Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Right back to you / back to you / back to you

These just weren’t her kind of people. They were nice and all, but they were also in a circle and kicking around an imaginary soccer ball. No one was even making fun of it. They’d been doing it for almost twenty minutes and not one of them had stopped to consider how unbelievably stupid they all looked. 

“Did you see that, Cynthia?” Mr. V pointed at where several of them had gasped and thrown up their hands to stop a particularly hard kick. “Did you see how they were reacting?” Truthfully, she’d been zoning out, but she nodded anyway. “It’s so visceral, so real!” He actually sounded like he was getting a little choked up. 

Suddenly detention didn’t sound that bad.

Mr. V glanced down at his watch, then clapped twice. “Players!” They all turned to face him dutifully. Well, everyone but Floyd who bent down to pick the invisible ball up off of the floor and tuck it under one arm. “Beautiful work today. Truly, I am in awe.” 

A chorus of heartfelt thank yous went up at that. 

“This weekend, please take time to meditate on your reactions to everyday happenings. Notice the how and the why. Remember: ‘All the world’s a stage’!” Then, to her horror, he gestured to her. She tried not to squirm when everyone’s attention shifted. “And make sure to welcome our newest player into the fold. Be safe and begone!” Two more sharp claps had everyone dispersing.

She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Her bag bounced against her back as she bounded down the stairs and onto the squeaky gym floor. She was just about to push her way through the double doors when a voice rang out behind her. “Hey, wait up!”

Reluctantly, she turned around. Making their way over were Floyd, Arthur, and two girls whose names she had been told at some point. “Do you have any plans tonight?” one of them asked. Gemma—Geraldine, maybe?

“Well–” She stopped herself from rattling off her usual answer. A memory surfaced of the other night; her dad telling her he’s worried that she doesn’t hang out with people her own age. Him asking her to please try and make friends because you’re only a senior once (theoretically). “Uh… nope. No plans.” Their faces all lit up as they looked excitedly at each other. “Why?”

“There’s kind of this initiation–”

“Shut up, that makes it sound bad. It’s a tradition, that’s all.”

“Fine. A tradition for new thespians.”

Her face scrunched up in apprehension, but Floyd rushed to assure her. “It’s not dangerous or embarrassing, or anything,” he promised. “It’s just a welcome thing. Mr. V even knows about it.” 

“Well, what is it?”

The other girl—her name was Alice, she was almost positive—just shrugged. “We can’t tell you ahead of time. You’ll find out tonight.”

“Meet us at the gates of the cemetery at midnight.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “Whoa, hang on–”

But they were all walking towards the door already. “It’s nothing weird, I swear!” Floyd called over his shoulder. “See you then!”

Cynthia spent all evening contemplating whether or not she was going to go. Most people probably would’ve been concerned about the whole sneaking into a cemetery at night thing, but that wasn't actually part of her hesitation. Maybe the theatre kids were a little out there, but they didn’t seem malicious. She knew Floyd a little from shop class, and even though they weren’t that close, she did trust him enough to believe that he wouldn’t intentionally do anything to get her in trouble. 

Instead, it was the group activity part that freaked her out. Showing up to something where she was guaranteed to be the odd one out was a familiar kind of nightmare; and not one she wanted to spend her Friday night living out. 

But then, over TV dinners and flat soda, her dad asked about her first day of McGee-mandated thespianism. 

“Um,” she started, sliding a napkin across her mouth. “They invited me to a group thing tonight.”

His face lit up in a bright smile and his shoulders sagged in relief. She wasn’t sure which was more devastating. “That’s great, kid! Are you going?”

She pushed her food around with her fork. “Yeah, I guess. If you’re cool with it.”

“Of course I am! Why–”

“They want me to meet them at the cemetery at midnight.” They probably expected her to sneak out, but she’d never made a habit of lying to her dad. Plus, part of her was still hoping he’d say no and give her an excuse not to go.

“What for?”

“Not sure. They said it’s a theatre tradition and I’ll find out when I get there.”

“Hmm…” His brow crinkled as he thought. “Just don’t get into trouble, alright? Even if I’m okay with you being out, it’s still past the city’s curfew.”

“If things get weird I’ll come straight home, promise.”

“Well, okay then,” he nodded. “I trust you. Just be safe.”

Midnight snuck up quickly after that. By the time she was slipping on her shoes, her dad’s grumbling snores were pouring out from under his bedroom door. When she woke up that morning, she had no clue that she’d be making her way down the long, quiet hallway of their building in the middle of the night, but there she was. 

Crisp autumn air filled her lungs as she stepped outside. For a moment, she just stood there and relished in the inky quiet of the night. 

Just then, a car turned onto the street. She squinted against the headlights when they crossed her face. By the time her vision returned to normal, the car was parked in front of the house across the street. 

If she had to guess, she’d estimate that she spent almost as much time at Jen and Sonia’s house growing up as she did her own. After her mom left, her dad did everything he could to become Super Parent. Unfortunately, part of that meant ensuring that they continued to have somewhere to live, so his hours at the shop increased. Luckily, the two coolest people in the world lived just across the road. 

“Dude.” Jen emerged from the car, still in her scrubs and chunky hospital shoes. “Are you sneaking out?”

“No,” she scoffed. “My dad knows, I swear. It’s some sort of theatre initiation thing.”

“Since when are you in theatre?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you at dinner next week.”

“Yeah, okay.” A wistful look crossed her face. “Damn, I can’t believe they’re still doing that.”

Cynthia blinked in surprise. “Wait, you know what it is? Tell me!”

