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The whispering stops the moment Jo enters the locker room.
Greta, Carson and Lupe are huddled together, staring at her wide-eyed and guilty like kids caught sneaking candy. Jo was the last out of the showers and they are the only four left after practice, the rest all fleeing home or to a bar before Shaw can get it in her head to make them run a few more laps. It makes the silent staring even more uncomfortable as she grabs her clothes from her locker and checks her phone in an attempt to act casual.
"You, uh, wanna tell me what's going on here?" she asks, finally getting bored of the pantomime act and looking slowly at each of them in turn before finally landing on Greta.
Greta is the weak link here. Jo can read her like a book.
"I was just waiting for Carson to grab her stuff so we can go," Greta holds up her hands quickly.
This stacks up, Jo knows for a fact that Carson and Greta have a regular date night every Tuesday after practice because that's just the kind of boring couple they are now.
"And you?" she turns to Lupe, "I don't suppose you're planning on going on their date with them?"
Lupe looks disgusted, "What? And be a stepping stool so Shaw can finally go down on her? Fuck no." She kicks Carson in the back of her leg and gestures at Jo, "Go ahead, Coach, tell her."
Carson clears her throat and stands up a little straighter, "We, uh, we were talking about Maybelle."
Jo's heart sinks in her chest but she does her best not to let it show on her face. From Greta's expression, she thinks she fails.
"What about Maybelle?" she asks as casually as she can manage.
"This is the third practice she's missed in two weeks, Jo." Carson is searching her face like she's waiting for a reaction, "We had to warn her about missing practice last semester too... we're thinking we might have to take her off the team until she can make it more regularly."
"No," Jo answers immediately. Maybelle is the heart of the team - sometimes on cold mornings or rainy evenings, her sunshine smile is the only thing that keeps them all going. It's the only thing that keeps Jo going, anyway.
"I know you like her, Joey," Greta tries, and Jo immediately glares at her. She confessed to having the tiniest, smallest of crushes one night over tequila and suddenly it's A Thing. "As a friend," Greta adds hastily with a glance at Carson and Lupe, "But if we want any shot at the playoffs this year..."
And they do want a shot at the playoffs, that goes without saying. The University of Chicago women's baseball team hasn't even gotten close in decades, but now they have the best team there's been in years. Maybe even better than when the legendary Beverly Sergeant played, forever ago.
They're only that good with Maybelle though.
"Just let me talk to her," Jo pleads, ignoring the knowing looks both Greta and Lupe are giving her. "I'm sure there's a good reason she's had to skip."
The three of them give her doubtful looks, and she knows what they're thinking - there is no good reason to miss baseball practice. Carson nods though, "Yeah, talk to her. We don't want to lose her if we can help it."
Jo lets out a breath, relief bubbling in her chest - Maybelle isn't getting kicked off the team while she's around.
****
Back on her couch in the apartment she and Greta share, beer in hand and a WNBA game on the TV, Jo carefully weighs up her options. If she were Lupe or Jess, she'd tell Maybelle to get her ass into gear and show the fuck up for practice. If she were Carson, she'd beat around the bush until everybody got bored and went home.
She's not any of those people though, so she tries for something in the middle.
> Joey [9:37 PM] : Hey sugar plum, missed you at practice today. How come you had to skip?
> Maybelle [9:43 PM] : I missed you too, honey. Had a hot date but I'll be there on Thursday for sure!
Jo stares dumbly at her phone, cold jealousy prickling at the back of her neck. She knows the kind of jocks Maybelle goes out with, the sort that think wearing a Tom Brady jersey and taking a girl to Pizza Hut is an appropriate first date, and it's an excuse that some people on campus might find easy to believe. A lot of people seem to see Maybelle as some sort of ditz, one who cares about boys and her looks and not a whole lot else.
Jo knows better though. Maybelle wouldn't miss practice for any boy - she cares about baseball just as much as the rest of them. But then again, why the hell would she lie?
She's still contemplating this hours later when Greta and Carson arrive home from their date, giggling and tipsy.
"Are you okay, Joey?" Greta asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, ever the touchy drunk, "You look the same as you did that time you realised the games at the carnival were all fixed."
"That wasn't funny. I wasted fifty bucks on that ring toss," Jo sighs, "Maybelle says she missed practice because she had a date."
