Chapter Text
bruce springsteen; cover me
hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us, cover me, shut the door and cover me, well I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me...
“You really leavin’ me so early on a Saturday mornin’?”
Charlotte stops in the middle of pulling her top over her head, her muscles taut under the weight of the gaze currently on her shoulders, before pulling the fabric the rest of the way down and turning around to the source of the voice.
This right here is the part that Charlotte dislikes the most and she knows that it is stupid because she made this damn rule all by herself.
It doesn’t mean she has to like it though.
And it’s not as if she hasn’t left without saying anything before because she has – several times at that, not that that makes it any better or anything – but it seems to get worse for some reason, a reason she doesn’t really want to dwell on too much because that would mean dwelling on this whole situation too much and that’s a huge no, no.
Becky is pretty in the morning, even with her wild hair and smudged make up from the night before. There is a part of Charlotte that actually wants to go rogue and she considers turning back and reaching out to tuck some hair behind Becky’s ear and kiss her goodbye, but then she considers how that might look and what that might mean and she decides against it. Becky bends her knees and brings them towards her chest, her hair falling around her shoulders and neck, the orange a stark contrast against the white sheet that’s bunched around her.
They are friends - nothing more and nothing less – just with added benefits every now and then, at least that’s what she tells herself. The problem is, however, is that this situation is beginning to spiral a little bit out of control. Sometimes it feels like things between her and Becky spin around faster and faster, threatening to go completely awry whilst throwing her own rules out the window.
And sometimes she is utterly tempted to let that happen because why the hell not?
But no, she needs to get back in control of things.
“Becky, listen, if you… If you don’t want to do this anymore - ”
She has no idea why these words are even coming out of her mouth right now because if Becky doesn’t want to do this anymore then she’s not sure what the hell she’s supposed to say to that.
What can you say to it really?
“Charlotte, how many times?” Becky cuts her off with a laugh; it’s a girlish type giggle that some how sounds strange coming from her, fake even. “I’m good. Anyway, we both know what this is and isn’t, right? We’re good.” Becky waves her off as if telling Charlotte to just do what she’s going to do and leave.
Charlotte finds herself smiling then and it is the most genuine smile that she can muster given the circumstances, and she even allows herself to lean forward and press a kiss to Becky’s cheek. It’s the little displays of affection like this that has her questioning things. There is no real need for her to do it and yet here she is, kissing Becky on the cheek like it means something, and in a way Charlotte knows that it definitely does, somewhere.
Initially this ‘thing’ between them happened once every few months, but now it happens so frequently that it is almost a familiar routine for them. Charlotte knows where certain things are in Becky’s apartment and knows which side of the bed Becky prefers to sleep on and knows that when you step on a specific part of the bedroom floor it creaks underneath your feet like it’s about to bend and break.
Bayley has asked Charlotte a million times – okay, not literally a million but probably close – why her and Becky just don’t go exclusive, whatever the fuck that means these days and she finds that she doesn’t really have a solid answer. Sure, she can try and mislead Bayley with some spineless lie that she is keeping her options open or that she doesn’t want tied down with some heavy relationship right now but that’s a crock of shit and her and Bayley both know it.
Bayley had told her then that sometimes you have to have the guts to admit what you want and, maybe more importantly, who you want and that it is okay to be afraid of that because…
No, the truth is that Charlotte is afraid of what it might mean for them because as soon as you cross that relationship line it’s very difficult to go back, if you even can, especially if things go to shit. And she figures that it is better having Becky in her life like this than not at all because if they crashed and burned, Charlotte is pretty sure she wouldn’t know what to do without Becky.
Better safe than sorry, right?
They’d met three years ago when Charlotte was twenty-five, Becky a year younger and they had hit it off immediately. But somewhere along the line something had changed between them and the line that Charlotte used to walk easily along with Becky has become a high-rise tight rope that is extremely easy to slip from, the only problem being that the netting underneath the tight rope is very much safe and secure which keeps Charlotte coming back time and time again for even more.
The first time they had ended up in bed together Charlotte had chalked it up to too much alcohol and not enough sleep, but when it happened for the second time and then the third time she realised that that excuse didn’t really wash for either of them.
And here she is, almost a year and a half after the first time, still trying to figure out if any sane excuse can possibly fit why they are still doing this, except the obvious answers, because she doesn’t want to hear them thank you very much.
“I’ll see you again tonight though?” Becky asks. “I know you aren’t working and neither am I, so.”
