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Most nights were girl’s night for Barbie and Gloria, but mornings were a different story. Particularly the ones where Barbie struggled to coax her friend out of bed with pancakes and remind her that humans needed to eat or they would die, which had been most mornings. There were days where, on top of her own existential dread and irrepressible thoughts of death, Barbie was forced to consider the idea that she might ever, one day, have to exist in the Real World without Gloria. And that sounded way worse than cellulite.
The divorce had taken its toll, but things began looking up once they moved into a newer and smaller house — one that was only Gloria’s and didn’t hold memories of things that were no longer able to exist. There hadn’t been enough time for anything inside to change shape. The oven worked properly, the water pressure was decent, and none of the light switches were broken.
Here, the two fell into a new routine. They both missed Sasha on the days she spent with her dad, and all the other days she inevitably spent with her friends, but the quality time it afforded the two of them helped ease them into this new existence. With Gloria, Barbie was learning all sorts of things about what it meant to be alive, and this seemed to breathe life back into Gloria, too.
On this particular Friday night, being alive meant stumbling through a small, dark room packed with flashing lights and loud sounds that buzzed in their chests. Barbie clung to Gloria’s hand as they wove through the crowd like her life depended on it. When a nagging internal voice reminded her this might not be entirely untrue, she squeezed Gloria’s hand harder.
They eventually barreled through a door with the sign that the world had decided meant women. There was so much happening around them there almost wasn’t time to register the two girls walking out of the same stall as they entered. That was new.
“Did they go together?” Barbie muttered to Gloria once they passed. “Should we do that?”
Gloria flashed her a look, one that told Barbie to save the rest of her questions for when they were alone. “Yeah, they went together and, no, we don’t have to do that. You first,” Gloria insisted. Her cheeks flushed as she gestured toward one of the empty stalls.
The writing on the walls kept Barbie company while she was inside. This was one of the only redeeming qualities of grimy public bathrooms. She liked the chaos and impracticality of it. It felt like having conversations with a million different strangers when they thought no one was looking. She got so lost in their messages that Gloria usually had to knock on the door to remind her that other people were waiting.
After Gloria took her place, Barbie washed her hands and struck up a conversation with a clumsy girl who had very glittery eyelids and disheveled hair. Barbie knew she was drunk because they were at a bar, and also because she had gotten drunk for the first time just last week. She and Gloria had done it from the comfort of home, though, surrounded by pizza and board games and old cartoons with talking animals and princesses and music. Barbie wasn’t drunk now, and neither was Gloria, but she smiled at the memory of it alive in the person next to her.
The girl’s voice was shrill but kind as words drooled out, most of them aimed at Barbie and oddly powerful. She left the bathroom feeling a little bit like she could conquer the world. The girl had exited with them, showering Barbie in compliments and hugs and a couple pecks to her cheek before returning to her friends on the dance floor.
“That was the most fun I’ve ever had in a public bathroom,” Barbie declared as they stepped into the cool night air. “Is that weird?”
“Not weird at all,” Gloria chuckled. “It’s kind of a rite of passage, in a way. That girl shouldn’t have kissed you without asking, though. Are you alright?”
Barbie raised her hand to her cheek, caressing the spot where the girl’s lips had been. “I don’t think I minded it. I liked her. I meant to ask what her name was, but she was so nice and pretty and loud that I forgot.”
Gloria’s eyes tickled her skin for a moment. “It’s okay. That happens sometimes.”
They braved a walk through clouds of cigarette smoke and skunk stench and settled on a concrete ledge outside the bar. Remnants from the day’s rain had seeped into the night and were now seeping into Barbie’s dress, but she didn’t particularly mind. If anything, it felt nice.
She uncovered the plastic cup of water she’d grabbed on her way out. It was sweating in her hand for some reason. She took a sip, expecting it to be hot, but it was still cool and crisp. The ice melted on her tongue and soothed her throat, which felt like it had been torn raw after a night of shouting over music just to talk to Gloria.
Now, she could hear giggling. She looked up to find that two girls from the same bathroom stall were now standing at the edge of the building, kissing against a wall.
“I didn’t realize girls kissed girls,” Barbie said, turning to Gloria. Her voice sounded alive in a way it had never been before. “Are there girlfriend-girlfriends like girlfriend-boyfriends?”
