Archive of Our Own

Olivia has always spent the new years alone.


It doesn’t matter what she would be doing, really; pushing her work hours to catch up with deadlines or mindlessly scrolling through the TV channels to fill the emptiness in her space—all that’s constant through the years was that she was always alone. Not that the lack of parties or gatherings were the cause, either; it’s just that she was never the people-y type of person, really. Needing to attend both family and corporate gatherings on Christmas was enough—she’ll need at least about one business week to recover from it, and hence is why she’s always passed out on the couch alone for the new years.

So, in conclusion: Olivia and people? Not such a great combo.


Of course, all of that changed when her life got changed forever the way she would have never expected to be; marriage, a difficult court battle, and adoption all crammed in the span of a year, her very own lost-and-found-and-turned-around speedrun. Not that she regrets one bit of it, not at all—it’s just that it’s been exhausting, suddenly having her hands full with a whole real family, straight out from the cover of those parenting magazines, without plans or warning and the inevitable overwhelming feelings that comes with it. It would just be logical that all Olivia wants to do is to pass out on the couch on new years eve with some random show playing in the background.


In her old rival’s—now apparently her wife’s—arms.


With a little girl in star-pattern pajamas curled asleep in the small space between them.


The late-night news starts showing a one-minute countdown to the new year, and her cold, empty hands absently searched for a warm one that will fill the absence—she meets the calloused isles of Yunan’s palm, and the stark difference between the size of their hands has never failed to make her chuckle. The way her wife’s large, rough hands met her tiny, baby-soft ones—it was like a red thread has been dead-knotted around their pinkies since they were young and prideful and clueless. The way her hand will slowly, softly pull hers closer, as if silently asking do you still want me now? The way her answer will always be yes a thousand times, warmth spurting from their entangled lips like fireworks—

“—’ma?”

They parted in a hurried, clumsy daze as the little girl between them flutters awake—little Marcy, the legend herself, her matted hair all disheveled as she blinks the remaining sleep out of her eyes for a few more seconds before looking up.

“Hey, kiddo,” Yunan tries to offer the least awkward smile possible, rounding her hands around her little figure and sitting her up properly between them, “everything okay?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Marcy rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands. “What was—what was that?”

“Oh,” Yunan drawls out, “um, ‘Livia and I was just hugging, uh—”

“Not that,” Marcy gives them a sideways smile, “nd’ i know what kissing is, anyway.”

“Of course you do,” Olivia chuckles with an amused grin, shaking her head as she lifts her up to sit on her lap. “But hey, look, we’re almost ten seconds down to the new year,” she points at the TV screen as a distraction to save them both from another humiliating talk—sometimes they both forget how almost frighteningly smart the little girl is. “You wanna count down with us?”

“Yeah!” Marcy’s face brightens, almost outshining the little glow-in-the-dark stars on her pajamas. “Ten, nine, eig—what was that?”

“What was what, kiddo?” Yunan asks, straightening herself up, clearly alert. It was the second time she’s brought it up, now. Olivia shushes the two as they keep an ear out to listen.

A faraway pop! sound—”that!”

“Oh,” Olivia chuckles out in relief, “those are just fireworks, sweetheart.”

“Where?” Marcy perks up, clearly interested. “I’ve never really seen them before. I thought they were gonna be really loud!”

“They are, but they’re far away from here,” Olivia stands up from the couch, stretching her back before lending out a hand to hold Marcy’s little ones. “Come to the balcony, let’s see if we can still see them from here.”

“Yeah!” Marcy jumps when she stands up and takes her hand, fitting so snugly inside hers that it almost brings Olivia to tears yet again—she doubts she’ll ever truly feel how it feels to hold her own biological child in her arms, but Marcy is enough. Marcy is more than enough. Every time the little girl curls into her arms or wraps her little fingers around hers—it would be everything she’ll ever need.

Yunan pushes the sliding doors to the balcony open, the biting cold December—now January—air hitting against their skin, but Marcy is safely tucked into her arms, and it was all the warmth she’ll need. “Alright, can you see it from here?”

“Here, what if you sit on our shoulders like…” Yunan wraps her hands around Marcy’s waist and hoists her up to their shoulders, “this! What about now?”

Another faraway pop!—

”There it is, there it is!” Marcy squeals, swinging her legs in excitement. “Look, look—can you see it? Can you see it?”

“Yes, love, we can,” Olivia assures, smiling when the girl jumps up and down when another one goes off. “Ah, they must be having a fireworks show on the beach.”

