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He’s drinking my fucking coffee.
Maybe, just maybe, Jen’s not as rational as she thought.
Her phone dims as she throws it into her bag, Leslie’s latest Instagram post remaining stagnant in her mind as the screen locks.
It’s not until Jen settles into her first class seat that she’s stuck with her thoughts. Stuck with the truth. Stuck with the consequences. Also a little breathless. There are only so many flights to the middle of no where Indiana and she refused to have to wait for the next one.
She shoots a text to her assistant to keep an eye out for any tickets, Lord knows a few of those yellow lights were tinted a bit pink -or bright red. To be fair, she was driving so fast who could tell.
It’s as the flight attendants are finishing their safety demonstration that she catches her reflection in the darkened screen across from her. Frazzled doesn’t suit her. Her eyes are red she’s sure, though the dim screen does nothing but show her tousled hair. She can’t truly blame her ridiculously expensive hairspray, but she definitely considers it. For a hundred dollars a bottle, one would assume it could hold up to one wild airport chase, a few stressed hands raking through it creating knots as she did, and well… okay, maybe not as rational as she thought.
Definitely not as rational as she once thought.
Taking a steadying breath, the plane lurches, her back pressing into the seat as blinking lights begin to zoom past. She closes her eyes as she waits for the wheels to lift. It’s a mistake. It was all a mistake.
The back of Jen’s eyelids bring back the photo, sure. And it hurts, definitely. But it’s the second memory that makes her glad for the dimmed cabin.
April’s face had been the epitome of crushed. Well, until her walls and mask replaced it. Just the thought of those brown eyes losing their spark is enough to send a stab through her heart. The kind of pain that has Jen gripping her arm rest and willing the plane to go faster.
“I’m sorry.”
The words stare back at her as she opens her phone again, eager for a distraction, eager to suffer more, apparently.
April hadn’t replied.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Sweetheart.”
No reply still.
“Please just let me know you landed safe.”
That one had granted her a few seconds of a typing bubble before a simple thumbs up to the message had come in.
Just to hurt herself more, she scrolls up.
How had it only been last night that they’d been discussing dinner? Arguing about which Thai place, joking about Jen’s choice of movie. How had it gone so wrong?
Jen knows.
She accepts it.
It was her.
Jen did this to them.
Jen will fix it.
Last night feels so far away, but also frozen in her mind. A dichotomy that leaves her stomach in knots as she forces a smile to the attendant passing her a coffee and two small pods of half & half. She busies her hands by fixing her cup, it’s the only thing she can fix at this point.
A pained laugh crawls its way up her throat. She swallows.
It’s as she takes a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading just as nausea does. Emotions can fuck off.
April. Coffee. Annoyance. Andy. April. Andy. Andy.
And he’s fucking drinking my coffee.
Now Jen’s kind. She knows she is. She’s smart, she’s cunning, but kindness for her is easy, is more than a publicity need, more than a requirement of the job.
It was her kindness -and a great amount of coffee suffering- that had lead her to gift the Pawnee local diner with a machine that no longer reeked of burnt grounds and actually produced an acceptable cup. She tries not to think about the suspicious Pawnee water that fuels the machine, some things are best left alone.
Speaking of best not thought of, he’s fucking drinking her coffee. Gazing at the light brown liquid, Leslie’s post forms between tiny bubbles.
The regular crew was in the photo, those she’s met many times both in person and through April’s stories. They’re grinning for the most part. Her eyes are quick to zero in on April’s smirk an image worth preserving. And if that was it, maybe she wouldn’t have been racing to the airport freshly awoken on a Saturday morning mere days before Christmas like a fool.
That’s a lie. She knows.
Painfully, it’s just as quick to glance to April’s right.
Andy.
A mug of her coffee held above April’s head as if pouring it was in the plans. His eyes all but glued to April, smile all too friendly for Jen’s taste.
The heart lurch it causes is only part of why she’s here. Part of why she’s thirty minutes from landing in a state she has always deemed as nothing more than a fly over. Now it’s April’s state, it’s April’s childhood, it’s April’s past, it’s…important. April’s important.
Fuck.