Gloria caught wind of the sight just before the girls disappeared around the corner. “Yeah. There’s boyfriend-boyfriends too. And lots of other names for lots of other things,” she answered. “I don’t know if those two are girlfriend-girlfriend, but they’re together tonight. That’s why they were in the same stall.”
“Oh,” Barbie said quietly, then stared at her friend before turning her focus to the collage of neon signs across the street. The leftover rain mirrored the colors on the ground and echoed the shadows of people staggering along the sidewalk. Everything around them seemed to breathe. Heartbeats from inside the bar pulsed through the ledge beneath them, and Barbie could still feel the music in her chest even though it didn’t sound like anything anymore, only sound. She was alive, and so were the buildings and sidewalks and streets and sky. People kept passing them by and Barbie sat in quiet wonder of where they were going. She stayed that way for quite some time, marveling at the delicate mess of it all.
“Is everything okay?” Gloria asked. Her gentle voice lifted Barbie from her trance. She only nodded again, eyes still fixed ahead. “Do you wanna go back in? Or stay out here?”
“Stay out here,” she said simply.
“Okay,” Gloria whispered, then wrapped an arm around her. “We can stay for as long as you’d like.”
Barbie stole a glance at the hand on her shoulder, then turned her gaze back to the neon-haloed street. She could still hear the girls giggling around the corner and couldn’t help but wonder if they were still kissing. For the tiniest moment, Barbie let herself imagine her and Gloria disappearing around that same corner together, and the world turned big and confusing and wonderful and strange.
* * *
Satisfying clacks of glass rained down as Gloria poured her limited stock of nail polish onto the kitchen table. “Which color would you like? Or colors.”
Barbie’s face sprung to life. “I can have more than one?”
She arranged all the bottles upright and grinned. “You can have all of them, if you want.”
“I want that.”
“Alright, two rainbows coming up.” Gloria chuckled as she picked up the first bottle and guided Barbie’s hands onto the towel. It was paper instead of cloth, and seemed a lot like something that would exist in Barbieland instead of here. Barbie supposed they had that in common.
“Will my nails look like the rainbow we saw last week?” she asked. “When it rained during dinner and the sun was still out?”
“Something like that.”
Barbie watched closely as she worked. The strong chemical smell saturating the air seemed like something she would remember from childhood, if she’d ever had one. It was mesmerizing to watch the colors glide on, and the softness of Gloria’s hands on hers was a nice touch, too.
“Some people sounded very angry about rainbows on the TV this morning,” Barbie said.
Gloria rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, that happens a lot.”
“How come?”
“Some people don’t like the idea of girlfriend-girlfriends and boyfriend-boyfriends, and all the people in between.”
Barbie’s face soured. “That sounds stupid and gross. Like patriarchy.”
Gloria breathed a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
“What do you think of it?” she asked, in a much weaker voice than she meant to, then cleared her throat, urging it steady. “Of girlfriend-girlfriends, I mean.”
Gloria’s focus wavered. She glanced up, lips pressed, brow furrowed, eyes deep and searching. Her expression made Barbie feel naked even though she was still very much wearing her favorite baggy sleep shirt and shorts.
“I think everyone who wants to be should be allowed to be. Existing is hard enough without a bunch of dumb rules,” Gloria finally said, then turned her attention back to the polish. Her touch felt even softer, somehow.
“Existing is very hard,” Barbie replied, not really registering her own words.
They sat in a comfortable silence after that, only the drone of the air conditioning between them as Gloria worked through the rest of the colors. Sometimes, when she was concentrating very hard, she would hum softly, as if she’d forgotten someone else was there. Barbie recognized some of the tunes from the cartoon movies they’d watched together and felt her heart smile. Listening to Gloria felt a lot like reading the writing on the bathroom walls. Like a conversation between them when she thought no one was looking. Barbie had no clue what Gloria was saying, but she liked the sound of it, and she didn’t really want it to end.
It did end, though, when they took a detour to the bathroom to use the hair dryer. Barbie flexed her fingers as she sat back down at the kitchen table, observing the new sensation. Her nails were weirdly heavy, like she could feel the paint on them.
