Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Is it really a student art opening without jug wine? Jane thought as she nursed a plastic cup of red, mildly alcoholic, liquid. Beside her, Daria sipped a ginger ale. Probably the better choice.

Jane was supposed to be mixing with her fellow artists. One of her pieces had been selected for this show. But here she was, standing next to her best friend. The same best friend who had come all the way from Somerville just to see this show. Just to support her. And she was wearing the dark green sweater Jane had given her for Christmas this year. So who was she to abandon Daria?

“Hey, Jane, congrats!” Jen, the girl from her oil painting class–the one with the nose ring– seemed to have not gotten the memo about leaving them alone. “And as a sophomore too!”

“Ummm, thanks!” Jane shifted her weight, looking down. She never did know how to react when complimented about her art.

“I just saw your piece! It really speaks to the Kristevan idea of the semiotic, you know?”

“Mmm, yeah, of course. Thanks for coming out!” The other woman smiled and moved on.

“Do you know what the Kristevan idea of the semiotic is?” Daria said in a stage whisper.

“Not a clue.”

“I told you that you should have entitled it ‘When people stand on the left side of the escalators.’ It would have been clearer.”

“Where's the fun in that? Better for them to project themselves onto the work.”

“I just don't know how much more pretentious critical theory I can take in one night.”

“Aren't you an English major? I thought you'd be used to it.”

“I am, but not in my own free time.”

Jane tossed back the rest of the wine in her cup. “Fair enough. More cheese?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Jane had expected to be bored by much of the rest of the show but here she'd been standing in front of a huge work on paper of tiny circles repeated over and over again, done by a senior she vaguely knew. He had dreads, maybe? She'd been chatting idly with Daria, mostly having a running commentary on the fellow show attendees or on the works on display. This one, though. She'd stared at it for a good five minutes, mesmerized.

Lost in thoughts of the Zen of repetition, she jumped when a familiar voice drawled, “Jane Lane.”

She turned around to see a woman with familiar tribal tattoos and bangs saunter up to her.

“Alison. I didn't think Boston was worth your time.”

“Emily invited me up for the weekend.” She gestured with her chin towards the printmaking professor standing nearby. “Imagine my surprise to see your work in the show.” Alison's voice was lined with sarcasm in a way that exactly grated on Jane’s nerves.

Jane shrugged as Daria watched the banter over the rim of her cup. She should be the bigger person, she knew. She should be pleasant. Calm.

“Turns out people without ulterior motives think I have talent, too.” Great job.

“Shame you're wasting it up here.”

Jane gave a small glance over to Daria. “I think I'm right where I need to be.” She speared a cube of cheddar with her toothpick and popped it in her mouth. “How's your career going? I'm sure Daniel was a real help.”

“Oh he was. Got my first solo show care of him. Even sold some of those pastels.”

“Mazel tov.”

“Thanks.” Alison added, her voice full of laughter, “Oh, and Jane, one more thing.“

“What?”

“I told you I didn't make mistakes. Have you told her that you love her yet?” Alison smirked and turned to leave, enjoying the embarrassed looks on both Daria's and Jane's faces. She swanned off to join her printmaker lover.

Daria looked down into her cup as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, refusing to meet Jane's eyes.

“I swear, I don't know what she's talking about. She's crazy. She just does stuff like this to get under people's skin.” Jane was caught between anger and shame. She was babbling but couldn't stop.

Worse, she knew Alison was right.

“She's just jealous of me. I don't even know why she's here or why she talked to me. She's not even a friend of mine. Which is why her views are deeply, deeply suspect.”

Jane paused as Daria continued to stare at her drink, her shoulders near her ears. She reached out to grab Daria's shoulder.

“You don't believe her, do you?”

Daria shrugged out of her grip.

“I don't know what I believe.”

“I'm your friend and I'm telling you, she's lying. Hey, where are you going?”

“Home. Don't follow me. I want to be by myself for a while.”

Jane watched as Daria slipped through the crowd and out of sight.

She was just about to go after Daria when her painting professor came up to her and congratulated her. There was no way to get out without being extremely rude, and this woman was responsible for her being in the show in the first place. Pasting a smile to her face, Jane forced herself to mingle, but her eyes kept darting to where Daria had disappeared.

Jane didn't have a plan. Hell, Jane didn't have much more than her brick of a Nokia on her when she took the T at nearly 11pm.

Better not to think about how I'm getting home tonight.

Off the train, she'd called Daria's dorm room from her cell phone. She'd tried multiple times, leaving several messages. Nothing. Fuck.

Jane wasn't sure what she was going to do if Daria wasn't home. Maybe just sit in front of Daria’s dorm until she eventually comes back. It wasn't that cold for an April evening. She shivered.

What was she even going to say to Daria?