Thats the ridiculous part isn’t it? She thinks as her head knocks into the headrest, breath coming in slow to steady the beating of her heart, the prickling of her skin, the thoughts.
It doesn’t work. Instead she’s transported. Flashes of the night before coming in such a painful montage.
April using her key to push open Jen’s front door, bag of food precariously gripped between her teeth and arm. Jen had already set up for the night. The movie paused on screen, drinks and utensils laid out on the coffee table, and cozy in her “real person” attire (lovingly dubbed by April, of course). April had kissed her when she came in, a kiss that promised more. A long day of idiots had made the night even more relaxing, even more needed.
It was after dinner that it started. The movie played on as they shifted, cuddled on the couch with barely any space separating them. As it should be. April had been resting in her arms, Jen playing with her hair as their eyes stayed on the screen’s final moments. They’d met eyes over a laugh as the final lines were said, “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk. Everyone has a talent.”
April had shifted, Jen had grumbled. April had reached out, hand playing with the pendant around Jen’s neck. Her brown eyes soft, made even softer by the love Jen had seen there.
Jen felt it reflected in her own eyes. She knows a good thing when she sees it. And April? April was beyond good, beyond witty, beyond- well, just beyond anything she thought she could call her own.
And she has called her her own, they each have for a few months now. Keys exchanged, lazy Sundays, drawers in dressers, arguments over laundry and proper dishwasher organization, they’d had it all. She’d had it all.
Fuck.
April had mentioned traveling to Pawnee for the triplet’s birthday, off hand in the way Jen knows -she fucking knows- April does when she she cares but doesn’t want it to show. And Jen? Jen had-
She grits her teeth and swallows more coffee to wash down the bitter taste of regret.
Jen had stilled. Her hand had stopped as it carded through dark locks. She still remembers the prickle of tears in her eyes as she stared at the tree, vision blurring a bit with auras of its adorned festive lights.
Truth be told, she’d taken it as a slight. Some random shoe dropping, some hope crashing, some inevitability being met. She took it as rejection. Took it as April picking others, took it as being second best. Took it as a Christmas alone, once again.
April was the one pushing the whole Christmas agenda, making it something to look forward to afterall! April was the one to force Jen into that random tree lot twenty minutes and five miles away. Traffic.
April was the one to talk with the trees, making voices and stories; Each tree their own character, each tree it’s own life. Jen had smiled so much, she can still remember the soreness and cold nipping at her cheeks. They settled on the diva tree, a formidable Douglas Fir with the voice of a helium balloon and about as much sense.
Perfect.
It was perfect.
Within moments of purchase, Jen had watched with a shake of her head as April hissed at the helper; Instead stealing the wheel barrel and making her way to the car. She remembers the half crazed look on April’s face, the unadulterated joy it displayed. She remembers the kiss she pulled April into over the center console, remembers praying the being of consolidated pine needles wouldn’t fall off on the way home.
April was there. And then, in a second, it felt like she was gone.
Jen’s freeze was noticed. Noticed and misinterpreted.
Fuck.
For all they’re good at -and it’s a lot of things, thank you very much- confrontation has never been one of them.
With a bitten lip, April’s warmth was instantly gone. Jen could only watch as she left, April nearly a blur as she rushed like a wounded cat.
Jen had made it through two glasses of wine, hand holding her phone before giving herself permission to reach out.
No answers came.
By the time she woke in the early morning, aching back her only alarm clock, she had breathed a little easier at the text notification on her phone. It’s still early, Jen had calculated, she can redo the morning like it should be. The promise of waking up later with April’s arm flung around her waist and breath ghosting her ear, had her grappling for the phone with such haste the her from one year ago would be mortified.
Just as her hopes soared they so quickly crashed.
The message had been nothing but a cold screenshot of a boarding pass baring April’s name.
Frazzled is not a good look on her. Not at all. Just ask her neighbor who had the audacity to interrupt her near run to the car, any and all fellow drivers on the freeway, and a few choice squirrels that refused to cross the road in a timely fashion.