Greta winces, gestures for Carson to go to bed and that she'll follow, and says quietly, "I know you like her, but maybe she isn't the one for you. Go back to crushing on soccer players like you did before. Remember how happy you were when Megan Rapinoe liked your tweet?"
"This has nothing to do with a crush," Jo huffs, but doubts herself even as she says it. Maybe she just doesn't want to believe Maybelle would miss practice for a date because she likes her. Maybe she's kidding herself. Greta's right, she hasn't actually liked anyone she's known in real life since eighth grade, when Mandy Middleton laughed in her face and told her if she wanted to date a girl who looks like a boy then she’d just date a boy. It's not like Jo has a whole lot of experience in this kind of thing.
Greta squeezes her and presses a sloppy kiss to the top of her head, "Get some sleep, Joey, it'll look better in the morning."
Morning will bring her sport psychology class though, one she shares with Maybelle. She'll have to talk to her then, she supposes, she has no choice – it’s that or risk Maybelle getting kicked off the team.
"You’re right," she tells Greta, steeling herself with new determination, "I'll figure this out."
"I'm always right," Greta retorts, "Now I really do have to go to bed, I happen to know that Shaw brought her sexy flannel pajamas tonight."
And with that, Jo decides to go to bed too, before she runs the risk of overhearing any flannel-related dirty talk.
(She wonders what kind of pajamas Maybelle wears.)
****
If Jo spends a little more time getting dressed on the days she has class with Maybelle, then that's nobody’s business but her own. If she runs a brush through her hair instead of just throwing on a baseball cap, then who is anyone else to question it? If she makes sure she's wearing respectable clothes and not her gym shorts and the "Pitches Be Crazy" t-shirt Ana bought her for Christmas, then surely no one but her notices.
This morning, though, none of that matters, because Maybelle doesn't show up to class. It's weird just on the face of it - she knows how determined Maybelle is to finish her degree and become a physical therapist (Jo has plans to become a physical therapist too, but only as a backup on the off chance she doesn’t make the big leagues). When she thinks about it though, Maybelle has been missing more and more of their shared classes recently, and it just doesn’t fit with the ambitious person Jo knows.
(Unless she only skipped class because her date from last night stayed over, obviously. Jo doesn't want to think about that though.)
She's forced to sit through her entire sports psychology lecture, fidgeting and subtly trying to check her phone for any new messages before she is finally released.
This time, she decides to go right to the source: no more hanging around waiting for text messages, she's solving this problem once and for all.
She has only ever driven to Maybelle’s apartment, is the thing, on the rare occasions that she's given her a ride home after practice. It’s a long way from campus, but Maybelle has never invited her inside, never even invited her into the building. In fact, Jo is pretty sure that none of the team have ever been there - they've never talked about it if they have, anyway. It seems sort of strange given how open Maybelle is with everything else.
"Hello?" Maybelle’s strained voice says through the speaker when Jo buzzes to be let into her shabby-looking building.
"It's Joey," Jo says, "Thought I'd come check on you since you weren't in class."
"Joey?" There is a very long pause, as if Maybelle isn't sure what to say, "I'm real sorry you wasted a trip, but I'm a little busy."
Jo frowns at the metal intercom, "C'mon, Maybelle, you know me, I won't be in the way. Maybe I can help out with whatever you're busy doing." Unless it's a man. She really hopes it’s not a man.
There is another lengthy silence, and then finally the buzzer sounds to indicate the door has been unlocked.
The elevator is broken which means Jo is forced to take five flights of stairs up to Maybelle’s apartment. She's grateful for it though - it gives her a chance to think about what she's going to say, how she's going to show how much she wants to help.
Maybelle only opens the door a tiny crack when Jo gets there, peering out through the small gap. She looks... well, she looks radiant, obviously. Like the living embodiment of hitting a home run, and seeing her feels twice as good. But she also looks tired. She isn't wearing any makeup and there are dark circles under her eyes, her hair is sticking up like she hasn't washed it.
"You okay, sugar plum?" Jo asks tentatively.
Then, horribly, Maybelle begins to cry.
For just a second Jo is frozen to the spot, horrified by the sight of her usually upbeat friend in tears. She gathers her wits though and pushes gently at the door, giving Maybelle the opportunity to stop her if she really doesn't want her to come in. Maybelle relents instantly though, and steps out of her apartment into the hug Jo has waiting for her. She sobs into her shoulder, her words incoherent at first, until Jo finally manages to make out 'kicked out'.
