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People told Cosette she was pretty, and she accepted it in the same detached way she accepted weather forecasts. She'd blush or smile, say, "thank you," and move on, taking people at their word, but never actually connecting with what they said. Objectively, Cosette understood that she was beautiful, but it never registered past a statement the lady with the three children, who ordered three blueberry muffins every morning, said to her. Or like a charming quirk that belonged to the older gentleman, who came in around lunchtime and sat by the table in front of the windows, with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
Cosette had never been beautiful growing up. She'd been kind, gentle, sweet, a charmer, intelligent, clever, witty. She'd gotten good grades in school, had gone to college, had given up and gone to culinary school instead and focused on baking. Cosette had always been good at decorating things—herself, her room—at disguising imperfections with cleverly placed baubles. She knew how to make a cake look pretty, so naturally, she'd opened a bakery.
Then, she'd put on an apron, tied back her auburn and gold streaked hair, and rented out a little place along Main street. She'd painted the front dark blue, placed a chalkboard menu out front, and had Grantaire, her close friend, paint the sign Fauchelevent's Pastries in beautiful sloping script. She'd shined her hardwood floors, left the exposed brick walls, painted the rest cream, dimmed the lights. She'd brought in couches and settes for the back and sides, wicker chairs for the front, by the windows. She laid out her counter in the middle, up two steps from the front, in front of the sugar, stirrers, and milk containers for the patrons. To the left of the counter she placed the couches, the magazines, the bookcase. She lined her walls with paintings she liked, put up more chalkboard behind her counter, with coffees and pastries, sandwiches, and the day's specials. Her kitchen door, to the very left of her counter, she painted dark brown. She left it open a bit, so that it always smelled like coffee and freshly baked goods.
At 23, Cosette Fauchelevent had built and owned something that was truly hers for the first time in her life. Fauchelevent's Pastries was, to Cosette, the most beautiful thing about her.
*
Éponine Thénardier works an eight to seven o'clock job, five days a week, with weekends paid in overtime, if she's lucky. She rents the top floor of a two story house, near the college, because rent is cheaper there, even if she's constantly surrounded by reminders of things she can't have. Her brother, Gavroche, has his own room, but he sleeps most nights in Éponine and their sister's, Azelma's, room.
Their living room has one long, black couch, that Grantaire dumped on Éponine after he moved in with his roommates, Joly and Bossuet. The edges of the coffee table in the living room are almost rounded, the sides rubbed away with years of use, before Éponine got a hold of it. Their TV is the only thing that's theirs, the newest LG smart TV, because Gavroche had liked the oddly shaped remote.
The glaze on their hardwood floors and bathtub had rubbed down to almost nothing, but everything still works. The water pressure is great, the toilet flushes. They always have food to eat, something to wear, even if they haven't owned anything new in years. Their shoes hold, no one yells at them, and they have been as close to happiness as it's possible to be for seven years now, ever since Éponine turned eighteen.
Even if everything in their home looks old, at least it's clean. At least, Éponine can say she has a home, and that her brother and sister have a home. That has always been Éponine's priority, them before herself. She regrets very little, but doesn't think about it much. She has learned, with time, that there is nothing one can do to change the past. Besides, Éponine is sure, she would make the same decision over and over, if she were ever given the chance.
*
The first time the woman comes through Cosette's door, it's a Wednesday afternoon in the beginning of January. The open door brings with it a burst of cold air, and a woman with light brown skin and long dark hair that hangs out from underneath her hat. The woman pulls off worn dark green leather gloves, as she looks around the bakery. She eyes the collection of paintings on the walls, some of landscapes, others of city streets, or people with faraway looks on their faces.
Cosette watches as the woman inhales and grins.
"Good morning," Cosette says, smiling when the woman comes up to the counter. "How may I help you?"
The woman looks up at the chalkboards behind Cosette, then at the rows of cakes, cookies, and pastries on display. She takes in Cosette's apron, with the embroidered bakery name, her eyes lingering on Cosette's ponytail. She smiles.
"Is this a bakery or a cafe?" she asks.
She's teasing, Cosette can tell, so she winks, pleasantly surprised when the woman blushes. "The world may never know," Cosette says.
"I'll have a vanilla latte," the woman says, her eyes searching for the nametag on Cosette's apron. "And three chocolate chip cookies. Please and thank you, Cosette."