“You’ll see,” she said, waving her off dismissively. “It’s nothing crazy. Be careful coming home, okay? I’ll be up for a bit if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“No worries.” A finger came up to point at her. “And if I find out that your dad doesn’t know about this, ooooh you’re gonna get it.”

“He does, I swear! You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Through a giant yawn she managed to get out, “Sure, sure.” They exchanged goodnights and Cynthia began the short walk to the cemetery. 

The older part of town where they lived was a little run down, but echoes of the old Rydell made it a pretty cool place to grow up. Rust colored bricks paved the streets, old store names still existed in the form of faded paint, and some buildings even still had their false fronts. The cemetery used to sit on the outskirts of town, but over time Rydell had expanded around it. 

Cynthia passed it every day on the way to school. Some people may have been creeped out by living that close to the burial ground, but it never bothered her. Occasionally they’d hear the three-volley salute of a military funeral, but it was normal to her—just one of the many sounds of their neighborhood. Instead of finding it depressing, she actually kind of liked that something so sacred and peaceful was always nearby. 

In no time at all, the tall treeline was at her side. She followed the wrought iron fence down the sidewalk, letting her hand reach out and brush along the tendrils of green poking out from between the posts. 

The warm light of a street lamp illuminated four faceless forms down the way. The tallest one, that one was definitely Floyd, waved a hand in the air in greeting; she took a deep breath and waved back. As she got closer, she was comforted by what she saw. Or maybe what she didn’t see. They weren’t dressed in all black, or carrying spray paint, or anything. That plus Jen’s reassurance was enough to lower her shoulders a little. 

“Hey, guys,” she greeted as she approached. 

Arthur wrapped his hands around the gate’s iron bars, but stopped and turned to her before pushing them open. “You ready?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. Just tell me we’re not going to get caught.”

“There’s no night security,” Alice confirmed. “There’s a groundskeeper, but he’s long gone by now.”

Cynthia gestured to the gate. “Then I guess I’m ready.”

The hinges of the gate whined as Arthur pushed through. Inside was a hilly expanse awash in blue moonlight. They walked quietly along the gravel road, not wanting to disturb the sacred stillness any more than they had to. Their occasional hissing whispers joined the crunching of gravel under their shoes and the hooting of owls in the treetops. 

“I wonder how many people are dead in here,” Alice asked. 

“Hopefully all of them.” They muffled laughter into their palms. 

Deeper and deeper they went, winding around the plots. As they walked, she noticed the dates on the headstones getting earlier and earlier and the road getting narrower and narrower. Eventually it tapered down to the size of a sidewalk. The light of the full moon glinted off of shinier stones and skipped over the ones that nature had begun to reclaim. 

She was just about to ask how much further when they came upon a fork in the road. Squinting in the darkness, she could just barely see that it didn’t matter which path they took—it was a loop. Encircled was a triangle of lush, soft grass. A willow tree wept at the far end, and right in front of them sat a stone bench and a lone grave. 

Wordlessly, the others dropped their bags and formed a tight circle on the ground. Geraldine pulled a wooden spirit board and planchette from her bag and set them in the middle. “Oh, seriously?” Cynthia groaned. “This is what you all dragged me out here to do?”

Arthur looked up at her from where he was striking up a match. For a moment, a flash of warm light filled his face. “What, are you scared?”

“Of course not,” she said indignantly. “But I–” Floyd had reached into his bag and was pulling out a coil of thick rope. “Okay, what the hell is that?”

“Come sit down,” he said, patting the empty space next to him. “All will be explained.” With a huge sigh, she lowered herself onto the cool earth. While she got settled, the group finished moving everything into place. Just above the board, the old cut of rope wound around the base of the flickering candle perfectly, like it had done it a million times before. Then the girls scooted back a little, opening the circle up so Cynthia was directly across from the lonely headstone. 

Illuminated by the golden glow of the candle, the inscription was easy to make out. 

Lydia Wilson

June 17, 1937 - April 14, 1955 

Now at peace

Some quick mental math sent a chill down her spine. “Alright–” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Start talking.”

“Have you ever noticed that light stand that’s always on stage?”

She thought for a second, desperately trying to connect the dots. “I think so?”

“That’s called a ghost light,” Floyd explained. “According to legend, every theater has a ghost.” He tilted his head towards the headstone. “Lydia’s ours. Out of respect, we keep a light on for her at all times. Also out of respect, everyone needs her approval before they perform on her stage.” 

“And the creepy old rope is here because…”

“It’s part of the old fly system—just a little something from the theater to help get her attention.” 

She took a deep breath and digested that. After a moment she asked, “How did she–I mean, was it actually on the…”

“Some say she fell off of the stage and broke her neck,” Alice whispered. The creepiness of her voice was cut by her barely-controlled laughter and the way her fingers wiggled in front of her face.

“Others say a stage light fell and crushed her.”

“I heard that after she didn’t get the part she wanted, she died of grief.”

“And I heard that she did get the part she wanted, but then her understudy got jealous and killed her so she could have the part.” 

After they were done spinning tales, they all looked expectantly at her.

She studied each of their faces, one by one. From what she found there, it was clear that none of them actually believed in Ouija boards or legends of murderous understudies. This whole thing was them reaching out a welcoming hand. They were trying to make her feel included by sharing their traditions the same way kids shared fruit snacks at recess. Cynthia could count the number of times people had bothered to make her feel included on one hand. 

“Okay.” She leaned in and placed the tips of her fingers on the heart-shaped planchette. “Where do we start?”