"Kicked out?" she asks, "Don’t worry about that, I'll make sure they don't kick you off the team." She'll fight Shaw herself if she has to.
"No, Joey," Maybelle steps back, still sniffing, "Kicked out of school. They said if my grades don't improve then they have no choice."
Jo frowns, "Hey, that's alright. We can figure a few lousy grades out. Shirley’s a whiz in math, and, as much as I hate to admit it, Shaw has all that history and English stuff down. We can tutor you."
Maybelle looks down at the floor, her fingers going to play with the hem of her shirt, "I'm not sure it'll be enough."
And then, from behind her, a tiny voice says, "Mommy? Are you crying?"
Standing in the doorway there is a little girl, the living image of Maybelle Fox if she were four years old.
"Well," Maybelle says, "I guess the cat's out of the bag now."
****
The apartment is a mess, but Jo is far too polite to comment on that as she seats herself on a stool in the kitchen. Maybelle settles her little girl down again with a colouring book, and Jo gets to watch as she smooths the girl’s hair down, makes sure she’s not thirsty and that she has enough crayons to get by with.
“I guess I owe you an explanation,” Maybelle says, not quite able to meet Jo’s eyes when she finally crosses the room to join her in the kitchen.
Jo’s mind is whirring with questions, her brain desperately searching through every memory she has of the last two years, looking for any sign, any hint that Maybelle had a daughter. There are none.
But Maybelle looks like a frightened animal just now, ready to flee at any moment, her eyes still wet and threatening to brim over. So Jo decides to start small.
“What’s her name?” she asks.
Maybelle blinks, surprised, “Dolly,” she says, “After Dolly Parton.”
Jo grins, “Should have known. She’s beautiful, looks just like you.”
This only makes Maybelle frown and shake her head though, “You’re being nice. I don’t deserve you being nice - I lied to you.”
“It’s a pretty big shock,” Jo admits, “But I bet you had your reasons.”
Maybelle sighs, glances back at Dolly and lowers her voice to make sure she won’t overhear, “I was scared you’d all hate me if you found out. I had her when I was sixteen and we lived in a real small town, a lot of people out there don’t like anything that’s not good Christian values. Most of my friends didn’t stick around after I got pregnant, said I was a slut.”
Under the countertop, Jo feels her leg start to bounce. She suddenly has the urge to search through every small town in America until she finds those friends and can give them a piece of her mind.
That’s not what Maybelle needs right now though, and she pushes the feeling down. “You had to know we wouldn’t think like that though. I mean, none of us exactly came from a perfect family. Me and Greta may as well not have parents for all the good they did us, Shaw is walking, talking mommy issues, and Jess was raised by a family of moose so far as I can work out.”
“I know that now,” Maybelle admits, “But by the time I realised that I’d left it so long it didn’t feel like I could tell you, you know? I didn’t want all of you to be angry that I lied to you.”
She doesn’t like it, but Jo supposes she can understand Maybelle’s reasoning. “Is this why you’ve been skipping practice? And class?”
Maybelle nods, “My mom moved out to Chicago too to help out, but she can only babysit when she isn’t working. Then…” From the mess on the countertop, she picks up a letter Jo hadn’t noticed before and holds it out for her to take, “It arrived this morning.”
Jo scans it quickly, the words seeming to blur together, but she can make out the gist: if Maybelle’s grades drop any lower, the university will have no choice but to remove her as a student.
“Between Dolly and waiting tables I can’t ever find the time to study,” Maybelle says quietly.
It takes Jo a moment to process this – perhaps selfishly, the thought of not seeing Maybelle every day fills her with cold dread. More than that though, she knows how determined her friend is to graduate, to make a career for herself, and she sees now that is at least in part for Dolly.
“Well,” she says in the end, a plan formulating in her mind, “You still have a semester to get your grades back on track. And I got good news for you – you have a whole team of people who are gonna love the chance to babysit.”
“No,” Maybelle says immediately, tears threatening to fall again, “Joey, we can’t tell them. They’re going to be so mad I hid this from them.”
Jo shakes her head, “They won’t, May, they’re good people. They’ll understand why you felt you had no choice.”