“It’ll feel normal in a little bit,” Gloria said. “Just takes your brain a minute to forget something new is there.”
“Oh, okay.” Barbie smiled, then clumsily scooped the line of bottles toward her, knocking a few down in the process. “Your turn.”
Gloria didn’t even glance at them. “I want all the colors, too.”
A hint of surprise widened Barbie’s grin. They were sitting face to face, beside each other at the table, and she was acutely aware that their knees were almost touching. It wasn’t her first time painting Gloria’s nails, but she was still practicing. The polish was uneven and slopped over the edge onto her skin. The next color wasn’t much better. Barbie surveyed her work and cringed.
“It’s no big deal,” Gloria reminded her. “That part usually washes or peels off. We can touch it up with acetone afterward.”
Barbie’s gaze lingered on the line of colors beside their hands. “If we both have rainbows, will people think we’re girlfriend-girlfriend?”
“Maybe,” Gloria said plainly.
Her movements ceased. “Have you ever had a girlfriend? Or been together like those girls in the bathroom?”
Gloria’s eyes flickered away, momentarily hollow, then filled back up with a deep breath. “Not really,” she muttered. “But once, when I was young, I was playing spin the bottle at a birthday party and it landed on my friend, Marie. The other kids told us we had to kiss because that was only the rule of the game: kiss whoever it lands on. So we did.”
Barbie found herself clinging to every word, perhaps too much. She readjusted and continued painting, cool and casual. “What was it like?”
“It was nice . . . until we realized her mom had seen us from the doorway. Then we got in trouble.”
Her work screeched to a halt again. “But you were following the rules!”
Gloria simply shrugged, breathing a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah, well, you know— sometimes rules change depending on where you are and who you’re with.”
Barbie recentered with a nod. Unfortunately, she did know.
After a stretch of silence, she looked back up at Gloria, fighting a losing battle with a nagging grin. “But you liked it?”
“Yeah.” Gloria smiled back, a whisper of sadness behind it. “She was the only one, though. I didn’t really feel like getting yelled at again.”
Something tugged at Barbie’s chest. A sinking feeling sat heavy in the pit of her stomach, staining the rest of her thoughts. The name for it was dread. She tried to imagine what it would be like to experience something like that. She’d never been young, or had a mom, or played games that made you kiss your friends. Gloria was her friend. Her best friend. The best a human friend could be, probably. If anyone’s mom yelled at them for kissing, her insides would probably feel very tangled. Even more than they already were.
“You okay? You’ve got that look on your face.”
The voice almost made her jump. Barbie looked up at Gloria, then down at her hands, suddenly aware that she’d managed to cycle through the rest of the colors without realizing. Time in the Real World was tricky. She was still practicing that too.
“What look?” she asked.
“The one you get when you’re thinking a big thought.”
Barbie’s mind stuttered. She didn’t know Gloria noticed her face that much. Her heart began to race, the naked feeling creeping back in. Dizzied, she set the brush down and let her hands retreat to her lap.
“Is everything alright?” Gloria asked gently.
A jumble of words simmered on Barbie’s tongue. She spent a moment sifting through them, until she found the right ones. “Do you want to play spin the bottle?”
Gloria squinted at her. “Just the two of us?”
“Yeah.” She breathed, fighting the inexplicable urge to take it all back. Gloria stayed quiet, watching her carefully.
“You know the rules of the game, right?”
Kiss whoever it lands on, Barbie thought, but nodded wordlessly instead.
“You want to kiss me?”
“I think so. If it’s okay with you,” she said softly. “I don’t have a mom, so no one can yell at you. And it’s your house, so you’re safe.”
Something in Gloria’s gaze shifted. Tears pooled at the corners, but some unspoken force kept them from dripping down. For a few moments, there was only a watery silence, and Barbie could feel the guilt welling in her own chest.
“Oh no, I’m sorry—”
“Please, don’t be.” The words spilled out of Gloria. Her voice was smaller, almost younger. She reached across the table and found Barbie’s hand. “You don’t have to play spin the bottle to kiss me, Barbie.”
“Oh,” was all she could say, because Gloria was leaning in now, toward her. Barbie knew this moment. She’d seen it enough by now, in movies and books and shows and the two girls from the bathroom who disappeared around the corner. She’d seen it everywhere, in every part of her little corner of the world. And now it was in front of her, happening to her.