“You really love fireworks huh, kid?” Yunan chuckles softly, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe we should go to a show next year, what d’you think about that?”

“Yeah!” Marcy raises her hands up in excitement, pointing when another firework goes off in the distance. “Ooh, look that one’s green!”

Olivia chuckles, looking up to see how the blooming colors in the sky reflect on Marcy’s wide, woodfire-brown eyes—it almost makes her feel like she could cry out of the overwhelming love she’s feeling yet again. The rollercoaster of feelings that is motherhood, she guesses.

She’s a mother now. Of that she doesn’t doubt one bit. And it’s exhausting, she knows, but it’s also exhilarating, in a way.


She takes one look at her little patchwork of a family and decides it’ll all be worth it. 

“Are you sure it’s going to be okay?”

Olivia stops their shopping cart abruptly to stare her insufferable wife down (well, up, technically). “This was your idea!”

“Yeah, last year, ” Yunan rolls her eyes. “You know how Marcy gets with loud sounds.”

“I know,” Olivia sighs softly, easing her shoulders. “And you know how she gets with fireworks.”

Yunan chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Really? Using our daughter in an argument? That’s cheap, Liv, even for you.”

Olivia uses this opportunity to slip her arm inside Yunan’s, linking them together like a sappy old couple—she happens to find them to be a very romantic thing. “But you know how she gets with fireworks, right?” She keeps on teasing, slowly pushing their cart through the brightly-lit aisle again.

“ Oh, of course—she’s like a puppy with them,” Yunan laughs softly. “And those eyes —”

“Oh, goodness, those eyes —the little sparkles in them! I showed her this picture of space on our computer the other day and I swear I could see stars in those gorgeous eyes of hers.”

“Ah, alright, you’re right, you always are,” Yunan rolls her eyes affectionately, resting her head against the top of hers. “She’ll love the show tonight.”

“Hey, I know you’re worried,” Olivia clicks her tongue, tilting her head, “I’m worried too. But we’ll have blankets, and we’ll pack her eggo waffles , and fizzy apple juices, and about a dozen boxes of oreos, and—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” her wife laughs, shaking her head. “Though I’m not the one who’s chasing that kid around if she gets a sugar rush, deal?”

Olivia pouts. “Deal.”

“Great! I love having a wife.”

Olivia raises her eyebrows, rolling her eyes in amused exasperation before her eyes finally lit up at the rack on their right side. “So, about the noise…”

“Ear defenders? D’you think they’d actually work?” Yunan frowns, grabbing a spare one from the rack and putting them above her ears with a plop. “Oh yeah, my bad, they do.”

Olivia laughs slightly at that, holding up two of the cardboard packages—one with a pink unicorn pattern, the other purple dotted with planets and stars. “Which one do you think she’s going to like?”

Yunan stares at them for a long while before speaking up, “I mean, is that really a question here?”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, it’s not.”

“It’s definitely the purple one.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely the purple one.”

“Okay, Mar-mar, are you hungry? Cold?” Olivia asks as she tucks the little girl tighter into her arms, under the weight of the blanket that Marcy seems to find herself comfort in, her little fingers running through the green wool dots that stipples the other side. Marcy shakes her head at both questions, rocking back and forth happily as the cold ocean air brushes her jet black hair away from her face.

“The fireworks are about to start,” Yunan announces to the two, rummaging through her backpack for the ear defenders they bought at the store earlier, holding it up proudly with both hands. Marcy gasps and does a few excited kicks against the mattress sprawled out on the sand below them, letting Yunan tuck her disheveled hair behind her ear and place the defenders around them gently.

“I can’t hear anything!” Marcy yells with the widest smile the two have ever seen, and that’s exactly when they know it; this girl is never going to take the thing off.

“Good, ‘cause it’s gonna get loud!” Yunan pops a kiss on her forehead, settling herself into her wife’s arms as the crowd around them starts to count down. “Happy new year!”

“Should we start with a kiss?” Olivia asks, and she doesn’t wait for an answer; a hand pressed against Marcy’s eyes along with the girl’s complaints, the other cupping Yunan’s cheek, her lips pressed against hers. A high pitched noise, a flash of white light—

Marcy jumps on her seat and turns around to clutch on Olivia’s shirt.

“Hey, whoa, everything okay?” Olivia strokes the hair that’s not tightly pressed by the defenders, shushing gently, “it’s okay, Marcy, you’re safe—hey, I’m right here, we’re right here, look!”

