to both her and James expectantly.
“I would love to see that butterfly garden James mentioned. I bet there were some great spots for couples shots there,” Sonya adds.
James’ hand tenses on Yaz’s thigh. Yaz feels her heart beat just a bit harder and she clears her throat before James can say anything. “Think they’re all on my laptop, sorry Son. I’ll show you some other time,” she says, hoping her sister will forget about it.
“Oh, that’s no problem, Yaz. Just get your laptop from your room, right?” Sonya challenges. The glint in her eye tells Yaz she’s caught on, she’s figured them out and is trying to out them to her parents (for what reason is what Yaz still has to figure out).
“Left it at my place,” James cuts in. Her fingers reassuringly squeeze Yaz’s thigh under the table once more and Yaz feels herself relax just a bit. James is a far better liar than she will ever be. “Was gonna bring it with me tonight and forgot. Sorry Yaz.” James gives her an apologetic smile.
“No matter. You’ll just have to show us next time you come for dinner,” Najia says, absolutely none the wiser to Sonya’s mounting suspicion.
“Will definitely do that,” James says with a grin that’s just big enough that Yaz believes for a few seconds that she will — come over again, that is. Have dinner with them like they’re really dating.
Yaz almost physically shakes her head to get the thought out of there, and instead squashes it down and reminds herself that no, she most definitely will not be coming back over, because this was an emergency only type situation and they’re not actually dating and Yaz is going to make up some excuse in two weeks about how they broke up but it was amicable, and they’re both moving on.
When they do finish their food, James immediately offers to help with the dishes. “I really don’t mind,” she says, and Najia raises her brows at Yaz like she’s impressed, but she shakes her head.
“Nonsense, Yaz and Sonya will do them,” her mum says.
Sonya scoffs. “But she just offered —” Their mum shoots her a look that stops her words in their tracks. Sonya just barely manages to not roll her eyes (something they learned very quickly not to do as children) and stands from the table.
Yaz takes James’ hand and squeezes it under the table. “Sure you’ll be alright with them?” she whispers.
“Your parents? Oh, yeah, great with parents, me. Think I did pretty well over dinner, right?” James asks earnestly. She chews on her lower lip like she’s nervous about the answer.
Yaz leans a bit closer so her family doesn’t overhear. “You did great. Think my mum is actually warming up to you.”
James grins, looking chuffed with herself.
“Yaz,” Najia says from the kitchen.
Yaz squeezes James’ hand again before she stands. “Have fun with them,” she says before moving into the kitchen and turning on the tap. Sonya stands there with the dish towel slung over her arm, thumbs flying over her phone as she waits.
They wash dishes in relative silence while their mum opens a bottle of wine and pours two glasses, one for herself and one for James (their dad hates the taste of wine). The familiar monotony of washing the dishes and handing them to Sonya to dry is something they’ve been doing for years, and Yaz is a bit surprised when Sonya speaks up halfway through.
“You’re not really dating are you?”
Yaz almost drops the glass she’s holding (almost). Her stomach twists but she ignores it as best she can. She clears her throat to give herself time to calm the fuck down. Sonya doesn’t know anything — she can’t know anything. All she has right now is her skepticism, and that doesn’t amount to anything. There’s no way she’d know anything.
“What do you mean? Of course we’re dating,” Yaz says almost convincingly. Her words catch a bit at the end and she hopes the water drowns it out.
Sonya scoffs. “Really? You’re gonna lie to me too, then?”
“Sonya, I’m not lyin.” Yes she is. “We really are together, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Sonya turns to face her and Yaz keeps her eyes firmly down at the dish in her hands.
“Right, so tell me something about her. What’s her mum’s name?”
Oh fuck. Yaz quickly tries to wrack her brain for any conversation she’s had with James about her mum, but nothing comes to mind other than the times she’s mentioned her passingly.
“She doesn’t talk about her past a lot,” Yaz finally says, handing Sonya the bowl. Sonya takes it and dries it slowly, eyes narrowed at Yaz the entire time.
“Right. So what’s her dad’s name then?”
This one Yaz knows — barely. James’ hasn’t ever mentioned one so she just assumes and dear god, she hopes she’s right. “She doesn’t have one. Well, not an adopted one.”
