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Maren hated it when people made assumptions.

People assumed that when she was standing in front of her register with nothing to do that she was bored or that they had to give her a reason to ‘look busy’.

People assumed that just because she was standing in front of her register, she must have been opened. It didn’t matter if her light was off. It didn’t matter if the blocker was up. It didn’t matter if she had anything on the belt. She was standing there; she must have been opened.

People assumed it was her job to do everything. And everything included bagging. Despite the fact that there were bags available for the customers to use, too many of them stood there fiddling on their phones or stared at Maren until she did something. “Aren’t you gonna pack,” they’d question her. As if she hadn’t been doing that for the past six and a half hours. As if she didn’t have anything to do before that specific customer came to her line with an order exceeding $200 and they refused to help pack, let alone tell her how they wanted anything packed. Admittedly, yes, part of the job description included bagging; however that still did not obligate her to pack for every single customer while they stood there doing nothing because they were just so exhausted from shopping for two hours while Maren had worked over six hours and was still waiting her first break.

People assumed she made the rules. That she could automatically change the price of something that they claimed was on sale. That she controlled how much everything cost. That she could just bow to the customer’s every whim and not have to report to anyone above her. That there weren’t countless millionaire executive types above her running the entire company and didn’t give a shit about their employees. That if they complained enough, sooner or later Maren could just decide to cave in and give them what they wanted.

People assumed that Maren had a life. They’d tell her things like “enjoy the rest of your day” or “have a nice weekend.” But the sad reality was, those didn’t exist for Maren. She had a life to some extent, yes. But to have the time to be able to do things for herself? To not feel the need to drop whatever she was doing and go into work early or on her day off because it was busy or someone called out and they needed help? To be only part time yet feel as if she couldn’t devote any aspect of her life to anything else because she was at her store’s beck and call? Hell, the only reason Maren was even in a relationship was because that started before she took her retail position. She’d have no time to date in her current state when she struggled enough to be able to see her own brother. No, an actual life didn’t exist for Maren. Nor did a weekend. She had one day off a week, occasionally two. And never consecutively. Never on a Saturday or Sunday. Have a nice weekend? Pfft. She’d go home straight after work, eat dinner, go to bed and do it all over again the next day. Weekends were a time to not work. Maren didn’t have that luxury.

And, perhaps most annoyingly though likely trivial in the grand scheme of things, people assumed things about her. They assumed she was just like everyone else – in most cases, straight and Christian. “Have a merry Christmas,” they told her throughout the month. “Hope you don’t have to work on Christmas,” they’d lament. “Get your boyfriend anything for Christmas,” they’d ask. It was stupid; Maren knew that. But it still felt like such an erasure of her. People got pissed when she told them “happy holidays” instead of “merry Christmas” because Christmas was the only holiday that existed. Not Hanukah. Not Kwanza. Just Christmas. When she’d comment that she asked for hours on Christmas Eve because she wasn’t Christian people would either respond with “oh I’m so sorry” or “well at least you’ll be making extra money then.” Sorry that she didn’t celebrate the expected holiday? Getting the brush off that at least she’d still be doing something because then it meant she could still cater to everyone else’s wants except her own? Bullshit.

Sadly, those assumptions were merely a small handful of things Maren hated about her job.

She hated the flack people gave her about the bags. No, she wasn’t the one who decided to ban plastic bags. No, she wasn’t the one who decided paper bags cost money. No, she didn’t instate the rule that people had to use a bag regardless. No, she didn’t control the quality of the paper bags – or the reusable ones, for that matter. Yet somehow it was still her fault. And, to make matters worse, people still found a way to complain about the bags or get out of paying. They’d claim they had no idea they had to pay for bags anymore; meanwhile a law had been passed three and a half months ago that plastic bags were officially banned from stores. They’d yell and throw a hissy fit, demanding to talk to the manager when Maren told them the price of their order went from $25 to $25.22 because they used four paper bags – the extra two cents was courtesy of the tax on the bags. She hated that, when she was covering self scan, she couldn’t control how many bags people took nor could she constantly hover every single customer to make sure they paid for the store’s bags. She had six machines to watch at once when she was the attendant; she had more important things to worry about than people skimping out on paying ten cents for two bags. She was forbidden from walking up to each individual customer and asking to check their receipt to make sure they paid for bags; it was considered no different from accusing a customer of stealing an item. The two most important rules in retail – after The Customer Is Always Right, of course – were that employees could never say no and that they could never accuse a customer of anything.

She hated that people could throw tantrums over the most trivial things and not have to give any second thoughts about how they were abusing Maren or her coworkers. She’d gotten yelled at for her belt not being clean enough because she had no time in between customers to spray and wipe it. She got accused of trying to rip a customer off because a twenty-five cent coupon wouldn’t go through. She got yelled at for breaking a jar of pickles because the bag she used happened to be defective and broke as soon as she lifted it. She’d get poked and prodded by other customers for information when she was in the middle of helping someone else. People at self scan would call her over by screaming, “hey lady” because they were too damn lazy to figure out that putting a store card in required nothing more than clicking the button that read, Forgot Card. She hated that she couldn’t tell anyone off or defend herself; all she could do was smile politely, take their complaints and curses and insults, and offer to page her manager or coworker from Customer Service to come over and assist.

