Work Text:
She makes me feel at home, ooh
Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?
-I-I-I'm scared to death that she might be it
That the love is real, that the shoe might fit
She might just be my everything and beyond (beyond)
Space and time in the afterlife
Will she have my kids? Will she be my wife?
She might just be my everything and beyond
-leon bridges
Betty always insists on making her own pesto.
(“I learned the semester I lived in Italy,” Betty had explained, three years earlier, when they’d just reunited and everything felt at the same time new and exciting and strangely sad, each detail just another thing they’d missed. “From my host family.”
They were on a bus headed back from Bay Ridge, where they’d just had the best Italian food Jughead had ever eaten, and Jughead marveled at how perfectly Betty pronounced each dish on the menu.
Two weeks later, Jughead arrived at Betty’s apartment to find a steaming plate of pesto pasta waiting for him and a proud grin on Betty’s face. It had been, of course, delicious.)
Now, whenever he hears the whir of their food processor, Jughead chuckles and daydreams of the basily, garlicky goodness soon to meet his taste buds.
He walks down the hall, the scent wafting from the kitchen too tantalizing to bear. Betty’s back is turned to him, her hair fixed in a messy bun and her well-worn apron tied around her waist.
“Smells molto bene!” Jughead says with an exaggerated accent, the kind that earns him one of Betty’s cute eye-rolls.
Betty turns around, expression morphing into a slight panic. “This is the largest quantity of pesto I’ve ever had to make at once,” she explains, and Jughead has to laugh when he notices how many bunches of basil are sitting on their kitchen island.
“It looks like you, uh...overcorrected though, so I think we got this.”
She gives him a playful shove, sticking her tongue out.
“Can I help you?” Jughead tries instead and Betty’s face lights up. Ah, that was the right answer.
“Please,” Betty replies. “I need help grating the parmigiano.” (Betty’s exaggerated accent actually sounds the way it’s supposed to.)
“It would be my pleasure,” Jughead replies, headed for the cabinet where they keep the special grater he’d gifted her last Christmas. “But you should know, Betty, that around these parts, we call it ‘parm.’”
“Jug, it’s too hot for your sass!”
Indeed, Betty’s beginning-of-summer dinner party landed on one of those overly hot early summer days that reminded you that New York City is just plain disgusting in the summer. They’d moved to this spot in Bed-Stuy with a little backyard a year ago, and it was the best decision they ever made. Betty had thought of the backyard dinner party idea when they put in an application on the cute two-bedroom they now call their home; back then, they’d been picturing one of those idyllic 75 degree days, with a slight breeze. Instead they got 87 and humid.
New York, I love you, but you’re bringing me down.
Jughead hums LCD Soundsystem as he files down the hallway to their bedroom. “I’ll get another fan.”
Betty coos gratefully, calling compliments down the hall so he’s grinning as he returns with the fan in hand, finding an outlet to plug it into and propping it up so it directly hits Betty’s face.
“You’re too good to me, love,” Betty says, pausing her garlic chopping to plant a kiss on his mouth.
Jughead reaches around Betty for a receptacle to catch Parmesan shaves in. He stands at a tiny square of unoccupied space on their kitchen island, grating cheese until his hands go a little numb.
As she rips off pieces of basil and throws them in the food processor, Betty hums a pop hit that Jughead couldn’t name if he tried.
Eventually, he just sits there watching her, the way she swirls their glass bottle of olive oil as she pours it into the food processor. It’s mesmerizing to watch: her hands can fly around the ingredients and the utensils, the pots and pans, without missing a beat.
Still, he knows she’s nervous.
“Baby, you seem stressed,” Jughead says, speaking the obvious into the room.
Aside from the main course of pesto pasta, Betty had already finished preparing a panzanella salad and three full platters of bruschetta in various flavors.
Betty chuckles dryly. “I may have created a bit of an ambitious menu,” she admits.