They all joined her in leaning over the board, candlelight dancing in their excited eyes. Once everyone was touching the plank, Geraldine spoke. “Everyone, close your eyes.” Once they all had, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “We are here tonight to commune with the spirits of this place. Knowing that is our intention, if there are any spirits willing to reach out, please move this pointer around the board. Is there anyone here with us?”

The wooden plank under their fingers started to shift. Her eyes fluttered open, curious despite herself. While Cynthia’s fingers were barely on it, she could feel that it was being deliberately pushed by everyone else. Still, they all gasped when the planchette moved to the top corner of the board and finally landed on “Yes”. 

“And who are we speaking with?”

It began to shift again. Each time it hovered over a letter, they all repeated it out loud. 

L-Y-D-I-A

“Ooooh, she’s here!” Alice giggled. 

Geraldine shook her head. “We have to make sure it’s really her. It’s not only benevolent spirits that come through this thing, you know.” She looked up at the starry sky for a moment. “Oh, I know: What’s the Scottish play?”

M-A-C-B-E-T-H

They all ooh-ed and ahh-ed dramatically, and even though it was completely ridiculous, Cynthia actually found herself smiling at their theatrics. “How is that proof of anything?” she asked. “I only got stuck in drama club yesterday and I know that—Don’t you think an evil spirit would know that, too?”

“Shh, this is the good part.”

“We have brought with us a new thespian who awaits your approval. She has been found worthy by us–”

“And also she mooned everyone at an assembly and McGee didn’t give her a choice,” Arthur added.

“Right, that too. So Lydia, we humbly ask for your judgement upon this player. Do you give her permission to perform with us?”

They let her sweat it out for a few seconds before decisively and obviously moving the planchette over to “Yes”. 

“Yay!” A chorus of quiet cheers went up around her. Again, she couldn’t help but smile. “Welcome, officially, to drama club.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Geraldine looked around at all of them with too-innocent eyes. “What’s there to thank us for?” She tilted her chin up at the headstone. “She’s the one who let you in. It’s her you should be thanking.”

Cynthia laughed easily before realizing that she was the only one. The rest of them were looking at her, clearly waiting for a genuine show of gratitude. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Thank you, Lydia.”

As soon as her name left her mouth, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She froze under what suddenly felt like a watchful gaze. 

Her pulse started to hammer against the thin skin of her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of something, but when she whipped her head around, whatever it was was gone. Everyone else chatted around her, playfully fighting over whether they should keep asking questions or end the session, but Cynthia’s breaths were becoming shallower and shallower. Someone else was here. 

A gasp ripped out of her as the planchette began to fly quickly across the board. The conversation was choked off by the sound of wood sliding on wood. Everyone’s attention snapped to the plank that they were no longer controlling. 

H-E-L-P

They all stayed frozen for a moment, sitting in the palpable new energy. Cynthia watched as Alice’s fingers started to tremble against the planchette. Then Floyd gulped. “Okay, who did that?” he asked shakily. 

Geraldine’s voice was nothing more than a squeak. “Not me.”

“Me either.”

“Well–”

W-H-E-R-E-A-M-I

“Seriously guys, cut it out. That’s not funny.”

“It’s not me, I swear!”

The air, which up until that point had been pleasantly still, came to life. A whoosh of cold wind swirled around her, snuffing out the candle and sending a shiver down her spine. Her voice was edging on desperate as she asked, “Did you guys feel that?”

“Oh!” Next to her, tension melted from Arthur’s shoulders. “Okay, I get it. You’re fucking with us.”

“No, I–”

But everyone was exhaling relieved laughter. “That was pretty good!”

“No wonder you got approved,” Floyd said. “You really had us there for a second. I didn’t even notice you blowing out the candle.”

“I didn’t–”

Geraldine began to push them all towards “Goodbye”. When the planchette was done circling it, they pulled their hands away. They started to push themselves up and gather their things, joking about how freaked out they’d been over nothing. 

But Cynthia remained seated. She was still being watched. The eyes were heavy against her back. Her breath was rattling in her chest.

“C’mon,” Floyd said, offering her his hand. “Let’s get home before our parents realize we’re gone and freak out.”

The way she saw it, she had two choices. 1) She could keep trying to convince them that it wasn’t her and risk them thinking she was crazy, or 2) Get the hell out of there and pretend that night had ever happened. 

Bracing herself to turn around, she grabbed his hand and hauled herself up. “Y–yeah,” she mumbled. “Let’s go.”

As soon as she stood up, her feet were carrying her quickly towards the exit. The others followed, laughing and talking casually as if they hadn’t just experienced… whatever that was. The eyes were still on her. First just ahead of her, then at her side, then at her back again. Like they were leaving behind whatever, or whoever, was watching. 

And that was fine. Good, even. She’d just get out of there and leave the whole night in the past. One foot in front of the other, she led the pack towards the gate—desperately trying to ignore a persistent pull that was begging her not to go. 

____

She was completely useless the next day. She tried to do homework, but ultimately gave up after realizing she’d been reading the same sentence for twenty minutes. Her next option was to go to the shop and help her dad, but the last thing she needed to be doing in her distracted state was working with heavy machinery. Eventually she found herself on her bike, riding aimlessly around town. She didn’t care where she was going as long as it was far away from the cemetery. 

So she had no idea how she ended up there. 

The gate was open this time, welcoming loved ones inside. The first thing she noticed after stepping through was how colorful it was. The night before, the grass had looked almost blue in the light of the full moon—now it seemed technicolor in comparison. Bright splashes of memorial flowers dotted the hills. Most of the trees she could see were the same kind; tall with round leaves. They appeared to wink at her as a gentle breeze whistled through them.