She had been nearly to Gilmore Square before she’d even admitted that Alison was right. She was in love with her best friend. Had been for years. Maybe even before she’d met Alison–who’d accused her of liking girls–which had the effect of Jane wrapping all sapphic thoughts and shoving them in a box at the back of her psychic closet.

And that’s where they would have stayed, forever, if Alison hadn’t said the exactly perfect thing to shatter all of Jane’s attempts to bury her(in all likelihood, unrequited) feelings. It was sheer folly to even think that Daria might feel the same way. Jane wasn’t sure Daria felt that way about anyone. Jane had wondered if Daria had caught feelings for Tom but the breakup had been so empty of moping on Daria’s end, at least as far as Jane could see. Daria hadn’t even really dated in college, either. Sure, she’d gone on a couple dates with a couple of guys Freshman spring. She’d even gone on a bunch of dates with Patrick, but that had evolved into a platonic friendship.

Not that Jane had had a lot of luck herself. Lots of one night stands with art dudes who wanted her to be cool with them dating around. A brief thing with what turned out to be a married man. Oops. A crush on a girl in her dorm, barely acknowledged until now.

Jane hadn’t really been trying to escape the orbit of…whatever she and Daria had going on. Now it looked like she had no choice.

Turning the corner, Jane saw Daria's light was on, up on the third floor. She looked down and saw an area between the building and the sidewalk filled in with little white pebbles. She got an idea. It was a little melodramatic, sure, but it would probably work.

Plink! Plink plink! Plink! Jane chucked the pebbles at Daria's window. She missed several times, hitting the dark window below. You always were better at running than throwing.

The light went on in the room below and a girl's face scowled at Jane through the window, watching her throw a couple more rocks successfully at Daria’s window.

Several more minutes and a half dozen rocks later, Daria threw up the window sash and, annoyed, called out, “Give me a minute and I'll let you in.”

Daria opened the dorm’s front door, clad in her sleep shirt and shorts. She obviously had planned on calling it a night. By way of greeting she grumbled, “You woke Marissa up. She came up to my room to yell at me to make you stop. That’s the only reason I even answered.” She was silent for the two flights up and the walk down the hallway to her door. She continued to be silent as she opened the door to her tiny shoebox single and sat down at the far side of the bed.

Jane sat down on the near side of the bed and they stared at each other for a couple of minutes. Daria quirked her eyebrows in the way that Jane read as, “you wanted to talk so bad, then talk.”

Jane took a large breath. Better to get it out. Better not to try to hide anything from her best friend. But Jane couldn’t look her in the eye while she did it.

“Ummmm. So. The woman you met tonight was Alison. She’s the one I told you about. The woman who got fresh with me at the artist’s colony. Who I turned down. Who started dating our teacher, the hack, just to get ahead. She’s obviously still pissed at me.”

Jane looked up for a second to see Daria continuing to stare at her. Well, at least she wasn’t shutting down completely.

“But, ummm, she…wasn’t wrong.”

The silence hung for a few seconds.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“I understand if that makes you uncomfortable. If you don’t want me to come around anymore.”

Jane began to wish spontaneous combustion was a real thing; at the very least she felt ready to set herself on fire.

She was just starting to get up when she felt a pair of hands on either side of her shoulders. Startled, Jane tilted her head up to find Daria’s face inches from her own. Looking at her intently.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. But what was the worst that could happen? Jane asked herself. And at least she could go forward knowing what it was like. Maybe for one moment she could get what she wanted.

Jane closed the last few inches and kissed her best friend.

For a moment all she could focus on was the sensation. The softness of Daria’s lips. The warmth of it. But no, Daria was also leaning forward, leaning into the kiss, her mouth parted.

Jane tangled her hand in Daria’s hair, holding her close, their foreheads touching. Daria was breathing hard and her hands had slid down to grab Jane’s wrists.

Jane whispered, “Do you, too?” Daria nodded.

Relief washed through Jane. It was ok. She hadn’t fucked everything up. She wrapped Daria in the biggest, hardest hug she could muster, knowing that she was just babbling terms of endearment into Daria’s hair.

As she broke the hug, the enormity of the moment hit her.

“The T has stopped running. You should stay here.” Daria’s voice was surprisingly even, matter of fact.

“I’ll get your sleeping bag.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But how…ohhhh.” Jane blushed.

She was about to ask more when Daria rubbed at her cheek and yawned. They’d sleep first and then figure out what to do in the morning. Grabbing an extra sleep shirt from Daria’s dresser, she changed quickly. But how to proceed?

“These beds are really narrow. How are we both going to fit? Should I spoon you or?” Daria nodded, took off her glasses, and slipped under the covers. Jane turned off her light and slid in behind her, wrapping an arm around Daria’s waist. As if she’d done it a thousand times before. As if it belonged there.

“Goodnight.” She could already feel herself slipping into sleep.

“Goodnight,” Daria replied, quietly. And even more quietly added, “Love you.”

