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“I love you.”
Vanessa sucks in a breath; she wasn’t expecting it, though she silently scolds herself for being so naive. They’ve been dating for awhile now and Candace had asked her to come over to “just hang out,” but she’d then proceeded to quickly stumble out the words “also-I-have-something-I-kind-of-want-to-talk-about!” and Vanessa had nearly dropped her phone, immediately assuming the worst. She’s heard that line before, and others like it: “We need to talk,” “Meet me at x location after school, I have something to tell you,” etc, etc. She’d never exactly been heartbroken by it before; to tell the truth, most of the guys she’s dated were total losers. But they were losers who smoked and cut class and had their own cars, and that was enough for Vanessa to convince herself that she was head over heels in love.
This is different. Candace is different. And not just because she’s a girl, or that she’s younger-her personality is so much brighter than the monotone, solid gray boys before her; she radiates sunshine and confidence whenever they’re together and always manages to make her smile somehow. Candace doesn’t mindlessly grope her in the hallways in front of all their friends, and she doesn’t taste like black coffee or smell like tobacco. She smells like licorice and daisies and kindness, the strange combination of whatever’s in that Ducky Momo perfume she wears. When they kiss she tastes like fruit punch and sometimes mint, depending on what lip gloss she’s wearing that day. She doesn’t cancel dates to play the newest video game, she doesn’t make rude comments about her dad, and though she doesn’t have her own car Vanessa has become very fond of the long walks they take instead.
Breaking up was the last thing she wanted to do. She had been biting her nails down to stubs during the whole drive over.
Of course, she’d been overreacting; Candace had greeted her with a smile and a hug, taken her hand and led her to her room where they were now painting each other’s nails and watching Sweeney Todd-a personal favorite of Vanessa’s, even if the blood was obviously, horrendously fake-on the small screen of her laptop. Candace’s confession almost makes Vanessa knock over her bottle of black nail polish (Candace has never worn it before), but she steadies herself and looks across at her girlfriend, stares at her like a complete ninny for at least a minute. Candace’s eyes have gone wide, biting on her lower lip with anticipation, and the hand coloring Vanessa’s manicure sparkly baby pink has stilled.
Shit, she has to say something back. She has to-she has to be honest with Candace, with herself. She’s not good at saying “I love you”; she never has been. Even as a child she’d been more eager to proclaim that she loved Doonkleberry pie or the Mary McGuffin doll she’d seen on TV than she had her parents. She does love them, of course, but trying to say those words out loud always made her guts churn and twist inside her. She tells her dad she loves him on Father’s Day and his birthday, and Christmas if she’s with him that week. She tells her mom on her birthday and Mother’s Day, but never on Christmas, because she’s always hosting a dinner party on Christmas and like hell if she’s going to say those words in front of an entire fucking crowd.
But again, Candace is different. When she’s around Candace she finds herself thinking things like “I love you,” and “I love your hair, I love your smile, I love the way you smell and the way you sing and the way you unironically love little kid’s shows, and I love the way you make me feel when I’m with you, because it feels easy, right. Unforced.”
Johnny had sure as hell never made her feel things like that. Not even Monty had made her feel like that.
So here they are now, and Candace is staring at her, growing more anxious by the minute. She always knows when Candace is anxious because she taps her fingers on her knee nervously and blushes bright red. Despite herself, Vanessa smiles. Her girlfriend is kind of adorable when she blushes like that.
“Candace,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady though she’s feeling so uncertain, “Candace, I-um, yeah, I mean-I do too. I love you too.” Great. Now it’s her face that is going red, and the redhead across from her chuckles, albeit nervously.
“You don’t sound very sure of yourself,” she teases, but her face becomes solemn in the same second. “Vanessa, you don’t have to say it back just because I did. It’s okay if you’re not ready, I understand. I just do-”
Their lips are pressed together suddenly, and Vanessa kisses her softly but with intent, and doesn’t stop until they’re both out of breath. She brings herself closer to kiss her forehead, her temples, the tip of her nose, which always makes her let out something that can only be called a cackle. When she pulls back again they’re smiling, the both of them, and Candace is the most intriguing and beautiful shade of pink that Vanessa’s ever seen.
And she’s not even that fond of pink.
“I said it because I mean it,” she clarifies, taking the other girl’s hands in hers and squeezing gently. “I love you. Like…a lot. But. I’m not that great at saying it out loud, you know?” Candace nods, even though she’s pretty sure that saying “I love you” isn’t something Candace Flynn has ever exactly struggled with during her life.
“So…” Candace pauses the movie that has been playing in the background this whole time with no attention paid to it, the nail polish long forgotten as well. She clears her throat and shifts so their bodies are closer, and Vanessa can feel faint goosebumps on the redhead’s arms. “Do you love me enough to put in something more G rated and . .. colorful? ‘Cause I cannot go to sleep with all that blood and guts fresh in my mind.”
Vanessa lets out a bark like laugh, pulling her even closer. “You’re such a dork,” shes says fondly. ”Yeah, we can watch a cartoon or something. Actually, I’m pretty tired. Lie down and cuddle with me?” She grabs a blanket from nearby and makes to wrap it around the both of them.
Candace smiles wildly, all too willing to go with that plan.
Within a half hour they’re both on the edge of consciousness, wrapped around each other under three blankets, Ducky Momo quacking away as he goes along on some kind of adventure on the abandoned screen. One of them should probably get up and turn it off, but they’re lazy and sleepy and perfectly content where they are, and the noise is comforting anyway.
"Love you, Vanessa,” comes Candace’s tiny, barely awake, on-the-absolute-verge-of-sleep voice. Vanessa grins, not quite yet there herself.
“I love you too, Candace.”