She continues to clutch the fabric tighter into her knuckles, tightly pressing her face against her chest, whimpering as she screws her eyes closed.

“I don’t think she likes this,” Yunan states the obvious, brows furrowed in concern as the fireworks keep going off along with loud crackles and explosions all around them, pulling the blanket above her head. “I think you should take her back to the car while I pack these up—”

“I’m sorry!” Marcy yelps, covering her head as she descends into a panicked ramble, hiccuping out a sob out of her chest, “I’m sorry I’m sorry ‘m sorry—”

“Shhh, shhh, you’re okay my love, you’re okay,” Olivia nods at her, adjusting Marcy and her blanket into her arms and balances both of them as she stands with an incredible amount of balance—another thing about being a mom. “It’s okay, I know you’re scared, it’s not your fault…”

She wrangles her way out of the crowd and sand, climbing up three steps at a time towards the parking lot of the beach, practically sprinting towards their car. She could feel Marcy’s tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt and her heart clenches with what could be regret or guilt or both—Yunan was right, they shouldn’t have gone because she should’ve known this was how this would end, Yunan was right and she was selfish, how could she be so selfish?

“M’sorry,” Marcy hiccups when she settles her on the front seat of the car, the mess of blankets unfurling to reveal her reddened cheeks, the streaks of tears on her face. “I didn’t mean to ruin—”

“Oh, no no no, sweetheart—hey, you didn’t ruin anything,” Olivia soothes, crouching beside the car seat to secure the weighted blanket around her shoulders, “I’m sorry that you got scared.”

Marcy pouts, pressing her face against her chest and mumbles, “I really do like fireworks.”

“I know you do, love,” Olivia sighs, pressing a small kiss on top of her hair, “I’m sorry.”

“Everything okay?” Yunan follows just behind them, approaching the open car with a backpack sagging off one shoulder and a picnic basket on another, and Olivia nods solemnly at her while she walks around the car to place their belongings on the trunk. Naturally, she tries to look for something that would cheer Marcy up, grinning when her hand meets the smooth edges of a purple tupperware. “Aw hey, Marcy, you know what you’re gonna love?”

Marcy perks up from Olivia’s chest to respond tiredly. “Waffles?”

Yunan tilts her head from the side to smirk at her wife. “Smart kid we’ve got, huh?”

So, the night didn’t exactly go as planned—they’ve all learned the hard way that sometimes, things are just like that. But it doesn’t mean they can’t make do with what they have; it could still mean that they’re sitting in the car, Marcy sleepily nibbling on a waffle on Olivia’s lap. It could mean that the fireworks are still going off in the sky in front of them, yet the sounds are muffled from the distance and the safety of their little car. It could still mean that Marcy’s eyes glimmer while reflecting the bloom of the fireworks, occasionally pointing out the green ones with a smile. It could still mean that their favorite song is playing on the radio, filling the silence between them; their hands snugly placed inside one another’s.

“I’m sorry I insisted for all of us to go,” Olivia whispers out the apology that’s been weighing her shoulders down when the fireworks finally ends—Marcy curled in her arms, passed out from exhaustion. “You were right. I shouldn’t have…”

“ Hey ,” Yunan chides softly, leaning over to pull the weighted blanket over Marcy’s shoulders, “nonsense. You always know what to do.”

“I don’t,” Olivia squeezes her wife’s hand tighter, “and that’s—that’s what I’m afraid of, you know?”

“Well, then fear not,” Yunan declares dramatically, which earns a slight laugh from her, “because right or wrong, whatever we do, we do together. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Olivia rolls her eyes, letting her wife press a kiss onto her forehead with a smile. “Okay.”

“Shall we go home?”

“Home,” she sighs softly, indulging in the domesticity she hadn’t even dared to dream for herself just mere years ago. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Marcy has always loved the domestic monotony that always accompanies her short thirteen years of life.



It’s not that she doesn’t like trying new things or surprises—it’s just that stability is another fundamental need in her life; a firm ground to stand on, the pairs of hands who will hold her close when she needs to be held. Which is why she’s confused to find herself wanting to replace an annual family tradition for something foreign and new, something she’s never done before.

“Hey um, mama?”

Olivia perks up from her spot in the kitchen, looking up from her chopping board to turn around and face her. “Yes, love?”

