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During the weeks after Maria’s party they go from casual nods and half-smiles to actually saying hello and even exchanging a few words every here and there. It’s usually on Mondays and Thursdays, when they inevitably meet in the hallway before the drowsy late afternoon classes.
It’s fine, Carol tells herself. It’s easy, it’s not too much. It doesn’t hurt.
That is, until Nat comes up from Sacramento and just won’t let it go, because of course she doesn’t.
“When were you gonna tell me you guys are talking again?”
They’re slumped on the dry, sunburnt lawn in Cathedral Park while Jaws plays on an outdoor screen down the slope.
“Hmh?” Carol blinks out of her thoughts, her cigarette burned down to the filter. She stubs it out and wipes the ash on her bare shin.
Nat stretches her arms above her head, the bangles around her wrists clinking softly. “C’mon. Maria said you went to her party.”
“Yeah, well. She asked me to go, so I did,” Carol says, looking at the screen.
A dorsal fin cuts through the waters, thrilling and relentless.
“And?”
“And nothing. We’re not talking, it’s… whatever.” Carol wiggles her toes, her feet splayed out in front of her. “Y’know, locker proximity.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Nat tilts her head to the side, one eyebrow raised in a way that drives Carol up the wall.
“Can you not?” She opens two bottles with her lighter and hands the other to Nat. “I mean, her friends are kinda annoying anyway.”
“I’m her friend,” Nat says easily, taking a long pull from her beer.
“You know what I mean.” Carol runs her thumb through the condensation and looks up to the sky, darkening in hazy purples and pinks beyond the swooping arches.
“Yeah, I know.” Nat taps her ankle against Carol’s thigh. “Speaking of which, we’re going out this weekend, and you’re coming with us.”
Carol stops with the bottle halfway to her mouth. “Is this punishment for keeping things from you?”
“So you admit you were keeping this from me?” Nat asks, all too gleefully.
Carol doesn’t dignify that with an answer.
“Saturday, my house at seven. Tell Yelena to be there, too.”
“She’s your sister.”
“Yeah, you’d think she’d fucking listen to me.” Nat balances her beer between her knees to steal one of Carol’s cigarettes. “Seven. Be on time, and I might just let you pick the music.”
●
The night out ends up with Nat ditching them to hook up with her old ballet school nemesis, Pepper getting into an argument with a junior she’s been lowkey flirting with all semester, and Jane being violently sick behind a park bench while her dumb and beautiful surfer boyfriend holds her hair.
“Goodnight, Tony,” Pepper snipes over her shoulder. “Fucking dickhead,” she adds under her breath, turning to hug Maria goodnight.
The junior waves excitedly before mounting his expensive-looking bike and zooming away. “I’ll call you!”
“I won’t be home!” Pepper pulls back from the hug, her hands on Maria’s shoulders. “God, what a mess. I’m gonna take Jane home, okay?”
The flurry of goodbyes is excruciating, not least because Carol can already tell where this is heading; just the two of them, standing on a street corner, both desperately trying to think of something clever to say.
“Genius still can’t hold her liquor worth shit, huh? Nice to see some things have stayed the same. Cute dude, though.”
“Yeah.” Maria shifts her weight from one foot to another, an awkward smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “They’re good together, he’s… nice?”
Carol snorts a laugh, some tension draining from her shoulders. She rocks on the balls of her feet, tucking her thumbs into the flannel tied around her waist.
“How exactly did Nat extort you into coming along?”
“Best not get into all that. Like I said last time; could’ve been worse.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Maria scuffs the toe of her shoe against the pavement. “I didn’t… I wasn’t expecting you to come,” she adds, looking back up.
Carol swallows, her throat tightening. She digs her nails into her palms; a long-forgotten habit clawing its way to the surface.
Time slows down as Maria crosses the steps between them, taking Carol’s right hand into hers and prying it gently open. She brushes her thumb over the white scar, etched neatly between the heart and life lines. “I remember when you got this.”
The memory pulses through Carol, gripping her behind the ribs. “You wanted to sunbathe up on those rocks.”
“You insisted climbing up the slope was faster and easier than trying to find a footpath that went around.”
Carol’s laughter dies on the back of her tongue. She wants to pull her hand away, but doesn’t.
Dry July heat, worn out bicycle tires kicking up dust.
Maria’s eyes are watchful, as if she’s looking right through Carol, and into that moment in the past.
Dust settling onto skin, sticky with sun lotion and sweat. Dust sneaking under fingernails, crunching between teeth.
“We were just kids.” It’s quiet, whispered into the air between them. Carol looks down at their joined hands.
“Jesus, Carol.”
The toe of my sneaker wedged into a crack in the rockface. My weight shifting, the foothold coming loose, a jagged edge biting into my palm. A blur of panic, your voice almost drowned out by my thundering pulse as the world tilted off its axis.
Blood smeared down the leg of my denim shorts, starling and bright.
“I’ve never been that fucking scared,” Maria goes on, her fingers now wrapped around Carol’s wrist, thumb pressed into the pulse point. “Do you remember what I said?”
The touch is both dizzying and grounding. Carol nods. “Yeah.”