Maybelle is beginning to panic though, shaking her hands in front of her, “The team are the best friends I’ve ever had, I couldn’t stand it if they never wanted to speak to me again – “
“Hey,” Jo grasps Maybelle’s hands gently in her own, runs her thumbs soothingly over her knuckles. “Look at me, okay? Do you remember what you said to Shirley, back when she was freaking out because she realised she’s just about the only one on the team not as queer as a farmer’s market in June?”
“I said – “ Maybelle takes a shuddering breath in, “I said you have to take people as they are.”
“Exactly,” Jo nods, “You’ve been taking all of us just how we are for two years, time to let us return the favour. Do you trust me?”
Maybelle’s lower lip quivers, “Josephine,” she says, “More than anyone.”
“Then let me help,” Jo tells her, squeezing Maybelle’s hands tightly in hers, “We got this, sugar plum.”
****
With Maybelle’s permission, Jo tells the rest of the team ahead of time, although she misses out the part about the failing grades – Maybelle is embarrassed and nobody else needs to know that anyway. She figures it’s best to let them get all of their shock over Dolly out of the way though, especially since a lot of them aren’t exactly known for their diplomatic responses.
That means, though, that she, Maybelle and Dolly walk into a locker room filled with a lot of women all trying and failing to look as natural as possible. Max is half-leaning awkwardly against a wall, tossing a baseball back and forth between her hands, Carson appears to be hovering somewhere between sitting and standing, Lupe is on a bench pretending to tie her shoelaces.
“Real smooth guys,” Jo sighs.
Maybelle doesn’t seem to have noticed it though – she is looking around the room with wild eyes, pressing Dolly close to her front with one hand, as though she’s expecting to need to grab her and run at any moment.
It is Shaw who steps up to speak on behalf of the team, “We, uh, wanted to say we’re sorry,” she starts, glancing around the room as the other players nod, “That you didn’t feel you could come to us with this.”
Dolly is looking up at Greta with a mixture of fascination and apprehension, as though no person should be allowed to be that tall in her four-year-old estimation. Greta crouches down, takes the cap off her head and offers it to her, “You want to try it on? Bet it would look a lot cuter on you.”
Dolly nods shyly, and puts the hat that is far too big for her on her own head, laughing when it covers her eyes.
“Well look at you, you sure look the part now,” Greta grins.
Maybelle looks from Carson to Greta and then around at the rest of the team, as though she can’t quite understand what’s happening. “You don’t hate me?”
“Of course we don’t hate you,” Carson says immediately, “We just feel bad we couldn’t help sooner. But we’re going to – well, Shirl, do you want to tell her?”
Shirley springs into action instantly, holding up a tablet with a stream of numbers across it, “I created a spreadsheet of all our class schedules and cross-referenced it with your class schedule to see when each of us is available to babysit, and now we have a rota that means you shouldn’t need to miss any vital education.”
“And practice should be easy,” Greta appears to have thoroughly charmed Dolly by this point, and they are sitting side by side inspecting Greta’s rings, “We can just tag team to make sure one of us is always in the dugout with her.”
“She’s kind of a little team mascot,” Jess comments, “Like Gritty, but not as cute.”
“I can’t make you do all of this,” Maybelle says in a small voice, “You’d all be giving up so much of your time just for me.”
The team look around at each other, clear confusion on each of their faces.
“Maybelle, do you remember when Greta got the flu and you made enough soup to feed her for a week?” Carson asks, finally.
“Well, I couldn’t let you cook for her, she’d have died,” Maybelle points out.
“Or when Clance first met Guy and you helped me spend hours going through his social media to make sure he wasn’t a creep?” Max questions.
Maybelle shrugs, “That was just sort of fun, honestly.”
“What about when I didn’t sleep for forty-eight hours because I was studying so hard for finals and you forced me to take a nap?” Shirley suggests.
“You were on the verge of hallucinating, Shirl, that was just good sense,” Maybelle argues.
“I think the point they’re trying to make,” Jo cuts in, “Is that you’ve done a hell of a lot for all of us. Let us do this for you.”
Maybelle looks down at Dolly, rolling a baseball back and forth on the bench, and finally nods, “Okay. Thank you. Can we have a group hug?”
Lupe gives a long-suffering sigh, “I fucking told you guys she was going to make us hug it out.”