“Uh, can I…” she feels her leg bouncing up and down against the chair legs in an instance, almost like a reflex—something her body does to regulate with the swirl of confusing feelings in her chest. “Can I spend this new year’s eve with Sasha and Anne on the beach? Because um—it’s the first year that Anne isn’t away in Bangkok for the new year because she says that her parents are limiting their bi-annual travels to only once in a year now because they need to save up for Anne’s college and—”

“Wow, okay there, breathe for a bit,” Olivia says soothingly, lips tugged up into an affectionate, amused smile, wiping her wet hands on her skirt before pulling Marcy’s head closer to her chest. “Of course you can, sweetie—ah, actually, great timing! I can finally attend this corporate gathering they’ve been begging me to go to for years ,” Olivia rolls her eyes just a tad bit dramatically, earning her a slight laugh from Marcy. “Your mom can drive you to the beach, and I’ll be home just in time after the new year so we can still eat the dumplings we made. Sounds fun?”

“Yeah,” Marcy nods with a sigh, burying her face into her mother’s apron before scrunching her nose and looking up, “are you gonna be wearing a party dress?”

Olivia scrunches up her nose back at her teasingly, popping a small kiss on the side of her forehead. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says at the same time Yunan complains from the couch, “ I do!”

Yunan had gotten used to Marcy’s antics in the six years she had raised her, each one more confusing than the last. Like the way they’ll need about a dozen new pencils every other month because Marcy wouldn’t stop chewing them, or the way they have to keep Marcy’s gracious hair short because the girl couldn’t stand having a strand of hair brush against her neck.

Over the years, she learns to replace the what and why ’s with how can I help’ s, but when she walks into Marcy’s room with their old TV in her room playing a video of fireworks on the loudest volume, she couldn’t help to ask the what first and the how can I help later.

“Marcy? What are you doing?” she approaches the girl curled up on the bed with a frown, turning off the TV with a single click on the way. “Hey, are you alright?”

Marcy looks up from the sheets with an uncomfortable look on her face, her face scrunched up into a pained frown, “um, I’m okay.”

“Yeah, don’t even try lying to your mom next time,” Yunan rolls her eyes with a smile, her face softens when she hears Marcy mumble out an apologetic sorry. “Hey, ‘s okay, I was just teasing. Seriously though kid, what’s going on with all that back there?”

“I’m practicing,” the girl bluntly says without even looking up, “for tonight.”

“For tonight?” Yunan asks. “You mean the fireworks? Oh , kid—you always worry about it every year!” she laughs, gently running her fingers along Marcy’s hairline. “Don’t you worry about it. We’ll have your ear defenders, and lots of waffles to share, I’ll even let you watch from the car roof if you don’t tell your mom.”

“But I’m not gonna watch from the car this year,” Marcy finally looks up from the bed, her face so worried and upset that Yunan couldn’t help but melt, pulling the girl into her lap. “I’m gonna be watching from the beach because Sasha ‘nd Anne is going to be there and they’re not scared of fireworks like I do.”

"Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that! I’m scared of fireworks too, kid.”

“No you’re not,” Marcy huffs, “you’re not scared of anything.”

“Um, that’s not true, actually,” Yunan gasps in mock-offense, failing to look indignant, “because I recall being on top of the kitchen table crying when there was that ugly bug on the floor and you caught it all by yourself!”

Marcy quietly giggles at that, but her face falls again just as quickly as it brightens. “But you’re not scared of fireworks.”

“No, I’m not,” Yunan finally gives in with a sigh—there’s no use to lying to a kid as smart as hers, “but you didn’t tease me for being scared of that bug, so why should you do that to yourself?”

Marcy only hums at that, resting her head against her mother’s arm.

“Look, kiddo. I know you’re nervous, but I’ll be right there with you the whole time, and Sasha and Anne will be so glad that you’re with them and it’s going to be a wonderful night,” she reassures, rocking her slightly in her arms, “okay?”

“Okay,” Marcy murmurs, and her voice no longer wavers when she says it, so Yunan takes it as a win. She presses one last kiss into her hair and stands up to give the girl some space.

“Alright, I’m gonna go help your overly-excited mama to get ready for her little party, and then we’ll pack for tonight. Sounds good?” She asks, followed by an almost-eager nod. “Great! I’m thinking about… three boxes of eggo waffles?”

“Only if you don’t eat them all!”