Becky’s right and Charlotte knows it, she’ll be back in this exact situation again tomorrow morning wondering what the fuck she is doing with her life, and by that she means what the fuck she is doing with Becky. “You’re annoying and I don’t like you right now.”
“I know,” Becky says, and then adds, “I find that really attractive on you though.”
*****
Becky’s running late.
That’s not unusual but it is annoying.
Sasha and Bayley are running late too.
That’s also not unusual but Charlotte refuses to think about the reason why they are late when she has inadvertently caught the live show on more than one occasion.
And of course while they are all running late, and Charlotte is sitting alone, the unthinkable happens. The woman Charlotte has been trying to dodge at the gym appears at the opposite side of the bar. She has already told Steph that she’s not interested in the gentlest of ways but the message hasn’t sunk in because Steph still shows up for every session Charlotte takes and openly flirts with her in front of everyone else.
What more is it going to take?
And it’s not as if Charlotte can duck behind other people at the bar when she’s literally taller than most of the people around her. Maybe she can just leave? Down her drink and go, and tell the others to meet her somewhere else. It sounds like a solid enough plan because it can’t be a silly coincidence that Steph is here now too, she probably heard Charlotte talking on the phone with Becky earlier today.
There’s a small group of guys to her right who look like they are about to leave and that can be her way out too. She dips her head and focuses on her drink until she hears the tell tale noise of jackets being lifted and chairs being scraped away from a table.
When they all move so does Charlotte. It’s like a scene from a poor comedy movie and she can practically hear the slapstick music that would be playing in the background.
She tries to move quickly so that she’s on the far side of the group and tucked away mostly out of view. She’s still taller than a few of the guys so she finds herself slightly hunched over and honestly, if this was an undercover operation she would be absolutely fucked. One of the guys who belong to the group shoots her a weird look but she pretends not to see that either, as long as she keeps moving she will be just fine.
Steph is moving now too and heading towards the bar, Charlotte can see her from the corner of her eye. Charlotte figures she’s got about ten big strides to go before she is free but then a move she doesn’t account for happens. Someone pushes their chair out from their table right in front of Charlotte and as the rest of the group Charlotte is following walk past she comes to a juddering halt to stop herself from crashing straight into the person.
“Shit,” she finds herself saying.
She tries to turn back around and finds herself colliding with someone else now and could this plan be going any worse? Charlotte really doesn’t think so.
“Becky?” Charlotte says immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Becky answers instantly. “Why the hell are you acting like that? I just stood and watched you stalking some group of men.”
“How did you get in here?”
“Uh, the side door.” Becky says it like it is the most obvious thing in the world and as Charlotte peers over her shoulder, sure enough there’s a door tucked away just behind a booth. She feels her face going red.
Becky’s wearing Charlotte’s favourite leather jacket and her fingers reach out and run over the collar of Becky’s shirt almost automatically, it’s white and has tiny navy swallow birds on it. The fabric is fresh and smart under her fingers and Charlotte knows that it’s new. “This suits you.”
“Yeah. Are you gonna to tell me what you were doing?”
Charlotte’s focus comes back and she remembers why she hadn’t been paying attention in the first place. She looks back over her shoulder to see Steph ordering a drink and maybe she hasn’t seen all the commotion Charlotte has made after all. Charlotte’s smile turns into a frown and she watches as Becky’s face mirrors her own.
“Charlotte?”
“That woman at the bar,” Charlotte says, and nudges her head back, “that’s the woman I was telling you about from the gym. I think she heard me talking to you earlier and showed up here to bump into me. I was trying to get out of here before she spotted me.”
“Do you need me to roll up my sleeves?” Becky asks, and she makes a show of pinching the wrist of her leather jacket and pulling it up towards her elbow. “Cause I can fight.”
Charlotte shakes her head and she can’t help but smile, and Becky really likes that smile. “No but thank you for the offer. Do you think we can just leave and meet Sasha and Bayley somewhere else?”
Before Becky can answer her, Charlotte sees a look flit across Becky’s face and she internally groans because she can guess what that look means. “She’s finally spotted me hasn’t she?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“Do you think she’d go away if she thought you were with me?” Becky asks.
Charlotte feels her face knit together in a confused sort of way until Becky’s fingertips brush against the fleshy part of her palm. She unfurls her fingers and lets Becky’s slip around hers until she can feel the warmth of Becky’s palm against her own.
“I guess,” Charlotte says, and her words are quiet, almost carried away by the rest of the noise in the bar. There’s an odd feeling in her chest but she tries not to fixate on it too much because you’re better off just treating hesitation like seasickness. If you feel it in your stomach just look forward and focus on what is ahead of you.