Cosette's name rolls off the woman's tongue like a secret to match the darkness of the woman's eyes. She's dressed in a light brown trench coat, a dark green scarf around her neck. Her hands are almost delicate, everything about her small, but coiled tight, as though ready to spring. She smiles razor sharp, and some part of Cosette recognizes the edge of hunger in the woman's expression.
"I need a name," Cosette whispers, holding out a paper cup.
The woman never looks away from Cosette's eyes as she says, "Éponine."
*
Éponine dreams about Cosette the bakery girl.
Cosette sits on the top bunk of Éponine and Azelma's bed, her face pressed against the guardrail as she looks down at Éponine. Her hair is much brighter gold in Éponine's dream, a shining halo of light that frames Cosette's blue eyes and her short rounded nose.
She wakes at six thirty, as her alarm goes off, with a weight along her chest and an irrational fondness for Cosette's nose.
*
After that first time, Éponine comes in every Wednesday at seven in the morning. She buys a latte or a black coffee, and three chocolate chip cookies every time. She smiles and stares at Cosette, and sometimes, they talk about the weather, and the college boys that drop large tips into Cosette's tip jar, and the high school boys that stare at her from the corner of their eyes.
"They're cute," Cosette says. "And harmless."
"Yeah." Éponine grins like her mouth was made to cut. "And how many frat boys have asked you out this week?"
"Thirteen," Cosette says, moving to the side to take the next order.
Éponine leans against the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine. She's smiling as she drinks her caramel latte, one pump, extra shot. Cosette ignores her as she goes about packing a dozen molasses cookies into a box and tying the bow. She serves two more people, before she can go back to Éponine. She's surprised to see that Éponine is still there watching her.
"My brother really likes the cookies," Éponine says.
Cosette grins. "Oh, is that where you go after? To your brother, not a boyfriend?"
Cosette doesn't expect the way Éponine's face closes up, or the tension along her shoulders that Cosette can see from the other side of the counter. Cosette feels a pang of sadness on Éponine's behalf, a sympathetic wave of emotion that makes Cosette reach over the counter until her hand is touching Éponine's arm.
Éponine's eyes snap to Cosette's hand, then to Cosette's face, and whatever she sees there makes her shut down even more.
"I'm sorry," Cosette says.
Éponine scoffs. "For what?"
Cosette recognizes something about Éponine's expression. She can't quite place what it is, but it feels like a familiar friend to her. Cosette wants to say that she never knew her mother or father, that someone hurt her when she was little, that sometimes she wakes up at night, afraid of some unseen danger. But Cosette understands too, that some things no one can ever understand, that it isn't their job to understand.
So she shrugs, "I don't know," she says. "Maybe I'm just sorry that you're sad."
"I'm not sad," Éponine says, but she doesn't move her arm away.
When Éponine goes, Cosette packs her an extra cookie. "For your brother," she says, when Éponine tries to argue.
It's the right thing to say, Cosette knows, because Éponine takes the paper bag without further complaint.
"Thank you," she says. "Gavroche will love you forever because of this."
"Have to win them over one at a time," Cosette says, with a wink at Éponine.
That brings back Éponine's self-assured grin, the one that wrinkles the corner of her eyes and makes her whole face seem dangerous and open at once. It takes Cosette's breath away, every time.
*
Gavroche insists on waking up early, the day after Cosette sends him the extra cookie, and going with Éponine to the bakery. Azelma, who is twenty, tall, and beautiful in all the ways Éponine will never be, decides to go too.
"She can't just play favorites like that," Azelma says. "You have a brother and a sister. And besides, I need to make sure I like her before I let Gavroche eat any more of her cookies."
Gavroche, who is fifteen and awake only through pure stubbornness, murmurs something from beneath his coat and scarf.
"What?" Azelma asks, wrapping a pink scarf around her pretty neck.
"I said," Gavroche says, shoving his hat off, blond hair sticking up in all directions. "I hope she hates you."
Éponine watches them argue, their laughter and words washing over her. Azelma's coat is cinched at the waist, but flows loose around her hips, old but warm. She can't help but think of Cosette's full tip jar, of her comfortable bakery, of all the things Éponine can't give her siblings. She thinks of the college in town, two streets behind Cosette's bakery, of the boy Marius who rented the floor downstairs.