“Understatement of the century, love,” Jughead replies, coming to bring his arms around her center and plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“Maybe sit down for a little break, smoke a joint? We could go out back and set the table while we do it,” he suggests.
The last part has Betty’s eyes lighting up. But then her face falters. She’s still measuring out pignoli nuts. “I don’t have the time to roll a joint right now.”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Jughead offers and Betty stares at him incredulously, but he begins before she can really protest too much. It’s so badly twisted that Betty starts laughing when he finishes, but she must concede as they tuck cloth napkins next to each plate—“well, at least it smokes.”
“Victory!” Jughead replies, a fist pumping toward the sky.
(Later, Jughead thinks that everything begins and ends in their home, where the journal he’d written all his feelings in sits on the mantle like a shrine to their own personal relationship deity.)
It is, admittedly, a beautiful night. In New York City summer, you have to take what you can get. Accept it’s gonna be a sticky affair, and revel in the pinks and oranges of the sunset when it eventually dips below the blocks and blocks of apartment buildings, faced defiantly toward the sky. Wipe the sweat from your brow, and hope that the string lights and meticulously planned summer menu distracts your guests from the extreme heat.
Betty and Jughead push open the door that leads to their little backyard, just big enough to fit the card tables and folding chairs Jughead set up a couple hours earlier. They each carry as many utensils and dishes as they can manage, and the playlist they’d made is already playing from a speaker Jughead placed in the back.
Jughead surveys the small yard as he sets down his stack of dishes. “It looks good out here, Betty,” he says, like he knows she’s worrying, and she reaches for his hand.
“Thanks, Jug.” Her soft voice says all Jughead needs to know.
Before she can unpack any of the silverware, Jughead sweeps her up in one of those kisses that she can feel all the way down to her tingling toes. She sometimes wonders, years after their seaside reunion, if that will ever go away.
When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with the kind of dancing intimacy that reminds Betty of the sixteen-year-old boy she’d first fallen in love with, all those years earlier.
“I love you,” she says simply, gratified and a little turned on when he whispers it against her lips before going back in for more.
Once he’s stolen a few more kisses, he releases her and begins placing the plates around the table.
“Let’s see how this thing smokes,” Betty challenges, holding out her hand for the joint.
“Ah, I left it inside.”
As Jughead runs to grab it, Betty calls, “And bring out that citronella candle while you’re in there!” She smacks at a bug on her arm, certain she’ll get eaten alive tonight regardless.
They pass the joint back and forth while setting dishes and silverware just so. Betty concedes that the joint is passable, though it doesn’t burn nearly as evenly as the ones she developed such a good reputation for rolling.
“Are you nervous about anything in particular tonight, Betts?” Jug asks casually. “These are our oldest friends, you know. I don’t think they’ll judge any weird hosting mishap that may occur.”
Betty pulls a face. “Yes, I know, Jug.” She takes a long toke, staring thoughtfully at the neighboring yards they can just glimpse through the wooden fence bordering their own. “You know I’m too much of a perfectionist for my own good, and it’s just that it’s our first real dinner party out here. Doesn’t matter who’s coming, I’m overthinking everything.”
“It’s a hard habit to break,” Jughead agrees.
“Plus, it’s kind of the unofficial goodbye party for Kevin,” Betty says. “So that adds some weight.” Indeed, Kevin will be directing an out-of-town tryout at the American Repertory Theater in Boston for the summer. If all goes according to plan, he’ll be mounting his first Broadway show next year.
“True,” Jughead replies.
“I’m also worried about the weather,” Betty admits.
“You doing that thing where you check the hourly forecast way too often?”
Betty grumbles. “I hate when you know me too well,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “But yes, yes I have! And it says the heat is supposed to break at some point in the next like, fourteen hours. And if it’s during my dinner party…”
“Breathe,” Jughead says, coming to place his hands on her shoulders.