“Alright, go with it then,” Becky murmurs.
Charlotte turns and catches Steph’s eye, and she looks just as surprised as Charlotte feels. But then she focuses back on Becky and the grip that’s currently on her hand, and then Becky is leaning up slightly to press a kiss onto her cheek and Charlotte’s surrounded by how Becky smells: achingly familiar and gorgeous.
“This alright?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, guess you’re with me now.”
“Steph?” Charlotte says when she turns around, as if she’s just noticed the other woman for the first time. “I didn’t know you came here?”
Becky moves so that her shoulder is pressed against Charlotte’s own and their hands are still linked together. Steph looks like she’s just been caught snooping on something she shouldn’t have been and in a roundabout way it is probably true.
“Steph from the gym?” Becky asks with a look up at Charlotte and Charlotte is impressed by how authentic Becky’s question sounds as she nods her confirmation.
“The very one,” Charlotte answers, and Becky can hear a nervous tilt to her friend’s voice for whatever reason. “This is Becky… my girlfriend,” Charlotte tacks on quickly at the end.
“Oh. Girlfriend?” Steph says as she looks down at their tangled hands, and then her eyes are flitting back upwards as if she is trying to find a lie between them both.
“Girlfriend,” Becky states, “that’s me. Do you want a drink, babe?”
“Yeah. That would be great.”
Becky doesn’t wait for any sort of reply, she just tugs on Charlotte’s hand and Charlotte finds her feet moving in the direction that Becky wants her to. She watches the shock register across Steph’s face and then she finds herself grinning. She has a feeling Steph won’t be bothering her again any time soon.
Becky moves them to the furthest end of the bar and she drops Charlotte’s hand as she leans her elbows onto the wooden counter. Charlotte can imagine the skin and muscle underneath Becky’s jacket and shirt; can pin point where there’s a small cluster of freckles at the base of Becky’s spine; and she knows that there’s a red mark at Becky’s hip that she left herself.
Then Becky’s turning and smiling at her and it swirls around Charlotte’s chest like some sort of mini storm.
“That smile,” Charlotte says quietly, “that one right there?”
“What about it?”
“I’ve known you for three years. You only smile like that for me.”
“I only do a lot of things for you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte can appreciate an attractive person the same as everyone else but being attractive doesn’t particularly impress her like it used to. Being smart impresses her; being funny impresses her; being witty impresses her and probably most of all, being a good person impresses her.
And Becky is a good person - one of the best actually.
And Charlotte, despite her denial, maybe wants Becky more than any friend or no strings fuck buddy should.
Shit.
*****
Charlotte stands at the front door of her mother’s house holding so many grocery bags that she can’t feel the tips of her fingers anymore. Using her elbow, she tries to open the door and ends up bumping her shoulder into the glass window pane. She edges back and lifts her leg so that she can press her foot against the handle but the door still doesn’t move. Finally, she gives up and leans forward like some sort of moron and bangs the door with her forehead.
Through the paned glass she watches her mother making her way down the hall. She opens the door with a usual smile. “Why didn’t you make two trips?”
Charlotte bends slightly so that her mom can kiss her on the cheek. She’s still got the grocery bags scooped up into her fingers, the circulation all but cut off now.
“What’s going on?” she asks, thinking her mother looks a little bit unwell.
“Rachelle,” her mom answers and Charlotte bites back a laugh. Her aunt Rachelle is the only person Charlotte knows who travels around with her own stacked stock of alcohol.
“Vodka?” Charlotte asks.
Her mom whispers, “Rum,” in the same way she might say “heart attack.”
Charlotte cringes in sympathy. “How long is she planning on staying?”
“She hasn’t said yet. But she brought an invitation for you.”
“An invitation? An invitation for - ”
“Just go on in,” her mum interrupts, indicating to the kitchen. “I’ll follow.”
Charlotte attempts to shift the bags in her hands before walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, glancing at the photos that adorn the walls. No one can go from the front door to the kitchen without getting a first hand view of the Flair children’s formative years.
Reid, of course, looks handsome and well put together in all of them. Charlotte, though, isn’t so lucky. There’s a particularly awful photo of her at a summer camp when she was around 10 years old that she would like to rip clean off the wall if her mom would let her away with it.
“Sweetheart!” Rachelle shouts, throwing her arms open wide as Charlotte enters the kitchen. “Look at you!” she says, as if it’s some type of lovely compliment – it isn’t and Charlotte knows it.