If Jane had been less exhausted and not already on the verge of sleep herself, she would have overanalyzed it. She might have worried about what it meant. Instead she sleepily replied, “Love you, too,” before drifting off.

Chapter Text

Alison was at the top of the stairs to the Marcy Ave subway stop on a Monday afternoon a few weeks later when her phone rang. Flipping it open, she saw that it was her gallery. Hoping it was good news, like a sale, she pressed the answer button. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, it's Becky.” 

“What's up?” 

“Were you expecting a delivery?” 

“I don't think so. Why?” 

“There's a… There's one of those edible arrangements things here for you.”

“Weird.” Alison was running down a list of lovers who would a) do something wildly romantic like this and b) send it to her gallery instead of to her apartment. She came up blank. “Who's it from?” 

“I don't know, I didn't open the card. You wanna swing by here and pick it up ay-sap? These strawberries aren't going to last all day.”

“Sure. I'll be there in about twenty.” 

It was a small gallery in the East Village. Little more than a box with windows, really. But it was a gallery, and it was in Manhattan, and that's all Alison had cared about when David got her in.

“Hey, Becks,” Alison said as she opened the door to a small woman typing at a laptop. “What do you have for me?” She noted that the top of the counter was filled with white wine bottles sweating in the June humidity. 

“Glad you came so soon. Here.”

Becky opened the small fridge under the counter and extracted… Alison wasn't sure what she'd call it. Maybe “Fantasia in cut fruit and tiny rainbow pride flags.” 

“I…” 

“Yeah, that was my reaction too.  The card's right here,” Becky said, flicking the envelope, before turning to replace the wine in the fridge. 

Alison popped a grape from the end of a skewer into her mouth before opening the card. 

“What's it say?” Becky returned, leaning on her elbows. She was obviously Invested at this point. Alison hoped it wasn't anything too lewd. 

“Alison-

Thank you for your help getting us together. Happy pride! 

-Jane Lane”

Alison threw back her head and laughed.

Chapter Text

Jane mopped her brow with her bandanna and squinted at the white cube of the gallery. The show was nearly fully mounted and she still didn’t know what painting she was going to put on that last bit of wall. Internally looking through the rolodex of her recent work, nothing seemed to be right. Too bright, too somber, too large, too small, too brash, too subdued. What other work did she need to complete this show?

What else did she want to say?

Her hand went to the box in her pocket. No, she needed to stop with that habit right away. But it never seemed like quite the right time.

Jane dragged herself back to the task at hand. It was important to decide what she wanted for the show, dammit, and Jane only had another couple of days before it opened. Her first solo show.

Jane tried not to think about that too hard, either, or it overwhelmed her. The tiny gallery in the Lower East Side was no Gagosian, but they’d sold all three of her paintings from the last group show. And then they’d asked her if she wanted her own show. Which was a dumb question. No artist didn’t want their own show. Especially an artist who was only twenty-five. It was a big fucking deal.

Which is why Jane couldn’t decide on the last painting to hang.

Scrubbing the sweat from her face, Jane looked out the window at the fierce August sunshine streaming in the big plate glass window at front. The city was dead; everyone who could get out of town had. The only people in New York were tourists.

“Hey, Jess, can you come out here for a minute?” Jane yelled toward the office in back. Silence. Dammit, right. She’d gone to get the sparkling wine for the party. Who was going to help her figure out what to put there?

Jane dragged over a stool and sat down, tapping the pencil that normally lived behind her ear against her lip.

The sudden tap tap tap sound made her jump. Turning around, Jane saw Daria at the door of the gallery, holding a couple of cold drinks. Jane jumped down and opened the door, shutting it quickly in a futile attempt to keep some of the air conditioning inside. She kissed Daria on the cheek and ignored how her girlfriend rolled her eyes at the PDA.

“Here.” Daria held out the plastic cup filled with swirling brown and white. “Iced coffee from the bodega, light and sweet, some ice.”

Jane took it and the proffered straw eagerly. Her eyes closed as the first sip hit her mouth. “God, just what I needed. A lifesaver.” She took a few sips more. “Hey, what are you doing around here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Jane narrowed her eyes at the other woman who was now sipping her own drink.

“Matt wanted me to drop off some stuff at City Hall. Told me not to hurry back.” Daria shrugged. “It’s a slow work day.”

Jane took another deep sip of her coffee. “Pure caffeination." She paused. “You don't usually drink bubble tea. Is this Sam’s fault?”

Daria looked over her glasses at Jane. She was trying to be intimidating but she mostly just looked adorable. If she didn’t know how much Daria hated being demonstrative in public, Jane probably would have kissed her. “No, Jacob’s. He’s back from his vacation in Taiwan and makes me go with him to the place near our office.”

Daria looked around the gallery. “How is the installation going?”