“Okay,” Betty says, focusing on her breathing—she always rolls her eyes, but she knows that Jughead’s right—and trying to refocus on how good everything is going for her friends right now. How fun it’ll be to have them all in her backyard, laughing and eating and drinking. I can do this.
“Okay,” Betty repeats. “I need to bring out those flowers we got for the centerpiece.”
Jughead laughs, playing with a strand of her hair. “That’s my girl.”
.
.
.
Betty and Jughead are just placing final things—extra napkins, a basket of bread, a small dish of olive oil—when the doorbell rings, signaling their first guests have arrived.
“You ready, baby?” Jughead says, and Betty finds the weed has mellowed her out. She’s just excited to see her friends. And eat.
“Born ready,” she replies jokingly.
Jughead jogs ahead, opening the door to a round of excited greetings, and Betty recognizes the sound of Archie and Jughead’s not-so-secret handshake as she takes up the rear.
“Betty!” squees Veronica, finally spotting her best friend over Archie and Jughead’s shoulders as they embrace.
Veronica practically melts into Betty’s arms, and Betty’s never one to complain about an extra-long hug with one of her oldest friends. (Still, it all makes more sense later.)
“It smells divine in here, Betty,” Veronica says when they disentangle.
Betty giggles. “I went a little...overboard for this first summer dinner party.”
“As you should,” Veronica contends. “With a gorgeous backyard like yours.”
Archie and Jughead finally make it into the apartment, Archie giving Betty a tight hug and presenting a fancy-looking bottle of wine. Jughead accepts it, in search of a corkscrew before Betty can even ask him to. She smiles, one of those little smiles that comes when Jughead just acts quietly perfect for her.
Veronica bumps Betty’s hip with her own. “You two seem happy as ever,” she observes.
Betty blushes. The not-so-subtle hints about engagement rings and wedding dates had only increased in frequency since they passed the ripe age of 28. She has...a lot of thoughts about that, but now is not the time. And Veronica has that look in her eye, the one Betty can recognize easily now.
Betty’s grateful the doorbell rings again before Veronica can say whatever was on the tip of her tongue.
.
.
.
The backyard doesn’t feel so little with all her friends in it.
Everyone picks at the cheese and bread and bruschetta, clinking glasses of wine so many times that the word “cheers” loses all meaning.
Betty shows Josie and Veronica the herb garden she planted that spring. “Gotta start small, right?”
“Absolutely!” Josie says. “I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. So more power to you, B.”
Veronica smirks. “Josie, didn’t you and Reggie just become dog parents?”
“Yeah, but that’s different! I can remember to walk Toto, but I don’t have to remember to water him!”
Betty and Veronica both burst out laughing.
“Did someone say Toto?” Reggie calls from across the yard. “I have pictures!” Josie squeals in agreement, and Betty’s almost taken aback, it’s so new for Josie to be excited about an animal. It’s kind of wholesome to witness, honestly.
Veronica fans herself with a gorgeous patterned hand fan, no doubt expensive and from elsewhere, as Reggie swipes through photo after adorable photo of their little pug Toto.
“I’m so happy for you two,” Betty says, laughing as she watches Reggie pass the phone over to Jughead and Archie. For the entire night, the sound of “awwww” follows Reggie wherever he goes.
.
.
.
They sit down to dinner an hour later, everyone ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the salad and the pesto, making a slight blush bloom on Betty’s cheeks.
“This playlist is pretty great,” Archie compliments.
“It’s mostly Jug with a little of me,” Betty admits and Jughead smiles at her from his spot across the table.
“I may have gone a little overboard with my additions,” Jughead admits.
“Uh, yeah, we noticed,” Kevin quips, and everyone erupts into laughter.
“How are you feeling about your departure for New England?” Betty asks, all eyes turning toward Kevin.
“He’s feeling nervous yet excited,” Joaquin answers for his now-fiancé, planting a kiss on his forehead.
Kevin blushes. “He summed it up. It’ll be hard having to be away from Joaquin most of the week, that’s for sure.” They kiss again, and Josie and Veronica both coo.