The second thing she noticed was how different it didn’t feel. She expected a chill to crash down her spine as soon as she stepped foot on the hallowed ground. She figured it would feel like it had the night before—an isle full of noises. But stepping through the gate felt the same as stepping on the sidewalk. 

It must have been instinct that pulled her along the road and down the labyrinth of trails. She hadn’t been paying attention to what turns they took the night before, but somehow her feet seemed to know where to go. 

She passed headstones of all different sizes and colors. Some had flowers lying at the base, others had rocks balanced on top. Again, she watched the dates get earlier and earlier as she walked deeper. At some point there stopped being fresh flowers. 

It was like she was being reeled in by something. Her feet were carrying her along purposefully, but she couldn’t articulate that purpose. Before she knew it she was back at the fork in the road, the triangle of grass and lonely grave right in front of her. 

As soon as she stepped off of the trail, every sensation from the night before came flooding back at once. She gasped as her hairs stood on end, her pulse hammered in her chest, and her breaths grew shallow. The air was full of a presence, an unmistakable someone, who was watching her. 

Whoever it was was seated on the bench, looking up. She couldn’t see anything, but she just knew she was there. She was sure of it. And this person was a she, Cynthia realized. It didn’t make any sense that she knew that, but she did; the same way she knew they were making eye contact. They just were.

Cynthia stood there, making direct eye contact with nothing, for a full minute. She didn’t feel like she was in danger, but there was a strange warmth in her chest she didn’t recognize. Her hand came up to her sternum, but the warmth was internal. None of it made any sense. 

Then she moved. The invisible girl stood up slowly and began to walk towards her. Cynthia’s eyes tracked the empty air, refocusing as the girl got closer. Part of her brain was telling her to move, but she couldn’t. Her feet were anchored to the ground. 

She was right in front of her now. They were still eye to invisible eye. A cool wind swirled around them. Then a voice breezed by as if on the wind itself. 

“Hello?”

Cynthia turned and sprinted towards the gate. 

Chapter Text

Look ahead, look behind / Take another, I don’t mind

She couldn’t get that voice out of her head. It was the soundtrack to all of her dreams; her waking brain played it on repeat. Even though it was nothing but a whisper on the wind, she remembered it so clearly. Who knew one word could take up so much space?

On Monday morning, she passed by the cemetery on her way to school. She could’ve taken the long way and avoided it, but her morbid curiosity won out. Still, she was just going to drive by casually and glance over like she had a million times before. Totally normal. Nothing weird at all about–

Two short beeps of a car horn made her jump. She was stopped in the middle of the road just outside of the gate. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there. 

With a shaky hand, she waved apologetically at the car behind her, kicked down, and continued on her way to school. 

____

“I think I’m gonna take a walk after dinner,” she said over the sound of the TV. 

Her dad choked out a laugh just after he’d taken a bite. He had to cough a few times into his napkin to clear his throat. “Since when do you take walks?”

“I don’t know. Since now, I guess.”

“You’re like Old Lady Thompson from down the block,” he chuckled. “We’ll get you some ankle weights. Maybe you can be her walking buddy.”

“Can I not enjoy a nice night?” He just shook his head and laughed some more as he picked the onions out of his pasta. “Do you want to come with me?”

He shook his head again, more serious this time. “Nah, sorry kid. My hip.” She knew he’d say that; she wouldn’t have asked otherwise. “Give Sonia and Jen a shout, though. Maybe they’ll pack Ollie up and make a whole thing of it.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe I will.”

She didn’t. 

Instead she made her way down to the cemetery alone, anxiously picking at the skin around her fingernails the whole time. She’d been like that all day. It was a wonder she had any skin left at all. This time the gate was closed, with official visiting hours having just ended. She pushed against the cold iron bars and went inside. 

Dusk fell as she made her way around the hills. The streetlamps weren’t on yet, but they would be soon. The purple sky cast a nostalgic film over everything, rounding out sharp points. Cool autumn air was just barely beginning to bite through her clothes. 

She was already breathing hard when she reached the fork in the road. There was no plan, no logic to any of this, but something told her to take a seat at the stone bench. So she did. 

She felt the person appear the moment she entered the space. Those same eyes, over by the willow tree this time, tracked her as she stepped through the grass and over to the bench. Her shirt was bouncing with the force of her pounding heart, but she willed herself to sit down. 

Nothing happened at first. Cynthia didn’t move and neither did the entity watching her. They were locked in a stalemate, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

After several minutes, she squeezed her eyes shut and spoke. “Hello?”

She felt stupid the moment she did it. The word dissipated in the stale silence of the evening. There was no one else this far into the cemetery, but if anyone caught her out there talking to herself…

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved. She whipped her head around to see one of the willow branches swaying, like someone had brushed against it. The presence was closer now, and right in front of her. She lifted her head to where she knew her eyes were. As soon as she did, a comforting warmth filled her chest. 

“Hello.” The voice was no longer a whisper on a cold gust of wind. It still sounded far away, much further away than the presence actually was, but it was clearer now. 

“H–hi,” she said stupidly. 

“...hear me?” The sound warbled a little, like they were getting a bad signal. 

“Yeah. Sort of. You’re–” She winced at the ridiculousness of the situation. “You’re cutting in and out.”

“Where am…”

Suddenly overwhelmed, she stood to leave. “I can’t–”

“Wait!” To her surprise, she found herself sitting back down. “Please, I… I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared.” 

The presence took a step closer. Cynthia could hear her own heartbeat pounding relentlessly in her ears. Then, she felt something against her hand. 

It was more than a breeze, but less than a touch. Another hand, if she had to guess. Reaching out, testing the boundaries. Curious like she was. 