Jane tried to look around the space like a neutral observer. She couldn’t. It always felt weird to see her paintings up in professional settings like this. “It’s fine. Mostly on time. I’m going to hang a couple more this afternoon and then I’m going to call it quits.” She gestured towards the two works leaning against the wall.

“What are you putting over there?” Daria asked, her gaze focusing on the empty wall. Dammit, Jane thought. She needed a less observant partner.

“Something. Not anything recent. I don’t know.” Jane couldn’t help the plaintive note in the last sentence.

“Do you want help or encouragement?” Daria asked, watching Jane’s face carefully.

Jane huffed. “I have been racking my brain for an entire week. And nothing. So sure, take a stab at it.” She watched as Daria’s posture changed, her brows furrowing as she looked at each work in turn. Analytical mode. When Daria wore it, Jane knew something was going to get torn to shreds. She hoped it wasn’t her own ego.

“How big should it be?”

Jane put her hands out in front of her to indicate something roughly the size of her shoulders, something on the medum-large side.

“What kind of formal qualities are you looking for?”

Jane frowned, trying to put into words that gut feeling inside of her. “Um, something with texture. Painterly or with good mark-making. Not bright but not monochromatic.”

“Something focusing on process?” Daria asked.

Jane was impressed. “Yeah, exactly. I guess you did pick up on some of the lingo over the years.”

“I might even remember your birthday one of these years.” Daria’s tone was arch but she glanced over at Jane. Jane smiled and took Daria’s hand, remembering her most recent birthday. They'd spent all day playing vintage video games at the Museum of the Moving Image and then eating chocolate bread pudding at Jane's favorite place in Astoria before heading home for a very leisurely lovemaking session. An absolutely perfect day.

“Anything else?” Daria asked, refusing to get derailed. They’d once nearly missed their flight to Atlanta because they were too involved in a conversation with each other. “Maybe something showing how you’ve grown as an artist?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Suddenly Daria looked a little nervous. “OK, so it’s just a suggestion…”

“Out with it, Morgendorffer.”

“...That piece from your first show back in college.” Now Daria looked both nervous and embarrassed. “You know, the show that we went to right before we got together?”

Jane frowned. She hadn’t thought of that piece in a dog’s age. Where even was that? Her storage unit in Queens? She hadn’t sold it, she knew that.

Daria was waiting for her response.

Was it a bad idea? She recalled the piece and it did fit all of the criteria she’d set out. It very clearly represented the beginning of Jane’s forays into playing with both representational and non-representational art simultaneously.

But would it even stand up? Or would it look childish compared to her most recent paintings?

“That could work,” Jane finally said. “I should go up to that storage unit anyway. There might be a sculpture or two worth showing as well.”

“Good thing you got that tetanus booster last year.”

With faux-outrage and crossed arms, Jane said, “It didn’t even break the skin! I could have put it off for a whole year.”

“Uh-huh. Am I on my own for dinner tonight?”

Thinking about how she had so much to do and so little time to do it in, Jane said, “Yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

“After the show you’ll be underfoot all the time. Until the next obsession hits you.” Jane's face felt hot. Sometimes Daria knew her too well.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Jess struggling with a cardboard box and the front door. Once she opened the door for her, the mood had broken between her and Daria. It was time to get back to work.

Despite the audience and the huge windows, Daria allowed Jane to kiss her on the mouth before leaving.

Jane ran her thumb over the velvet box in her pocket. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking of the reason for it and when she was going to do it. After the show, though, definitely. She just needed to get through this. Soon.

She was nothing but nerves. For the show. For the proposal. Was it even a good idea? Could she make a commitment like that to one person? Even if that person was Daria? Even if they'd known each other for more than a decade?

She squinted at the level on the top edge of her painting then nudged it slightly to the left. Yes, perfect. She carefully applied the label beside it with “Not for sale” under the title.

Walking several steps backwards, Jane gazed across the room at the collection of paintings. A collection of just her paintings.

Yes, yes, Daria had been completely correct. That painting from her first show was exactly the right piece at exactly the right place, bridging two different threads of her art making.

Perfect.

How was Jane even more in love with this woman, 6 years after they’d first gotten together? How had Daria thought Jane was worth it?

Jane’s hand went to her pocket again. She had to stop that.

The what if’s pounded at her door again. What if this isn’t what Daria wants? What if she’s content with, in the eyes of the courts, being just gal pals? Or what if she hated the ring? It wasn’t like Daria wore a lot of jewelry on which Jane could guess her taste. On and on and on it went, with Jane’s brain picking at every decision she’d ever made.

Well, maybe not every. She never regretted finally being honest to Daria about her feelings. She never regretted deciding to be an artist. The two poles of her world.

Soon. She’d ask Daria soon.

Daria stared at her closet then went through it again, moving each hanger from right to left. She absolutely had to have something appropriate for a gallery opening at this point. She’d been to dozens over the years, both for Jane’s shows and for the shows of their friends.