Sonya continues to study her silently before looking away and stepping around her to put the dish away in the cabinet. Yaz uses the opportunity to spare a glance behind them, checking to see if her parents or James can hear the conversation over the running water, but all three of them are sitting in the living room, looking none the wiser. James says something and Yaz’s mum actually laughs.
“Can you stop with this stupid questioning? I don’t even know why you think it’s fake,” Yaz says when Sonya steps back to the sink next to her.
“Maybe if you had proof, and not just some woman we’ve literally never met before —”
“Just because you haven’t met her doesn’t mean we haven’t been in a relationship,” Yaz interrupts.
"You’ve never even talked about her, Yaz. You’ve literally never mentioned her — not to mum, not to dad, not even to me.”
It finally sinks in — the reason Sonya seems so skeptical. It hits Yaz like a ton of bricks and she stops washing the dish in her hands, turning her head to look at her sister — to really look at her sister.
She’s upset Yaz didn’t tell her about James.
“Is that what this is about, Son?” Yaz asks quietly. “Because I didn’t tell you about her?”
Sonya rolls her eyes but Yaz sees right through it (she’s always been able to). “Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” she mumbles.
“I trust you, you know that right?” Yaz says, ignoring the obvious dismissal. “I do trust you enough to tell you things.”
“Well apparently you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about her.” Sonya’s tone is a bit sharp, jagged at the edges. It’s the tone she’s used more than once, the one that says she’s hurt. “Really, Yaz. I thought after everything we’ve been through you’d trust me enough to tell me about important things in your life.”
“I do, Son. I just —” Yaz cuts off, biting her lip. She doesn’t want to hurt her sister. She doesn’t want to lie to her. (She has to lie to her). “It were new, y’know? I didn’t know if I even liked her like that for a while, and when I finally realized...it just seemed like a lot. Like something massive were happening and I were helpless to stop it.”
Sonya takes the dish from her and dries it with the towel. “It’s fine, Yaz. It’s not a big deal.”
“No, Sonya, hey.” Yaz nudges her with her elbow, trying to get her sister to look at her. Sonya finally concedes and drags her eyes from the dish to her older sister. “We’ve been through a lot, yeah? And I do trust you, it’s just —” Yaz’s eyes trail over her shoulder again where James sits on the chair, wine glass in her hand and head tilted back as she laughs at something Hakim had said. She looks so carefree, so comfortable in Yaz’s home that it twists her heart a bit when she remembers this is just a one time deal.
“God, you’re making me sick, now,” Sonya says, making a disgusted face at Yaz. And it’s not said aloud but Yaz feels her sister’s guard slip just a bit, just enough that when Yaz doesn’t immediately turn around, Sonya nudges her with her elbow and says, “Stop starin’ at your girlfriend and come on. I don’t wanna be here all night.”
Yaz wipes her hands on the towel when they finish a few minutes later and Sonya immediately picks up her phone, tapping away on the screen as she heads to her room. James isn’t visible in the living room when Yaz looks around, pouring herself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the counter. When she gets into the living room, though, it’s very apparent where she is.
Where she is is on her stomach under the couch, wine glass held in her dad’s hand as James wiggles a bit, her socked foot shooting out behind her. Her hand reaches out from underneath the couch and she asks, “Extra screw?”
Yaz’s dad hands her the glass of wine he’s been holding and digs around in the tool box he’s pulled from the closet. He finds the screw he’s looking for and drops it in James’ waiting palm.
“Thank you!” James says, voice a bit muffled.
“What is she doing underneath the couch?” Yaz asks.
“Fixing the loose leg! The one I couldn’t get under to fix quite right. She offered, said she’s great at fixing things.” Her dad looks down approvingly at James who wiggles underneath the couch once more. Her shirt is untucked from her pants, braces down around her waist, and a small sliver of skin shows between the hem of her shirt and the top of her jeans. As she stretches it gets slightly bigger and Yaz has to look away when her mouth suddenly goes dry.
James finally crawls backwards from underneath the couch and clumsily brings herself to her feet. Her hair is messy and has a few pieces of dust in it and her shirt is all rucked up from crawling on the floor, and she smiles brightly at Yaz when she sees her.
“Right, fixed! I knew carrying this thing around were a lifesaver,” she says, pushing the screwdriver bit back into her multi-tool and sliding it into her back pocket.
“Thank you, James. Don’t think we would’ve gotten that fixed any time soon,” Najia says, giving a pointed look to Hakim who puts his hands up defensively.