It wasn’t scary—none of this felt scary. It was strange, intense as hell, but she didn’t feel like she was in danger. In fact, it kind of felt–

“I’m sorry.” She shoved away the invisible hand and shot up off of the bench. 

It wasn’t the first time she sprinted towards the cemetery gate, but it was the first time she felt bad about it. 

____

Her dad didn’t even blink when she left for another evening walk after dinner the next day. He probably just thought it was a new habit. Maybe it was. 

She knew that there was a very real possibility that she was losing her mind. Hearing things, seeing things—a mental health crisis was much more logical than the alternative. If she told someone, they wouldn’t hesitate to support her and get her the help she needed. But for now she let her feet carry her over the hills and back to the triangle of soft grass. 

The girl was by the tree again. Cynthia sat at the far end of the bench and tried to manage her erratic breathing. “H–” She cleared her throat. “Hello?”

“...hear me?”

“Uh, yeah. I can hear you.”

“...see me, can you?”

“I can’t see you, no.”

For the first time, the voice sounded even clearer; it sounded closer, although Cynthia knew the girl hadn’t moved. “Please don’t run away!” She jumped a little at the louder sound, but ultimately stayed put. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m really not trying to be scary.”

She nodded at the light gray headstone. “Are you… I mean is that–”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m sorry we came here to mess around the other night.” She had no clue why that was the first thing that popped out of her mouth, but it felt true as she was saying it. “We didn’t mean to like, disrespect you or anything.”

Somehow she knew that Lydia shrugged. “That’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Cynthia.” Doubling over her lap, she buried her head in her hands and groaned. “Is this—I mean, is this real? This isn’t just someone screwing with me, right?”

“I don’t think so.” She sounded genuinely sorry. For some reason that made Cynthia relax a little bit. 

But just as she’d let some of the tension melt off of her shoulders, she felt Lydia moving. She was coming closer fast; faster than she’d ever felt her move before. With a gasp, she scrambled off of the bench. “Holy shit!”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I figured you wouldn’t be able to feel me since you can’t see me.”

Her breath was still coming in heaves. “Well, I definitely felt that.”

“I just wanted to come sit down.” 

Before she could think better of it, Cynthia sat back down on the bench, leaving the space next to her free. Lydia moved much slower this time; Cynthia could tell that was for her benefit. Once she was seated, that strange golden warmth pulsed in her chest again. 

When Lydia spoke this time, it was perfectly clear. No different than if anyone else was sitting next to her. “Can I try something?”

“Sure?”

There were a few moments of silence before Lydia spoke again. “Can you feel that?”

“No.” She could tell she was disappointed. “I did feel you last night though. You touched my hand, right?”

“Yeah, but I just tried again and you–”

“Nothing,” she confirmed. “I can’t see you, but I can see things you touch. You moved a branch once.” Against the ever-darkening sky, Cynthia squinted at the path she’d taken. Just barely, she could see that there were footprints in the grass. Heels, if she had to guess. “And I can see those footprints. I can definitely feel where you are; somehow I know where to look.”

For the first time, she heard a shaky exhale. “What’s happening?”

“How am I supposed to know? Has this never happened to you before?”

“No.” Her voice cracked halfway through the word, like she was getting choked up. 

Cynthia went to reach out her hand to comfort her instinctively, but pulled back. “You’re just as scared as I am,” she realized. 

Lydia chuckled ruefully. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound. “I’d say I’m more scared, actually.” Cynthia felt her quickly push herself off of the bench. The sudden movement didn’t make her jump this time. A line of footprints in the grass went out a little ways, then started walking frantically in a tight circle. Lydia was pacing. “This is crazy.” She was saying it to herself, almost. “I don’t get what the hell is going on. I don’t believe in ghosts.” 

“Me either.”

Lydia paused her anxious circling and looked over at her. They made eye contact and didn’t all at once. 

“Look,” she said, getting up. “I should go. I have school tomorrow.”

She felt her take a few steps forward. “Will you come back?”

Yes, she thought—although she hadn’t known it until that moment. “Do you want me to? I mean, can’t you just like, go wherever and talk to whoever you want?”

“I don’t think so.”

There were a million things more sensible than coming back to see her. They ranged from telling someone, to forgetting any of this had ever happened and trying to move on with her life. Anything, really, would be smarter than saying, “I’ll come back.” But she did.

____

By the next day, she’d changed her mind. Or, she was thinking about changing her mind. Maybe. She wasn’t sure. 

She knew she didn’t have to go back. She’d told Lydia she would, but how binding was a promise to someone who (in all likelihood) didn’t exist? She could totally just forget about it and move on. But then she thought of how scared she sounded. And then she thought of the flashes of pleasant, unexplained warmth that pulsed in her chest when she was near her. She thought of that gentle touch against her hand. 

“Dude!” Cynthia came back to herself as Jen waved a fork in her face. “Hello? Anyone home in there?”

She shook herself out of the reverie and glanced around the table. Jen’s brow was crinkled in amusement. Sonia was looking over at her too, but when little Oliver’s chubby legs bounced against the high chair, she switched her focus back to feeding him a spoonful of banana goop. 

Apropos of nothing, Cynthia blurted out, “Do you guys believe in ghosts?”

They glanced at each other, coming to some sort of silent agreement. “Why? Do you?”

“I didn’t,” she mumbled.

“Okay, wow,” Sonia chuckled. “There’s clearly a story there. What’s up?”

“Is this about that theatre thing?” In lieu of an answer, Cynthia spooned her chana masala into her mouth. 

“What theatre thing?” Ollie let out a little ‘bah bah!’ and Sonia turned around to smile at him. “That’s right, little man!”