She hated how much food she saw go to waste. When someone decided they didn’t want a pack of chicken breasts because they turned out to be too expensive, instead of opening the cooler by the register to put it in they gave it to Maren to put under her register and rot until someone at night finally did the rounds to gather throwbacks and damages. When a coupon didn’t work for the value pack of beef because it wasn’t the right percentage – 82% as opposed to 85%, for instance - they wanted it voided off and, once again, with no one available to bring it back so it didn’t turn, Maren had no choice but to stick it under her register for hours on end. When someone did their usual shopping and had a container of ice cream but decided half way through that they didn’t want it, instead of walking back to the freezer or trying to find an associate to give it to them, they’d hide it behind the bags of potato chips and let it melt. When a customer was waiting on line and suddenly found something they wanted instead of the pack of yogurt they’d picked up earlier, they’d put the yogurt on the floor in front of the cooler instead of opening the door and putting it on the shelf with the Cokes. When a customer was at self scan and finishing their order, saving the most expensive perishable for last and ultimately deciding they couldn’t go over what they were already spending, they’d put the item in the empty hand basket underneath the machine and leave it there until it finally cleared hours later and the attendant could clean and clear everything only to discover a putrid smell leading them to turned sausage.

She hated that she was treated as less than because she was a customer service employee. “Oh, what did you go to school for,” was a common question. “Are you in school now” or “what time are your classes” was also popular when she was working morning shifts. As if she had nothing better to do but be in school currently. Customers would pry into Maren’s life, begging for intimate details about her education and why she wasn’t pursuing her chosen field let alone why she wasn’t even trying to find something. Because she was only in retail so obviously she was doing something wrong. And, on top of that, it was only retail so she certainly couldn’t do anything with her life nor was she amounting to anything in the first place. It didn’t matter what answer Maren would give, let alone what the circumstances even were; it was never good enough. Maren was never good enough. Because, unlike the big-time important members of society who worked 9-5 jobs in offices or important fields, Maren was just a cashier. She wasn’t as good or important as they were. She didn't matter.

She hated that she devoted so much time and energy into a job that was giving her minimum wage, no medical coverage, and guilted her into coming in when she was sick or unavailable. She worked the register. She watched self scan. She cleaned the registers. She took care of throwbacks. She disposed of damaged goods when she worked a night shift. She helped pull down the sale tags every Friday night. She cleaned the store – she fucking sprayed and dried the windows, entrance and exit doors, emptied the garbages in the bathrooms and break room when that wasn’t even specifically her job! She’d gone into work in the middle of a snowstorm when most of her coworkers called out because they were uncomfortable driving in whiteout conditions. She did everything and more her superiors asked of her and was damn lucky if even once in a while one of them would thank her for her help or tell her what a good job she was doing or that she was appreciated. Although, admittedly, one of her bosses was pretty good at saying thank you most of the time. But other than that? She got shit.

But most of all? She hated that she had no choice but to take this job in the middle of a global pandemic and, not only did people act worse, more entitled, and bigger babies than usual, but they also refused to take it seriously. Maren had seen plenty of people over exaggerate the situation; the week prior she had a customer wipe down every single item Maren scanned before bagging it and, despite the fact that they were wearing gloves, refused to touch the pin pad at all when it came time to pay. Her last shift watching self scan, she saw someone take out their own bottle of spray and wipe down the screen, scanner scale, and belt before even starting their order. The night before she saw a customer come in sans mask and wipe his wagon down with not one, not two, but five different handwipes. She nearly called him out on not wearing a mask in the store before he walked away from his wagon, exited the store, and returned five minutes later with a mask. And proceeded to use two more wipes to clean his wagon. Customers like those were on one end of the extreme. But all too many times Maren felt herself dealing with customers on the opposite end of the spectrum. Customers that came in with no mask, bandana, scarf, or even a face shield. Customers that stood on top of other customers or employees, refusing to acknowledge the six-foot rule. Customers who simply didn’t give a shit. To say that Maren was sick of it was a complete understatement.

Her breaking point had come earlier in her current shift, when a maskless customer came to her line. Maren asked if they had a mask on their person; the answer had been no. Maren had folded her arms and took a step back, as if creating more space would do anything – plexiglass or no plexiglass in front of the register – and told them they could ask the service desk for an extra mask. The answer, unsurprisingly, had been no because they had a medical condition. When Maren confessed she didn’t feel comfortable serving them without a mask, they told her that she was already wearing one so it was fine and that if she made them wear one and the customer got sick because of it, they would sue her and the store. Maren understood that some people couldn’t wear masks for extended periods of time for any number of reasons; she hadn’t denied that. At least, she didn’t think she did. But when there was significantly minimal space between her and the customer; when the order was filled to the top of their wagon; when the customer was insisting that they were the ones who had something to worry about and not Maren, that was where the woman drew the line. Recalling her training in which if she didn’t feel comfortable around any particular customer she could react as she saw fit, Maren turned off her light and left her register completely. She had informed her coworker at customer service and proceeded to go to the bathroom.

Not that she actually had to go, but it was likely better to hide back there throughout the customer’s transaction rather than remain up front.

