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No, Claire says without even considering the proposition. No. No, no. No, no, no. No, no. No.
Agatha’s eyes narrow as she stares at her. I wasn’t asking your permission, Christopher. She pulls a thin jacket from their coat hanger – despite the fact that it’s heading into winter and it’s far colder than it looks (there’s no snow on the ground (yet), but the air is still bitter with chill) – and throws it across her otherwise bare shoulders. Cian’s my best friend, and I love them, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Then she’s gone before Claire can say anything else, leaving her and her clenched teeth behind.
I don’t dislike them, Claire says, sitting in bed with her wife curled up against her chest. Cian’s a great person, and they’ve always been good with Agatha. I’m sure they care.
That’s the answer, then, isn’t it? Eve asks, glancing up and meeting Claire’s eyes with her own warm blue ones. Cian’s a good person. They would never do anything to hurt Agatha. You like them.
Claire shakes her head. I did like them, before this happened. Now I don’t know what to think. She pushes her hands through her shaggy dark hair.
Eve leans up and kisses her jaw. They aren’t somebody different just because Agatha’s dating them. They’re the same person they’ve always been.
They’re eleven years older than she is, Eve. Agatha’s still a child!
I’m sure she would love to hear you say that. Eve smiles with amusement, her eyes twinkling, and she leans up further to give Claire a more proper kiss. Sleep, Christopher. She runs her finger along Claire’s chin. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out just fine.
You’re not my mom! Agatha calls out as she slams the front door behind her.
Claire stares after her as she storms across the yard, the heels of her boots leaving marks in the snowy, muddy ground. Her hand balls into a fist, and she takes great care to not slam it into the door. Or the doorframe. Or the wall. But she can’t help it – her eyes land on Cian where they stand just off the curb, leaning against the frame of their DeLorean with that bomber jacket around their shoulders. When Agatha approaches, they remove their jacket and gently place it on her; they open the door for her as she gets in the car; and they glance over their shoulder to Claire, where she stares at them, once the door is closed.
Cian’s mossy green eyes meet Claire’s stormy blue ones.
Claire turns away from them.
I think we should talk, Cian says, standing under the awning over the Valentines’ door. Rain drips down their bald head; they aren’t otherwise soaked, but the sky outside threatens a downpour. It’s been raining all day; it’s raining now, just not bad enough. Not yet.
Claire looks at the sky, looks at Cian, and then stands back, holding the door to her house open. You’re right, she says as they step inside, we should.