As conversation continues at dinner, everyone catching up since they saw each other last, Betty feels like everything is on the precipice of a big change. Veronica asks about Betty’s recent promotion at work, and she finds a blush crawling up her neck even as she enjoys talking about all the exciting new assignments that have been added to her plate. Joaquin is starting to look for investors and really get serious about putting together a business plan for his own mechanic shop. (“I’m sick of working for someone else,” he says and no one can really disagree with that.)
Veronica is doing well at her first law firm job, though she’s still unsure what direction she wants to go in overall with her career. Archie has settled into the typical musician lifestyle—playing a rotating batch of gigs every week plus teaching a full roster of private guitar students. He’d had to say goodbye to a graduating senior for the first time this summer, and it made him feel a little old.
Josie is sick of the road, and has decided to stick with local gigs for at least the next year, while Toto is still young. Similarly, Reggie wonders aloud if Toto is lonely at home alone, necessitating reassurance from the group. (Suffice it to say, Josie and Reggie are the first to leave.)
Veronica passes around bug spray, and people walk to the edge of the yard to spray it so it doesn’t get on the food. Kevin asks Archie for suggestions of Boston restaurants and things to do, making Archie reminisce about his Berklee days. Everyone falls a little stunned silent when they realize how long ago that was, ten years already since they left home and struck out on their own for the first time. And now look where they are.
Despite everything, the dinner party isn’t stiff, which had been one of Betty’s worries. People get up to refill their drinks at the cart they’d wheeled out by the speaker, and at one point Kevin sparks a joint and most of the group huddles in a circle, blowing smoke into the city night.
Still, the only thing Betty hates about hosting is the way it forces Jughead and Betty to flit around the backyard, making sure everyone is well attended to. She misses the way he usually sticks to her side in party settings, his hand on the small of her back or arm around her shoulder—a sort of safeguard.
It’s particularly regrettable when Veronica and Archie decide to use the occasion to make a big announcement. Betty wishes for a hand to squeeze, but she has to settle for exchanging a meaningful look with Jughead before everyone erupts into cheers and hugs and congratulations.
The feeling in the pit of her stomach exists somewhere in the intersection between envy, joy, and guilt.
Veronica waits until everyone is almost finished eating to tap her water glass daintily with her fork. Jughead thinks, amusedly, that if anyone else at this party had attempted such a maneuver, he’d surely be cleaning up glass right about now.
“I hope you don’t mind, Betty,” Vee says, pausing to shoot her best friend a meaningful look. Betty looks slightly shell shocked though recovers enough to nod enthusiastically. “But Archie and I have an announcement to make.”
Kevin gasps, throwing his hands dramatically over his face.
Reggie wrinkles his nose in confusion. “Dude, they haven’t told us anything yet.”
Veronica smirks. “If any of you—namely Kevin—suspected, the cat’s out of the bag: I’m pregnant!” She squeals out the last part, and there’s a stunned moment when they’re all just silently processing.
By New York City standards, this choice will make them young parents. It was only recently they’d still been making that Broad City joke—“I’m 27, Lincoln, what am I, a child bride?”—and now, suddenly, the first of their friend group are making that irreversible leap into parenthood.
It’s a lot to take in.
Josie is the first to break the silence with an excited whoop, and it rouses everyone else out of their reveries, the vibe quickly becoming congratulatory and excited. Chairs are pushed back as everyone gets up to embrace the happy expecting couple. Archie has a flushed grin on his face that reminds Jughead so much of Fred, he almost has to sit down.
There’s a moment when Betty and Jughead exchange a look, and Jughead knows that she’s not okay. There’s something pained and almost forced about her movements for the rest of the night, though her face does all the right things, laughing and smiling and joking with the best of ‘em.
He grabs her hand as they both approach Veronica and Archie to congratulate them, and she squeezes back. Hard.
.
.
.