“It’s stupid, it’s just–” She sighed. “The other night, some people from drama club told me to meet them at the cemetery. They brought a Ouija board and a candle, and we all sat in a circle and tried to communicate with this girl.”

“Did I never tell you about this?” Jen asked her wife. When she shook her head, she continued. “In the 50’s there was this girl who apparently got caught up in the fly system backstage and died.” Cynthia mentally added that to the list of ridiculous stories people told about Lydia. “She was supposed to be this really great actress, so now all the drama club kids go out to her grave and commune with her spirit, or whatever.” 

Sonia stood and swiveled Oliver’s high chair around towards Jen so she could eat for a bit. As she blew gently at her steaming spoon she said, “And something happened when you went?”

“I don’t know. It was weird. I thought it was all bullshit, but… I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Do you guys believe in stuff like that?”

“I think the universe is huge, and strange, and probably way more complicated than we’ll ever know,” Sonia said levelly. “When it comes to spiritual stuff, I never discount anything.”

Jen scooped a bit of runaway banana mush from around Ollie’s mouth and popped the spoon back in his mouth. “I tend to believe there’s a scientific explanation for everything—but what do I know, right?”

Cynthia ran her finger down the side of her glass, racing a bead of condensation down to the woven placemat. She wasn’t sure why it mattered to her whether or not they believed in ghosts. She had a feeling that no matter what they’d said, she wouldn’t be able to get Lydia out of her head anyway. 

“Have you been seeing things?” Jen asked. Cynthia knew her faux-casual voice when she heard it. “Or hearing things?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she assured her. She didn’t think so, anyway. “It was just a vibe.”

“Well,” Sonia hummed. “Was it scary? Did it feel dangerous?”

She took a bite and considered that. After a moment, she shook her head and said honestly, “No.” She shrugged and put on a smile that she hoped was convincing enough. “It’s got me thinking about stuff, that’s all. No big deal.”

Sonia took one more bite and motioned for Jen to spin the highchair back around. “The way I see it, it’s healthy to question things. Explore, believe one thing, change your mind, then change it back—As long as it’s not negatively affecting you in any way, keep doing you.”

“And anytime you need to talk about it, you know where to find us.”

Across the table, Oliver smacked a sticky hand down onto the plastic tray in front of him. “Bah!” They all laughed and he showed off his gummy, pink smile in return.

“You said it, kid.”

____

After dinner, she went straight to the cemetery. So much for changing her mind. 

“You came back!” 

“Yeah…” Cynthia took a seat on the bench, making sure to leave a welcoming space. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to.” She watched as invisible shoes made impressions on the grass. “I kind of feel like I’m going crazy, actually.”

“Well,” Lydia said, settling in beside her. “Your friends felt it too, right?”

“What?”

“The friends you came here with. They all felt something at first, didn’t they?”

A quiet peace washed over her as she pondered that logic. Either all five of them had simultaneous psychotic breaks, or this was really happening. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Look—You don’t owe me anything, but I would really like it if you kept coming back. It doesn’t have to be every day or anything…” Cynthia didn’t see her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but she knew she had. “But every once in a while?”

“Why?” she wondered aloud. “Surely there’s someone on… that side that you can talk to. They have to be better company than me.”

Her voice was small again, scared, as she said. “It’s just you. There’s no one else here.” Well that was fucking heart breaking. “But just so you know, I don’t think you’re bad company.”

“And you can’t leave?”

“I don’t think so.”

This time when she said it, she knew it was a promise she’d keep. “I’ll come back.”

She felt the girl next to her smile, and that comforting warmth bloomed in her chest. She turned around to look before remembering that there was nothing to see. But for a split second, when the dusty purple of twilight shifted with the motion of her head, she caught an outline. It was like the mirage that hung over a summer highway. In the shimmer, just for a moment, Lydia appeared. 

Chapter Text

Whistle past the graveyard / Even the dead deserve a song

Lydia told her repeatedly that she didn’t expect her to visit every day, but Cynthia was only showing up when she wanted to. It just so happened that she wanted to visit every day. 

In her time there, a comfortable familiarity settled over the green hills. There were unique names on gravestones that she made a point to look at each time she passed by. She began to notice which graves always had fresh flowers and which ones would likely have a visitor for her to exchange polite smiles with.

On some special evenings, Lydia’s shimmery form would catch a beam of setting sunlight at just the right angle and for a split second she’d appear. It was never more than a quick flash of an outline, but still, Cynthia had taken to filling in the blanks. The Lydia in her mind had kind eyes, a wide smile, and sun-kissed freckles along her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why her mind conjured up those features—they just felt right.

They talked about everything. Rydell and how it had (and hadn’t) changed in the 70 years since she’d seen outside the wrought iron fence. The businesses that were still going strong after all this time, buildings that had been torn down, and what had been put up in their place. They talked about the world on a larger scale too, and all of the things that she had mixed feelings about missing. Technology, pop culture, global events.

Still, Lydia’s favorite topic of conversation seemed to be Cynthia. She listened intently as she talked about her relationship with her dad and about how growing up in his shop sparked her interest in mechanical engineering (Lydia was astounded that that was something girls could major in; that so many girls went to college at all). She talked for the first time in years about her mom leaving (Lydia wisely knew when to stop asking follow up questions about that one). And eventually, how Cynthia got stuck in theatre in the first place (Lydia was scandalized). 

Her life was, in her estimation, pretty boring. What she really wanted to talk about was Lydia’s life—Something about this girl made her want to explore endlessly, leaving no stone unturned. Instead she got surface-level answers all brushed off with a faux casualty. She knew that Lydia was an only child, born and raised in Rydell, and that she did theatre. That’s pretty much it. 