“No problem, Yaz’s mum. I love fixin’ things,” James says with a grin. Najia reminds her of her name, again (“It’s Najia”) but James already has her sights on Yaz, moving to wrap an arm around her waist and take back the wine glass she’d been holding for her.
“So what were you grilling her about this time?” Yaz asks her parents who each take a seat on the fixed couch. It doesn’t make that creaking noise it usually does, which is probably a good sign.
“You,” James says with a slight smirk on her face when she looks over at Yaz. It’s a shit eating grin, really, but she looks like she’s trying to keep a laugh inside.
Yaz’s eyebrows knit together in confusion until it dawns on her. “Oh god, did they —”
“I heard you were a fantastic dancer."
Yaz shoots a look at her parents. “You didn’t —”
“We only showed her the one video,” Hakim says, like that makes it any better. “The one with the tutu.”
Yaz covers her face with her free hand. “Oh god.”
James laughs beside her, her body moving against Yaz’s side. Yaz can feel her breath as she inhales and the movement of her stomach as she very obviously tries not to crack up at Yaz’s embarrassment.
“It were a great tutu,” James says.
“Do you really have to show everyone that video?” Yaz asks her parents — the two people out to ruin her life and relationships.
“Of course, Yasmin. It’s tradition,” her mum says, but the poorly concealed grin and glint in her eyes tells Yaz she really just likes embarrassing her.
“They told me you have a ton of trophies too. Would love to see those,” James adds.
“I’m not showing you those.”
“She’s got quite a few. It’s impressive,” her dad says.
Yaz scoffs. “It’s not impressive, I were nine. Anyone can win a dance trophy at nine.”
“Well now you have to show me, I’m invested,” James points out.
Yaz rubs a hand down her face. Of course, be it her parents to bring up the dancing and trophies and videos.
“God, okay, fine. But you’re not allowed to joke.” Yaz points a stern finger at her.
James holds three fingers up. “Scouts honor.”
“You weren’t a scout,” Yaz deadpans.
James shrugs.
“Thanks, really,” Yaz says to her parents who look quite chuffed with themselves. They’ve always loved doing this to any significant others — Yaz isn’t sure why she thought James would be any different. James tangles their fingers together as Yaz leads her down the hall, towards her bedroom. She drops her hand for a second to open the door, then closes it when James enters.
Her room isn’t all that exciting — a desk against the far wall, a bed against another wall, a dresser, some plants, her laptop (which she picks up and slides under her pillow, just in case Sonya goes snooping and tries to catch her in the lie again). Lining the back of her dresser are bright pink, purple, and blue trophies, each with Yaz’s name carved into the placard. They range from small participation trophies to first place at the I Love Dance competition. A few medals hang from the necks of the little plastic dancers that top the trophies; medals won at those same competitions in different categories.
She isn’t sure why she hasn’t put them away yet. They’re dusty and it’s not like she thinks about them a lot or can even dance like that anymore, but looking at them fills her with a fond warmth, a nostalgia for the carefree child she once was.
James holds the wine glass in one hand and Yaz’s fingers in the other as she goes up to the dresser and inspects the trophies and medals. She drops Yaz’s hand at one point to pick up a small printed out picture of Yaz in silver spandex leotard with a bright orange skirt, the same color headband tied around unruly curly hair as she grins up at the camera, a hand on her hip in her best dancers pose.
James raises her eyebrows when she looks over at Yaz, lips curling in as she very obviously tries to keep a laugh from spilling out. Her face scrunches and her shoulders shake slightly and Yaz rolls her eyes. “Fine, you can laugh.”
A loud laugh spills from James’ mouth as she looks back at the picture. She practically doubles over, barely holding onto her wine glass as her shoulders shake and her laugh fills the room (fills Yaz). When she straightens back up at least thirty seconds later she’s got tears in her eyes and she wipes at them with the back of her hand.
“It’s a great outfit, truly,” James says, taking a deep breath to calm down. “I love the orange. It really makes a statement.”
“The dance was called Funky Fiesta.”
“Of course it was.” James carefully puts the picture back where she’d gotten it, taking a sip of wine. “Do you think your parents have a video —”
“Absolutely not.”
James’ eyes move from the picture, taking in the rest of the room until they practically light up when they land on her bed.