You said, I wish I could kiss it better.
Instead, you kissed me.
It hurts, like someone cutting through to a different timeline; like catching a glimpse of something they have spent the past five years pretending doesn’t exist.
Your teeth split my lip. You tasted like my blood and your tears, and I wanted you to swallow me whole. I would have let you.
You had never kissed me before, and I didn’t know you’d never kiss me again.
Carol draws a sharp breath. “I don’t...”
You tried to kiss me better, and it only made me worse.
“Fuck.” Maria lets go of her hand and steps back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” she pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers, turning to leave. “Sorry, I better go. It was good to see you.”
Carol knows she should say it’s okay or wait or please don’t go or fuck you or I still think about it every day, but all she manages is yeah, sure, later.
She watches Maria walk away, disappearing down the path that runs through the park. There’s a rosy tinge of dawn in the distance, like a strand of candyfloss strewn over the horizon.
●
In the dream Carol is drifting through space, floating in a pool of light. A sound ripples around her, resounding and harsh.
She wills herself to stay still, to stay suspended in the moment.
“Carol?”
The sound repeats, echoing impossibly in the void. The light is brighter, now; almost too bright.
“Are you still alive?”
The door creaks open and Carol blinks, the room slowly coming into a focus. “Kind of.”
Wanda is leaning in the doorway, her frame almost swallowed by her oversized t-shirt, a waterfall of tangled hair tumbling down her shoulders.
“Yelena told me to tell you that you should’ve come to the vampire marathon instead of getting wasted with the cheer squad.” She’s standing on one foot, scratching her shin with the other.
Carol presses her knuckles into her eyes, hoping it’ll help keep her brain inside her skull. “Tell her I’ll try to remember that next time.”
“And there’s someone at the door for you.”
Carol breathes out, looking up to the ceiling. Glow in the dark stars swoop in circular patterns, forming a plastic galaxy. “You could’ve led with that, you know.”
Wanda just shrugs, turning on her heel and disappearing from view.
Carol stumbles out of bed and scrounges around for a cleanish shirt and a pair of jeans, pulling her hair up in a messy bun. A headache nibbles insistently at her temple.
Wanda is humming along to the radio in the kitchenette. It’s probably close to noon, the air inside already stuffy and hot. Carol crosses the living room, careful not to bump into Pietro’s foot, dangling over the arm of the couch with one sock halfway off.
She isn’t quite sure who she was expecting, but the sight of Maria, fresh-faced and carrying two slushies, takes her by surprise.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Sleep well?”
Carol huffs a laugh, gesturing at herself. “Does it look like I did?”
“I don’t know.” Maria looks her up and down, her eyes crinkling at the corners behind her sunglasses. “You look good.”
Carol’s heart does a dumb little cartwheel and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I bet.”
“Honestly.” Maria holds up one of the slushies. “I wasn’t sure if you still liked the gross blue one.”
Carol can’t help the smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah, I still like that one.”
●
“So. How’s Wanda?”
They’re sitting side by side on the loading bay behind a grocery store, their feet dangling off the ledge.
“You don’t have to do that,” Carol murmurs, the melted remains of her drink sloshing in the cup.
“Do what?”
Here in the shade Maria’s glasses are impervious, hiding her eyes completely.
“Act like… like you care, okay? I mean, I know you think she’s just another burnout, and—”
“I don’t,” Maria cuts in. “I’m just happy that you, y’know. Have someone.”
Carol glances at her, realization dawning. “You think we’re…?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” Carol says, maybe a little too quickly.
“Oh.” Maria pushes her sunglasses up to her forehead. “I just thought… You live together,” she adds, frowning a little.
Laughter bubbles up from Carol’s chest, sudden and light. “Yeah, ‘cause we’re roommates? It’s actually Wanda and her brother, he's kind of permanently in between places.”
Maria just nods, toying with the hem of her dress.
“You could’ve just asked.” Carol sets her drink aside, turning to face her.
“When? While we weren’t talking?” Maria pulls on a string, unraveling a bit of the seam.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be talking.”
“I didn’t—” Maria sighs, leaning back on her arms. “I tried not to.”
“Talk to me?” Carol shakes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it. “Well, you did a really good job with that.”
“Asshole.” Maria kicks her on the shin, quite gently. “It’s not like you made it easy.”
Carol chews on her lip, biting back something she knows she’ll regret. The silence stretches on, lulling her into thinking it could be okay, maybe; them just sitting like this.
“I’m sorry,” Maria says, quietly.
“For what?”
She gestures around vaguely. “How about everything?”
“Everything’s not your fault.”
“Maybe. But sometimes it sure feels like it is.” Maria pulls her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I’m sorry I was so scared. I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m sorry we stopped talking, and I’m sorry we’ve been pretending to be strangers. And most of all I’m sorry I haven’t been able to tell you, before now.”
Carol looks at her hands, at the faded scar running between before and after. She feels weightless, like she's standing on a cliff looking down.
We were just kids.
“We’re not, though. Strangers,” she eventually says, tapping her cigarette against the metal edge of the platform.
Maria hums under her breath, bumping their shoulders together. “No, I guess we aren’t.”