Jughead nurses his second beer of the night, standing in the back gazing out at the neighboring yards when Archie finds him.
“Hey, man,” Jughead says, watching a sheepish smile creep onto his oldest friend’s face.
Archie lifts his own beer to his lips, both of them taking in the view in a companionable silence.
Jughead lets out a breath. “You’re gonna be a dad, Arch,” he says, still a little unable to believe it. He knew this day would come; Archie’s always been the type he expected to raise a family. He just didn’t think it would happen so soon.
Archie nods, a sort of overwhelmed excitement covering his face. “I’m really excited, Jug,” he admits, an earnestness to his tone that makes Jughead want to give him another hug. “I’ve always wanted this. I think...I think my dad would be proud of me.”
“I do too, Arch,” Jughead says, tears springing to his eyes. And so he does give Archie that hug, a tight one with too much clapping on the back, but neither of them complain.
Across the yard, Betty and Veronica watch the two friends hug, smiling at each other at the sweetness of their friendship. “Everything is about to change,” Veronica says. “But I know that our friendship with you two never will.”
“You’re right about that, Veronica,” Betty says softly. “We’re always here for you.”
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The party becomes both a send-off for Kevin and a celebration for Veronica and Archie, so the music is eventually switched, to Jughead’s protests. Everyone lends a hand to clear the dishes off the table and inside onto the kitchen island so Jughead and Archie can break down the card tables. Soon, their little yard becomes a dance floor, and Jughead finds himself dancing with Betty to “Let’s Stay Together.”
“Okay, y’all win,” Jughead admits. “Whoever put this on wins.”
“You’re welcome,” Joaquin says as he dances past them with Kevin, whooping as Betty and Jughead go in for a big kiss.
.
.
.
Still, all the jubilant dancing in the world can’t keep Jughead from thinking about the look in Betty’s eyes when Veronica announced she was pregnant.
It’s nearly midnight when the door finally closes behind Kevin and Joaquin, and Jughead watches Betty exhale slowly, taking her time as she bolts the two locks.
“Betty,” Jughead says softly, and her back stiffens. “What just happened?”
Betty finally turns around to face him, and the look on her face could only be described as sheepish. “I…” she wrings her hands. “I need something to do with my hands.” She stomps into the kitchen, and Jughead has no choice but to follow. Like he always does. Like he always will.
“I guess you were right,” Betty mumbles as she pops a grape tomato in her mouth. “I made too much.”
Somehow, there’s leftovers. Betty alternately pops tomatoes in her mouth and rips shreds of mozzarella off the hunk still left, and Jughead can’t help but join her, contributing the last quarter of a baguette he found.
They eat in silence for a few minutes, the night’s events hanging there in the air.
Betty is the first to speak, unable to stand it a minute longer. She needs to get this off her chest.
“I feel like Veronica and Archie are always lapping us,” she blurts out. “I know that’s not a fair thing to think, and I love them to death and am so happy for them. They’re...they’re gonna be great parents. It’s just...you know, a part of me always thought we’d be first to get married. I got over that a few years ago, of course. Then...I don’t know, it’s just like, now they’re having kids first too.”
She slaps her hand across her mouth, remembering that the last time they talked about having kids, after a pregnancy scare a couple years earlier, they’d agreed to shelve the conversation until later.
Betty was pretty sure she wanted kids, but didn’t feel ready, while Jughead said he still felt squarely like a “maybe” when it came to kids. “I’m afraid I’ll fuck them up, Betty,” he’d explained, a tear welling from his eye. “Like my parents did with me. Maybe it’s just not in my DNA to be a good parent.”
“Jughead,” Betty had replied, her voice pained. “There’s no doubt in my mind you would be a good parent, because of what you went through.”
Regardless, they’d ultimately agreed they could wait to have a real kid conversation until at least they were married. And...and maybe that’s the problem.
Betty looks up at Jughead, snapping herself out of her own thoughts.