There was always black. That seemed too somber for the occasion, though.

Jane’s first solo show. Daria knew it wasn’t quite the guarantee of a career in the fine arts, but it was one major step closer. It would all come down to what sold. Was Jane worth the gallery’s gamble? And maybe, just maybe, a place in the upcoming Biennale. It was so trite, that kind of mainstream success for her partner. A kind of selling out.

Daria had done the math, though. If Jane sold every piece in the gallery, they’d have enough for a down payment on their own place. She’d seen Jane’s almost-breathtaking amount of grind, impressive even in this city overflowing with people obsessed with success. Or rather, she’d seen far less of Jane than she would have liked, her partner perennially sequestered in her studio trying to finish one more piece before a deadline.

Down she went, further and further into her closet. Damn, it was time to donate some of the things she never wore. A green dress caught Daria’s eye and she dragged it out into the light of her room. She slipped it on over her head and looked in her mirror with a critical eye. It was a purchase from what, their third or fourth anniversary? They’d taken one of those East River cruises and had stayed at the front railing for much of it, Daria wrapped in Jane’s arms as they watched the city lights go by.

Turning first one way and then the other, Daria decided that it was good enough. Not too fussy and dark but not black. Nice but not showy, perfect for a night when all of the attention should go to Jane. She’d be a perpetual presence at her partner’s side, of course, but an unobtrusive one.

Jane leaned her head into Daria’s room. “Did you find anythi–oh I remember that one.” She grinned. “I remember it even better on my floor.”

Daria blew air into her bangs and rolled her eyes. “Incorrigible,” she said.

“And yet you keep incorr-aging me.”

Daria crossed her arms in front of her. “That schtick wasn’t funny the first several dozen times you did it.”

“And yet you have still not changed the locks on me.” Jane stepped into the room to give Daria a kiss.

When the kiss broke, Daria shot back with, “Do you know how expensive a locksmith is in this city?” but she knew Jane saw the fondness in her eyes.

“To answer your unspoken question, yes, you should wear that dress tonight. Now I just have to figure out what to wear.”

“Black?” Daria asked, her tone arch.

“Thanks. That excludes exactly two percent of my wardrobe.” Jane softened her sarcasm with a gentle hand on Daria’s hair before stepping back out into the hallway.

The gallery was nearly full. Daria swept her eyes over the guests arriving through the front door. The usual who’s who. Daria had long since stopped paying them any mind; they mostly showed up for the free cheese and to have their outfits documented by the event photographer. She stepped over to the food table, consolidating two partially-filled pastry trays into one.

“I suppose someone has to do it,” a voice said to Daria’s left. “Why not the little woman?” Daria looked up.

“Hello, Alison.” She attempted to sound as bored as possible. “Eclaire?” She proffered the mostly-empty tray to the other woman while looking her up and down. Alison was wearing a dress about four shades darker than Jane's lipstick, a deep red color, the neckline low with the dress flaring to emphasize Alison's favorable hip-to-waist ratio.

“No, I’m just here for the havarti,” Alison said, carefully spearing several cubes of cheese with a toothpick. And here for straining all of our patience, Daria thought. It was too strong of a word to call Alison Jane’s nemesis. Rival, perhaps. Perennial fixture of the East Village art scene, definitely.

“Enjoy,” Daria said as she finished rearranging the refreshment table and made her way back to Jane, refilled wine glasses for both her and Jane in hand. She didn't usually drink at these kinds of things but she was so nervous. That, and she wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. Absolutely nothing about herself should stand out tonight. Not with all the cameras around.

Daria returned to Jane's side, handing over the glass of wine. She was assessing whether she needed to fetch a plate or food for Jane, who was still in animated conversation with one of her former professors who'd come down for the show. The painting professor maybe?

She noticed Alison trail around the gallery, stopping to examine the piece from that first show. Of course she'd remember it too. Alison seemed to contemplate the picture for a minute, then glance at Jane.

“I won't keep you any longer,” Daria heard the art professor say. “Congratulations again on the show.” She smiled and put her arm on Jane's shoulder, genuine fondness in her eyes.

For a moment Daria and Jane stood next to each other in silence as people moved about the gallery around them. Jane fiddled with the purse she was unused to wearing. But this dress, long and slinky and black and tight, left no room for a bra, let alone pockets. But damn, Daria couldn't ignore how hot it made Jane, especially with those red high heels.

She'd dragged her eyes away from her girlfriend just in time to see Alison approach.

“Congratulations on your solo show,” Alison offered smoothly. One of the photographers stepped over to take a picture of the two of them, and Daria had to admit that they looked good together. For what felt like the billionth time, Daria wondered why they hadn't hooked up at Ashland.

“Thank you. It's been quite the journey.”

“I agree. A bold move to feature your juvenalia so prominently.”