As she was getting out of the car, she didn’t think twice about the cost of long term parking or the cold seven a.m. air that attacked her skin. However, upon gazing down at her strictly in the house ‘normal person’ clothes, Jen had been relieved to remember her go bag. No part of her ever wanted to step foot in a Pawnee clothes store, no thanks.
The ding of the seatbelt sign pulls Jen’s attention to the present. Fifteen minutes ‘til landing. She finds herself gazing down at the tapestry of towns under her. If she thinks of April being somewhere down there, it hurts. She tries not to. She fails.
No messages greet her as they begin taxiing.
Leslie’s latest post about her children’s birthday reads like a sucker punch to Jen’s gut.
As she’s in line for a car, she runs through the options in her head. It’s an hour drive to Pawnee, because of course it is. God forbid this town was close to an actual airport.
When she picks her rental car at the dusty counter, she may have over compensated. She’s been around a lot of over compensating people, she hates that she can see that same desperation reflected in the vanity mirror. She blinks. She breathes.
It’s after a coffee stop and nearly forty-five minutes of monotonous landscape and thoughts, that the gas light comes on. Because of course it fucking does.
Jen debates risking it. Calculating quickly, she’s sure she can probably get to April’s parent’s house before the the gas runs out. Hell, everything’s so cheap in this town she could probably buy them two to replace it if the car ends up on fire or something equally annoying.
She pulls into the gas station, balking at the gas price. She’s quick to snap a picture of the absurd price as she waits for the pump to finish. If she checks and rechecks their message thread every few seconds, well, that’s between her and the dirt filled air. Each time she checks, April’s face on her phone is it’s own kind of punishment.
The dash shows it’s just passed noon when she’s back on the road. Water and snacks rattling in the leather passenger seat with each pothole. Let it never be said that Jen is above a good road trip snack. Besides, chocolate heals the heart, okay?
Jen has polished off a bag of peach rings and an embarrassing amount of horribly generic chocolate by the time she’s pulling up to the curb of the Ludgate family home. She takes a deep steadying breath, this is definitely not the way she saw meeting April’s family that’s for sure.
It’s now that she realizes her plan may have been more half thought out than she realized.
Alright, Jen, think.
And now she’s talking to herself in third person, great.
She works on a quick mental list, trying to steady her hands.
1. The ridiculous outfit
2. Find April
3. Pour hot coffee on-
A knock on the window shakes her from her decidedly green thoughts.
Rolling down the window, Jen’s quick to lower her sunglasses as she takes in Natalie’s apathetic face.
“Heya, how-”
“She’s not here.”
Rude and unhelpful.
Fuck.
“Can you tell me where she is?” Pretenses be damned.
“Can and will are two separate things.”
With a deep breath, Jen allows herself to shed her armor, Hell she’s already physically done much the same.
“Natalie, I’m J-“
“I know who you are.”
Ah. There it is. The protective glare of an angry sibling.
Fuck.
“Well,” Jen paints on a tired smile, “then you know why I’m here. Can you just tell me a general area or something, I don’t care. I just need some where to start.”
The crack in her voice seems to shock them both.
After an intimidating look that she swears she’s seen April perfect, Natalie seems to relent. Gaze drifting around the street as she does her best to seem uncaring.
“Isn’t it that blonde lady’s party tomorrow or whatever?”
She takes the hint for what it is. With a smile, Jen has swiftly passed a few wrapped chocolates into the girl’s hand, and is speeding away before she can catch a glimpse of Natalie’s lips ticking up at the corners.
Another thing she hates about Pawnee? The drive to Leslie’s house was minimal at best; Hell, if this were that Christmas tree farm trip they would have barely hit the interstate and here she was, pulling up a few houses down from the Wyatt household. She had no time to think.
Step one, she needs to change. She’s ready to fight for this, but she needs her armor. This isn’t the two of them on a Tuesday night, this is others, this is reputation, this is…scary. Something in her screams of the fear, bellows about running about pain about- a warmth overcomes her as the surety she wears like second skin returns.
She can do this.
She will do this.
Grabbing her phone, she can’t help but check April’s thread again. Later she’ll cringe at the all the messages she had sent from the road. She’ll laugh with April in her arms as they tease each other for being so dramatic. She’ll laugh then, she holds onto that hope.