“Fairy lights! Oh, love fairy lights. Can I turn them on?” she asks excitedly.
Of course she’s excited about fairy lights. Yaz can’t even remember the last time she turned them on.
“Yeah, flip the switch,” she says, moving towards the bed and leaning down to plug the end of the string into the wall. As soon as the room goes dark the string lights up, twirled around the headboard of her bed and lighting up the room with a warm yellow glow. James literally gasps when it happens and when Yaz straightens back up and looks behind her, James is standing there looking on in awe. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, the glow lighting up her face and reflecting back in her eyes.
She looks to Yaz with a grin forming. “They’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
Yaz looks back at the lights, taking a sip of wine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Love ‘em. I think I should get some lights for my room. Maybe orange?”
Yaz snorts. “Like Halloween?”
James makes a face. “Maybe not orange. I could get a salt lamp! Love salt lamps. Do you think they’re actually salty?”
“You gonna try and lick one?”
“Of course, gotta test it out first,” James says, like that makes any sense whatsoever. Her free hand slides over Yaz’s lower back and around her waist, finger hooking into the belt loop of her jeans. It’s such a simple move, one that they’ve done countless times since they got into this mess, and it makes Yaz’s heart pound a little harder in her chest. She’s warm on Yaz’s side, taking a sip of her wine as they look at the lights, then she says, “I think your parents like me.”
James looks chuffed when Yaz turns her head to face her. “Yeah? Dad likes anyone that will listen to him talk about football and help him fix something,” she says.
“Yeah, but your mum too.”
She’s right — her mum does like James, Yaz can tell (and that’s a step up from her last relationship, which her mother absolutely did not approve of, and let Yaz know more than once).
“Yeah, my mum too,” Yaz repeats quietly.
It’s probably the lights, or the quiet of the room, or the fact that she’s standing here in her socks, holding Yaz close to her side and drinking wine and talking about her parents approval. It’s probably the almost-kiss from last week, the one they haven’t spoken about and have mutually agreed meant nothing since they were drunk. It’s probably the way James’ eyes dart down to her lips for barely a second, but that second feels like it lasts a year and suddenly the world shifts under her feet, the puzzle piece finally clicking into place. Her stomach flips, her heart pounds, her palms feel sweaty, and she finally gets it.
Oh.
Oh.
And suddenly Yaz wants. She wants so badly that she’s pretty sure her heart is going to beat out of her chest, her skin buzzing with every part of them that touches, and god damn she doesn’t know how she ended up like this but she truly doesn’t care.
(She should care — she should pull away and remind herself that they’re pretending, that this is just so her parents will get off her back and that after tonight they won’t see each other again, but somehow Yaz knows that isn’t true.)
So this is it, huh? This is what she’s been working towards — what has been slowly building for weeks until it’s too big to ignore. This is the rom-com ending she told herself wouldn’t happen, and yet.
“James,” Yaz whispers, because she feels she should say something, anything. Give her a chance to pull away or stop her or tell her that they’re only pretending, that they don’t need to pretend like this behind closed doors.
James doesn’t respond. Her eyes dart down to Yaz’s lips once more but this time it’s not just for a second, it’s much longer, and Yaz watches as a pink tongue darts out before hazel eyes drag back up to her own.
“Yeah?” James replies, just as quietly. It’s barely a whisper, mixed with an exhale that spills from her lips.
Yaz doesn’t know what to say then. She didn't plan for this. Instead, she turns to face her fully and James’ palm is now flat against her lower back, hot and searing through the fabric of her shirt. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed with the heaviness of the silence that settles over them as she reaches up to cup James' cheek, thumb stroking over soft skin. It’s almost the exact opposite of their night in James’ bed and Yaz wants to laugh with the irony but can’t find it in herself to break the moment. James’ eyes are dark even as they reflect the fairy lights behind Yaz but she doesn’t see them long as her eyelids flutter closed when their faces start to move closer. Their lips brush and Yaz hears James suck in a shuddering, nervous breath. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest she’s pretty sure it might actually kill her, but you’d have to let her die to get her to stop now.
“Please,” James whispers, but she doesn’t move forward, doesn’t initiate a kiss. She lets Yaz hold her cheek in one hand and her wine glass in the other and finally, finally press their lips together.