For a second Daria wondered if Jane was going to deck her, right there in the middle of everything. Instead Jane breathed in sharply and let the breath out slowly. She took a step closer to Daria and said, “It's a reminder of how far I've come, and how I couldn't do it myself.” Probably only Daria picked up on the waspishness of the remark, but there was no hiding the softness in her eyes when she looked at Daria when she said it.

For a moment, Alison looked like she might roll her eyes and move on. Instead, a feeling of dread hit Daria's stomach, where it hit the churning of two glasses of wine and not much else, as Alison's smile slowly grew.

“So Jane, when are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Daria saw Jane’s face go first white then red before busying herself with analyzing the legs of the red wine in her own glass.

“Marriage is part of a patriarchal system of control,” Jane said airily. Daria could imagine Jane’s face but she refused to take her eyes off the glass. “Besides, it isn’t even legal here.” The tone made Daria cringe. Was that what Jane really thought? Daria saw the flash of cameras. Of course the photographers would want a piece of that.

“Of course, of course. Good luck with your show.” Alison wandered off to join a cadre of artists standing in front of the plate glass window. Through her lowered lashes, Daria could see one of them salute Alison with a raised glass as she approached. Of course they did.

Daria continued to look down at her wine glass, trying to corral her thoughts. Or at least her stomach, which had decided to churn uneasily. She forced her face to go blank. She forced herself to stay calm. At least Jane was absorbed in conversation again, this time with a man Daria thought she recognized, his suit still crisp despite the heat, his eyes behind wire-frame glasses, sharp. Peter, the name came to her at once. Peter, the person who had bought two of Jane's paintings at her last show. Who might buy more tonight.

“I should go check on the food,” Daria said, as if that wasn't part of Jess's job. As if she hadn't just neatened it up ten minutes before. A lifetime before.

Jane made an absentminded noise and pressed the now-empty wine glass into Daria's hand, not even breaking eye contact with Peter.

Daria fled. With nothing to do at the refreshment table, she put down the glasses and sidled past guests to the small back office, labeled, “Private.” She collapsed into the desk chair, before pulling off her glasses and putting her hands on her face.

This couldn't be happening.

And what did Daria even think about marriage, anyway? Before this evening, she wasn't sure she'd given it much thought, really.

But Jane's coldly dismissive tone haunted her. Did Jane really believe that? She'd always been a free spirit. And she was right, it wasn't legal anywhere, except for Massachusetts and California. It wasn't something that artists like Jane were supposed to want. A ball and chain. Of course Jane couldn't possibly want that.

Then why did Daria feel so wretched? Why was there such a feeling of hollowness inside of her? Surely she didn't want to be anything as pedestrian as a wife. Like she wanted any of that cultural baggage. The big, expensive ceremony. The family drama.

Still, she hadn't been queer and living in New York for nothing. Daria remember when their downstairs neighbor, Jack, had died, and his family had taken everything in the apartment—even the dish rack—while his partner Matthew was out. And she remembered Matthew's complaints about how Jack's family had overruled his decisions about Jack's hospital care. Daria knew Trent was Jane's health care proxy. But Trent only left Olympia on tour, which he currently was in California. A very long way away.

Jane needed someone closer. Hell, Daria needed someone closer who was not Quinn.

Still, Jane had grown up on all that hippy-dippy stuff about how you should let a butterfly go free. Maybe she still believed that? Even though it was so clearly a rationalization of Amanda's neglect.

And still Daria's stomach churned.

It was fine. It was all fine. She would be fine.

“Thank you again for coming out,” Jane said to Peter.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” he replied before rejoining a woman Jane was pretty sure was his spouse, who was contemplating one of Jane's abstract works.

“Well, that went well, I think. Don't you…” Jane looked to her left. No one there. “Daria?” She frowned slightly. Her girlfriend was probably straightening the promotional materials. She might have worried if the reporter hadn't decided to ask her some questions about her work.

“... And that's how I've been really getting into the sharpness of metal sculpture. I…” Jane coughed. Frog in her throat. Daria immediately handed her a bottle of water, which she drank. Gratefully, Jane looked over and gave a quick smile that faltered a bit when she saw the woodenness of Daria's expression. Tonight was really grinding on her introverted girlfriend. Jane looked at her watch. Another hour of this. She internally sighed as an over-enthusiastic woman approached her saying how much she loved Jane's work. She glanced again at Daria. She was just tired, that was all.

“You can leave now, if you want. I've got everything covered,” Jess said as she packed the remaining food into a Tupperware container and put it in the gallery fridge in back.

Daria stifled a yawn. “Are you sure?” she asked. Jess nodded.

Slipping on her regular boots, Jane asked, “Come take a walk with me?”

“I don't know, it's late.” Daria laced up her own boots before storing the heels in her bag.

