Chapter Text
“Barb, we’ve gotta.”
“No, we do not,” Barbara mutters and refuses to look over, because she can hear the puppydog eyes in Melissa’s voice. A square of folded sweatpants flops on the coffee table with attitude; Barbara picks it up, sets it neatly in the pants pile.
“Hear me out.” In her periphery, Melissa slumps against the arm of the couch, now fully turned onto Barbara. She fishes a hand into the laundry basket. “It’s her first New Year’s without Tariq.”
Barbara furrows her brow. “It is not.”
“Her second New Year’s,” Melissa amends, uncertainly. “Or… third? I don’t know, but still-”
“Is this why you washed all the pillowcases?” It hits Barbara all at once – she turns wide eyes on Melissa, betrayed. “You’ve been planning this!”
“Hey, it was Ava’s idea,” Melissa offers as some kind of defense, “which should tell you something. This is serious.”
Barbara sets a folded blouse on the coffee table. “It is perfectly normal to feel lonely on the holidays. Janine will be fine.”
“She’s been talking about Tariq all month!” Melissa finally folds the lace in her hands. “Every single lunch. You’ve heard her.”
“Oh, trust that I have tuned out everyone’s holiday neuroses,” Barbara remarks with a knowing look over her shoulder. Melissa holds out a folded camisole for Barbara to sort. “Is this yours?”
Melissa cocks her head to study the garment… then shrugs a hand. Barbara doesn’t suppose it matters.
(Truthfully, she’s still shaking the habit of sorting her laundry into “yours and mine” piles. There’s something quite aesthetically pleasing about fewer stacks of clothes – just a lot of “ours” in her life now.)
“Hey, look at me.”
Barbara looks up, defenses lowered for a second too long – and she’s hit with the pout. There’s empathy staining Melissa’s eyes, her latest island of lost toys floating into their home. Barbara sighs.
“Melissa, I know-”
“If we sit back on this,” Melissa starts in a serious tone – then pauses, glancing puzzled at a complicated strappy blouse in her lap. She shakes her head, passing it to Barbara. “She’s gonna find some clown to kiss at midnight, or worse-”
“And how is that any of our business?”
“-back to Tariq- oh, she’ll make it our business.” Melissa huffs, leaning down to the laundry beast. Once she’s back upright, though, her tone has softened. “She’s a kid, Barb. She’s too young to get stuck with the wrong guy – you know that.”
She makes eye contact with those words, and it jabs Barbara right in the throat. There’s a familiar wave of tightness in her chest, her ribs caving in on her – her heart a cement shoe, sinking her to the deep end of every pool. The dread of her own driveway; the subtle shrinking of a once-huge home, suffocating her in her sleep. The bitter taste of “I love you” in the wrong mouth, on the wrong tongue.
“Look, we’ve just gotta keep her away from the ball-droppers and the face-suckers at midnight,” Melissa interrupts Barbara’s thoughts, while tucking a pair of socks into a ball. “You won’t have to do a thing. Besides, the kid’s never had her own slumber party; think about that! That’s bordering on tragic.”
Barbara chews on this, hands fiddling with a pair of leather pants. “Couldn’t we do it at her house?”
“Oh, have you been to her apartment?”
At that, Barbara glances over. “Have you?”
“No,” Melissa admits, her point undermined. “But she shows me lots of pictures, and I’m telling you, this is a mouse house. There’s no room!”
“But why our house? Can’t we get Ava-”
“Stop,” Melissa cuts her off. “Think of what you’re about to say.”
(Barbara thinks of what she’s about to say.)
“Okay, so we can’t get Ava to do anything beyond showing up. If that.” Barbara rests back into the cushions, gaze drifting over Melissa. “But our house?”
It’s softer the second time she says it, and tight, like she’s opening her heart and showing some kind of raw nerve. They’ve only been living together for a few months now – it’s all so fresh, so sacred. She’s still got that faint dent on her ring finger; she’s still having her mail forwarded here. This has barely started to float on its own, and she’s protective of it – of their home, their bed, their precious few evenings. Of these first holidays where everything is painted this new Melissa hue, and everything Barbara does is so special and beloved. She doesn’t have enough of this to sacrifice anything.
Melissa sets a hand on Barbara’s jaw, brings her back to earth. Pretty green eyes, full of lost toys.
“It’s just a night,” she whispers. “We’ve done worse with a night.”
Barbara nods soberly – closes her eyes against the image of fireworks, cheap champagne at a bar full of strangers and Melissa in her arms – that rush of a countdown and the noise and the ights and there in the thick of the room, kissing Melissa – only them two – openly them two. For the first time.
“Hey.” Melissa’s forehead bumps to hers; Barbara opens her eyes. A thumb brushes Barbara’s cheek. “Next year, just us two, yeah? I’ll owe you one.”
Barbara hums, lips just brushing Melissa’s. “You’ll owe me two, at least.”
A low chuckle, and Melissa tilts in to catch her lips. Stays there, as long as she likes… then stops to breathe.
“Two what?”
A smile, and Barbara mutters, “I haven’t decided yet.”
“All right!” Footsteps pad onto the kitchen tile. “What do we think?”
(This is a very risky moment to turn around. Barbara’s about halfway through shoveling a buttery, crumbly cookie off a modestly-greased sheet pan – and if it breaks in half, the damaged goods go to Melissa. And Melissa has already sneaked so many cookies. She cannot surrender another damn cookie.)
“Thoughts? Concerns?”
(Her will is weak. She turns around.)