The plan goes as well as anyone would guess it to be—which is to say, horribly. It doesn’t matter how much practice Marcy has done or how much preparation she had done to prevent any sort of disaster from happening—she was Marcy, the very disaster itself, and there was nothing she could do. It’s like some sort of curse, some kind of sentence; she might as well try her hardest to seem as normal as possible, make all the anxiety and pain worth the short while she’ll ever enjoy herself.

The sand feels too rough against her skin tonight—she’s too sensitive, too paranoid, too alert, trying her hardest to make the commotion in her head fall into silence. She’s desperately curling tighter and tighter into herself, knees drawn in, ignoring how the way the chatter all around her quietens only pumps more anxiety into her bloodstream, make her veins feel like it’s crawling with a colony of ants—Yunan is asking her something somewhere beside her, rummaging through her bag like Olivia would if she were here, but Olivia isn’t here, she’s finally going out with her friends for the first time since they had her because Marcy’s a fuck-up who needs too much help for the simplest things and of course that’s why her own birth parents abandoned her, when do you think Olivia and Yunan will—

“Hey, kiddo? D’you happen to leave your ear defenders in the—”

The noises all around her stop to a halt; there’s a bright, white flash of light, a high-pitched sound, and then an unreasonably loud POP!, almost like the gunshots she’s heard once in the streets and never heard again. But the way Yunan’s hand immediately covers both of her ears and pulls her into the shelter of her arms was all the same; still, it wasn’t enough. The pops and crackles shoots through her brain like a gunshot itself—it drills needles into her skull, makes her head throb and her eyes water, and she could have screamed into her mother’s shirt like a small, terrified thing but she wouldn’t know, everything’s too much and too loud and she couldn’t make them stop—

She’s off the ground, bare feet hanging on the cold winter air and she clutches and grapples on the fabric of her shirt to remind herself that she’s still real, a feeble effort to ground herself. And then she’s pressed against the warm, rough cloth of the car seat, a hand spread flat against her chest, pressing her back—she could almost feel the way her erratic heartbeat thumps against the hand, as if her heart wants to break free from her rib cages. Nausea pools on the very ends of her guts and she chokes on the air, on the pain that replaces every cell in her body, and then—

“Woah—okay, shhhh, easy,” There’s a soft shushing voice whispered in the shell of her ears, another hand pressing soothing strokes along her hairline. She heaves and something splatters against the ground below her and Marcy shuts her eyes tighter, willing everything to just stop, please— “Marcy, Marcy take a deep breath for me, kiddo,” a soft fabric wipes away the the remaining wetness on the edge of her mouth, a kiss pressed against the side of her forehead. “Easy, shhhh, easy. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

The soothing shushes slowly pushed the sounds of explosion to the background, and Marcy pressed her forehead against the calloused cold palm that strokes on her hair, whimpering at the split-second surge of relief. “It’s okay, it’s okay, big breaths,” Yunan rubs on her shoulder blades for another while before settling her back against the seat of the car. “Let me pack up and we can get us out of here, yeah?”


There was nothing else for her to say, so she only nodded.

Even the white noise of the car’s hum that fills the silence between them isn’t enough to halt her sobs into a stop. The loud pop and crackles of the fireworks were still heard in the distance, and Marcy feels all sorts of weight dropped onto her shoulder for what happened tonight; for ditching Anne and Sasha without a word, for causing a scene, making a mess. What if Anne and Sasha don't want to be friends with her now—really, who would? What if Yunan and Olivia decide that she’s too much of a hassle to keep? Her own parents didn’t even want her, it’s only about time that everyone leaves again and again—

“Marcy,” Yunan’s voice on her side grounds her again, bringing her crashing back into her surroundings, a free hand moving from the steering wheel to carefully reach out to hold her. “Whoa, hey—c’mon. Deep breaths, in and out. We’re almost home, sweetheart. You just breathe for me.”

She tries to focus her eyes on the road in front of her just as the telephone line connected to Yunan’s phone crackles on the dashboard of the car. Yunan mutters out something in relief, and then Olivia’s cheery voice picks up on the other side, “hey! Are you and Marcy still on the beach? I just got out of the party, maybe I can get a ride to the beach to meet up with you two?”

“No no, we’re on our way home, actually,” Yunan quickly says, stroking the fabric of Marcy’s sweater to keep her calm, “we had, uh, a situation. When you get home, can you bring us down her weighted blanket and her defenders? We left them at home.”

“Oh no,” Olivia breathes sharply, and Marcy chokes out a small sob at that. “Oh no, my baby—is everything okay? Is she hurt?”