Occasionally she’d sprinkle in little facts of her own accord here and there, but information tended to come in uneven dribs and drabs (with one notable exception). 

One evening, they were sitting on the ground—Her with her back against the bench and Lydia leaning against her headstone in the same manner. Cynthia was watching as blades of grass swished in the breeze. She thought if she squinted, she could see Lydia’s hand running back and forth through them. 

“You’ve probably seen a lot of people come through here in the last seventy years.”

She felt Lydia look up at her; the grass stilled. “No, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

Cynthia tried to let that sink in for a second before shaking her head and asking again. “Sorry,” she breathed. “What?”

“I don’t remember anything before that first night. No bright light, no fiery pit, no cold, no warmth. Not even darkness, really.” 

Her brain was busy forming itself around this new understanding of the afterlife. She wasn’t sure if it was comforting or depressing. “So, you were just, like… sleeping?”

“Mmm,” she hummed. Cynthia imagined her head tilting back and forth as she considered. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t dreaming or anything—It’s more like before you were born. Just blank.” She was saying all of this like it wasn’t completely wild. Then again, she supposed it was par for the course at this point.

“That means, the last thing you remember is–”

“You know,” she interrupted pointedly. “It’s like that when you leave, too. And then you come back, and so do I.” 

Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her cheeks. So, when Lydia asked her to keep coming back it didn’t necessarily have anything to do with wanting to see her. She probably just wanted to be awake again, and for some reason Cynthia being there was the only time that happened. Her heart sank in her chest. 

Rather than interrogate that reaction at all, she cleared her throat and said, “So, to you 1955 feels like…”

“A couple days ago.” She felt Lydia’s eyes on her, taking in her reaction. “What’s that face for?”

Cynthia shrugged. “It’s weird that it never worked before, that’s all.” (That wasn’t all.)

“What never worked before?”

“The séance. Kids have been coming out here for decades and doing the ouija board thing.” She thought of Jen and did some quick math. “Since the 80’s, at least.”

A silence stretched between them, the air sparkling where she knew Lydia sat. After a few moments of the air growing heavier around them, Lydia said, “All I know is that there was nothing, and then there was you.” 

Something about that lifted her heart back up. 

Visiting her felt different after that. As if she needed an excuse to go more often, she started coming before school, too. She told herself that it was because Lydia deserved to be awake, to take in as much of the world as she could, but that was only half true. 

Every day, twice a day, she made her way over to the cemetery. They went on for weeks like that. Cumulative hours of talking and laughing; together they made hallowed ground of that place. 

Cynthia talked about her mother leaving—the whole story—and all of the emotions that came after. The abandonment, the relief, the guilt and shame. Lydia seemed like she understood, really understood, but didn’t offer up any more details on her own family.

She talked about how she had friends, but never really fit in anywhere. She hung out with the guys, but was never one of them. She hung out with the girls, but always felt like they were closer to each other than they were to her. The theatre kids were nice and all, but she was a newbie. Her dad’s shop was great, but she’d never escape the little sister role everyone there had assigned to her.

There was this glass barrier between her and other people. She could see people around her making friends, forming relationships, but was somehow never included. She didn’t understand how or why. There was a fear that maybe she wasn’t meant to belong anywhere. Lydia said she could relate, but when Cynthia pressed for more information she brushed it off. 

Over the course of those weeks, there was no doubt in her mind that Lydia knew her better than anyone else in the world. She wished she could say the same about her.

Cynthia usually didn’t push against her boundaries. She could feel them, wrapping around her like armor, and that had to be for a reason. But she couldn’t help it. She wanted to know her. 

“So… can I ask?” She felt Lydia stiffen beside her. It was well into autumn by this point, and she watched as her breath twirled into smoke as it left her mouth. “How did you—I mean, there are rumors, but–”

“Don’t.” Her response cut harshly through the chilly air.  

“But–”

“Please.” At the tremble in her voice, Cynthia’s mouth clamped shut. “Don’t ask. Don’t do any research.” Her voice was desperate, pleading. The sound of it made Cynthia’s chest ache. “Pick one of the rumors and believe that. Let that be your answer. Please.”

“Okay, but–”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” And she knew it was one she’d never break. 

By that point, she’d pretty much resigned herself to slowly putting the pieces of Lydia together from the scraps she received. Sometimes a picture can be formed by the negative space. Neither of them brought up her death again—that spoke volumes. She barely mentioned family, she never mentioned friends, and any snippets of happy memories stopped around middle school. The picture forming wasn’t a pretty one. 

Many of her suspicions were confirmed the evening her and Lydia broke through what felt like the final barrier in their friendship. 

Cynthia arrived later than usual. She stepped onto the grass, an apology already spilling out of her mouth when she felt Lydia materialize in front of her. 

They settled in next to each other, this time on the cool stone of the bench. “No worries,” Lydia said. “It’s not like I can tell the difference.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“What kept you?”

She sighed, the weight of the long day melting off her shoulders. “Dinner at Jen and Sonia’s,” she explained offhandedly. “We got to talking and I just lost track of time.”

Next to her, Lydia brought one leg up and twisted around to face her completely. She could almost feel the swoosh of fabric against her leg as she moved. “Tell me about them,” she said. “You’ve mentioned them in passing before.”

“They’re the best. They live right across the street. Every summer they put out this kiddie pool for whatever foster kid they have at the time–” She couldn’t help the smile that stole across her face at the memory. “And I always saw it from our living room window, all bright blue and sparkly. It looked like so much fun, and our complex doesn’t really have a yard, so one day when I was like five, I put on my swimsuit and snuck out of the house. It was the first time I ever crossed the street by myself.

