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Judy’s face brightens the first time Jen manages to walk herself out to the patio sofa after that soul-sucking stay in the hospital.
Clasping her hands like Olive Oyl, little hearts practically blooming around her, Judy begins, “You look …”
Jen groans. “Judy, let me stop you right there. Can we … not? Can we not do this whole thing where you tell me how radiant and wonderful I look? I’ve got a mirror, Judy, and like a fucking idiot, I looked into it. So I know how I look: like a car crash victim. Which, considering the situation, is pretty apt.”
“I was going to say unstoppable,” Judy says. “And very kickass.”
“Oh,” Jen says, surprised. She kind of likes that, actually. “Thanks.”
“Like Charlize in an action movie.”
“Well, that’s …”
“Too much?”
“No,” Jen says nonchalantly, “no, I’ll take Charlize in an action movie.”
“Me too.” Judy wriggles her eyebrows.
“Okay. Simmer down, lover girl.”
“What? I’ve occasionally been known to have a thing for icy, terrifyingly efficient blondes.”
“Well, that explains why you’ve stuck it out here for more than five minutes.”
“Please. You’re a peach.” Before Jen can fight her on that one, Judy goes on, “Here, sit, I’ve got everything you need for the perfect relaxing afternoon out here. Wine, snacks, scented candles, all the TV you could possibly stream.”
Sure enough, there’s an extraordinary amount of wine, even by Jen's exacting standards. And a bag, box, or bowl of pretty much every snack food Judy’s ever witnessed Jen being even slightly partial to.
God, it would’ve been nice to be this kind of pampered the last time she had a big traumatic hospital thing. It’s a little surreal that it’s happening now, like maybe she’ll blink and it will all be gone, and Judy too.
Like the universe is mocking her, Judy picks that moment to say, “And I can go, or I can stay--”
“Stay,” Jen says. “Obviously.”
Judy brightens, but doesn’t go desperate-puppy overboard with grateful affection. She just nods and settles onto the couch next to Jen after she’s helped her to sit down. She arranges a blanket over their legs with reverent care, then hands Jen the remote.
Jen picks a cutesy reality competition show about making flower arrangements (or maybe designing tiny houses? Frosting cupcakes? Some cutesy, zen shit with an Easter-y color palette). It has a promising heckling-to-calming-visuals ratio.
They watch in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
Then Judy murmurs into her ear, “You look radiant and wonderful, too. I always think so.”
“I know,” Jen answers, reaching for her hand and weaving their fingers together tight. “I know you do.”
Once upon a time, she would have wondered why the hell she’s only got that kind of unshakable adoration in her life now, and why -- how -- it bloomed in the middle of such a nightmare shitshow. But she’s exhausted by the world’s shortest walk, and recently smashed up by some mystery asshole, and right now she’s sitting in a tiny made-for-her paradise. So she doesn’t wonder. She rests her head on Judy’s shoulder and lets the good feelings just be.