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In the days to come, Miorine will smell cheap air freshener whenever she looks back on this night; a fresh scent with a harsh edge like pine needles poking their way up her nose. It's the kind of artificial fragrance that comes in an aerosol can, kept under pressure until an itchy trigger finger hits the valve too hard and sends the particles flying every which way; a loud hiss heralding their escape. Nothing compared to the explosion one might set off by heating the can up but still something.
When Miorine turns away from the TV screen, her eyes meet her dear friend’s as they sit perched on the couch. Soon, their lips close the distance between them. A certain pressure lifts from her shoulders as she accepts the warmth and comfort Suletta offers. This is a hiss of the can. Nothing too rushed or passionate. Just momentary respite, letting off a little steam.
The curve of her cheek fits well into Suletta’s palm and, for now, they can both claim their hands are chaste. Guilt mingles with the warm stirrings in her chest. They've built so much over the past few months. All it takes is one night to send it all crashing down.
Or set the foundation for something new.
Miorine’s arms loop around Suletta’s neck, pale hands threading through red hair, feeling the strands between her fingers. Breaking away from the kiss, Miorine leans her forehead against Suletta’s and shuts her eyes, hiding away the questions in her stare. She can't help but bite her lip, still feeling the ghost of Suletta’s mouth on hers. Against her better judgement, Miorine leans in for another go.
Where was she? Oh right, cheap air freshener still lingering in her nostrils as an olfactory memory. Suddenly, it’s three days later and Miorine’s in the back of her dad’s SUV, listening to him prattle on about how she’s nearly exhausted her trust fund on culinary school. Miorine’s only half-listening, wondering how her tomato plants are doing indoors with winter hitting like a truck. Suletta promised she would tend to them. Suletta keeps her promises.
Miorine does not.
What did she tell her long-suffering roommate after that make-out session?
“Let’s not make this a thing.”
So stupid. Miorine would very much like it to be a thing. She wants to have a thing. Something all her own. She left Suletta with instructions on how to heat up portions of homemade frozen lasagna when she should have written a love letter.
Not that she would be any good at it.
Her last ex told her she might be better with her fingers if she didn’t spend so much time smashing them on mobile games.
That was low. That was personal.
Why did she even date that bitch? She supposes everyone should have at least one toxic relationship before they hit twenty-one.
Suletta is sweet. Suletta is kind. Suletta really needs to get out from under her mother.
“Yeah, let’s not make this a thing. I don’t think mom would like it.”
Idiot. Miorine doesn’t want to be the one to drag Suletta out of the closet kicking and screaming.
“Are you listening to me, Miorine?”
Her father’s voice booms from the driver’s seat. Miorine has her cheek pressed against the window in the backseat, letting the chill from the glass sting her face. “Yes, dad.”
She doesn’t have to see her father’s eyeroll to sense it. He keeps rambling on as she trains her eyes on the flat felt pine tree air freshener flopping behind the rearview mirror.
Suletta spilled potato chips and artisanal blue cheese dressing all over the couch right as Miorine was about to slip some tongue into that kiss. Shouldn't have put the bowls where they could tip over. Freaking out, Suletta grabbed the first aerosol can that she could get her hands on, trying to spray it clean. She tried to tell Suletta it wouldn’t help anything but the girl was in a panic. Annoyed, Miorine simply lifted the cushion and ran it to the dumpster.
“I know the type of mold they use for the cheese I put in there. Unless you want an especially fuzzy couch, we’ll have to suffer the hit.”
There was no salvaging the night after that.
“Let’s not make this a thing.”
“Yeah, let’s not make this a thing. I don’t think mom would like it.”
Those were the last words they exchanged before retiring to their separate rooms. Miorine left before Suletta woke up, making sure to stick the lasagna memo to the fridge with magnets.
She wants to have a thing, wants it so bad.
But she suspects Suletta might be more than that.
Scowling at herself, she pulls her phone out to send a quick text.
You up?
Erase. Miorine, you’re not a fuckboy.
Hey, did you like the lasagna?
Yeah, that should work. Innocent enough.
Her phone dings back in a matter of seconds. Wow, Suletta has no chill.
Tomato emoji. Tongue emoji. Crown emoji.
What even is that?
Miorine rolls her eyes, hoping this text chain doesn’t trigger her motion sickness. Not that she would mind ruining the upholstery on her dad’s car.
I’ll make more. We’ll have it together when I get back.
That’s casual, right? Not a date unless Suletta wants it to be?
Suletta likes the message and leaves it on read.
Ugh, this is going to be a long winter break.