She thinks of how Cosette is beautiful in the ways Éponine once thought she was. How Cosette has everything she wants, how she built it from the ground up with her own hands. Éponine's hands hurt when she comes home from cleaning three houses in a row. Her back aches on days when she babysits and has to carry the kids, because they won't fall asleep otherwise. She wanted to be a doctor, once.
"Okay," Azelma says, when she and Gavroche are done arguing. "Let's go."
Gavroche yawns, but grins at Éponine, and the tightness in Éponine's chest eases, until it's nothing but a faint memory.
They walk out of the door, the three of them trying to fit through the opening at once. Éponine rolls her eyes at the ceiling, but doesn't move away, even when Azelma digs her elbow into Éponine's side. They make it out because Gavroche slips underneath Éponine's arm and Azelma trips after him. Éponine is the only one who makes it out without tripping, and she carries her smug smile down the two blocks it takes to get to the bakery.
When they're almost at the door, Gavroche runs over to the large windows, presses his face against the glass, and then, just as quickly, backs away. He glares over at Éponine.
"What?" Éponine asks.
"She's beautiful," Gavroche accuses.
Azelma glances at Éponine, then at Gavroche, at her boots, then the bakery door.
"Fuck it," she says, running over to stand at the window next to Gavroche.
Together, they stare through the window, twin giants compared to Éponine's five feet two inches. She rolls her eyes at them and hides her fond smile as she opens the bakery door. Cosette turns as the blast of cold air follows Éponine into the warmth of the bakery. She smiles wide, her face lighting up with it, when she sees Éponine. But that means she notices Gavroche and Azelma pressed against the window.
They yelp in surprise as Cosette frowns over at them. Éponine laughs when Cosette turns a questioning look on her, laughs harder when Gavroche and Azelma brush past Éponine, heads held high. Cosette looks from Éponine to Azelma to Gavroche, and back, as they walk over to the counter.
"Your brother and sister," Cosette says, almost as tall as them, just as beautiful.
"Gavroche and Azelma," Éponine says, nodding at each of them in turn. "They wanted to come thank you for the cookie you sent Gavroche."
Éponine tries not to smile, and can't. Cosette blushes prettily, and Éponine can almost see how easily charmed Azelma and Gavroche are by her. It sets off a surge of pride in Éponine's chest. She's struck by how right it feels to be in Cosette's bakery, with Gavroche making eyes at Cosette, and Azelma leaning on the counter, her eyes serious as they jump from Cosette to the smile on Éponine's face.
"I didn't know you had a sister," Cosette says, turning her big blue eyes accusingly on Éponine.
Éponine shrugs. "You didn't ask," she says.
They grin at each other over the top of Gavroche's head, until Gavroche clears his throat.
"Have a boyfriend?" he asks, a little too intensely.
"No," Cosette says. "No girlfriend either."
Her eyes land on Azelma, a knowing smile on her face, and Éponine's disappointment is so strong she can feel it in the middle of her throat. Of course, Cosette would take one look at Azelma and pick her. Éponine isn't jealous, just filled with a familiar longing for something she can't have.
She ducks her head, unwilling to watch Azelma's anger, or see the rejection she's about to hear. It won't matter if Azelma says no, things between Cosette and Éponine won't be the same anymore. There are things Éponine won't do to her siblings, and lines they won't cross. But Azelma laughs, and when Éponine looks up, both Cosette and Azelma are watching her.
"Éponine doesn't have a girlfriend, either," Azelma says, very carefully.
"She likes movies and dinner," Gavroche says, now staring at the rows of cakes. "And Fridays at eight."
Cosette tries not to laugh, but she's smiling when she says, "Sounds good."
Éponine refuses to talk to either Gavroche or Azelma when they leave, but she knows she's not fooling either of them.
*
Cosette combs out her curls on Friday, closes at seven, and waits in the dimmed bakery for Éponine to show up. She shows up at seven thirty-seven, cheeks bright pink from the wind, her hair stuffed into a red hat. She grins at Cosette, her eyes trailing down Cosette's dark blue peacoat, her black jeans, and the tumble of curls that frame Cosette's face. Cosette knows her eyes look particularly blue with her scarf, and she can see the moment Éponine notices.
"Wow," Éponine says, her smile self-assured, but kind. "You look almost as good as I do."
Cosette laughs, hooks her arm through Éponine's, pulls her close. "Thank you," she says. "You look really pretty."
