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"I'll make you a bed on the couch," Fiona tells Jasmine, when she comes around looking for a place to stay when her wild life exploded. You can only get away with so much cheating on your rich husband, it turns out. 'On the couch' is the important part. Fiona's already got five kids plus Frank to look after, and couches are impermanent sleeping arrangements, and it's not like they got a spare bed anyway.
Fiona's not sharing hers.
So when a body crawls into her bed that night and it’s too tall to be Liam or Carl or even Debbie, Fiona just sighs and says, “Jasmine,” sort of like a rebuke.
“That couch is lumpy,” Jasmine says right into Fiona’s ear. Fiona doesn’t move, stays flat on her back, and Jasmine just curls onto the space left on the mattress beside her. Jasmine puts an arm around Fiona’s waist. Fiona rolls away.
Jasmine makes a little noise. “If I hadn’t kissed you, would you mind so much… sharing your bed?”
Fiona doesn’t answer.
“I’m not going to go down on you in your sleep, you know.”
Fiona’s glad she has her sleep mask on. It’s easier not to look, easier to pretend to be asleep.
“I thought we were friends,” Jasmine says.
“So did I,” Fiona says, breaking her silence. With a particular ‘hitting the head of the nail’ tone, she says, “Friends.”
“Friends can get frisky.” If she was looking, Jasmine would probably be smirking. Fiona can feel the heat of Jasmine’s body behind her, but they aren’t touching, even an inch. It must be very purposeful, on a bed so narrow.
“I don’t do that with my friends,” Fiona says.
“Shame… That Veronica chick is hot.”
Fiona laughs, just laughs, before stifling it. Anyone with eyes could tell Vee wasn’t fond of Jasmine. Maybe Veronica was used to being Fiona’s only real friend, or maybe she sensed trouble from the start.
“Why me?” Fiona asks, the real question. Why’d Jasmine latch on to her when she had enough money, that, if she had been more careful, could live with no responsibilities, sliding easy and excited through life. All Fiona has is responsibilities.
“Are you kidding, Fi? You’re fucking amazing.”
Fiona blinks and her eyes sting.
“I know it’s not fair,” Jasmine says, voice quieter than before. “Especially now that I have nothing to give. Everyone’s going to ditch me. They all care so much about their fucking images. But not you. You’re real.”
Jasmine shifts on the bed, maybe flopping onto her back. Her shoulder hits against Fiona’s back, but she Fiona doesn’t care this time.
“No one fucking cares about me,” Jasmine says to the ceiling.
“That’s not true,” Fiona says too fast, all honesty.
She hears a sniffle. Shit.
“Thanks,” Jasmine says, scratchy-voice.
Fiona rolls on her back, and they’re arm to arm like this. She pushes her sleep mask up on her forehead. They’re just enough ambient light to make Jasmine out.
“You’re a good person, Fiona,” Jasmine says, and her eyes are puffy. Maybe she was crying before she came into Fiona’s room. “I’m not.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m not.” She shrugs against the pillow. “I don’t give a shit about anybody… well, I give a shit about you.”
Fiona thinks about Jasmine getting her a job, giving her clothes, introducing her to men she never would have met and inviting her to parties she never would’ve been invited to. Can she turn her away for trying to give her something else, something more vulnerable, a kiss and whatever it might have implied?
Jasmine starts to sit up. “I’ll go back downstairs.”
Fiona catches Jasmine’s arm. “You can stay with me tonight.”
Jasmine grins and it’s fleeting and she lies back down.
They sleep side-by-side, and Jasmine’s asleep before her. Fiona feels a contentment she wasn’t sure of, because maybe this is selfish, maybe she just wants to be needed, as Ian once said.
Fiona’s sure as hell tired of being abandoned.