She had literally rolled out of Becky’s bed just over an hour ago and she hasn’t even bothered to run a brush through her hair. Given their arrangement, the clothes she’s wearing today are the same ones as yesterday too – it’s kind of a shambles. Rachelle, on the other hand, is wearing a vintage type dress that has probably cost a small fortune; diamond earrings sparkle in the lobe of her ears and there are various rings on various fingers. Her hair and make up are perfect and she looks stunning even in the early afternoon of Sunday.
“Sorry I haven’t been around sooner.”
“Ah. Forget about it.” Her aunt waves off her apology as she sits down. “Since when do you do your mother’s shopping?”
“Since she can’t get out of the house because she’s trying to entertain you.” Charlotte puts the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and tries to massage the circulation back into her hands.
“I’m easily pleased, Charlotte, you know that. It’s your mother that needs to venture out more.”
“With you and rum?”
Rachelle grins. “She can’t hold her alcohol, I still say that’s the only reason she married your father.” Charlotte groans and Rachelle carries on, “Anyway, what is happening in your life?”
“Not much that would interest you,” Charlotte tells her, lifting a loaf of bread out of one of the bags. “Unless health and fitness is now your thing?”
“I guess having a routine can be good for people,” Rachelle says, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl and biting a large chunk out of it.
“I guess, yeah.”
“Really good.”
“Yep,” Charlotte answers, knowing full well where this conversation is heading.
Her aunt Rachelle is well into her fifties but as far as Charlotte knows, she’s never been sick a day in her life. Maybe there is something about smoking like a chimney and drinking until dawn breaks after all.
Her mom, her saviour as usual, moves the milk to the other side of the shelf in the fridge and then asks, “What time did you get home last night?”
“More like this morning,” Rachelle mutters under her breath and despite the fact that she is a fully fledged adult, who can do whatever the hell she wants really, Charlotte can feel her cheeks starting to turn a darker shade of pink. “Here, before I forget.” Her aunt turns and starts rummaging in her purse before revealing a light pink envelope and handing it over to Charlotte.
There seems to be a slight bump in the middle of the envelope that catches on the paper as Charlotte opens it. She finds herself staring at block capital letters: Jennifer and Kenneth.
“I told her they were too fancy,” Rachelle says, “but she wouldn’t listen.”
It is an invitation to her cousin’s wedding. Perfectly simple and elegant, printed on what looks like expensive card. The whole package is held together by a pretty bow with a tiny jewel in the middle of it, which explains the bump in the envelope.
Untying the bow, Charlotte finds that the invitation is more complicated than she first thought and it is spread out over a couple of smaller cards. The first part with their names she’s already seen, but there’s a smaller card after that addressed directly to Charlotte and guest with all the important information on it. The third sheet is a response card that is in the shape of a red love heart, which for some reason, Charlotte finds herself grimacing at.
“Is there a reason the wedding is so soon?” Charlotte finds herself asking. “Haven’t they only been dating for like a year?”
Jennifer and Kenneth have been dating for less time than Charlotte has been sleeping with one of her best friend’s and honestly, what’s the fucking deal with that?
“Oh, honey,” Rachelle laughs. “You’re living in the wrong time if you think anyone gives a damn about that these days. You love who you love and that’s it, my daughter is no different. That’s the main reason I got married the first time.”
“And conveniently found a man who would pay for it all,” Charlotte’s mom says from behind the fridge door.
“Don’t worry,” Rachelle adds, “lots of people go to events solo Charlotte.”
Charlotte is pretty sure she feels something explode in her head – maybe a vessel that supplies the blood flow to the linguistic part of her brain, because all she can do is open and close her mouth without any words coming out.
“Who said I’m not dating anyone?” Charlotte asks eventually.
“Are you?” It’s her mom this time with the question and a perfectly raised eyebrow to go with it.
Charlotte clears her throat and it feels like her tongue has swollen to twice its size. “No, I mean… it’s not like - ”
“So that’s a yes then,” Rachelle says simply. “Who is it?”
Charlotte is about to panic. She tries to feel like she is not in some sort of trouble – but she is, she totally is – and the sensation settles in her stomach like some type of anchor that’s falling through the ocean and heading straight for the sea bed and taking her under with it.
There’s a beat of silence, her mom and aunt exchanging a look that Charlotte’s all too familiar with. They have her boxed into the corner and they are going for the knock out.