Maren had been comfortable, confident, and at peace with her decision. She knew she did the right thing for herself. And she knew the rule in all stores was the same – wear a damn mask.

Or at least some kind of face covering.

That was where Maren drew the line. Yes, the masks were an inconvenience. Yes, they were uncomfortable. No, Maren didn’t want to have to wear them for four to eight and a half hours at a time on a daily basis. But if that was the rule; if it was proven to be effective on any level; if it kept people safe; then hell yes, Maren would wear the fucking mask. She’d wear three fucking masks at once if she had to.

Then, at the end of her shift, she was called to her manager’s office. Apparently the customer in question had complained about Maren earlier. While Maren admitted she did ask the customer to put on a mask and that she refused to assist them otherwise, she had absolutely no remorse for her actions.

Except that she should.

Because employees were not allowed to make customers wear any face coverings.

Maren’s reaction was likely what saved her from an actual punishment. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Her legs spread apart, nearly throwing off her balance entirely and her arms practically threw themselves up like they were being blown off her body. Though Maren would consider her response more appalled than anything, her manager had taken it as nothing more than pure shock. The suspicions were confirmed as such when he asked if Maren had any idea about the rule and she adamantly said no. Such a mistake was to not happen again; because next time, Maren was not to call anyone out like that again or consequences would follow.

Maren felt defeated. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Even on her way home, when the first thing she should have felt upon sitting in her car was relief at the realization of freedom, she could not shake the chills or sinking feeling that consumed her body from the exchange. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as they could go while her eyes struggled to focus on the dark road ahead of her. Her heart continued to race as the conversation played out in her head. She couldn’t call anyone out. Hell, she couldn’t even ask someone to pull their shirt collar over their nose. People were free to expose themselves and others despite the pandemic, despite the fear and horror that came with it, and despite the uncertainty of everything. People were free to act as if nothing had changed. Which meant people who could have unknowingly – or gods forbid, knowingly – tested positive and willingly infect people around them. It didn’t matter what anyone else was dealing with. It didn’t matter that someone could be a carrier and unknowingly pass it to someone they loved. No one mattered.

Maren willed herself to turn into the lot of her apartment complex and parked her car in its designated spot. As she shifted the gear, her grip tightened on the lever. She struggled to control the shaking of her body as the thought repeated itself.

No one mattered.

Not even them.

Exhaling, Maren got out of her car. She approached her apartment and unlocked the door. She was greeted to an empty corridor, as it should have been. Maren wasted no time before removing her boots and spraying them with the can of Lysol that rested beneath the coat rack. She repeated the process with her jacket before hanging it there – the reason she invested in the rack specifically. She then made her way through the living room and kitchen and turned to the bathroom. A folded towel was all set for her on top of the toilet seat, as well as her pajamas for the night. Stripping, Maren threw her work clothes into the hamper – her own designated one, of course, since she now had to wash the sets of clothes she used on a daily basis. She turned on the water and entered the shower. She did a thorough washing of her body as well as her hair. She often saved the latter for when she had earlier shifts; it made no sense to spend so much time washing her hair when she clocked out at ten or eleven at night only to have to go in for a nine a.m. shift the next morning. Thank the gods her shift the next day wasn’t until five; at least that gave Maren a chance this particular evening to enjoy her dinner and not have to go to bed right after.

Once she was finished, she shut the water off. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around her body, proceeding to dry herself. The faint smell of bacon seeped under the bathroom door. Maren felt herself inhaling deeply, reveling in the scent of what would become her dinner. A small smile crossed her lips.

She had the best damn girlfriend.

Maren patted her hair a little with the towel, opting to let it air dry as she tied it into a tight bun for the remainder of the night. She then changed into her pajamas and threw the towel into her hamper. Maren exited the bathroom, greeted by her pair of reindeer slippers by the door. Another smile crossing her face, Maren slipped them onto her feet and then lifted her head, glancing past the living room and into the cramped kitchen to see her girlfriend hovering over a simmering pan at the stove. Eyes glued to the blonde, Maren approached. She made sure to drag her feet against the ground slightly, signaling her arrival. She had only made the mistake once of surprising her girlfriend from behind; some boiling water had accidentally been thrown that instance. Maren’s gaze faltered only slightly, taking note of the simmering pieces of meat in the pan in front of her, followed by the notice of some pasta cooking in a pot to the right. Biting the side of her cheek, Maren’s eyes fell on the corner of her girlfriend’s face, taking in the edges of her pale, round cheeks and oceanic blue eyes that shifted between foods.

“You hate bacon,” Maren commented simply.

She clicked her tongue before using a spatula to flip the meat. “But you don’t.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” she replied softly. Maren took a pause before resting her hands on her girlfriend’s hips and tilted her head forward to kiss her cheek. “But thank you.”

“It’s the week before Christmas. It must be pandemonium at the store. I figured you could use it,” she confessed.

Sighing, Maren moved her head so it was behind her girlfriend's. She gently pressed her forehead to those soft, thick locks she adored so much. “I thought you were better than that, Elsa. I've been getting nothing but Christmas all damn month. Don’t you remind me, too.”

Her voice was soft, though more so than usual. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no,” Maren admitted. She paused. “But you’re not gonna take that, are you?”