“I feel really keyed up, like I need to walk off this energy. C'mon, it's a nice night.” Perfect, really. Bone dry and just a little cool, a little windy. Jane watched Daria steel herself, her shoulders going more rigid.

“If I don't, you'll just go by yourself and we'll fish your body out of the East River tomorrow.” Jeez. That was a little morose, even for Daria.

“Just down to East River Park and back. I promise.”

“Fine.” Daria turned towards the river and started walking. Jane knew that she'd give in, she always did. She felt a little guilty; New York City was safer than it had been but it was foolhardy for her to take a walk by herself at midnight on a Friday night and Daria would never forgive herself if something happened to Jane.

They walked in silence for several blocks.

“So what do you think of the opening?” Jane asked, finally.

“It was fine.”

“I think I got some sales.”

“Yeah.”

“The food was good, especially the eclairs.”

“I guess.”

They lapsed into silence again. Usually when they were quiet together, it felt easy, natural. This silence made Jane's skin itch.

“Is everything alright?” She peered over at Daria's face.

“Yeah, I'm just tired.” Jane knew what tired looked like in Daria. She got soft and clumsy and she rubbed her cheek under her eye. She didn't resolutely stare at the sidewalk in front of her, hand fisted around the straps of the bag on her shoulder.

They walked on.

As they approached the promenade, the air got more humid. A stronger breeze blew from the south. Brooklyn still sparkled across the water, awake even at this hour. Jane leaned against the railing, taking in the panorama. New York was just so fucking gorgeous.

Daria stood beside her, also gripping the rail. She shivered slightly as she stared at the boats going by.

The silence stretched on and on. Jane tried to think about what could be wrong, but she couldn't think of anything. Tonight had been a blur.

Daria shivered again and Jane tried to wrap her arm around Daria's shoulder. She shoved it off, moving a little too far away.

How long they stood there, Jane couldn't say. Maybe a half hour? She turned to Daria, about to suggest that they should go home.

“Did you mean it?” Daria asked, her brow furrowed, her hands holding tightly to the railing.

“Did I mean what?” Jane didn't remember most of the things she said, especially that night.

“With Alison. About marriage being anti-feminist.”

Jane felt like she'd just been thrown down the stairs. She vaguely remembered saying something like that, but it was something absurdly inflammatory just to get Alison off her back.

“I don't know. Maybe a little bit.” Not enough to stop her from buying a ring. Not enough for her to banish images of Daria in a white dress, delicately feeding her a slice of cake.

“Oh.”

“Why?” Jane wanted to close the distance between them but she could practically feel Daria's spikes.

“We've never talked about it before,” Daria said.

“It doesn't seem like a real possibility. Not for people like us.” Artsy dykes, Jane meant. The kind who swore to reject everything society deemed important.

“Yeah. Selling out, nuclear-family-style,” Daria said, pushing off the railing and starting to walk north along the promenade.

“Right. Right. Of course.” Jane began to wonder if she could still get a refund on the ring. It had been a stupid dream. Only Wind had gotten married, and look how that had gone for him. He was on wife number five. Or was it six? Jane had stopped going to the weddings. They were a waste of money, anyway.

“We should get back. It's getting cold.” Daria rubbed her arms and started walking quicker. Jane sighed and rushed to catch up with her.

It had been a cold winter and, annoyingly, all of Daria's wool socks were dirty. She was sure Jane would have an extra pair. Daria would have asked Jane directly but she was at the studio. Like she always seemed to be, lately. She had commissions to finish and pieces to complete to submit for a couple of shows. Jane was a successful artist, now. Just like she'd always wanted to be.

Daria pulled open the drawer and hunted around the tangle of socks in Jane's drawer, trying to find two of the heavier black pairs by feel. She felt something small and hard and fuzzy, instead. It was a box of some sort, she saw when she pulled it out, blue and velvet. Daria sat down on the bed and turned on the bedside lamp, staring at it. Boxes opened. She felt that roil in her stomach, the same kind as at that solo show six months prior.

She had to turn the box several times in her left hand because it didn't want to open. On the third try, it did.

Daria nearly dropped the box.

It was a diamond ring. With a sizable stone.

Daria thought maybe it was fake, paste maybe. Some kind of prop or art project. Anything but what it was. But the name on the white silk on the inside was a reputable jeweler a couple of streets down from Jane's gallery.

Daria snapped the box shut. She knew she should put it back where she found it. Jane wouldn't appreciate her snooping in her stuff. Jane was such an open book; why would Daria need to search for answers?

Daria got up and walked to the kitchen table, her left hand still wrapped around the box. She picked up a book she was partway through, a Zadie Smith novel a friend had recommended.

She put the box down on the table and tried to read. Jane would be home eventually.

Half-past two, the clock over the sink said. Daria had read maybe ten pages in the last four hours. The words kept swimming away, failing to solidify into anything like meaning. Daria took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Maybe it was time to go to bed. She drank the last dregs of the herbal tea, the third she'd had since coming to the kitchen. She was cold and she'd be a little warmer under the blankets in bed.