“It’s Becky,” Charlotte finds herself saying. Sometimes you need to either go big or go home.
“Becky? Your friend Becky with the bright orange hair? That Becky?” Her mom asks.
“Yes, mom. That Becky. What other Becky do you know in my life?” Her words hold a blend of embarrassment and frustration, the latter caused by the former. And oh fuck, she’s really in the shit now.
“Orange hair? She sounds wild,” Rachelle says, “bring her to the wedding with you.”
“She’s a lovely girl.” Charlotte finds her mom smiling at her after she says that and despite the lunacy of the situation, it makes Charlotte smile a little bit too.
*****
“Bayley, I think I’ve done something stupid,” Charlotte says as Bayley walks through her front door with a six pack of beer tucked under her arm. It’s not exactly how the conversation should start but Charlotte’s not sure how this conversation could go any other way anyway.
“What kind of stupid are we talking about? Is it your job?”
Charlotte shakes her head and lets out a resigned and weary sigh.
“Becky?”
When Charlotte nods at that Bayley takes her jacket off and drapes it over the kitchen table chair before grabbing a bottle opener from the kitchen and bringing the beer over to the couch where Charlotte is sitting. She has that sinking feeling that this conversation will probably be problematic.
“Okay, what happened?”
“Well, basically, I told my mom and my aunt I’m dating Becky.” She can still barely believe the words herself but she had said them, clear as day and with shocking confidence.
“What?” Bayley’s eyes quickly widen and she takes a drink of her beer because she’s been here for the last three years. She has witnessed first hand how Charlotte and Becky are around each other and despite her best attempts to bang their heads together so that they will see sense, it has never really worked. “You two are together now? Wow. About time!”
“Well… no,” Charlotte eventually replies, her eyes on the beer bottle label that she’s scribbling at with her thumb nail. “I got an invite to my cousin’s wedding and my aunt was talking about how people go solo to these things all the time and it just sort of came out. I can’t go solo, Bayley.”
“Oh lord,” Bayley shakes her head quickly. “Does Becky know?”
“No. I came home and moped around here because how pathetic is my life?”
“Well you better tell her. I mean, maybe this is what you both need I guess.”
“Don’t start, Bayley.”
“Can you remember when I liked Sasha and was too afraid to tell her? You were the one who encouraged me to do it.”
“That’s different,” Charlotte argues as she takes a gulp of the bitter liquid. Bayley’s beer choices really do suck. “You guys are meant for each other and all that clichéd crap.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me right now?” Bayley asks, and there’s a look in her eyes that makes Charlotte skin itch.
“No?”
Bayley puts her bottle onto the table before she throws herself back onto Charlotte’s couch so that she is facing the ceiling. “Just tell Becky tomorrow. I can’t fucking believe you two.”
*****
Surprises are, by nature, a bit of a shock to the system.
A bolt from the blue, if you like.
Becky isn’t really sure how she feels about surprises these days. On the one hand, the idea of something new is quite refreshing. On the other hand, however, most of the surprises that she’s been the recipient of in her twenty odd years of life have left her with a bit of a sour taste in her mouth about the whole idea of surprises.
Like that time when she was a kid and her parents, surprise, hired some scary ass puppeteer that resembled something from a horror movie for her birthday. The whole thing was more terrifying than exciting.
Or that time when she was fifteen, when she’d come home early from her friends, and, surprise, found her parents in a seriously compromising position. That wasn’t a great surprise at all. Horrifically embarrassing actually. The kind of surprise that haunts you in your sleep and makes you never want to close your eyes again because the image is burned into your very soul for all the wrong reasons.
Or there was that time when she was eighteen, when she’d gotten in with the wrong crowd and they had thought that piercing their own ears with a sterile needle and ice cubes was a good idea and very cool, excuse the pun. Well, surprise, it wasn’t a good idea at all.
Or maybe it was that time that she’d met Charlotte and became friends with her, and, surprise, ended up in a muddled puddle of feelings that she’s ankle deep in, and if she isn’t careful it’ll be knee deep before long.
Hell, who is she kidding? She is wading knee deep and fucking sinking.
So yeah, surprises and Becky don’t particularly see eye to eye.
But Becky is surprised right now. She’s laying flat on her back on top of a car creeper, half submerged underneath a Mercedes that she’s currently servicing and she’s surprised, and not by the car and not in a way that she’s used to.
This time the surprise is more confusing than anything else. She really can’t figure out what the right word for it is because her mind is going a million miles an hour and… nah, she can’t think of the right word or phrase to describe this.