****
Max is the first in the lineup to babysit, a fact she seems entirely terrified by. She insists that Jo and Maybelle bring Dolly to Clance and Guy’s apartment, supposedly because there’s more space than her dorm room, but Jo suspects she wants the moral support. For his part, Guy seems over the moon, keeps saying something about this being ‘much better than an egg’, although even Clance appears to be baffled by that.
“He’s the only twenty-one-year-old college guy I ever knew who was broody,” she says with an eye roll, although the soft smile she throws at him gives her away.
“What do you talk to a four-year-old about?” Max hisses at Jo when she thinks Maybelle is out of earshot, “Does she like sports?”
Dolly does like sports, as Jo has already discovered, although she suspects that Max’s version of talking sport (watching Youtube videos of old games at half speed and dissecting each play frame by frame) won’t be to the four-year-old’s tastes.
“She likes playing catch?” Jo suggests, “And she likes drawing a whole lot.”
“Drawing,” Max nods, “Okay. I can draw. Well, I can’t draw… but Clance can.”
"Great," Jo says, suspecting that this entire plan is going to fall apart immediately.
Except by the time she and Maybelle let themselves back into the apartment when their class is finished three hours later, a hell of a lot has clearly happened. Max and Dolly are both wearing bed sheet capes and appear to be locked in an epic battle with Evil Villain Guy, using cardboard tubes to fight him off. From a chair, Clance is furiously scribbling in her sketchbook and giving directions like, "Okay, Dolly, now you say 'not this time, Captain Patriarchy!'"
Max looks over at her, "Clance, she's four."
"You're right," Clance mutters, "I need to workshop that name."
Maybelle clears her throat, "Sorry to interrupt, heroes, but we're here to pick Dolly up?"
"Aw," Max lowers her couch cushion shield, "Already?"
****
The first time Jo offers to come over and study, Maybelle tries to insist that she doesn't have to put herself out like that, and it takes a little bit of work for Jo to get her to understand that she really wants to come over. Since the two of them share most of their classes she isn't called in for a lot of babysitting duty, but she wants to be able to help just as much as the others.
They fall into an easy routine after that, one where Jo will drive Maybelle to pick up Dolly from whoever she's with that day before they head back to Maybelle's apartment and Jo will help her catch up on some of the reading and assignments she missed. Gradually, the afternoons stretch longer and longer and turn into making dinner together - Maybelle’s pies and stews or the pasta dishes Jo's grandma taught her to make.
"I hope you're being careful with that heart of yours, Joey," Greta says to her one day as she heads out of the door, ready to pick Maybelle up from her restaurant job and then Dolly from Maybelle’s mom.
"I'm just helping out a friend," she argues, but somewhere deep in her, she knows it's more than that. She revels in the chance to see more of Maybelle, to watch the way her face lights up when they figure out some particularly difficult homework together, or the gentle way she kisses Dolly's forehead as she puts her to bed.
It doesn't matter though. They're friends, and that's all. Jo can learn to be okay with that (after all, a voice in her head tells her, why would Maybelle want a girl who looks like a boy when she could just have a boy?)
Sometimes though, Jo lets herself indulge. She lets herself imagine a life where Maybelle really could like her, where her apartment is their apartment, where she wakes up and sees both of them every day.
It happens one lazy Wednesday afternoon, the three of them watching cartoons together, Dolly entirely absorbed in the adventures of some British pigs.
"You know," Maybelle nudges their shoulders together, "I never did say thank you for everything you've done."
"Everything I've done?" Jo questions, "I mean, the whole team is doing their part."
"Yeah but you're the one who pushed me into letting them." Maybelle does look better now, she yawns less, smiles more. It makes Jo smile a little more too. "I was thinking, you know, if anyone else had come over to check on me that day then I don't think I'd have let them in."
"Really?" Jo asks, trying to ignore her traitorous brain telling her maybe.
"Yeah, but then I realised no one else would have come over, probably. You knew I was lying about having a date." she shrugs, "You just know me, Josephine."
They are sitting close together, so close that Jo can see the pink rising in Maybelle's cheeks, and she has to force herself to look back at the TV before she does something stupid like kiss her.
The moment passes - Maybelle stands up, announces it's time for dinner, and marches off into the kitchen.
****
For some inexplicable reason, when Lupe and Jess moved out of campus housing they decided to rent a dilapidated former hunting cabin outside of the city that took six months to install actual working electricity in. Jess still maintains that they’re all going to be grateful for it when the apocalypse arrives.