Éponine laughs, wild and carefree, as she pulls Cosette out onto the road so they can cross the street. Main street lights up around them, as store owners leave their window lights on and as the streetlights go on. Cosette feels the cold January wind through her jeans, but she's warm where Éponine's arm presses against her side.
They walk past the stores, the trees overhead rustling, the mostly empty streets, welcoming. They watch a movie that Cosette doesn't really watch, because Éponine's hand is warm, and her face makes the most honest expressions when she thinks no one is watching her. They have dinner at the pizzeria closest to the movie theater, both of them flirting over their medium pie.
At the end of the date, Cosette walks Éponine to her door, near the college. They stand on the porch, Éponine refusing to look away, but not making any move either. Cosette stares down at her, head tilted to the side, letting an indulgent smile slide onto her face.
"Are you scared?" she teases.
Éponine snorts, but Cosette catches the flash of uncertainty. She is afraid, Cosette realizes with a jolt. Éponine with her confident smiles and effortless flirting is scared of kissing Cosette.
So Cosette squares her shoulders, grabs Éponine's face in her hands, and kisses her.
*
Éponine tries not to think about how much she's smiling since she and Cosette started dating. Azelma says nothing, but Gavroche is not as kind. He rolls his eyes when he catches her smiling at nothing, outright laughs whenever Éponine comes home from a date. He's the perfect gentleman, when Cosette visits though.
Éponine tries not to tease him too much. Azelma has it covered, anyway.
The point is, it's going well, so well that when Cosette invites Éponine over for a weekend at her house, Éponine sees no reason to say no.
"Bring Azelma and Gavroche, too, of course," Cosette says.
She has her legs on Éponine's lap, both of them stretched out on Éponine's couch. The TV is on, but neither of them watches it. Cosette has a book propped open on her stomach with various cake decorations. Éponine is going over Gavroche's homework, more out of habit than necessity. He would never do anything to set a social worker on them.
"Okay," Éponine says.
They go back to their books, the silence comforting enough that Éponine starts to get sleepy. She's just closing her eyes, when Cosette sits up.
"My dad has been wanting to meet you for months now," she says, smiling crookedly at Éponine.
"Oh," Éponine says. Shit.
*
Cosette thinks that Éponine will back down. But the days get closer to the weekend, and she doesn't say anything about changing her mind. Not even when Cosette knows for a fact that Éponine is terrified of the idea of meeting Cosette's father.
She asks the day before, anyway, just to make sure.
"I told you," Éponine says, as she watches Cosette set up the displays this morning. "We're all going. It's fine."
Cosette beams at her. "If you're sure," she says.
Éponine rolls her eyes. Cosette wrinkles her nose at her and goes back to arranging the cookies. The bakery opens in an hour, there's flour on her apron, she knows, and her hair is stuck in a hairnet. She looks harried, but it's all right. Éponine has earned the right to see her at her worst.
"I need another shower," Cosette says, kneeling down to check the turnovers. "Like, fifteen more."
When she stands up, Éponine is watching her. There's something soft in her smile, as though someone filed away the rough edges.
Oh, Cosette thinks. Éponine has pretty dimples.
"You look beautiful," Éponine says.
It's the first time Éponine has called her beautiful.
Oh, Cosette thinks. "I love you, too," she says.
*
Jean Valjean looks at her, and Éponine feels his judgement like a knife. She wraps her anger around herself, but Valjean smiles at her, his eyes darting to where Azelma and Gavroche are politely refusing anything to drink.
"You raised them well," he says, his eyes kind as he looks at Éponine. "They're good kids."
Éponine feels a swell of pride and an equally large swell of pain. She finds that she can't speak, so she just nods at Valjean and hopes he understands that she means, "thank you."
During dinner, Valjean asks Azelma about her major, and then asks Gavroche how he's doing in high school. Gavroche ducks his head when he mentions his GPA, but Éponine sees Valjean's nod of approval, and Gavroche's answering smile, and something eases in her chest.
Cosette, gorgeous in a flowered sage dress, talks nonstop about Azelma and Gavroche, about Éponine, and the bakery, so that by the end of dinner, Valjean winks at Éponine, and says, "You know, I think she might have just added herself to your family."
Cosette blushes, and says, "Papa," in such a scandalized tone that everyone at the table bursts into laughter.