Charlotte is currently standing over her, looking downwards, so that she’s upside down to Becky with a look on her face that still lets Becky know that she’s being serious.
“What?” Becky mutters.
“You heard me.”
Becky pushes with her feet and finds herself rolling backwards from underneath the car, the wrench she’s holding sort of clatters against the concrete floor sending little shockwaves of sound around the garage.
Charlotte watches as Becky reaches a grimy hand out and she leans down to grab it, pulling gently so that Becky gets back onto her feet without any issues. Despite the nature of her work, Becky’s hands are always smooth and Charlotte knows first hand the practical use they serve. The navy jumpsuit Becky is wearing is horribly stained with oil and God knows what else but it’s pulled into a knot around her waist so it’s her plain white t-shirt that is suffering the grief of her work today. Her hair is pulled back into a loose sort of braid and there’s even oil on her chin and neck.
“Oh, I heard you,” Becky says, “I just didn’t understand you.”
And that’s strange in itself because Becky has known Charlotte for three years and this is probably the first time she hasn’t understood what Charlotte is on about. She’s always been oddly in tune with Charlotte’s feelings or intentions, since the very start but she doesn’t really know what is going on right now.
“I need you,” Charlotte says slowly, highlighting every word with an animated hand gesture, “to be my girlfriend… again. Please.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Becky replies with a quick shake of her head.
“It’s not…” Charlotte rubs her palm against her forehead. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“I know that,” Becky bites back, and there’s more venom behind her words than she’d been expecting. Where the hell did that come from?
“I kind of told my aunt and my mom that I’ve been… dating,” Charlotte winces as she speaks the words, a bit like how Becky winces whenever someone touches the tools on her workbench or tries to lecture her about cars as if she’s some sort of idiot. “And that person is invited to my cousin’s wedding with me.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Becky says as she connects the dots in her head. It’s a thing she has to do with Charlotte at times because sometimes Charlotte tends to paint a simple picture of things without delivering the heavy blow. “You need me to be your girlfriend to a weddin’ cause you told people you are dating when you aren’t… and that person is me?”
“It just came out!” Charlotte replies and her voice is all high pitched and weird in a manner that Becky isn’t really familiar with. “I don’t know where it came from.”
“Get Sasha to do it.”
“I already told them it was you,” Charlotte says, face pinched in an unimpressed frown. “My mom’s aware of who you are Becky.”
“No shit. I don’t wanna do this. I hate weddings, y’know that.”
“There will be free booze.”
Becky seems to be gauging whether or not there is a way she can get out of this without hurting Charlotte’s feelings in any way. Charlotte reaches out and puts her hand on Becky’s arm. “Please, I need this favour. If I show up myself I’ll never hear the end of it from my aunt and then everyone else too.”
Becky knows that’s true because Becky has been told about Charlotte’s family and they sound, well, interesting is a nice way of putting it.
“Lots of people go solo to weddings, Charlotte.”
Charlotte narrows the space between them, moving her hand to Becky’s shoulder. She can feel the hard muscle beneath her white t-shirt that is stained with grease and oil, and the heat from Becky’s skin pushes through beyond the fabric. She’s a few inches taller than Becky so she finds herself looking downwards and in the bright light of the garage, Becky’s eyes look impossibly polished and she has delicate eyelashes, dark and soft.
Becky’s silent, her eyes tracing back and forth across Charlotte’s face, lingering on her mouth, before meeting her gaze again. This is a bad idea for her, Becky can feel it in her gut. Instincts are there to be trusted after all. If she feels something is wrong then something is likely wrong. It is as simple as that.
And yet, the next words that come out of her mouth are completely at odds with her gut warning.
“Alright, I’ll do it.”
“You will?” Charlotte asks, then turns when a man in a suit comes into the garage with a briefcase and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He’s a banker or lawyer for sure, only someone of those professions could look as smug and insufferable.
“Yeah,” Becky grumbles, eyeing the guy behind Charlotte. “But only cause of the free booze.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte takes Becky’s hand in her own and squeezes before she presses a fleeting kiss to Becky’s cheek. “See you tonight, love!” Charlotte calls as she leaves, loud enough so that the man in the suit is well aware of its implications.
Becky throws a smile in Charlotte’s direction before she disappears out of view, and Becky is left wondering, first, what the fuck has she gotten herself into and, second, how the fuck is she going to survive it?