With one final look in the mirror and a bit of a fluff to her hair she decides to forget about problem one. April is who matters.
Jen’s halfway up the walk, jacket and bag pulled close in the cold, before she remembers to lock the car.
A deep steadying breath at the door and she’s fortified.
She will do this.
“Jen! What’re you doing here?” Leslie’s voice rings out, confusion tainting her tone
Jen’s quick to scan the chaos that spread out behind Leslie. Kids toys thrown around the room, screams and childhood laughter ringing down the halls. Disgust doesn’t even phase her as she seeks out April’s form, voice, shoes, anything.
“Oh, was just in the neighborhood.” Jen replies, sliding herself passed Leslie in smooth confident strides, “I heard there was a birthday party going on.”
“Uh,” Leslie seems to pause, eying Jen’s scanning gaze with curiosity, “Yes! Yes.” Excitement wins out. “Tomorrow’s the triplet’s birthday, as you know.” She didn’t know. “Then we’re hosting a dinner on Christmas, obviously. You have to come! Oh this is so exciting!”
“You know, I just had a horrible flight.” Jen flashes a smile, “Any chance there's a place I can freshen up here?”
“A bathroom? Of course we have a bathroom.” Jen would usually smirk at the eye roll she knows Leslie is giving, “Two doors down on the right.” She finishes with a gesture and smile
Jen barely makes it into the bathroom walking a minefield past running sticky handed children and random piles of what must have once been a Batman Lego kit of some sort.
She stares into the mirror as she washes her hands. Now changed into her armor, Jen levels with herself. Standing there in a bathroom full of bathtub toys and random puddles, Jen rebuilds.
She knows what she wants.
She will do this.
Before Jen can finish steadying her nerves as she applies lipstick, a thunderous stampede seems to barrel through the front door. With a calmness she has mastered on the outside, Jen makes her way toward the noise, designer go-bag discretely holding her original clothes.
1. The ridiculous Outfit
She’s turning the corner toward the living room, pivoting around a precariously placed dinosaur of some sort, when April’s voice rings out.
Well, not her voice per say. Though it does bring a smile to her face nonetheless. April’s laughter cuts through the air in a warm waft of joy.
As she makes her way into the room she can feel April’s eyes on her, a lot of eyes on her. But Jen? Jen’s eyes are doing everything they can to tear away from the glare Andy’s proximity to April elicits.
Fuck.
She can do this.
It’s Ben who moves into action, coming to greet her with a firm handshake.
“Leslie didn’t mention you were coming.” A pointed look between husband and wife. “You're here? I guess, I thought you hated kids? Because you verbatim said you hate kids?”
Of course, he’s one of the few men who actually listen. Ugh.
Before words could be exchanged, Leslie was beside her nearly vibrating with energy.
Clapping her hands, Leslie is quick to put her extensive schedule into action. Their thirty minute lunch has begun. Leslie’s affection for military time is just as endearing as it is annoying depending on who is asked.
Jen is pursing her lips doing her best to seem interested in the room’s holiday decorations. April needs to take the lead here. These are her people, her family for better or worse. But God, every part of Jen begs for just one hint that sweeping April into her arms is welcome.
“- under the sink?”
April’s voice is closer than she thought, body almost jumping as she pulls Jen along toward the kitchen.
Leslie’s affirmation follows them.
Jen soaks in the feeling of April’s grip. She needs to make this right.
She will make this right.
Walking to the sink April is quick to open the cabinet below, rummaging and certainly making more of a mess than necessary. God, Jen loves this woman.
“April.” She whispers it on a breath, she missed the feel of it on her tongue
April pauses, head popping out from the cabinet as she leans back, eyes bright for a moment, the spark that always seems to shine when their eyes meet. With a bitten lip, April forces a glare on her face and returns to the cabinet with a huff.
“Can we talk?”
“No.”
Fuck.
“April,” A pause, a plea, “Sweetheart.”
“We’re okay.”
“We are?”
“We will be.” April announces, standing up with garbage bags in hand, “Doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”
Instantly, April watches as Jen’s entire being seems to calm, her eyes losing their guard, her smile losing its edge, her hands fiddling at her sides.