In the kitchen, Gloria’s lips found hers, and she tasted like the ocean.
* * *
When they kissed later that night, it didn’t taste like anything.
The next morning, it tasted bitter, and then like mint. But that was because they needed to brush their teeth after falling asleep on the couch.
There was no fluttering in her stomach or fire in her chest. Her heart didn’t dance like it had the first time. The world never shifted when they broke apart. Everything looked and felt the same. The only thing that had changed was the fact that Gloria’s saliva was now in her mouth, which was an odd concept in itself.
Nothing left Barbie particularly wanting more, yet she still found herself reaching. There was an unshakable emptiness where she thought the buzzing newness would go. All the story moments she’d seen and heard and read. Barbie thought she knew how it was supposed to feel, but none of it involved this strange disconnect coupled with desire. Somewhere between the first time and now, she’d lost her bearings. Now she was stumbling through the tangled mess in her chest, chasing that closeness again.
So much of the world seemed to be made of what she was missing, and Barbie wasn’t sure where she was supposed to fit into existence without it. If what she felt would ever be enough — for Gloria, or for herself.
* * *
It wasn’t just that something was wrong, it was that something was wrong with her. And the last time something was wrong with her, it had been a whole thing.
A thing that had given her life and Gloria and Sasha and food delivery and warm showers and kitten paws, but a thing nonetheless.
An exceptionally stressful time at Gloria’s job barred the thoughts from slipping past her lips. Barbie didn’t want to bother her. She could wait. It didn’t need to be a whole thing.
In the waiting, she spent a lot of time on the couch with Gloria’s spit in her mouth. Gloria said she felt like a teenager again. Barbie had no idea what that meant. She’d never been a teenager, would never be. Maybe right now on the couch was the closest she would ever get.
One night, when Gloria’s hips rolled between her legs, waiting seemed like a much less realistic goal.
“Are you okay?” Gloria asked, brushing hair from their faces. She asked that question a lot, so much that Barbie began to worry what she was doing to plant that doubt. But she couldn’t be that bad at kissing, if Gloria kept coming back.
Barbie stared up at her, all the concrete thoughts in her brain slipping away like sand. “When are you supposed to stop?” she said quietly.
“Stop kissing?”
She nodded. “When there’s no sex, how do you know when to stop?”
Gloria shifted back on her knees, considering it. “Well, whenever you don’t want to anymore— or you get too tired, or it stops feeling good. Or when the movie ends, or the phone rings, or your kid shouts, or the cookies are done baking.” She delicately gripped Barbie’s leg, thumb ticking across her skin, studying her. “Do you want to stop?”
Barbie’s eyes wandered around the house for a moment. All the little imperfections of life were sharp in her vision and the world felt impossibly more real than it had just moments ago. So did she. Which was already a big enough thought without a whole other human and their feelings to consider.
Her gaze locked back on Gloria’s. The tilt of her head and concern in her eyes was so tangible and so sincere it made Barbie ache.
Before she could decide on an answer, the oven timer shouted that the cookies were done.
* * *
Life looked a little different from inside the park. Now, she had Gloria and sunscreen and lungs and pepper spray and a sea green water bottle covered with stickers from Sasha. Barbie had new hopes and fears and wrinkles and cellulite and reasons to cry and reasons to smile. The old problem was gone and new ones had taken its place.
They passed the same bus stop whenever they walked together. Barbie said this was the bench that made her human. Gloria didn’t understand what that meant because she’d never had to become, she already was. Barbie told her it was okay. Maybe one day there would be words to explain it. In the meantime, they just enjoyed their walks.
She hadn’t sat on the bench again until today. She’d hoped sitting down and closing her eyes would help her see better, but it didn’t work. Just another thing that was different the second time around. All of it felt like an oversight. The fact that there was no one to blame for any of it also felt like an oversight.
“Are you okay?”
They were sitting in the shaded grass when Gloria asked it this time. They hadn’t been kissing, though the trees offered decent privacy and Barbie had considered it. Maybe it would feel different here. She’d felt different here, once. From the outside looking in.
Her body wrestled with the words on their way out. “Things are different from how I thought they’d be,” she murmured. “With you.”