This means that Jo is just a little nervous when they go to collect Dolly after her first afternoon with the two of them. Maybelle seems less worried, maintaining that Esti is hanging out there too and that Esti, at least, isn’t a nut.
But then, Maybelle seems to think that anyone who is just as crazy about Grey’s Anatomy as she is couldn’t possibly be a nut. Jo is less convinced.
They arrive to find all four of them outside, Jess and Lupe hammering at a complicated wooden structure and Dolly sitting on Esti’s lap on the cabin porch holding a chicken.
Of course she’s holding a chicken.
“Hey, honey, did you have a good afternoon?” Maybelle asks, apparently unconcerned by the farmyard animal her daughter is petting. Maybe it’s a small town thing.
“We’ve been learning Spanish,” Esti says as Dolly scrambles down from her lap to hug her mom, “Dolly, can you remember how to say hello?”
“Hola, mi nombre es Dolly,” Dolly repeats cheerily, and Maybelle claps her hands delightedly.
“Look at you, you’re a regular little Bilingual Betty.”
“Uh, just one small thing,” Jo questions, fairly convinced she may be hallucinating the chicken at this point, “Why is she holding a chicken?”
Jess and Lupe look at each other and then back at Jo as though she asked an incredibly dumb question.
“We’re building a new chicken coop.” Lupe informs her bluntly, “Someone needs to take care of the chickens while we do that.”
“Right,” Jo says, “Obviously.”
****
It's late by the time they leave Jess and Lupe's, and Dolly falls asleep almost instantly in the back of the car. Jo tries not to glance over at Maybelle as she drives, tries not to notice the way her face is lit up as they pass in and out of the glow of the streetlights.
"You know, when I first moved here I was a little scared of the city," Maybelle says quietly as they pass out of the rural area Jess and Lupe live in and back into Chicago proper. "I thought it was way too big, figured I'd get lost every day of my life living here."
Jo gives her a small smile, "And look at you now, you're a regular city girl."
"I can't imagine living any place else," Maybelle agrees, and Jo feels her eyes on her from the passenger seat, "You ever have that, Joey? Something you take for granted for so long, then one day you look at it and realise you couldn't live without it if you tried?"
Jo's heart thunders in her chest, and when she glances away from the road she finds Maybelle still look at her, her eyes bright and shining.
"Yeah," Jo says after a moment, "I think I have."
****
Jo is very strict with Greta the first time she and Carson babysit: she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to let Shaw bore Dolly to death. Just because Greta finds book talk weirdly charming doesn't mean anyone else does.
"Would you relax?" Greta waves the two of them away. "We're going to be fine. I got a craft kit at the store and we're going to make jewellery just like mine, aren't we Doll?"
Dolly nods eagerly, stretching up to take Greta's hand in hers.
Jo wants to say more, but with Maybelle standing next to her, she's keen to hurry them out of the door for their evening class. She loves Greta, really, probably more than anybody on the planet. But everyone also tends to look at her just a little longer than they look at Jo, and with all the time they’ve been spending together lately, she doesn't think she can stand to see Maybelle do it too.
When they return from class, even Jo has to admit that her fears about Shaw and reading might have been a little out of place. She and Maybelle walk into her apartment to find Carson with Dolly on her lap, the little girl clutching her teddy bear to her chest and wearing a variety of multi-coloured bracelets as Shaw reads a copy of "Where The Wild Things Are" she must have bought herself.
"Everything okay?" Maybelle whispers to Greta, not wanting to disturb the readers.
Greta is gazing at Carson and Dolly with a faraway expression, so wrapped up in it that she jumps when Maybelle speaks to her.
"Huh?" she asks stupidly, "Oh, yeah, great." She holds up her arm to reveal she is also wearing multiple, brightly coloured bead bracelets - very un-Greta-like. "We had fun."
Dolly is asleep by the time Carson softly closes the book, and Jo carries her to the car and secures her gently into her car seat. She had been unsure, the first time she did it, but it has been enough weeks now that she doesn't even make Maybelle check that she's done it right.
"Your Greta sure is head over heels for Carson, isn't she?" Maybelle says as they make the drive back towards her apartment, "I don't think they'll make it far past graduation before there's a ring involved."