“Damn straight.” Elsa turned around and took Maren’s hands in hers. Soft, pale hands gripped gently onto a pair of darker, more callous ones. But that never seemed to bother Elsa; every time she caressed Maren’s hands it was as if her fingers were moving over the smoothest surface. Maren had no idea how the hell Elsa did that. “I know what it’s like to close yourself off. I’m not letting you do that, too.”

No, of course not. Elsa would protect everyone from everything if she could. Maren, especially, above all else.

“How do you do that? Just…handle everything?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Years of practice,” Elsa confessed. Her hold on Maren’s hands tightened. “And you. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Maren sighed. “The pandemic screwed me over just as much as everyone else. I’m not strong.” Reluctantly, she pulled out of Elsa’s hold and moved to sit at the table. She leaned forward, elbow on the tabletop and cheek in her hand. From the corner or her eye she saw Elsa fiddle with everything on the stovetop. A moment later, she joined Maren at the small rounded table.

“You dealt with more than anyone else I know. And you’re still going. You’re still fighting,” Elsa said simply.

Maren pursed her lips. As if there were a time when she didn’t fight. But then again, she supposed she had to. She had to fight to be seen when everyone acted like she didn’t exist because she looked different. She had to fight to be heard when people pretended not to hear her. She had to fight to be acknowledged when people brushed her off. She had to fight to knock people down because they had to learn the way they spoke to someone wasn’t right. But now she was fighting for different reasons. She had to fight to make a living because when the pandemic screwed her job over she couldn’t just curl up in a ball and whine. She had to fight to prove she was capable at almost any job because as a queer person of color and as someone with a unique full name like Honeymaren it was difficult for people to take her seriously. She had to fight to keep going because she knew if she let her fear, pain, and trauma consume her then she’d be letting everyone down. She had to fight to survive because if she gave up what good would that do anyone? And, most importantly, she had to fight because there were people she cared deeply about. Because what would it do them if she gave up?

“Only for you, love.”

A shy smile as well as a blush crossed Elsa’s face. She pecked Maren’s cheek before standing up and returning to the stove. “Why don’t I finish dinner and you can tell me about your day.”

Maren scoffed. “You don’t wanna hear about that bitch.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s the same things every day.”

“And you think that matters to me?”

“I think I’d rather hear about your day.”

“Now that is the same shit every day.”

Elsa drained the pot and then separated the pasta into two separate bowls. She brought them over to the table, revealing that the portions were as equal as possible. She then gathered the bacon, sliding them off the pan and moving them onto a small plate for Maren. She set that beside Maren’s bowl and the retreated to the fridge where she grabbed the butter, sauce, and parmesan cheese.

“What would you like to drink tonight?” Elsa inquired.

“Got any of those hard lemonades in there?” she replied.

Elsa sat the toppings on the table and then checked the fridge once more. “The last one,” she confirmed before removing the bottle as well as a Sprite for herself. While she did that, Maren grabbed the silverware from the countertop and set them at the table.

“So. Your day,” Elsa said.

“Hard pass,” Maren replied. She grabbed the bottle opener and popped the tops off their drinks. She took a long sip of her drink, feeling like she had no time to waste. No, one bottle of hard lemonade would hardly be enough to get Maren drunk. Still, it had been one of those days where she seriously needed a drink afterwards. If only it could also erase the feel of those piercing blue eyes on her.

“Maren.”

Elsa’s voice was stern yet gentle. The brunette forced her gaze on Elsa mid-sip. She took notice of her concerned look. Gods, why was it so hard to say no to that face?

“Please don’t shut down.”

Her request was simple yet effective. Maren steadily removed the bottle from her lips. Please don’t shut down, she repeated mentally. It shouldn’t have had that much weight to it. After all, it was only one shift. How much could one really guard themself because of that? But it was a promise that Maren had made. It didn’t matter if it was something as major as her feelings or something as simple as complaining about her job. If she shut down, if she closed herself off from the person who cared about her most, and if she bottled everything up inside then she’d stand no chance. The pandemic made it difficult for everyone to properly manage their mental health. But for Maren, it had understandably only gotten worse.

Sighing, Maren set her bottle on the table. When she did, she took notice of something she deemed peculiar. Elsa had also set up a small plate of bacon for herself. Maren raised an eyebrow. Why the hell did she do that? When did she even do that? And how the hell was she even managing being around the smell when it drove her so damn crazy? But of course, it was because of Maren. She did it all for Maren. And if Elsa could do something as simple as tolerate a plate of food, then Maren could tolerate to share with her the horrors of retail life.

Her eyes wavered towards her girlfriend and then back at their dinners. Maren picked up her bowl and fork, pushing some extra pasta from her bowl into Elsa’s. The blonde gasped and seemed as though she would dispute the action, but was quickly hushed when Maren removed the two strips of bacon from Elsa’s plate and put them on her own. She picked up the knife and cut them into small pieces, ultimately pushing them off her plate and into her pasta dish. Eyes meeting Elsa’s once again, Elsa sighed in defeat and picked up the container of butter to return to the fridge. Maren sprinkled some cheese into her dish and, upon Elsa’s return, she mixed some sauce and cheese into her own bowl.

“Where do you want me to start?” Maren asked.

Elsa pulled in her lips. “That good, huh?”