“In what way?”
Gloria was nursing the wound in her voice. Barbie tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed.
“Kissing just isn’t what I imagined. What everyone made it seem. I can’t tell if I like it at all, or maybe just sometimes,” she tried to explain. “I know I like you and I like being with you, but there’s this weird space in between the two, like a big wall I can’t see around.”
Gloria stayed quiet for a long moment. Her eyes fell to the grass. “That might be my fault. It’s been a long time since I kissed someone new. It feels a little weird.”
This was no longer the conversation Barbie rehearsed in her head before she fell asleep at night. She hadn’t considered that the problem could also exist outside of her, in someone else. Instinctively, she reached for Gloria and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Are you okay?”
The ghost of a smile played on Gloria’s lips. “Yeah. I think that might be the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “I guess I just feel bad for moving on. Like I didn’t wait long enough, or something.”
Barbie’s head tilted. “Is there a certain amount of time people usually wait?”
“Not really.” Gloria shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s different for everyone. Just depends.”
Barbie nodded, still unclear but somehow understanding. Rules in the Real World were confusing like that. There were long lists of them that no one ever talked about but were expected to follow. Sometimes people invented subconscious rules for themselves without meaning to. Maybe this was one of those.
“It must be hard to let go, after loving one person for so long. Especially someone you made a whole other human with,” Barbie mused. It would be hard to love someone that wasn’t Gloria, but she kept this part to herself.
“It really is.” Gloria heaved out a sigh. “The whole spin the bottle ordeal probably doesn’t help, either. Memories like that are hard to shake.”
Barbie draped a protective arm around her, pulling her close. “I won’t let anyone yell at you again,” she said firmly. “Not even the angry people on the TV. They can yell at me instead, then I’ll punch them in the face and add the mugshots to my collection.”
This earned a watery laugh from Gloria. She leaned into Barbie’s side, running an apologetic hand over her knee. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked much about what I’m feeling. I guess I liked the little bubble we were in.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Barbie said softly. “It helps to know I’m not the only one feeling strange.”
“It might just take some time, you know. You’re experiencing a lot of new things, and humans aren’t meant to feel so much at once. Sometimes our brains try to protect us in ways we don’t always understand,” Gloria reasoned. It was meant to be comforting, Barbie knew that, but it just deepened her dread.
“What if it’s not protecting me?” she asked. “What if this is just the way I am?”
“Then it’s who you are, Barbie.”
Another sweet but unhelpful addition. Her chest was tight now, stomach sinking even further. Tears were beginning to blur the edges of her vision. “It made Ken sad when I wouldn’t kiss him.”
Gloria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, Ken was different.”
“Would it make you sad?” she croaked.
Gloria must have noticed her tears then, because her gaze turned agonizingly soft. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never not, but you never have, so it would be new to both of us, I guess. We’d just have to try and see.” She burrowed further into her side, watching Barbie closely. “But it’s okay to not kiss someone, even if it makes them sad.”
Barbie’s muscles slowly unwound. She wiped the sadness from her eyes. “Can I kiss you more? So we can see?”
“Only if you promise to tell me if you want to stop, or if you don’t like it.” For some reason, Gloria held out one of her fingers. Barbie just stared at it curiously. “This is a thing humans do. A special kind of promise. It’s mostly a kid thing, but adults do it sometimes, when they really mean it. Or— I do, at least. It’s called a pinky promise.”
Barbie smiled. A promise that was pink sounded like the best kind. She examined her own hands, then held out her index finger. The part of the rainbow Gloria had painted pink. Perfect. “Do you promise to tell me too?” she asked.
Gloria chuckled softly and switched fingers. Barbie liked it when their nails matched. “I promise.”
If kisses were colors, their next one was pink.
* * *
The salty morning air was muted and soothing. Echoes of the sunrise still lingered in the sky. They rounded the corner of one of their regular cafes and stopped inside for the usual. Caramel macchiato for Gloria. Black tea for Barbie. They split a bagel with honey butter and dusted the crumbs off their shirts after they left. There was a rhythm to it. They had regulars and usuals now.