*****
It’s almost nine in the evening when Becky enters the garage. The street is pretty quiet and has almost settled into a safe silence. The nervous energy has raged around her body all day, prompting her to fix a broken door hinge, rearrange some of the furniture in her living room and tidy out her kitchen cupboards after work.
She switches on a playlist from her phone and the opening notes of The Eagles’ classic ‘Hotel California’ start easing their way into the garage with her. To her right is the green and black motorcycle, parked into its own space, just waiting for their next adventure together.
For a second Becky forgets about everything and visualizes herself pressing forward on the body of the bike, her stomach against the gas tank, her thighs clutched around the seat, turning the bike into a series of sharp turns; her knees a few inches off the ground. The co ordination of her hands and feet to control the vehicle takes all of her concentration and removes everything else from her head.
Riding the bike is like breaking in a spirited thoroughbred horse. It’s a question of control and patience, of calming a bit of a rebel who wants to control you.
The restoration of the 1970 Corvette that sits close to the bike is a labour of love, a testament to her father who had encouraged her love of cars way back when she was young.
She was eleven when her fascination with cars and bikes began.
While girls her own age were too busy being silly about boys she was interested in her dad restoring an old motorbike in the garage. Initially she sat back, just watching and her dad explained what he was doing.
Each day she had moved closer towards her dad’s work station until eventually she was sitting right next to him, crossed legged with oil on her nose and cheeks. If her dad was in the garage then so was Becky.
Eventually Becky had started asking questions about the mechanics of the machine, eager to know how it all got put together. Her dad initially showed her drawings and diagrams before he demonstrated how to do it. Her mom would have to drag them from the garage to eat.
After a few months, her dad had turned to her and said: “Okay, B, you’ve watched me do it a hundred times. It’s your turn. Do you think you could fit that nut and washer into the exhaust housing?”
He had moved out of Becky’s way and with that first turn of the wrench her passion had been born.
The current restoration of the Corvette is an emotional but solo journey that bathes her spirit. In this one room, the stresses of every day life eases out of her muscles and leaves her relaxed and content, both physically and mentally.
Here, she is simply happy.
She crosses her legs and begins to analyse the pieces that have taken her a few months to collect. The parts will all fit together, it is just a case of figuring out how. Within the overall challenge of restoring a classic car comes the smaller tasks; twenty minutes later she has the washers, valves, tubes and pistons all grouped together. She opens the diagram that she hopes will help her meet the challenge.
Usually, the process jumps off the paper like a 3D hologram. Her brain is able to see the most logical starting point and she will start from there but tonight, for some reason, the instructions stay a puzzle of numbers and arrows and shapes.
Becky uncrosses her legs and leans back against the brick wall. Like a bomb attached to a ticking timer, there is probably never a good time to open her feelings for Charlotte, no matter how much of an unsettling effect it has on her.
Feelings can crop up in the most unexpected times with the most unexpected people and that’s a basic fact, Becky knows that. The most important thing though is that you have to be honest with yourself and however you feel because if you don’t it leads to all sorts of fucking trouble further down the road.
Feelings can end up like weeds, mercilessly pushing their way up through concrete and not budging no matter how you try to eradicate them; they are there and they are staying, and God help you trying to get rid of them.
But this want for Charlotte lives inside of Becky now, it seems to grow in the earth of her soul; maybe it is now wild and overgrown, probably untamed too. Becky is a field full of sunflowers dancing beneath a sky that never seems to want to get any closer to her, no matter how much she tries to demand the attention, but Charlotte will still be her sky tonight.
Charlotte is her sky every night these days.
The current situation brings an ache to her throat and she closes her eyes.
This thing between her and Charlotte was never supposed to be anything, really. A one off. An anomaly. Something they could both brush off but then something had changed and Becky still can’t really pin point when but it did and it still is changing.
The thought of being Charlotte’s girlfriend makes her stomach lurch. But the thought of being Charlotte’s fake girlfriend makes everything about this whole situation feel wrong and tainted, and when her stomach lurches again it is not in the pleasant way.
And the most frustrating thing is that she knows Charlotte feels something for her. Becky can hear it in the way Charlotte laughs at her jokes, or pushes the hair away from Becky’s face in the morning, or tells Becky things that don’t really matter but she tells Becky them anyway because she knows Becky always listens fully.
Becky knows that Charlotte feels something and Charlotte knows that Becky feels something… but they just don’t talk about it. Out of sight and out of mind by all accounts.
They had a no feelings plan for God sake’s. A mutual agreement. A no strings attached arrangement. But that’s the thing, plans and reality are very different ideals. Plans are crisp and easy to follow whereas reality is always, always messy.