She feels herself do the same.
Fuck.
April tries her best but completely fails at hiding the smile from both her face and eyes. She can do nothing but roll her eyes as Jen begins to grin.
“Don’t.” April says curtly, pressing Jen back into the island counter, “Still mad at you.”
“Got it.” Jen spoke quickly, swaying forward, wanting nothing more than to pull her into her arms and keep her there
April moves closer, eyes locked on Jen’s in the most distracting way.
As April licks her bottom lip, Jen’s breath catches audibly. The near press of their bodies creating a phantom warmth, a contact so close yet not nearly close enough. Without thought nor plan, Jen’s arms are reaching for her shoulders, pulling her in, closing the-
“Hold this.” The words are whispered on her lips before April is quickly leaning back, holding an upside down garbage bag before her.
In a daze, Jen does as told.
Fuck.
She zones back in just in time to see April cut a half circle in the middle of the bag. Two smaller half circles have already found a place on the floor between them. Jen’s confusion brings an honest to God cackle out of April.
“Raise your hands.”
“Wha-”
“Babe.” A quirked brow and Jen is raising her hands slowly
With a smirk, April is quick to fling the bag above Jen’s head. Using the hole as a neck opening, she takes care in fixing Jen’s hair as Jen finds the arm holes.
Confusion coats.
April grins.
Calculations spin.
Jen laughs.
“Poncho!” April exclaims, hand steadying herself on Jen’s shoulder as her laughter takes over
Taking it as her chance, Jen ignores the trash bag she’s currently in, the state she’s currently in, the sticky kitchen she’s currently in. Ignores it all as the world fades to the here and now, to the them and there. To her arms encircling April, to the crinkle of plastic it creates.
“Thank you for coming.” The words are whispered into Jen’s chest, brightening and blooming as she feels her mind and body settle.
“You know, I never said I wouldn’t.” Jen comments, tightening her embrace not wanting to risk a retreat if she can help it
A look. Far too intense.
A kiss. Far too short.
A step. Too far back.
“Talk later, babe?” April asks, eyes floating to the clock on the wall, “We’ve got two minutes before we have to rejoin the ranks.”
“I know a few things we can do in two minutes.” Jen’s smirk is dangerous
Just under two minutes have passed and they’re walking into the overly crowded living room. Pizza boxes greasy and half empty scattered about. Lovely.
The magnets on the fridge now display a few choice words and a strange murderous Pup Patrol scene. It’s true, you can get a lot done in two minutes.
Sliding onto the last open recliner, April is quick to catch eyes with Jen in some form of invitation. Jen can’t say she knows at all what it means, but takes a chance and leans against the back of the chair, hands finding purchases only inches from the top of April’s head.
Donna’s smirking.
Leslie’s talking.
Tasks are given, tasks are argued.
“April and Andy, pinata duty.” Is said in flurry of other orders, but it’s the only thing that stands out to Jen. Even her own name being directed to indoor decorating didn’t get her attention like this.
Fuck.
A quick glance at the top of April’s head, a quick pep talk telling herself to get a grip. A glance to the ceiling, as if asking the heavens for their strength.
Neither of them helped much.
Once Leslie’s words are done, Andy is quick to hold up a high five walking toward April.
“Oh yeah! Pinata time Ludgate!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah” April laughs awkwardly, letting their palms touch with a shake of her head
“I’m putting spiders in it.”
“No you’re not.” Leslie quickly replies
“Spiders or no candy.”
“Plastic spiders and candy.”
“Plastic spiders and one secret real spider.”
“April.” Leslie’s word is punctuated by dropping the bag of supplies on April’s lap, earning a faux ‘ow’ in reply
“And candy.”
“Don’t worry, she wouldn’t touch a spider to save her life.”
Her words come out with a laugh, and a memory, and a pause, and a- Fuck.
Jen had shown her hand.
Donna’s gaze burns on Jen’s face. The intensity only wavering as it flips to April’s own.
Fuck.
Andy’s chuckle bursts out in his classic energy and joy.
“Remember the time you jumped on the table?”