Gloria’s car was blocks away. They walked the streets for a while, hand in hand, enjoying each other’s company as they always did regardless of where they were or what they were doing. Errands and appointments and reservations would come later, but for now they were just wandering. Existing in that weird span of time where there wasn’t much to do but wait until the rest of the day arrived.
It was busy, but it wasn’t loud yet. Waves caressed the shore beside them. Silhouettes of fishermen moved on the pier in the distance while surfers coasted along the currents. Children giggled as they searched for treasures in the sand. Barbie and Gloria settled on a bench along the boardwalk, watching life unfold against an infinite backdrop of ocean and sky.
“How much water is there?” Barbie asked.
“Like, on Earth?”
She thought for a moment. “Sure.”
“Well, the Earth is mostly water, I think.” Gloria sipped her coffee. “And humans are like, half water.”
“Is the other half fire?”
Gloria chuckled. “No, humans don’t have fire in them. At least, not in the way you’re asking.”
Barbie blinked at her. “But they do have fire?”
“Not literal fire. It’s more like passion," she explained. "If someone feels really strongly about making something happen. Or if they get angry. We compare it to fire.”
Barbie considered it. “What about when people kiss? Why do people and stories make it sound like there’s always fire?”
“I guess it’s because the more you kiss, the more you move, the faster your heart beats, and the more you sweat. Your body just gets hotter. People call it steamy, too.”
Barbie looked out at the fog rising from the ocean. “Steamy, like boiling water?"
“Yeah, I guess so.”
That made more sense. Like a hot shower or a cup of tea. Fires were instant, but water took time. Humans even had a saying about it.
Barbie glanced down at their hands, still entwined on the bench. “Is it allowed to feel like water?" she asked. "Kissing you, I mean.”
Gloria didn’t even have to think about it. She just squeezed her hand, mouth curled into a smile. “I don’t see why not. You’re made of it, after all.”
This lit a quiet awe inside of her. Barbie's eyes turned back to the ocean, a tear rolling slowly down her face.
When it landed on her lips, it tasted like Gloria.
“I guess I am,” she whispered. “Thank you for reminding me.”
* * *
Awkward angles. Noses bumping. Snagged hair. Teeth clacking. Hands stumbling. Every time, embarrassment would streak across her cheeks and Gloria would laugh and Barbie could feel the rhythm of her joy all over.
She liked that. Feeling Gloria breathe and move and laugh. She liked being close to her, and she liked that Gloria let her be. When she asked if this was the right way to feel, Gloria told her there was no right or wrong. There was just how she felt.
When she rephrased and asked if feeling this way was enough, Gloria pressed their foreheads together and told her that it was. Barbie knew she was telling the truth because they’d pinky promised. And when Gloria made pinky promises, she meant them.
Today, they kissed until the kettle went off.
“I’ll get it,” Gloria said, pausing the movie as she peeled herself away. She went into the kitchen, retrieved the kettle, and surfaced two mugs from the cabinet with the handle that Sasha had broken on accident. Steam flowed in perfect ribbons as the tea began steeping. Gloria popped a tupperware container into the microwave until the sweet scent of leftover cookies filled the air. Barbie watched from the couch and breathed it in, feeling a rush of saliva in her mouth.
The same sort of thing had happened between her legs earlier, when Gloria laughed against her. That part was new. Her gynecologist had called it lubrication. She knew bodies made their own, but hers never had. Google and porn and books with weird covers called it being wet. She wondered if Gloria ever got wet. Part of her was starting to think she kind of maybe wanted to find out.
It was cleaning day and the house smelled like citrus. The window over the sink was cracked and sunlight streamed in through the open blinds, framing Gloria’s silhouette in a soft golden halo. She hummed quietly to herself while the evening breeze played music on the wind chimes out back. Last night’s bottle of wine sat empty on the counter, the arrow in its logo pointing toward her.
Everything was exactly the same, but the world felt different, and so did Barbie. It wasn't the way she thought it would feel, but it felt inexplicably right.
Another unseen force pulled her into the kitchen. She wove her arms around Gloria’s waist, kissed the fabric on her shoulder, and rested her head on the spot. “I love you," she whispered.
Gloria paused for a moment, then leaned into her with a smile in her voice. “I love you, too.”
They stayed that way — pressed together in the kitchen of their house, where they could kiss without moms yelling and everything was safe — until the microwave beeped.