“No, no, we’re good—she threw up for a bit, but we’re in the car now, we’re almost home,” Yunan tries to reassure. “I just need you to be ready for us on the porch, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Olivia responds, “I’ll—I’ll be right home. Drive safely, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you home.” The call closes with another crackle at that, leaving the rest of the small sedan silent again, surrounded by the desolate midnight streets, and the emptiness of it all makes Marcy want to throw up all over again. She opts to choke on another sob again, hunching her body down to bite her lip so that Yunan can’t stop her.

“Shhhh,” the car stutters into a halt at a junction’s red light, and Yunan takes on the opportunity to reach to the backseat and grab a weighted stuffed frog from the car floor, placing it between Marcy’s trembling lap. “Here, you hold Mr. Froggy for me, ‘kay?” she tries to joke, failing miserably when Marcy responds with nothing but another whimper. “You’ll be okay, I promise. I’ve got you. We’re almost home.”

She clutches the soft cotton fur and buries her nose in its familiar smell of lavender detergent for dear life the rest of the way back home.

It’s only when she’s all cleaned up in her pajamas, snuggled up with Olivia on the couch watching the fireworks resume on TV with a silent volume that she finally manages to mutter a simple sentence out of her; “I’m sorry.”

Olivia clicks her tongue in that way of hers, shifting to let her burrow into the crook of her neck while she combs out her hair gently. “You know there’s nothing to be sorry for, Marcy.”

“I left my defenders on my bed,” she sniffles out quietly, the weight of the confession finally tipping her tears down her cheeks yet again, “on purpose.”

The woman beside her lets out a soft sigh, fingers still stroking her hair ever so patiently. “Would you like to tell me why?”

“Because I didn’ wanna wear it. I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t.”

“Why is that, sweetheart?”

“Because it makes me look stupid!” The last word of the sentence brings it all down, sending another series of heart-wrenching sobs out of her exhausted wreck of a body. “I—I wanted to be a good friend for once, a good daughter to you, and at the end all I ever really do is ruin things and it makes me sick —”

Olivia cuts off her angry ramble with a sharp shh. “And why do you think that the way to make yourself a good friend and a good daughter is by hurting yourself?”

Marcy sniffles. “I don’t know.”

Olivia sighs softly. And then she pulls her closer into her arms, tighter, tucking the girl inside her embrace the same as all those years ago. “Marcy, you are already the best daughter you could ever be to anyone.”

“‘M not perfect,” she mumbles through the threat of tears, pressing her face into the fabric of her mother’s sleep gown.

“Nobody says you are,” Olivia tells her, stroking her fingers between her hair, “but you, Marcy, are a wonderful girl, because you’re Marcy. Not because you’re smart. Not because you’re beautiful. Just because you’re Marcy.”

Marcy huffs out a breath without any real anger. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my mom.”

“I knew that even before I was your mom,” Olivia counters gently, “and then I am, and it was the most wonderful thing in the world. You , Marcy— you are the most wonderful thing in the world. And wonderful doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. You just have to be you .”

“What if I don’t like being me?”

“Then I’ll love you for being yourself while you try.”

Marcy lets herself cry into the familiar soft lavender scent of Olivia’s gown for what could be minutes or years while her mother continues to stroke her hair ever so gently, and she knows that they weren’t flesh and blood, but it doesn’t matter. Olivia would love her without reason endlessly either way and it doesn’t matter.

The moment screeches into a halt when a loud series of beeping suddenly fills the room—she feels Olivia shift to turn her head towards the kitchen, and then an exasperated yell, “Yunan!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” another voice approaches, and she looks up from the mess of tears soaked into the skirt of her mother’s gown just in time to see her other mother approach the couch with a bowl of steaming dumplings on her hands, rolling her eyes with a smile. “I almost burnt down the kitchen one time… ”

That sets the other two into a fit of giggle, pairs of legs entangled in one another—Yunan’s sandwiching her between the two and squeezes in a kiss on her forehead with an exaggerated mwah, stirring the dumplings with a pair of chopsticks. “Okay, no more crying, you’re gonna be too tired to eat—open up!”

She watches Yunan blow off the steam for a moment before placing a dumpling on her mouth, soft and savory and it tastes like home, only backing away to press her back against the couch to watch her mothers bicker as they try to feed one another a dumpling.

“Your mama is horrible at feeding someone,” Yunan complains through a full mouth, “lucky you weren’t here when you were a baby!”