Melissa’s perched against the counter behind her, arms crossed; but once she’s got Barbara’s attention, she straightens up. She twists to show off her PJ assembly – a gently mussed high pony, a faded gray Read-A-Thon t-shirt, and a silky pair of pajama bottoms. In fact, a silky pair of Barbara’s pajama bottoms. Barbara experiences a thought or concern.
“I was looking for those pants.”
Melissa glances down at her legs, tugs at her pants. “These? They’re so soft.”
“They’re part of a set!” Barbara fires back too quickly – then the cookie at her fingertips cracks in twain. “Oh, damn it…”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Melissa mumbles behind her, knowing full well she has stolen those pants. She sidles up to Barbara. “Those look good.”
Barbara pointedly ignores the slow footsteps, the arms reaching for Barbara’s waist. She focuses on swiping the raspberry jam mess off her spatula, setting aside the pile of melty cookie with a sigh…
Then Melissa’s got her arms around her, and Barbara’s a melty mess, herself. Lips find the nape of her neck, and Barbara softens back against her, surrendering the spatula. Lets her eyes close for a moment, heavier than she realized.
“You look cute,” Melissa mutters in her ear, teeth tugging at the collar of Barbara’s periwinkle silk. A cold nose finds her spine – a thick ponytail tickles her cheek.
“So do you,” Barbara croons without looking back, smirking to herself, “thief.”
A snort, and Melissa bites her neck gently – and that’s just shivers everywhere, all over. Barbara chuckles, squeezes Melissa’s arms tighter around her. Melissa drops a kiss on her neck before retreating.
“They’re on their way now,” she warns, peering over the sheet of half-collected cookies. Her eyes light up at the discarded raspberry clump. “When they get here, are we- shit, ouch-”
“Honey, that’s hot-”
Melissa clamps a fist around her burnt thumb, wincing in pain from where she brushed the pan. “Fuck me-”
“Let me see,” Barbara soothes, reaching for Melissa’s clenched hand. Grimacing, Melissa surrenders her thumb. “I forgot to mention-”
“-kinda kitchen are we running here?” Melissa tries to joke – then hums under Barbara’s careful examination. “It’s okay, it’s…”
Barbara pulls Melissa’s reddened thumb to her mouth, watches Melissa’s expression dissolve. Melissa slumps against the countertop, unburnt hand going for the hem of Barbara’s shirt. For the first time all day, they stand still.
“Hey.”
“Hm?” Barbara releases Melissa’s thumb – pulls her palm in to her chest. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Melissa mutters, tugging Barbara closer. “How do we play this? Are we friends tonight, or what?”
This question has been mutually avoided all evening. Barbara had almost hoped they’d never discuss it.
“I don’t know,” she says in a huff, gaze drifting to Melissa’s necklace. “I… don’t know.”
Barbara knows she doesn’t want to surrender this hand – doesn’t want to keep respectable distance tonight, not after all this time. But she doesn’t want this New Year’s Eve further ruined by twenty questions with Janine Teagues… and Ava. Lord have mercy, should Ava get wind of this.
“I think…” Melissa begins, looking genuine – as if she’ll play along tonight, no matter what. If anyone hates questions more than Barbara, it’s Melissa. “If Janine’s doing okay tonight – I mean, if she’s not in total emotional turmoil – I’m open to just… ripping off the band-aid, you know?”
Barbara hums it over, nods. “We can play it by ear.”
“Yeah, let’s just play it by-”
Then the front door is thrown open, and they pull apart like something’s exploded between them. Barbara spins toward the door, watches with held breath until Ava bursts into the house – and behind her, a blindfolded Janine tugged by the wrist.
“Are we here now?” Janine groans, resigned to her fate. “Can this stop?”
“Surprise!” Ava cries, and rips the blindfold off. Janine stumbles from the flourish, blinking around the room with tired eyes before landing on Melissa and Barbara. She looks depleted, to some degree due to Ava’s kidnapping.
Barbara glances sideways at Melissa, who hesitantly raises her hands.
“Surprise!”
“Yes, surprise,” Barbara tries with a grin, and lifts her hands to match.
There’s a moment where Janine’s speechless, absorbing the information before her. Her eyes flit toward Ava, who bobs her head in mustered enthusiasm. “It’s not my birthday.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Melissa teases, hand on hip – then checks with Barbara and Ava, reading the room. Licks her lips. “I mean, it’s New Year’s, kiddo. It’s a, uh, a New Year’s sleepover! Obviously.”
“Mm, classic New Year’s sleepover,” Barbara adds with a nod. Ava hums her agreement.
Brow furrowed, Janine huffs a tired laugh. “Is this… Is this because I texted Tariq?”
At an instant, all three women are at her throat.
“You texted him?”
“Excuse me?”
“What?” Janine stammers, backpedaling. “No? No, I did not!”
“All right, get in here,” Melissa scolds lightly, gesturing for them both to enter. “Get some food; don’t touch that phone.”
“Mhm,” Ava agrees, waving a phone in her hand – presumably Janine’s. She slides it on the countertop, eyes wandering to the stovetop. “I smell cookies...”
“Snacks are on the table.” Melissa tosses a reddened thumb back toward the array of snacks on the kitchen table. “Stove’s hot.”
Barbara frowns over at Melissa, watching her subtly favor the burnt finger until Ava’s out of sight. Barbara’s tempted to reach over and take her hand, to fuss over it a little. Their eyes lock in the quiet kitchen, just the two of them and a low muttering by the table.
Barbara gets the sense they won’t be ripping that band-aid tonight.