Jo doesn't quite know what to say to that. She should be pleased for Greta, she knows, and she is - her friend struggled for so long that seeing her genuinely happy is like a balm. Jo doesn't even mind coming home to find them cuddled up together on the couch, Greta’s head on Carson’s lap, Carson running gentle fingers through her hair. It's cute and domestic, and God knows Greta deserves a little of that.
But there is also something in Jo, something she tries not to pay much attention to, that feels sad about it.
"Did I say something wrong?" Maybelle asks when Jo doesn't speak.
"No," Jo says quickly, "No. I'm happy for Greta, and I'm going to throw her the best bachelorette party the world has ever seen when it comes to that."
"But..." Maybelle prompts, and Jo wonders that her friend just knows there's more to it.
"But, it was me and Greta for so long, you know? The two of us against the world," Jo shrugs, keeps her eyes fixed on the road, "Now I kind of think it's going to be Carson and Greta, and I'm... just Joey. By myself."
Maybelle reaches over and puts a warm hand on Jo's arm, "You know when you're not there, Greta brags about how amazing you are to anyone who'll listen, right? She loves you." She squeezes gently, "But even if she and Carson do end up getting married, you won't be on your own. I hate to tell you this, Josephine, but me and Dolly aren't letting you go any time soon."
And if Jo looks at her now she thinks she might just tear up, so she focuses on the street ahead and says, "Thanks, Maybelle."
Maybelle keeps her hand on Jo's arm the whole way home.
********
There is late afternoon sun settling over the baseball field when Jo leads Dolly there. Maybelle has a shift at the restaurant and her mom is visiting family back home, which means Jo is left with the rare pleasure of babysitting alone.
It’s become easy with Dolly now, the shyness the little girl had back when she first met Jo has faded into comfortable friendship. They’re familiar enough that Jo knows to pack both apple and grape juice for her before she takes her out, familiar enough that Dolly automatically reaches up to take Jo’s hand so she’s safe as they walk across the parking lot, familiar enough that both of them know where Jo’s locker is when they get to it.
Dolly has spent a lot of practices with them now, sitting on Terri’s knee in the dugout or running after Maybelle as she rounds the bases, but this is the first time she’s really going to get a shot at playing herself. Jo has borrowed a t-ball set from one of her classmates, and she thinks it’s about time Dolly learned how to hit. She’s nearly five, after all, no time like the present.
The first few hits go badly. Jo tries to show her how to stand, how to keep her eye on the ball, but Dolly can only really tap it, or else she swings too high and misses the ball entirely. Jo can see her starting to get upset with herself, and crouches down next to her.
“Stand just like this, okay?” Jo adjusts her arms to help her, “And think about where you want the ball to go. You’re gonna hit it right over there, see? And don't forget how loud the crowd's gonna be cheering your name when you do it.”
Dolly looks at where Jo is pointing and nods very seriously, “Okay, Joey. I got it.”
Jo grins and steps back to let take her hit. Dolly pulls the bat back, swings, and –
“Hell yeah!” Jo whistles and claps as the ball flies away, “You did it, kid! Hey, wait ‘til you tell your mom you’re a real ball player now.”
Dolly’s chest puffs up with pride at that thought, and she insists on taking another shot at it. This time, Jo takes a video on her phone, sends it first to Maybelle and then into the team group chat, where she’s met with a wall of heart emojis.
“Carson says she wants you on the team for our next game,” Jo tells her with a smile as they go to collect the ball again.
“Carson’s weird,” Dolly says mildly, and Jo grins down at her.
“I always knew I liked you, kid.”
****
Maybelle slips out of Dolly’s bedroom later that evening, leaving her door ajar just a little so they can hear her if she wakes up at all, settles herself so close to Jo on the couch that their legs are almost pressed together.
“She can’t stop talking about how she’s gonna be a slugger like Joey,” Maybelle tells her with a smile.
She doesn’t add anything else but neither does she turn towards the TV, just keeps looking at Jo, soft and intense all at once in the way that only Maybelle can look.
“She’s got a pretty good arm,” Jo grins, “I was googling some local t-ball teams if you think she’d be interested. I don’t want to push her into anything, but…”
“You’re cute,” Maybelle nudges her, “You know, Greta asked me today when I planned on returning you. You’re here more nights than you’re not.”
“Oh,” Jo blinks – she hadn’t really realised it but she supposes she is. It felt natural enough that she hadn’t even considered it. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry. I can go if you want to – “
“Joey,” Maybelle rolls her eyes and puts a hand on Jo’s knee just below the edge of her shorts, scratches her fingers over the bare skin there and sends tingles shooting up Jo’s spine. “I like having you here.”