“But you’re still going to be my baby either way,” Olivia smiles softly, tilting her head to press yet another exaggerated kiss on Marcy’s puffed cheeks, which makes her squabble with a series of giggles. “You’re the most wonderful thing in the world.”

She settles her head against Olivia’s shoulder and shuts her eyes closed. While fiddling with the green cotton dots under her blanket, she wonders if she could start loving herself the way her mothers loves every strand of her hair. 

“Oh, we’re talking about what now?”

Marcy’s mouth slowly tugs up into a mischievous grin as she opens her eyes, watching Yunan frown lightly at them. “Hey mom, what do you think is the most wonderful thing in the world?”

She feels Olivia try to suppress a choked laugh behind her as Yunan shrugs and says bluntly, “glacier freeze zero gatorade?”

“Ma, I’m going out!”


Both Olivia and Yunan brushed off the last bits of flour from their fingers and rushed over to the door to send their daughter off, fussing over her hair and her face and the little green dragon backpack that hangs off one shoulder. It doesn’t matter that she’s sixteen now, as bright as a budding sunflower—they’d still run their fingers along her velvety hair and press kisses against her reddened cheek like she was still the same lost little girl they found all those years ago.

“Mom, ‘m gonna make Sasha and Anne wait!” Marcy complains and pushes the two away with a giggle, wiping off Olivia’s lip gloss from her cheeks. “Wait, are you guys gonna go to that party again?”

“No,” Olivia rolls her eyes with a fake pout, “too people-y. We’re just gonna stay home and wait for you to come back so we can sleep on the couch again.”

Marcy rests her head on top of her mother’s shoulder for a moment. “Are you worried?”

“Hmm,” her mother hums softly, brushing a strand of strayed baby hair away from her forehead, “yes, a little—but I know you’ll be okay. You’re the bravest girl I know.”

“But, we’ll still be a phone call away if you need us,” Yunan adds quickly, stuffing a purple tupperware inside her backpack, “and don’t stay out too late, stick with your girls—and oh, your defenders?”

Marcy grins and pulls out the worn-out purple defender from her bag. “I’m all set!”

“Okay then, you have fun,” Olivia presses a final kiss onto her cheeks before the girl practically sprints away from her mothers’ embrace towards the door, waving out to the idle beige Volkswagen on the driveway.

“And be back before one! Don’t drink! Tell Sasha to—”

“Honey,” Olivia chides, glaring at her gently while still waving out to the car outside.

“I know, I know,” Yunan raises her hands up in defense, “I’m just…”

“Worried,” her wife finishes for her, voice softening, “I know, my love. But she’s all grown now—and she’s the bravest, strongest girl in the world, hm?”

“Most wonderful thing in the world too,” Yunan sighs softly, resting her head on top of hers.

Olivia smirks teasingly. “Oh, I thought that was glacier freeze zero gatorade?”

“One time,” Yunan grumbles, shaking her head. “C’mon, then. We have about… four hours until Marcy comes home. What d’you wanna do?”

“Huh, that’s the first in what, nine years?” Olivia says lightly, closing the front door behind her with a click. “We’re all alone now.”

“No little girls to fuss over every five minutes,” Yunan tries to joke, but the tone falls flat—so instead they stood there in the empty house for a while, staring at each other with an aimless, hollow gaze.

“You wanna stop staring and get on the bed?”

“Yeah, frog—I mean fuck—yeah.”

“Sasha, stop spilling the sauce everywhere!”

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry!” Sasha groans in exasperation, trying to make the two chopsticks in her hands cooperate. “I can never use chopsticks, you know that!”

“Then use the damn fork!” Anne rolls her eyes, balancing the half-empty tupperware of dumplings on her lap. “You’re just too stubborn!”

“Why do you hate me,” Sasha sighs sadly at the chopsticks in her hands.

“Maybe it’s because you’re white,” Marcy offers with a grin, and Anne chokes out a laugh through a mouthful of dumpling.

Sasha makes an offended gasping sound before falling back against the car window dramatically, a hand pressed against her forehead. “Who is't am i if 't be true not thy local white wench damsel in distress?” she groans with a fake pout. “Feedeth me?”

“I don’t know why I’m dating you,” Anne shakes her head jokingly, but she places a dumpling into Sasha’s waiting mouth with her chopsticks anyway, eyes widening when she glances at the glowing digital clock on Sasha’s speedometer. “Oh shit—it’s time!”