“Whatever.” April grumbles, sinking back into the seat, hand shuffling through the bag of multicolored sugar
Leslie’s strained yet chipper voice sends people moving. It’s impressive. Truly.
Jen’s hand has only barely brushed against April’s shoulder in the distraction of a bustling room. April has barely relaxed under her caress before they’re interrupted.
Fuck.
Jen fights between keeping her hand where it is or creating a slow retreat.
Think, Jen, think!
Ron’s like a bear.
Bear = Freeze.
Freeze.
Done.
Her hand remains. Her back straight.
“You are missed.” Ron speaks in a soft gruff voice, a rigid nod at April, “Do as you will.”
Jen can do nothing to fight her smile as she watches the man handing a Zip lock containing what is decidedly a concerning amount of plastic spider rings.
April’s joy is like music.
“Ron.” April draws out his name in exaggerated affection, voice raising to follow as he walks away
A squeeze to her shoulder and April is sitting taller, leaning closer to her.
The room’s empty. Jen allows herself to sway forward, arm settling on the back of the chair. She lets herself reset for a second.
A crash outside. A yelp. A “April! Quick, go help Andy before he breaks something!”
The moment’s broken. With a squeeze to her hand, April leaves the room. She must be distracted as it takes her a almost a full minute to realize the item she was now fiddling in her hand was a plastic spider.
Outwardly, Jen allows herself a quick head shake and laugh; Inwardly, she can’t stop the soft thoughts and relief. Can’t stop the love.
Focus!
Fuck.
“Alright, if we’re doing this we’re doing it right.”
Jen makes sure her voice proceeds her body as she makes her way to the decoration corner. There, some child-drawn letter attempts -that, in her professional opinion are definitely not sign worthy but to each their own- spell out some word or other. Point is? Apparently this decoration station has a name.
Ugh.
April’s voice cuts through the closing back door intermittently as others come and go. It, along with the crinkling of unknown decor, settle into a background noise, she has to focus. Goodie bags don’t pack themselves apparently, and it was certainly the least involved task she could claim. The sight of reams of ribbon and garland will haunt her nightmares. She’s sure of it.
“Andy! You have to pull out the ladder side like a-”
So what if she gets a little less gentle with her bag stuffing when she’s made re-aware of Andy’s presence and proximity? It’s periodical, it’s harmless, only one kazoo has broken so far. She’s fine.
April’s laughter wafts in again.
Fuck.
She might be losing her mind.
She knows it.
Because the whiplash in her emotions is a little concerning. Jen’s used to emotions becoming more of a… thing since April came into her life. She’s been through the range of them an unfortunate amount of times. Being a human is exhausting. These days, she can’t say she’d want anything else.
That being said, she’s never been in a position where April’s laughter has brought anything but brightness to her. However, it’s taking a lot in her to keep her focus on the gossip passing between Donna and Tom across from her. Taking a lot as she knows Andy is causing the laugh, privy to it, close.
As long as she keeps control of it she’s fine. Emotions pass though you they don’t own you. Yada yada ya. She pays a therapist for a reason, she’s not stupid. The opposite actually. Thank you very much. And now she’s arguing in her own head, so, that’s great.
She finishes her current bag, makes a quip to show she’s listening to Donna’s story, and- feels the distinct move on her back of what she’s sure is a wayward smear of some sort.
“Poncho!” She barks out with a laugh, shrugging the garbage bag on her shoulders as it crinkles.
“I’m gonna have to get me one of those.”
“Under the sink.”
“April?” Donna’s fond question
“April-chic.’
Donna must see something in Jen’s face. She’s not paranoid, she’s actually very good at reading people, alright? Jeez. That look Donna met her with? It spoke of knowledge untainted by any judgment or alliances. The confidence that returns immediately to her, coating her skin as it so often has, it’s all to do with the acknowledgment. The fact that at least one person -as blatant or corny as it sounds- one person knows of the care between them.
It’s enough for now.
However.
She makes a mental note to bring up a schedule on telling April’s Pawnee family when they return to D.C.. Jen’s not an impatient person (she is) and she would never want to rush April (technicality true, but with a caveat, because she really really wants to rush her). Hell, Jen herself had called off all her flings weeks before their first date. Something she admitted after a few too many glasses of wine a month in. April’s smile at the words holds a special place in her heart.