Maren shook her head. “You know how this week the English muffins are buy one get one?”

“Yes…?”

“One customer was just buying two packs. Told them their total was $4.49. They asked if one of them was free.”

Elsa blinked. “Aren’t the muffins…”

“$4.49 each?” Maren finished.

“So doesn’t that mean they…”

“Already came up buy one get one?”

Elsa face palmed. “Oh my god….”

Maren mixed her dish a bit, spreading the cheese and bacon bits throughout it before raising her fork to take a bite. After swallowing she recalled another particularly annoying customer. “There was also this guy who was making a big deal about me charging him for double-bagging. If he’s using two bags to pack things, it’s ten cents. Not five. He wanted to complain to the manager. Meanwhile the customer after him laughed about how frustrating he was. But instead of using his own bags that he brought in, he used the paper bags instead.”

Elsa blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He had everything packed in his bags when he came to my lane, but then he loaded them up. When he started packing them, instead of putting them back in his own bags, he used the paper ones instead,” she explained.

Elsa quirked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of bringing his own bags in the first place?”

“People are idiots,” Maren commented.

From the corner of her eye she took notice of Elsa’s expression. She looked about as dumbfounded as Maren felt on the job. Of course, Maren could never actually express that. As people-averse as Elsa was, when it came time to shop she was as polite and understanding as could be around associates. She, unlike many patrons, expressed compassion, gratitude, and, perhaps most importantly and unheard of, common sense. As much as Maren hated the retail stories she came home with at the end of the day, Elsa’s responses to the lack of common sense never ceased to amaze her.

Maren returned her gaze to her food; spinning her fork in between pieces and watching the tiny particles of cheese disappear further. “Mostly it was just person after person buying a buttload of crap. I mean; I know we did just have a major snowstorm last week. But now it’s Christmas and that’s all it’s about. Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.” She scoffed, “If I took a shot for every time someone told me, ‘merry Christmas’…”

“You’d be as bad as me?” Elsa guessed.

Maren couldn’t fight the playful smirk that crossed her face. “I’d be worse than you after one drink.”

Not her fault Elsa had such a low tolerance level.

“Really?” she deadpanned.

“Hey, it’s that bad,” Maren shrugged. She took another sip of her drink. “One lady said she hoped I wasn’t working on Christmas cause she thinks everyone should have that day with family no matter what. I told her I don’t do Christmas and she said how sad that was. Didn’t matter what I told her. That I don’t celebrate. That I’m fine working. That I have nothing else to do. She kept trying to twist it around so that I should just be doing something.”

“Oh no,” Elsa braced herself.

Maren clicked her tongue. “She said she’d pray for me.”

Elsa stared with wide eyes. “Do I even want to– ”

“No,” she cut her off.

No, Elsa didn’t want to know.

Neither did Maren, for that matter.

But then again, it was retail.

Sadly she came to the conclusion to expect absolutely anything and treat anything as completely normal.

“Did you even try to–” Elsa started.

Maren shook her hand. “It doesn’t matter to these people, Elsa. They have a one-track mind and don’t give a shit about us. And it’s not my job to explain my views or holidays to people.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out otherwise,” Elsa apologized. “That’s not what I was trying to insinuate at all.”

“I know. But you did tell me not to shut down so,” she offered a half-cocked smile, “this is me not shutting down.”

“Thank you,” Elsa smiled before leaning forward and kissing Maren’s cheek.

It was so simple. A thank you, a smile, and a kiss. Those little things should not have had the weight that they did or make Maren’s stomach twist and flip the way that they did. They were typical, everyday things between couples. Hell, even just between two people who cared about each other. But…. The look Elsa gave her. The way she smiled. The compassion and relief in her voice. It meant something to her that Maren was being as open as she was. It was ironic in a way; in the beginning of their relationship, Elsa was the one to retreat. She kept things to herself. It was just as Elsa had said earlier; she knew what it was like to shut people out. Maren was the one who made the effort. Maren was the one who spoke her mind. Maren was the one who fought. In a way, their roles had reversed. After what Maren had gone through, she perhaps had every right to shut down and push people away. But now it was Elsa’s turn to try. It was Elsa’s turn to be the one to speak up. If anyone knew, if only to an extent, what Maren was going through it was Elsa. She knew the struggles. She knew the pain. And she saw Maren fight them every day. Even now, as they sat talking over dinner, she still saw Maren fighting. And she saw how far she came and what it took to share anything. How could Maren not try more after that? How could she just…leave it where it was?

While she heard Elsa return to her dinner, fork picking at the pasta pieces, Maren stared blankly into her bowl. She managed to run her fork through the dish, picking up a few pasta pieces and two bacon bits in the process. But as soon as she raised her fork, one of the bacon pieces fell off the edge and back into her bowl. Maren’s brows furrowed. She slowly returned the silverware to the dish and kept her gaze low.

“There…. There’s something else that happened.”

“Hm?” Elsa turned her head curiously.

Maren bit her lip. If she told Elsa what happened…if she let her know what was going on in her head…if she told Elsa what she was thinking and feeling…she was going to completely lose it. Maren worked hard to conceal things at work. She very much practiced restraint and strength on the job; the last thing she wanted or needed was for people to have more of a reason to attack her. Or worse, to let them know how much they really got to her. Even after a stressful day, she found herself holding back. In the car. In the shower. In front of Elsa. How long could she keep that up for? How much willpower and energy was it going to take her to keep up with the motto of “conceal, don’t feel?”