Cosette glares at Éponine, but Éponine is grinning so hard her face hurts, and Cosette can't help but smile helplessly at her, their hands pressed together under the table.
After dinner, and after TV and more talking in the living room, after the Fauchelevent tradition of watching an Episode of Pushing Daisies before bed, Azelma, Gavroche and Valjean excuse themselves to get ready for bed. Then, it's just Éponine and Cosette, and the heaviness from before comes back, something tight in the center of Éponine's chest. She sits with Cosette for a while, before they get up to change for bed, neither of them saying much. It's when they get to the room Éponine is going to sleep in tonight and find Gavroche and Azelma already sleeping there, that Éponine realizes what's bothering her.
She's happy, and it terrifies her.
Éponine's heart thunders in her ears as she presses herself against the wall by the foot of the bed and slides down to the floor. Cosette says nothing as she comes over to sit on Éponine's other side, their shoulders brushing as Éponine tries not to shake. Éponine rests her head on Cosette's shoulder, her knees tucked close to her chest. She looks at Azelma and Gavroche, curled up together on the bed, as though they haven't forgotten that they are only safe together.
She wonders if any of them will ever feel comfortable sleeping alone.
"I used to be afraid of losing them," Éponine whispers over the pounding of her heart. "Gavroche isn't eighteen yet, and whenever he was sick enough for the hospital, I'd worry that they'd ask where his mother was, that they'd make me call her, and she'd take him away."
She shivers, her breath catching. Cosette stays still besides her, and as long as Cosette doesn't look at her, Éponine can do this.
"I wanted them to grow up okay, but I was afraid that I'd do something wrong," she pauses, knowing full well she's not only talking about Azelma and Gavroche anymore. "I'm always so afraid to mess things up. To not be good enough. Because I know, I know I could have been so much better if I'd gone to school. I'd be able to give them so much more."
Éponine breaks off, her silent tears, hot on her face. She leans her body into Cosette, trusts that Cosette won't look yet.
"I don't want to mess up," Éponine whispers.
*
Cosette never met her mother, never knew what it was like to have the woman in the pictures around the house smile at her. She didn't miss her mother, because her father loved her, and she didn't miss her biological father, because she'd always had one.
Cosette was never pretty, but she knew, from a very young age, that her father loved her. Cosette understood that if she cried, her father would hug her. Cosette had never had to pick herself up from the floor when she fell. When she thought the bakery was going to go under, her father tucked her into bed and told her it would be okay. Cosette had always believed him, always believed that he believed in her. She cries and blushes, wears dresses, and pretty hats, but she knows that how delicate she looks has nothing to do with how strong she really is.
Éponine looks like she could crush bones between her red lipstick. She laughs and the world listens. She walks and the people part before her thundering steps. Éponine can tear people apart with the razor-sharp edges of her smile. She holds her head high and even though Cosette's taller, she feels like she'll never reach quite as high as Éponine.
But tonight, Éponine sobs quietly into Cosette's silk nightgown, and Cosette realizes that sometimes, she is stronger than this unbreakable girl. She realizes that Éponine is heartbreakingly human, that she trusts Cosette enough to share that secret with her. So Cosette stays still, is the rock she learned to be from her father, and waits until Éponine is done speaking.
Cosette inhales past the ache in her heart, and she says, "It's not your fault."
Éponine shudders. "I know," she whispers. "I know. I know."
Cosette thinks maybe Éponine does know. She just needed to hear it aloud, just once.
*
Cosette closes her bakery at seven, and waits inside, her overnight bag ready, so that when Éponine knocks at the front at seven thirty-six, she is ready to go. Éponine grins at Cosette's pink duffle bag and the smug look on her face. They kiss, both smiling too hard to make it last. They walk hand in hand, two blocks to Éponine's house, up the stairs to the second floor.
Gavroche is usually on the couch watching TV, subtitles on and the volume low, as Azelma studies for her tests or does homework. They have dinner, and at eleven, Azelma and Gavroche go to sleep. Cosette and Éponine stay up an extra hour, holding hands on the couch, talking in low voices, or watching whatever Gavroche left on TV. At twelve, they turn the lights off and go to Éponine's room. Gavroche takes the side closest to the wall. Azelma takes the side closest to the door, and Éponine and Cosette get the middle, the four of them curled together, safe and warm, and at home.