Fuck.
Her smile was out loud.
Time to leave.
“I hear Ron has a worthy alcohol collection somewhere hidden in this house-” Jen begins, standing from the table with a small stretch
“He’s hiding on the deck.”
“I’m supervising from the deck, thank you.” Ron’s voice indignant as he continues to sip his drink
She’s skirting her duties and making her way out to the backyard deck within a second. The wood seems to concave a bit with her steps, concerning.
Jen makes a mental note to keep an eye on April next time she’s on the deck. They do not need another emergency room visit. Lord knows what diseases fester in a Pawnee E.R.
Smallpox probably.
She shivers.
Ron nods toward her as she makes her way to his table. With a sigh he pulls out a Paw Patrol themed cup and sloshes in a healthy amount of a brown liquid. Honestly, Jen couldn’t give less of a fuck about what it was. As long as it had an alcohol content, she was sure it would aid in distracting herself from the love-fest happening twenty feet away.
Love-fest might be an exaggeration… She watches as Andy laughs at April’s triangle YMCA-style charade, no doubt directing him to open the ladder like any normal person with half a brain would- Nope. Jen. Be kind.
Third person again.
Fuck.
The thought is punctuated by a hefty additional pour to her cup.
Ron tips his head.
She might need to school her face better or at the very least stay clear of the silent observer type. Where’s Tom when you need him?
“I’ve never seen that girl stare at her phone for so long without typing.”
Jen takes a sip, longer and deeper than the social context allows. Great.
“Treat her right.”
Oh.
Oh.
In for a penny, in for a pound. She meets his eyes, confidence returning with her footing.
“I truly can’t imagine doing anything else.”
A moment passes. Twin discrete smiles. Respect exchanged.
The silence overtakes. Good.
Of course, in the silence thoughts bloom. Of course they do. But this is a good move, a calculated move, a move that’ll show her more than anything how to proceed. Weighing the pros, the cons, and if April is at a safe distance from the lunatic swinging on a rope for no good reason. The ladder is right there. Right. There.
Fuck.
She clears her throat, the burn of the alcohol only a warmth in her throat. This was the good stuff. Jen makes a mental note to send a few bottles his way.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” Ron eyes her, a curious brow raising, “Give me a quick rundown on who knows what.”
She swears she sees Ron’s eyes go to April in such a caring way. It has her putting a pin in the thought that maybe she should be more nervous about meeting him than April’s actual father.
That’s a thought for another time. Filed away for nights when her brain wants nothing more than to dissect her every uncomfortable interaction.
Fuck.
“The general consensus says you’ve been together since June.”
“General consensus?” A blush rises as does the glass to her lips
“April told Leslie. Leslie told a lot of people.” A faux huff
That- Okay, that didn’t sound nearly as romantic as the rom-coms make it seem. Not that she expected April to tell them, obviously. Clearly. Really. But did a little hope peak through? Sure. Fine. She’s human. Sue her.
She nods. He nods. They stare out into the yard.
“Andy, I swear to God!” April can be heard yelling up at the man dangling on a branch
“You-“ A huff and what can only be described as a strange swing, “You don’t even believe in God.”
“I believe you’ll be finding out sooner rather than later.”
Jen can’t hold her chuckle at April’s antics. She needs to invest in whatever this drink is. She clocks the bottle and memorizes it.
A cleared throat.
“I fear I may have misspoke earlier.”
It’s Jen’s turn to glance in confusion.
Ron finishes his drink in a swiftness that is completely inappropriate for the social situation. She likes April’s people.
“If I were to want word to spread faster than anything, I’d sure as Hell tell Leslie Knope.” Ron stands and glances back at the duo, he must see her disappointment. Stupid, quiet observers. “I’ve seen a lot of things done in the name of Love. That was most certainly one of them.”
He’s gone in a flash.
He left the bottle.
Thank God.
She’s busy judging the dog outfits on the exterior of her cup when she hears her name across the yard.
April.
Shooting her eyes over Jen instantly has to hold herself from laughing at the frustration on April’s face.