Maren took in a breath. This…was going to be a lot.

“I…I got called to the manager’s office today.”

Pause.

“What happened…?”

Here went nothing.

“I had a customer with no mask. She came to my register and I asked her to put one on. She said she didn’t have one. But everyone needs to wear a mask in the store. So I told her to ask the service desk for one. Said she wasn’t gonna do that because she had a medical condition. When I told her she had to wear one, she said I couldn’t make her do anything. And that if she got sick because she wore one she’d take it out on me and the store. Sue us. Call corporate and complain. The whole song and dance. I basically told her if she was gonna be like that, I wasn’t gonna help her. So…I walked away.”

Anyone else would have likely commented on Maren’s stance and dropped the topic entirely. But not Elsa. Although Maren ended her statement fairly definitively, there was still the comment that started it all – she got called into the manager’s office. Someone as observant as Elsa would not have glossed over that. It was no wonder Maren could still feel Elsa’s concerned gaze on her.

“What did he say?”

Maren held her breath, knowing a can of worms was about to be opened. “He said the customer complained about me. Asked what happened. I told him. And…. And I was wrong.”

Elsa’s breath hitched. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah…I didn’t believe it, either,” Maren admitted. “If I really did know he probably would’ve let me have it. Suspend me on the spot if he could have. But…. We…. Are not…. We don’t….” Another breath. “We can’t call someone out for not wearing a mask.”

“What?”

Elsa’s question was simple, but her voice indicated anything but. Her tone was low, almost too low for Elsa. There was disbelief and concern in her voice. The slight hitch in her breath at the last letter indicated a hesitation. As if she must have misheard Maren somehow.

Still, Maren couldn’t allow herself to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “If we see someone come in without a mask, we can’t say anything. Can’t ask any questions. Can’t react. We…we have to treat it like it’s normal. Like….” Her eyelids slid down in defeat. “Like everything is normal.”

“No!” Elsa insisted. “No, that’s not.... Everything is not normal! Everything is not fine! What, what about the sign? Is it still in front? That everyone has to wear a face covering?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Maren forced out. “It’s there for decoration. It’s there to cover the company’s ass. It’s a mandate, not a law. Boss’s exact words. It’s not a law, it’s not a rule. We can’t force anyone to wear a mask if they don’t want to.”

“What about you? Does that mean you have the option as well?” Elsa asked, almost sarcastically.

“We still have to wear them. We don’t have the choice. Everyone else does. They have the choice to go out and potentially make things worse,” she replied through grit teeth.

“They are making things worse. No, not all of them. The ones who don’t believe. The ones who refuse to listen. The ones who are arguing to reopen everything and act as if nothing is wrong with the world,” Elsa heaved. “Does…does your boss know? Why you reacted the way you did? Does he know what happened?”

Maren scoffed. “He doesn’t give a shit. None of them do. He said I was off the hook because I didn’t know. My reason, my comfort doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. You matter,” she insisted.

“I matter,” Maren repeated in a low, cynical tone. She rolled her eyes. “I matter.”

Elsa shook her head. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Because I don’t, Elsa! Ok?” Maren yelled, pushing herself out of her seat. The chair flew back, screeching across the floor and nearly falling over in the process. Maren felt her fists clench. She wanted to hold back; she wanted to conceal. But it was too late for that now. She spent too much time at her job concealing. Too many stories she held back on. Too many slurs and curses she bit her tongue at. Too many complaints, fears, and insults for her to count. All those times Maren held it in. She pushed it down so she could focus on working. Because she should have just been happy to have a job, shouldn’t she? She should be thrilled to be working even if she was putting her health – the health of her loved ones – at risk every damn day. Because at least she was still making money and wasn’t struggling like everyone else who suddenly got laid off and couldn’t put food on the table. Maren didn’t have to worry about that. She had to worry about so much more than making it past a few nights without food. But they didn’t understand, did they? Nobody would.

“If I mattered people wouldn’t be playing the blame game on me all day. If I mattered people wouldn’t be acting like I was the reason they couldn’t find the food they wanted, let alone why they couldn’t even afford what they could find. If I mattered people would treat me like a fucking human instead of a piece of garbage who can’t amount to anything. If I mattered I’d still have my grandmother! But some idiot had to be around her, didn’t give a rat’s ass about telling her he was sick with anything because he just happened to feel fine so he must have been fine, let her get sick and die! People are out there acting like everything is fine, like this isn’t a real, serious thing. But it is! If I mattered that bastard would care that he took my grandmother away from me! But I don’t matter, do I? Cause everyone’s so worried about their own damn lives, because they’re so much more important than I am. I say it like that because I don’t matter, Elsa! I don’t!”

In her own fit of rage Maren barely noticed Elsa stand up. She thought she saw a pastel flash move from one spot to right in front of her but her vision was too blurred to make out any definitive shapes. She felt her heart pounding and her chest pushing in and out, struggling to keep up with her organ’s movements. Her shoulders rose and fell to the pace of her breath and maybe she felt her arms shaking; but if they did, she only felt it subside when Elsa put her hands on Maren’s shoulders. The movements calmed, albeit briefly. For a moment, Maren felt her body freeze entirely. She was hardly sure if she was even breathing. But as soon as Elsa’s voice registered, the heat rose within Maren. No, she didn’t feel calmer by any means; but she felt the passion and love, which instantly warmed her. Just like Elsa always did.