“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” Jughead asks, his voice so sweet and tender that it only affirms what Betty’s been thinking.
“I think that I want to marry you,” Betty says boldly. “I think...I wasn’t ready before. I needed to know you’d stick around for a few years, solid and here with me, you know?”
He nods, and are his eyes watering, or is it just her?
“But I am now,” Betty says. “I keep trying to think of reasons why we aren’t married, and I can’t come up with any.”
“It’s true,” Jughead says. “We have a backyard, for Christ’s sakes!” he jokes, and it breaks the tension, both of them bursting out laughing.
“I’ve been thinking about...looking for rings for awhile now, actually,” Jughead admits, scratching the back of his neck in the way he does when nervous.
Betty’s neck feels hot too, she can’t believe he’s been thinking about this as well. “Really?” she asks, her voice giddy.
“Yes, silly,” Jughead says. “I want to marry you too, Betts. More than anything. But I want to do it right, you know? You deserve a proposal.”
Betty nods, tears welling in her eyes. Jughead reaches across the kitchen island to wipe them with his finger, and she takes hold of his hand when he’s finished. They lean in at the same moment for a passionate kiss, the kind where both are pouring so much meaning and emotion into it that it almost knocks Betty off her feet.
Jughead holds Betty for awhile even after they’ve pulled their lips apart, just standing there in their kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes.
“So,” Jughead says. “Just to wrap this up: we’re still a few years away from the kid conversation, right?”
Betty nods, eyes widening. “Oh, God yes.” They both laugh, tinged a bit with relief. Although she’s only grown more certain since that pregnancy scare that she’d love to raise a family with Jughead one day, the emphasis still remains on the “one day,” at a future she can’t yet see clearly.
“I’m happy for them, I really am,” Jughead says. “But I couldn’t do it yet. I need...I need some more years alone with you, babe.” He rests his head in the crook of her neck and she smiles up at him.
“Totally agreed.”
They look around their apartment, this place totally decorated to their standards, full of weird old typewriters and tape recorders they’d found at vintage stores, walls and walls of bookshelves, a framed Nancy Drew cover Jughead had gifted Betty one birthday. It’s a home, one they’ve carefully built around themselves. Because, after all, the only home either has ever really needed is each other.
Eventually, they pull back from their embrace, one they’d managed to endure even in the heat. And what’s that if not true love?
“I’ll wash, you dry?” Betty asks.
Jughead nods.
As Betty turns on the sink and Jughead rummages around for a dish towel, he gets a cheeky little grin on his face.
Betty suds up her sponge, wiping the first of many dishes, as Jughead stands at her side, ready to contribute. His voice is hot on her neck as he says what comes next. “You look out, Betty. Because it could be coming any time. Just boom, proposal. You won’t know what hit you.”
Betty smiles, tears already pricking at her eyes as she imagines it, everything she ever wanted coming true. A ring on her finger, something tangible she can feel rubbing against her skin that says Jughead will be by her side forever.
She pauses her dishwashing, turning around into his waiting arms. “I’m looking forward to you sweeping me off my feet,” Betty replies truthfully.
“Again?” Jughead teases.
“Again,” Betty agrees, reaching up and grabbing his face, kissing him tenderly.
.
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The heat breaks at around the same time they finally finish washing the mountain of dishes.
There’s nothing to do but run. Out the back door and into their yard, thankfully cleared of anything valuable.
Jughead pulls Betty into his arms, and they dance, the kind of goofy, giddy dancing that Betty always does at weddings, when she’s at her most emotional.
The rain absolutely pours around them, the city wailing after so many days of endless heat. “I love you, Betty Cooper!” Jughead screams, always one for the dramatic.
“How very Garden State of you,” Betty replies, earning a wet, passionate kiss, and a little slap on the ass for good measure.
“I never said I wasn’t corny, Betty. You still want to marry me?”
“Jughead, if I don’t marry you, who else will I dance around in the pouring rain with?”
It’s the right answer.