“What do you want me to do about it?” Jen asks, hands waving in false concern
Her glare could melt Everest but all it accomplishes is bringing a grin to Jen’s face.
Mission: Success.
When the man -now tangled and flailing in a child’s rope ladder- swings precariously in a flash of motion that has April ducking, well, then it became Jen’s business. Obviously.
She is sure to remove the poncho on the way. Jen may be confident, but she does not need to be standing next to her love’s ex-husband in a garbage bag. No thanks, she’ll pass.
Jen takes her place at April’s side, thankful to finally return there.
“So what’re we dealing with?”
“We’ve got a man-child who now believes if you climb a ladder a demon is going to-“
“Not a-“ A huff. A struggle. “Not a demon! It’s just bad luck!”
“That’s not even the thing!”
“I think I’d know!”
As April’s eyes roll (so far back into her head that Jen is convinced she must be able to see her own brain), Jen smirks.
“I think you’re in a Chinese finger trap there, champ.”
“A what?”
“Just hold still!” April replies
He does what is decidedly the complete opposite. It works. Shockingly. But there was about ten ways it could have gone that didn’t land him in the snow slushed mud. She calculated.
Truth be told, she’s not too upset about the incident. So what? She’s only human.
Andy looks for the hose to clean up.
Alone.
Finally.
Jen does her best to keep her feet rooted as she watches April study the branches.
“I’m vetoing any climbing attempts here, love.”
A pause.
“Don’t take that as a challenge, I’m being serious.”
“Fine.”
A few more moments of April staring at the tree, Jen staring at April (pretending to stare at the tree), Andy staring into the hose as he investigates its lack of running.
Between the mud on his pants and the water that inevitably sprayed into his face, Andy was ushered inside seconds later. New clothes and a warm drink a prize for his efforts.
“The ladder is a no because?”
“I refuse to die on a ladder. Obviously.”
“Technically you’d die falling off of the ladder, not on it.”
April’s gaze is soft again, soft in a way that sooths and warms Jen in equal measure
“You’re such a dork.”
A minor staring contest. Neither are sure who wins. (Jen will claim she did if ever challenged on it).
“Alright. No death on ladders got it.” Jen begins to run through potential plans, calculating quickly and-
April is moving.
April is…taking off her shoe for some god forsaken reason?
“You realize there’s snow everywhere, don’t you?” Jen almost hisses, quickly reaching out to steady April’s arm
Now the sock is fully off.
Great.
Jen’s cold just thinking about it.
April shoves her foot back into her boot. Sockless. Jen feels a shiver -not from the cold- run up her spine. The sensation must be the equivalent to nails on chalkboard.
Jen averts her focus before she thinks too much about it.
Fuck.
Just in time, it seems, she’s brought back to the situation at hand. Curiously she watches April begin scooping up small rocks into the sock. Soon the festive ghost pattern is bloated with rocks and tied with the pinata’s rope.
April backs up. Aims. Salutes Jen. Fucking winks at Jen. One bounce in her palm, two bounces in her palm, and it’s soaring.
Looping over the branch, landing with a thump on the other side.
“Impressive.”
April blushes.
“We’re getting you fresh socks.”
Thank god for her go bag.
With the rope successfully looped, they decide their work is done. The warmth of the house -and promise of fresh socks- draw them quickly inside.
Wow.
Honestly. Truly. Wow.
Always one to give credit when credit is due, Jen’s gotta hand it to her: Leslie sure knows how to plan a party.
The place is transformed. And in just a few hours, if the living room clock is to be believed. She’s seen insanely high paid professionals plan with far less precision.
As they make their way to her bag, Jen finds herself encouraged by the proximity. She leans somewhat into April’s side as she fiddles through her bag for the socks. She knows she put them somewhere.
A respectable distance. A respectable distance with an openness for more. An openness that April plows straight through when she kisses her.
For all her faults, to which she’ll say there are none, Jen is a smart woman. She’s been called brilliant more times than she can count. Has definitely become used to being one of the smartest in every room. It’s just a fact.
Point is, Jen knows a good thing when she sees it. She pulls April in.
Obviously.