Y’know when people say a good kiss feels like fireworks exploding behind your eyes? They’re wrong. This feels nothing like that. It feels like the world around them goes silent, like they’re the only two people left on planet earth. It feels like everything slows to a stop just for them to live in this moment of lips and tongue, soft and gentle at first, then harder and with more need as Yaz holds the back of James’ neck and pulls her close. Their wine glasses clink together and Yaz has to use every bit of strength in her to make sure she doesn’t drop it (at this point she wouldn’t care if she did).
James’ hand grips the side of Yaz’s shirt, pulling her body closer as her tongue swipes over Yaz’s bottom lip. One of them makes a noise, Yaz has no idea who and honestly doesn’t even care. She parts her lips easily for James’ tongue to dart forward, licking into her mouth with an eagerness that she should’ve expected from her. She kisses like she’s never kissed another person before, like she will never get another chance to kiss Yaz again and so she’s giving it her all right now. Like she thinks Yaz is going to pull away or disappear or something.
A sharp knock sounds at the door and Sonya’s voice comes through, muffled by the wood. “Are you two makin’ out in there? C’mon, mum wants to watch a film.”
They break away slowly and James presses another quick kiss to her mouth before Yaz even opens her eyes, like she can’t help herself. Her lips are wet and her tongue tastes like James and her body feels like she’s been electrified, skin practically buzzing. She rests her forehead on James’, eyes still closed at least for the moment. She doesn’t want to break it, this careful thing they’ve just built over the past few seconds. She doesn’t want to remember they’re supposed to be faking it or that she’s royally fucked up her plan of pretend-breaking up with James in a few weeks or that now they’ve got to figure out what this is. She doesn’t want to be pulled back into real life, content to just stand here with James, lightly scratching the back of her neck with her nails.
James whispers, “what kind of movie do you think they’ll put on?”
Yaz lets out a breath from her nose, unable to help the smile that forms on her face. “I dunno,” she says, finally pulling back and opening her eyes.
James is just as beautiful as she was before, with the light shining on her face and reflecting on her eyes and lips now kiss swollen and red and a bit wet. James’ tongue darts out between them and Yaz follows the movement with her eyes, wanting nothing more than to lean back in. She pulls away fully now and slides her hand from James’ neck down to her collar bone, right over her heart that’s beating wildly under Yaz’s palm.
“Think we should get out there,” Yaz says.
“Yeah,” James agrees.
“They’ll think we’re shaggin’ in here if we don’t.”
James’ face flushes hard in the light. “Right.”
Yaz’s eyes flick down to her mouth again and she honestly can’t help it that she leans forward again, capturing James’ lips in another kiss. Quicker and less needy than the last time, but it still takes her breath away and leaves her wanting more.
She tangles their fingers together as they leave her room (after wiping their mouths and making sure they don’t look like they were actually just making out in Yaz’s bedroom). Her mum is curled up one one chair, Sonya on the other, their dad sitting at one end of the couch. Yaz ends up squished between her dad and James and can’t focus on the movie one bit as James’ thigh is pressed against her own, her finger absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on the back of Yaz’s hand that’s settled in her lap.
If you’d asked her, Yaz wouldn’t be able to tell you which movie they even watched or what it was about. She doesn’t even notice it’s over until her mum flicks on the lamp and the room floods with light again, startling Yaz enough that she actually jumps slightly. James gives her a soft smile and laces their fingers together in her lap while Yaz’s parents stand from their seats. The tv gets turned off and Yaz stands, tugging James up by the hand.
“James, it was nice to finally meet you,” her mum says politely.
“You too, Yaz’s mum,” James replies with a grin.
"It’s Najia,” Yaz’s mum reminds her, but with no real irritation behind it.
Hakim shakes James' hand once more, and Sonya gives a nod before going back to whatever she's doing on her phone (probably, like a background check on James or something). Yaz follows behind James as they make their way to the door, the rest of the family forgotten in the living room, and their fingers stay intertwined with no sign of letting go until James stops next to her boots.
It feels...different. Like, of course it feels different (they'd literally just snogged in her bedroom not even two hours ago) but this time feels like it isn't the end anymore. It feels more like a gentle beginning, a promise of something yet to come. And christ, Yaz is bloody terrified of the rest of their story together, but James' fingers squeeze her own and her lips quirk up at the edge when she catches Yaz staring at her, and really, how could Yaz be scared of anything when she's got James by her side?