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Jen looks around and can’t hold back the smile that wants to take over her face.
Today is her and Judy's 40th wedding anniversary.
Forty years spent married to the woman she loves. They’ve not all been perfect, it would be totally unrealistic to have expected that, especially with how up and down and lie-filled their start was. But Jen’s been happy, all this time, and she knows Judy has too, and really, there is nothing else she ever could have wanted from this life.
Her family are all here to celebrate with them, Charlie and Henry coming, of course, but the grandkids are here, all of them, and Jen can’t remember how long it’s been since that happened. They’re practically all grown now, of course, the youngest a 15 year old who's sat in the corner staring at what Jen thinks passes for a phone now, the oldest long since married, already expecting a kid of her own.
It’s probably ridiculous but Jen still can’t fucking believe she’s old enough to be a great grandmother now.
They’re outdoors, on picnic tables and fold out seating, everyone smiling and talking, eating cake, and drinking wine (of course, because that’s a habit that Jen was never going to get rid of).
And no matter what, Judy never leaves her side the whole day, letting the family and the handful of friends they’ve kept all this time come up to them to chat for a while before it’s back to the world of just Jen & Judy once again.
At some point, there’s a toast, “to the happy couple", as if they’re still 45 and wearing white, and then someone is sliding a large rectangular present in front of Jen, imperfectly wrapped in a way that has Jen immediately turning to her wife curiously.
There’s an eager smile on Judy's face, encouraging her to open it already, probably before one of their ‘grown' grandkids forgets their age and comes over to rip it open for her, and so she does, exposing a canvas just like so many other gifts she’s opened after all this time.
It’s a painting of the two of them, now, in their eighties. It’s been a long time since Jen's seen Judy paint her, but fuck if it doesn’t still make her heart melt. Maybe it’s not quite as clean as it once might have been, the lines a little shakier and not quite as crisp as all the others Judy has done of their family over the years. Jen looks at it, though, and all she can feel is the love between them, the love Judy has for her, has always had for her.
It’s perfect.
Jen tries to look away, to hide her tears, because she still hates the vulnerability of being emotional with other people, still hates feeling so fucking soft. Judy reaches over anyway, turning Jen’s head and stroking away the tears on her cheek, seeing through Jen just like she always does.
Then there’s a photo album on the table – a ‘this is your life' type thing all about their relationship that Henry’s made them – and Jen reaches to hold Judy’s hand again, both gathering strength from the other to be able to look through it.
It starts with their first picture together – taken when they were smoking weed on their beach way back when. It’s miraculous really that Jen didn’t delete it all those times she furiously kicked Judy out her life in the early days. The photo’s a little blurry, a little hazy, but really it perfectly reflects those wonderful days.
The next is from just after Judy moved in, a photo Charlie took one night when he was meant to be upstairs asleep. Judy’s curled into Jen’s shoulder, arms wrapped around each other, laughing at something they said or something on the tv, who knows. Looking at it now, it’s kind of ridiculous that they ever thought they were just friends, that they weren’t destined to come this far and end up this in love forty fucking years later.
Who the fuck would think those two women in that picture were not meant to be together?
And then they turn the page, and there’s just so many memories sitting there, one after another. There’s a picture of Judy with the kids on the day that she officially legally adopted Henry and Charlie.
A selfie Judy took of them the day they bought Charlie his first car, an hour before the accident, and then another a few days later when they were finally both sprung from hospital, both splattered with bandages and bruises but happy to be alive and together.
A photo from their wedding day, so much joy on their faces, Henry and Charlie stood at their sides on the steps of city hall – nothing really all that special, they didn’t need that, all they needed was the four of them, their little family, together.
There are so many more pictures after that, of Henry's high school graduation, then Charlie’s wedding, of Judy holding their first granddaughter with tears in her eyes.
Of Jen surrounded by the next three grandkids, playing outside with them in the way she always ended up doing no matter how much she tried to resist, because she still had something of a reputation to uphold, even after all these years of being sickeningly soft with her family.
There’s a whole section of Judy baking cookies and cakes and pies with the grandkids, Jen sat at the kitchen counter watching them adoringly, just like she always did whenever they came over. Those are Jen’s favourite photos, if anyone ever forced her to choose, because Judy just came to life whenever the little kids were around, like she was always meant to have a family like this.
Page after page, picture after picture, they see time slowly pass by. Judy’s hair starts to get greyer and greyer, Jen’s blonde until one day it's suddenly not, once Judy had finally convinced her that looking her age maybe wasn’t so horrific and she accepted the white.
Eventually, its late and the party winds down, the family all heading back to their homes and their lives, and Jen is wheeled back inside, Judy slowly walking along next to her.
Once they’re inside, Judy leans down as best as she can to kiss Jen's cheek, saying a gentle “goodnight" before they're taken to their separate rooms, going through doors opposite each other on the corridor of the nursing home.
Someone helps Jen get into bed. She tries to be patient, tries not to snap, remembering what Judy would say, but even after all this time – years now – in this assisted living facility, she still can’t get used to not being able to do everything for herself, to needing so much fucking help from people that aren’t Judy.
But she puts up with it, waiting for them to leave, waiting for the lights to go out, lying there taking in the silence.
Waiting for Judy.
And then there’s a quiet knock on the door, and it opens, letting the light from down the corridor stream in to show her wife’s quiet smile as she slips inside as smoothly as she can.
She always comes, always sneaks in. It’s been too many years – they’re not about to start sleeping apart now.
“Hi honey” Judy says softly.
“Hey Judes” Jen replies, already moving herself to one side of the tiny bed as much as possible, leaving enough space for Judy to clamber in once she finally reaches her. It’s a few moments of awkward shuffling and trying to get comfortable with all of their aches and pains and not being able to move certain ways anymore, but eventually Judy is back lying next to her, face to face, where she belongs.
“Today was something” Judy says.
“Yeah, it was. I can’t believe how old all the kids are. Did you see how fucking annoying Daisy’s new boyfriend was though? I hope she dumps his ass quick.”
Judy rolls her eyes, because of course that is what Jen would want to talk about from today, not how lovely and sweet it all was. She tries to bring it back on topic. “It was so great seeing them all together for once. It’s been such a long time.”
Jen just hums in agreement. It’s quiet for a moment, but she knows Judy hasn’t fallen asleep, not yet – not without saying goodnight like she has every night they’ve been together.
“Thank you for the painting. It was beautiful.” Jen says, eventually breaking the silence.
“Yeah, well, you’re beautiful. It’s easy when I have such an attractive subject.” Judy says, and it’s something that she’s probably said a thousand times before, but Jen’s heart still flutters every time.
“You know you were in that painting too.”
“Yeah, I’m an attractive subject too” Judy jokes, and Jen can’t even pretend not to laugh.. “Don’t act like I’m not still super hot.”
“Of course you’re still fucking hot. You could never be anything else to me.”
“Good” Judy starts, but she must notice Jen yawning and figures it’s time they get some sleep. They can’t manage staying up super late talking any more, as much as they both try far too often.
Judy gently leans in to brush their lips together before settling back down by her side, where she will stay until someone finds them in the morning and once again pretends to be angry at them for breaking all the rules, as if it doesn’t happen every single day.
“Goodnight.” The former-brunette whispers.
Jen reaches out and clasps their hands together, holding on so tight, holding Judy as best as she can nowadays, taking the same comfort in any contact she can have with her wife that she’s done every night for the last 44 years.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
It doesn't matter who says it first, it never did.
They fall asleep with their hands still intertwined, clutching onto each other, already looking forward to getting to spend another day together tomorrow.