A metallic clack came from the front door of the apartment and it opened. Jane walked in, shedding herself of the many layers of clothing that she said was better than an actual winter coat, placing them in a pile on her usual chair next to Daria.

“Hey!” she said cheerfully. “I wasn't expecting you to still be—” Her eyes skated across the table, landing on the box.

“Um,” Jane said, tugging on her lower earring, the same way she always did when she lied. “I was just holding that for a friend.” She tried for a wry smile but it faltered when she looked at Daria.

Daria refused to take her eyes off Jane, even when Jane sputtered a comment under her breath about it seeming funnier in her head. She shed the long scarf from around her neck and sat down in the chair across from Daria.

“Why do you have this?” Daria asked.

“Because the jeweler would only take it back for store credit,” Jane said, bitterly.

“Yes, but why do you have it? How long have you been holding onto it?” Jane looked miserable, looking everywhere except at Daria.

“Since July.”

“Before your show?” Daria drew her brows together, confused.

“Yeah.” There was a long pause. They both knew Daria would always win the waiting game.

It seemed like Jane was dredging up something deep inside of herself, like she was tearing herself apart. Daria waited anyway.

“I was trying to figure out when to propose. And then that discussion the night of my solo show happened and it became crystal clear that you'd just turn me down. So I didn't even try after that.”

Daria studied Jane's face. She knew that tone of voice. Jane used it every time she struggled with her art, usually right before she submitted a piece. It was the same tone of voice that said that she hadn't even applied to BFAC, back in high school. And most of the time, Daria had persuaded her to try anyway.

Jane angrily wiped tears away from her eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

“It was stupid. I know. I should just sell it on Craigslist or something.” She snatched up the box.

“We can still talk about it,” Daria said slowly. If Jane had sat in any other chair, she could reach out and grab Jane's hand. But she was so far away.

“About what? You said it was selling out. I heard your contempt loud and clear.”

Daria squeezed the bridge of her nose then put her glasses back on. “I was responding. To what you'd said. Earlier that night, with Alison.” The words came out haltingly. She'd said that then so Jane wouldn't think her the sappy romantic. So she didn't have to hear Jane say it directly to her face: that Jane had never considered it, would never consider it. That maybe Jane never wanted to be tied down, with a mortgage and someone else to support. Jane who rolled her eyes every time she talked about Wind and his marriages.

“I told you that I responded that way to annoy Alison. That bitch who did it a second time. Saw what I was trying to keep hidden from everyone else.”

“She embarrassed you.”

Jane nodded. “Yeah.” She paused as if trying to collect her thoughts. “And you. You ran away again.”

Daria felt her face go hot, shame flooding into her.

“I—” she said, hard, the beginning of a disavowal.

“It wasn't meant as a criticism.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Daria could practically feel her skin thinning, breaking.

“I just mean—I mean I should have seen it, recognized it for what it was.” Jane picked at the paint under her nails, voice rough with self-recrimination.

“You ran away, too. It was like you suddenly couldn't stand being around me.” She paused, waiting for the hand around her heart to loosen enough to say what needed to be said. “Silly little self-delusional girl.” She wished that she had just let Jane go home that night after her first show in college. Wished that she had never shown her soft belly of feelings to Jane at all. Jane, who was a Lane through and through. She stood up. At the very least she could have this pity party by herself in the bedroom and not here in the kitchen. Her hands were so cold.

She tried to walk past Jane but Jane stood up instead, her hands on Daria's upper arms.

Jane whispered, “Do you, too?” Daria nodded, remembering when she had done the grabbing that first time. She stood still, watching as Jane snatched the box from the table before sinking to one knee.

“This isn't what I'd imagined it would be, but I think it can't wait. Daria, will you marry me?”

Daria mentally went through all of the reasons why she shouldn't say yes, but they all seemed inconsequential now. Fuck it, they'd move back to Massachusetts if they had to. She knew she wanted it.

She nodded and held out her left hand, fingers spread. Jane deftly slid it on, then grabbed Daria's hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. It fit perfectly, the cold metal quickly warming to her body's temperature. It felt real, and binding.

It suddenly felt like a lot. She swayed. Jane stood up, guiding Daria's hands to Jane's waist as she wrapped a hand around Daria's forearm, the other burying itself in her hair. Their foreheads touched. Together.

“I love you,” Jane said softly.

“I love you too.”

The yawn that came through Daria just then was inescapable. She rubbed where her cheek ached.

“We should both get to sleep,” Jane said, guiding Daria towards the bedroom. They had a lot to discuss tomorrow—including how they ended up in this mess in the first place—but that could wait. Right now the only thing Jane wanted to do was the same thing she'd done that first night: wrap herself around Daria's back and fall asleep.