“Honeymaren! Of course you matter! You matter so much. You matter just as much as anyone else. You matter to me. You. Matter.”

Maren would have given anything to believe Elsa’s words. By all accounts, she should have believed her. Why should the customers’ voices overpower her girlfriend’s? Why should Maren trust their lies over Elsa’s truth? Maybe it was because she heard them every day. Maybe it was because multiple people were telling her the same thing. Maybe it was because she heard so much otherwise growing up, seeing how people treated her differently or thought differently of her. Maybe Maren had been conditioned her whole life to believe that, in some way or another, she didn’t matter. Losing Yelena had further proven that to her; if life was going to be such a bitch and take away one of the precious few people that meant so much to her then why should she matter? Why should she mean anything to anyone? It wasn’t like she mattered before, anyway. After how people treated her…. What they called her…. How they acted around her…. That was all proof of how little she really meant, wasn’t it?

Maren looked away.

The next thing she knew, Elsa wrapped her arms around her. Maren didn’t respond right away. How could she? She couldn’t trust her girlfriend’s honest, sincere, and loving words. How disappointing must that have been?

Then Maren noticed something. She felt Elsa’s chest rise and fall against her. It was…even. Steady. Calm. She was…. She was controlling her breathing. How the hell was she doing that? Then again, Elsa had far more experience in dealing with anxiety than Maren did. Was this even anxiety Maren was feeling? She had no fucking clue.

She shut her eyes tight. “I thought it was my fault,” she confessed quietly. “He was her friend. She trusted him. I…I trusted her and….” She forced out a breath. “He…he was fine. He said…. He had no symptoms so, so he must have been…. But he went around her anyway.”

“I know,” Elsa whispered.

Maren shook her head against Elsa’s shoulder. “I…I thought I brought something to her. Because I had to go work…. All those people…. What if…. What if it does happen? What if I bring something to you? You shouldn’t….”

“That’s not going to happen,” Elsa promised.

“You can’t know that for sure,” she squeaked.

“But I know how careful you are. I trust you. I know you. And I wouldn’t trade this time with you for anything. I didn’t go anywhere before. I’m not going anywhere now.”

All the while her voice was calm and her breathing was consistent. Maren found her chest moving almost to the tune of Elsa’s, trying to attempt to match her patterns. If only she could calm her racing heart as well.

“I don’t wanna lose anyone else,” she whispered.

The thought of maskless people being able to come and go into the store as they pleased; thinking how many of them could have been just like Yelena’s so-called friend; wondering how many of them were actually unable to wear masks for too long and how many of them really didn’t care…it terrified Maren. It brought her back to the moment of realization how serious everything was. Prior to that, Maren had tried to be so careful because she was following the rules. Everything was so uncertain; how could she not be cautious? But seeing firsthand how the virus could affect someone…what it could do…how horrible it was…. She thought she had brought it on Yelena somehow because she was still going out working around so many people. Perhaps Maren had not been as careful as she thought. But then, later on, discovering that it hadn’t been her fault…that someone with very real knowledge of the virus…how he could think he was completely fine because he felt fine…. He got off easy. No symptoms. Nothing more than a cold. Questionable sense of smell, he had confessed but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, Yelena….

Maren exhaled. Her arms snaked around Elsa’s form, not realizing until afterward how tight she was holding onto her. “I can’t lose you, too….”

“You won’t,” Elsa promised. “I’m fine. You’re fine. I’m here, Maren. I’m here.”

Seriously, how the hell was Elsa’s body not caving in on her? Maren felt her heart trying to explode out of her chest from the anxiety. “Ok how the hell are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“The…the breathing, that thing.”

Although, Maren would admit, she questioned it in hopes of getting past the conversation much quicker. She didn’t want to keep dwelling on it. She couldn’t keep dwelling on it. Maybe if she focused on something else, anything else, the distractions would take away from the nerves.

“It’s…it’s actually bs,” Elsa confessed.

Maren pulled back slightly. “What?” she stared blankly.

Elsa pulled in her lips and averted her gaze slightly. “I’m…I’m still trying to calm myself down. But I know if I control my breathing…sooner or later everything else has to catch up.”

“Is it working?” Maren wondered.

Elsa exhaled. “Not so much.”

Maren twisted her lips. She redirected her hand from Elsa’s arm, inching it closer to her chest. She moved it upward a bit, careful not to get too personal or touchy with Elsa – boundaries were still a thing, after all. She rested it a bit below the neckline…or collarbone?...Maren had never been too adept at science subjects…at first only having her fingertips pressed against Elsa’s skin before steadily leaning her whole hand. It landed just off center, her palm mostly over Elsa’s shirt yet still able to feel the beating of her heart through the cotton. Dammit, Elsa had been right. Her heart was still going about as fast as Maren’s. How worried must Elsa have been every day Maren went into work? Wondering how she continued to handle everything? How the people were treating her? How Maren was even feeling? Then, for Maren to come home and act as if everything was tolerable most nights…. But somehow Elsa always knew this was something eating at Maren. To have it confirmed with such intensity? To hear what Maren had to say about the policy at her job? And, worst of all, to hear what she thought about herself. Maren hadn’t been the only one concealing, had she? No wonder Elsa tried to make sure, if only for a brief period every night, that Maren didn’t shut down.