“I like being here,” Jo says, and with every beat her heart thuds maybe maybe maybe.
“Can I ask you a question?” Maybelle’s hand moves from Jo’s knee to her shoulder, slides upwards toward her neck and touches the soft baby hairs there.
“Um,” Jo swallows, unable to think about very much except the warmth of Maybelle’s fingers. “Yeah.”
Maybelle studies her for a second, her usual smile replaced with something serious, “Josephine, are you ever going to ask me on a date?”
Oh. Jo’s thoughts, stupidly, blankly, summarise to: oh.
But Maybelle doesn’t wait for an answer anyway. She leans forwards and presses their lips gently together, nothing more than simple pressure, and then pulls back and looks at Jo questioningly.
This time, Jo doesn’t hesitate to do what she has wanted to for so long. She puts one firm hand on Maybelle’s waist, wraps the other in her hair and kisses her, really kisses her, slides her tongue into her mouth and tries to tell her with every tiny gasp I wanted this, I wanted this for so long. And Maybelle is so gorgeously responsive, pressing herself into Jo and wrapping both arms around her neck like she just can’t get close enough.
Once, Jo had asked Greta what she saw in Carson. They had both put back a lot of whiskey by that point in the evening and Greta was drunk enough to be honest instead of just making a stupid joke about catchers being good with their hands. She had looked thoughtful and said, “When I’m with her… I just feel like myself. No. I feel like the person I want to be.”
Jo hadn’t understood it back then and doesn’t understand it until she and Maybelle pull apart and stare foolishly at each other, still close enough for them to share panting breaths. She can see the joy dancing in Maybelle’s eyes, feel her smile mirrored on her own lips. And in that moment she doesn’t feel like a girl who looks too much like a boy and she doesn’t feel like Greta Gill’s best friend.
She feels like Joey Fucking De Luca, and she thinks she could hit a fastball into space right about now.
****
two months later
Jo wakes to the sound of cartoons from the living room and Maybelle sitting up in bed next to her, tapping rapidly on her phone. Even still half asleep, she’s vaguely aware that it’s the championship game today, but she’s not sure she’s quite ready to face that yet, pushes her face into Maybelle’s side instead.
May smooths a hand over her hair, “Go back to sleep,” she tells her, “It’s early and we have a big day today.”
And Jo would, normally, but Maybelle is wearing one of her oversized t-shirts and not a whole lot else, giving a tantalising glimpse of thigh where the bed covers are pushed down, and suddenly Jo doesn’t feel a whole lot like sleeping.
“In a minute,” Maybelle laughs, slaps playfully at Jo’s hand where it creeps around her waist, “The grades for the term papers are out.”
Then Jo really is awake properly, and she sits up, knowing her hair is a little wild but not much caring. She and Maybelle had killed themselves writing their papers and she wants to do well for herself, obviously, but more importantly she really, really wants May to get a good grade. It’s what’s going to push her out of academic probation and back into good standing again.
“Joey,” Maybelle whispers after a moment, looking round at her with a dazed expression, “I got an A.”
“You got an A?” Jo repeats, letting the news sink in, “Baby, you got an A?”
“Yeah,” Maybelle laughs out loud, throws her arm around Jo’s neck and kisses her soundly, “I got an A. I got an A, Joey. Me!”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Jo grins, pulls her into her lap and lets Maybelle wrap her legs around her, slides her hands up over her sides and back, “You’re a hell of a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
“You helped… a little,” Maybelle teases, then leans in to kiss her again, more deeply this time, slips her hands under Jo’s t-shirt and nips at her jaw.
“Mm, Dolly is – “ Jo begins, and Maybelle sighs and pulls away.
“We’ll put a pin in that for later,” she promises.
She doesn’t move from Jo’s lap though, just leans in to kiss her slow and deep, presses herself in closer until she teases herself and her hips are squirming again. And Jo isn’t used to this, even now, doesn't think she'll ever take it for granted that someone wants her just as much as she wants them.
“Dolly’s watching that pig show again, we probably have twenty minutes if we lock the door,” she suggests with a raised eyebrow.
“Josephine,” Maybelle says, already scrambling to close the bedroom door, “Did I ever tell you that you’re my hero?”