The sound of knuckles rapping against the metal door of the garage jars Becky back into the present, and she wipes quickly at her cheeks that are stained with tears. Pushing up off the wall, she pads to the door, leaning down to open the door outwards, only lifting it high enough so that the person on the other side can slip underneath.
“I don’t know how you can work in here. It smells gross.”
“Thanks, Sasha. I know I can always count on you.”
Sasha uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe across her nose as if that’s going to magically take the permanent smell of oil and grease and metal away from her. She gives Becky the same pointed look she always does when she comes into the garage.
“I hear you got a girlfriend.”
“Wow, news travels fast around here.”
“What are you doing, Becky?”
Becky doesn’t know. She stares silently at the wall, scuffing her sneaker across the floor.
“I’m helping my friend out. Our friend even.”
Becky takes a few steps back so she’s pressed against the wall and then she lowers herself down slowly before bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Sasha follows her shortly afterwards, grimacing in disgust at the concrete floor before finally settling down next to Becky and stretching her legs out flat.
“I don’t get her at times,” Becky mutters. “I’ve tried but I just… don’t. I think I get her and then something changes again. It’s like a see saw.”
Sometimes trying to figure Charlotte out is like banging your head against a giant brick wall only to have the wall suddenly change direction and then hit you on the back of the head instead.
“We go round and round in circles,” Becky adds, and it’s true because it is like a never ending loop or cycle, a huge human hamster wheel that accommodates the both of them. “It’s exhausting but I can’t say no to her and I don’t think she knows how to say no to me either. We’re together but… we’re not if y’know what I mean? She won’t take that step for me.”
“It’s confusing as fuck for me and I’m only on the outside looking in on the pair of you.”
Becky closes her eyes and nods as she feels Sasha’s arm wrap around her shoulders. “You got no idea, Sasha. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just make a clean break from it and move the hell on for everyone’s sake.”
“Moving on isn’t always that easy.”
“Yeah, I get that. But it should be when you’re in this sort of arrangement, no strings, nothing, remember. That’s supposed to be the rules.”
“I see you two together when we’re all hanging out,” Sasha starts, “I don’t think you and Charlotte have ever been no strings. I just don’t think she knows what to do with her feelings for you.”
“I don’t think I want to feel like this anymore,” Becky admits and a loud sigh breaks free from her chest. The sigh sounds like it is a signal, and not of Becky’s resolve leaving her but of the tension point that she has now reached. She’s a bit like an old fashioned kettle – still bubbling full even after some steam has forced its way outwards.
“Like what?”
“Just… like this.” Becky waves her hand vaguely in the air.
“Oh Becky,” Sasha says after a few more minutes of silence, and Becky can hear it in the way Sasha says her name, and she can see it in the way something flashes across Sasha’s face. Sasha knows. “You love her, don’t you?” Sasha asks delicately.
There it is.
Becky blinks and then looks to the other side, she can’t see any colours or patterns on the bike right now, but she can feel a gentle, sweet pain flood through her chest at Sasha’s words. The pain blossoms beautifully from the vine wrapped around her heart, like flowers of bright and bold elegance that are supposed to be seen.
“You love her,” Sasha says simply. “And it’s a great fucking feeling, unless it hurts like this. You can try and run away from it,” Sasha adds, “but denial has quick feet and big wings, and it’ll probably follow you around until you confront it.”
“Y’know something,” Becky muses, “I love all your philosophical bullshit.”
“You need to decide what you’re going to do, Becky. Don’t put your heart through any more than it needs to. I love Charlotte, she’s my friend, but I kinda love you more because you’re my best friend.”
“I know that,” Becky answers quietly. “You’re just lookin’ out for me.”
“I am.”
“I don’t even know why I’m agreeing to this stupid fake dating bullshit. I tried to say nah.”
“Trust me, from one person to another, Becky,” Sasha begins, as she rubs soothing circles on Becky’s shoulder, “if you don’t really understand the reason why you’re doing something like this for someone then it is probably love.”
You see, your heart is a delicate thing. It sits in your chest and it supplies the blood to your cells to keep you alive every minute of every hour of every day. Even when you’re not aware of it or thinking about it, your heart is always working and looking out for you because it is the most important muscle in the body and without it working you wouldn’t be here. It’s that simple.
It is also so impressive because it can be wounded over and over again and yet it never gives in, it heals and it continues to pound away behind your ribs and it keeps you going.
Name something else that can do that?