The three scramble to sit up straight as the crowd on the beach starts their countdown in the distance, waiting on the edge of their seats with anticipation. “Mar-mar?” Anne glances over to the backseat to check on her, tapping her ear as a gesture, and Marcy shows up with a thumbs up and her defenders fitting snugly above her ears.

“Okay! Who’s up for a new year’s kiss?” Sasha claps her hand together, turning to her girls. “I googled up “how to do a three-way kiss” earlier this afternoon, but then Grime walked in on me and we had the most embarrassing talk about… ergh ,” she cringes, scrunching up her nose in distaste, “but in conclusion, I don’t know how to do it…”

Anne giggles at that. “C’mon, we can just… try? Nobody’s gonna be looking anyway, right?”

“This is going to be the most embarrassing thing I’ll ever do,” Sasha rolls her eyes, pulling her girls closer, only backing away with an amused frown when their noses bump against each other. “Um, Marcy, can you maybe take off your glasses? I really like my nose.”

Marcy giggles, taking off her glasses and setting it on the empty seat beside her. “Okay, how about now?”

“Much better,” Sasha tells her. “So, um—let’s kiss?”

“You’re a real romantic, anyone ever told you that?” Anne teases before their lips collided against each other, warmth spurting from their reddened cheeks, and they smelled like soy sauce and vanilla waffles and everything she could love forever, all compiled into one. Her girls, who would spend the new year’s eve in a car with her, who would watch the fireworks from a distance with no question nor complaints. Her girls, who wouldn’t bat an eye on her differences because she’s Marcy despite it all, who loved every bruise and mismatched patches in her because they’re what makes her the Marcy they love.

When they pull away, she rests her chin on top of both of their shoulders and watches the fireworks bloom, thinking about how the brightest ones burn on the darkest skies. 

The living room was dark when she entered the house again, illuminated by the TV and the lights outside the window. Her mothers were snuggling on the couch with a familiar constellation pattern blanket on top of their bodies, watching the news station showing fireworks from all around the world on silent.

Marcy watches them and smiles to herself softly before she decides to take pity on the two and not scare them from the dark like she usually would. “Mom?”

The two jerked their head up in a daze at her face, smiling in relief when they saw her figure emerging from the dark, Olivia extending a hand to pull her between them. “Hey, darling, how was the show?”

“It was good,” Marcy smiles into their clothes as the two tangled their arms and legs on hers, inhaling the scent of lavender detergent. “Sash and Anne and I kissed when it started. Like, the three of us, at the same time, and we didn’t even have to look up how!”

Olivia laughs softly at that. “Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

“You guys didn’t miss me that much, did you?” she teases, gesturing at the blanket sprawled on top of their laps. “What were you guys doing while I was gone?”

“Um, just—sitting,” Yunan stutters dismissively, “watching movies… stuff.”

“We missed you a lot,” Olivia quickly adds. “Whenever you’re not around, it feels like forever, and your mom’s all like, I miss Marcy, I don’t know what to do without her!”

“Aw,” Marcy giggles, pushing her away as she peppers small kisses on her face. “I don’t know what to do without you too.”

The confession falls like a heavy thud in the dark living room—it almost feels like a dream, all of this; the late nights, the warm skin that presses against hers, holding her with all the tenderness in the world. It feels like an imaginary, liminal thing, something too good to be true—Marcy, cared for. Marcy, loved. For who she was, who she is, who she could be. Every moment of warmth is followed by a haunting thought; will they one day decide that they don’t want me anymore? Will they one day get up and leave? Will I one day wake up and find myself back in an empty house, trying to grasp on the false sense of safety that the darkness of my old closet gives me, in a house full of people who wouldn’t love me?

Marcy has waited and waited and waited, in all of it’s dread and anticipation. Yet the years seem to keep on passing, and it’s all still the same—muffled sounds of fireworks, warm food, and the hands who would caress all the mismatched patches she wears with all the tenderness in the world.

“I love you,” Olivia tells her, loud and clear, without a doubt or hesitation in her voice. Like she’s always been loved, kisses pressed on her baby-soft skin before she could fully recognize what love and safety means, something that she's been deprived of all those years ago.

“I love you,” Yunan repeats, head placed on top of hers, fingers tracing along her hairline like she’s something hallowed, something sacred.


Marcy sighs softly and lets herself drown in their warmth, their endless sea of love.

When she wakes to yet another year tomorrow, she knows the love will still be there for her.