Maren made a stronger effort to mimic Elsa’s breathing pattern. She tried to focus on that, matching the time and pace to the best of her ability. There must have been at least three-second intervals between each breath.

Breathe in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Breathe out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Repeat.

One.

Two.

Three.

“You have no idea how much it means having you here every night,” Maren confessed softly.

Elsa’s hand slinked up, lightly resting it on top of Maren’s. “I do.”

She did, didn’t she? Because she saw the lengths Maren went to. She saw how careful Maren was being. She saw how hard Maren worked to keep Elsa as safe and healthy as she could, regardless of the field she was going into every day.

“What do you want to do about work?” Elsa asked delicately.

“I don’t know,” she conceded. “I can’t not work.”

“But if you feel that uncomfortable going in…. If this policy is going to make you feel this way…” Elsa pointed out.

“I know,” Maren sighed. She knew too well she couldn’t keep it up. But at the same time, she couldn’t find it in her to just quit. Especially not with the holidays right around the corner. It really was the end of the world. And, over the course of the year, the store came to rely on Maren so much. It was a combination of her pride and work ethic, she supposed. Perhaps it was also the conditioning to believe that work was the only thing that mattered. Having people with so-called normal jobs repeat that to her day in and day out, saying how lucky she was to be working at all, not to mention to have seen since the pandemic started how much people were needed on the front lines…. How could Maren just walk away from all of that?

“Just promise me that if it gets to be too much you’ll walk away,” Elsa said.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Maren admitted. “I want to but…. I don’t think I have it in me to just walk away.”

Elsa nodded. “Well then…could you promise to make more time for yourself? To focus more on you?”

That was a fair request, Maren supposed. If, despite the stress the job was going to start causing her, she really wasn’t going to leave, then surely she had to do more to take care of herself. She hadn’t been doing a very good job of that, had she? Not if she reacted tonight the way she did. She owed that much to Elsa. And she owed it to herself, probably.

“I can try,” she agreed. “And I can also try to talk more.”

“That sounds reasonable,” she relented.

Maren’s gaze rose from their hands to finally meet Elsa’s eyes. “What about you?”

She blinked. “What about me?”

“Are you ok?” Maren asked.

Pause.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Maren tilted her head. “Says the person who was almost fighting a panic attack?”

Elsa bit her bottom lip.

“I…had a hunch,” Maren shrugged. “I didn’t mean to make you worry that way.”

“I know,” she nodded.

“But you’re dealing with a lot, too,” Maren acknowledge. “You’re cooped up in here all day. You don’t go anywhere, you don’t see your sister, you don’t go to ride horses or hide out in the library…”

Elsa scrunched her nose. “I do not hide out in the library.”

Maren narrowed her gaze.

Elsa’s eyes darted to the side. “Ok, sometimes I have hid out in the library.”

Her look softened. “And I know you worry about me, too.”

If Elsa’s eyes could speak, they’d be screaming, “every fucking day.”

Not that Maren would tell her that to her face.

“I do,” she agreed. “But I’m managing. And I’ll be ok.”

“And the anxiety?” she asked.

“It’s under control, for the most part,” Elsa said.

Maren bit the side of her cheek. “So…. Got any advice?”

“Mediation?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yoga?”

“You don’t know this about me, but my body does not bend those ways.”

“Breathing?”

“I think it’s obvious I don’t do that.”

“Journaling?”

“Ok, I draw the line at talking to books.”

“Exercise; working out?”

“That might be doable.”

“Maybe we start with once a week?”

“I think we can do that.”

“And maybe we can follow it up with a movie?”

“Only if we can binge watch Carmen Sandiego first. I heard it’s amazing.”

“As long as I get to pick the first two movies.”

“Ouch.”

But if this was part of Maren making time for herself; if that meant getting to spend time with the person she cared about the most; if it meant having something to always look forward to; then she would hardly consider turning down the idea. Her smile all but confirmed the thought. As long as she had Elsa in her corner, maybe Maren had a chance after all.

Elsa clicked her tongue. “I just have one question.”

“What’s that?” Maren raised an eyebrow.

Pause.

“Since you don’t have a price tag, do I get you free with Netflix?”

Maren pulled back. “Ok, we’re done here.”

Elsa tried and failed to hold back a giggle. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“I bet you couldn’t,” she teased.

Then, shaking her head, Maren leaned forward and pecked Elsa’s lips. “It’s ok. I love you anyway.”

Maren really did hate her job.

She hated it when people made assumptions.

And, most likely, she simply hated people.

The pandemic proved all of those statements to be true.

But it also confirmed something much more valuable.

As much as Maren hated people, she could absolutely never hate Elsa.

She made it through 2020 with her by her side. So maybe, as fucked up as the world was right now, as long as she had Elsa in her life, everything was going to be ok.

She was going to be ok.

And she absolutely mattered.