“They were fostering this kid Abby at the time. I knew her from school, and we started playing immediately. It was fun for the five minutes I got to be there; but Sonia went over to make sure my mom knew where I was right away.” The memory of the rest of that afternoon sobered her smile. After a moment, she shook her head and continued. “Anyway, sometimes my dad would let me go over there when my mom was at work. 

“And after my mom left, me and my dad started doing holidays over there. They completely opened up their lives to us. I babysit for their kids, they cook for me when I get sick of eating the three things I can actually make for myself… Sonia’s the one who taught me how to drive a motorcycle, much to the horror of Jen and my dad, but I couldn’t have done it without her.

“Last year I found this stray cat in the alley, and our apartment doesn’t allow animals, so they took him in for me.” She shrugged and ran a hand through her hair. “They’re just the best.”

She turned to look at the space next to her. Of course there was nothing to see, but her uncanny ability to sense Lydia’s emotions stopped her heart in her chest. The other girl was suddenly closed off; frightened even. It had been weeks since she’d felt like that.

“What?” She quickly ran through everything she’d just said, searching for the offending piece of information. “What’s wrong?”

“Th–” It came out garbled. Lydia cleared her throat and tried again. “They live… together?”

There was a beat of understanding—heavy realization with the sounds of the autumn evening as the soundtrack. Then a panicked heat flushed across Cynthia’s face. Her eyes cut over to the dates on the tombstone. She tried to get her words out without a tremble, but her heart was pounding so hard that breathing was difficult. “Why? Is them being together a problem?”

“No!” The answer was immediate and accompanied by a whoosh of cool air against her leg, like Lydia had reached out to touch her. “No, not at all. Well, not for me,” she clarified. “But… isn’t it a problem for everyone else?”

Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heartbeat to return to normal. “Right.” This was the one thing they’d never talked about. The one and only subject they’d never stumbled into. “I guess we haven’t gotten there yet.” 

It took her about twenty minutes to summarize 70 years of queer history (to the best of her ability). Her explanation was full of distant memories, vague facts, and approximate dates, but Lydia listened attentively the entire time. At one point, she got up to pace around—Her heels leaving indentations in the soft grass. Cynthia let herself get lost in the pleasant rhythm of talking to her; the ever-present warmth pulsing quietly in her chest.

“So, yeah,” she said lamely when she’d caught up to the present day. 

Lydia came back to sit next to her. Her voice was quiet when she asked, “The state really lets them have kids?”

“Sure. I mean, they’re a social worker and a nurse. I’m pretty sure they’re the state’s ideal foster parents.”

“That’s just… wow.”

Realizing that there was one, small detail of her own life she had yet to share, Cynthia cleared her throat and shifted in her seat a little. “Yeah, they um…” Her leg started to bounce up and down, jostling her voice a little. “They were the first people I came out to.”

She felt Lydia’s head whip around. Maybe it was her nerves, maybe it was that Lydia was closing herself off on purpose, but for the first time she couldn’t feel what the other girl was feeling. The weight of her invisible stare made her want to get up and pace around too. Instead she focused on the frantic up and down of her bouncing knee and compulsively ran her hands through her hair. 

After a whole minute of agonizing silence, she blurted out, “Can you say something, please? I–I can tell you’re looking at me but I really need you to verbalize what you’re feeling so I know if I need to–”

“They sound amazing.”

The open sincerity in her voice melted off all of Cynthia’s nervous energy. She practically collapsed in relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she promised. “I’m really glad you had them to talk to.”

No matter how many times she had that conversation, it never got easier. At least, not when she cared about what the other person thought of her. And she found that when it came to Lydia, she cared a great deal. 

“I, uh…” Lydia’s voice was thick with emotion. After a few moments, she tried again. “I never h–had anyone to talk to.”

Then it was Cynthia’s turn to whip her head around. Of course there was nothing there, but she couldn’t help but stare slack jawed at the space next to her. More pieces of the Lydia puzzle started to shift into place. 

“Well,” she said finally. “Now you have me.”

As Lydia relaxed, the warmth in Cynthia’s chest expanded. It cascaded down her limbs, lifting up hairs in its wake. Her sparkling outline caught the shine of the sunset and glinted her briefly into existence. The subtle scent of floral perfume drifted in from nowhere. They basked for a moment—in the warmth, in each other. 

“I could ask Jen and Sonia to tell me more about the history, if you’re interested. I could do some reading, too—that way you can get a better picture of how everything happened.”

“I’d like that.” She nearly jumped out of her skin when something cool landed on her leg. 

No, not just something. A hand. 

For the first time, it was more than just a cool breeze. There was a hand on her knee. Its solid weight felt monumental. 

“I’m really glad you decided to keep coming back.”

A helpless smile drew across her face, and she looked up. Then, that ever-present ball of warmth burst open. 

Sitting there, right in front of her, was Lydia. Not her outline, or a shimmer in the sun, but the full ghost of her. Still transparent, but present in a way she’d never been before.

She was nothing like Cynthia pictured—not because the features she imagined were wrong, but because she could have never conjured up someone so beautiful. 

Her eyes weren’t just kind, they were healing. Something she didn’t even know was broken inside of her began to repair as they met hers. Her smile knocked the world off its axis; to call it just ‘wide’ would be the worst kind of understatement. And she did have freckles along her cheekbones, but Cynthia could have never imagined how much the sight of them would make her stomach flip over itself. 

The first expression she ever saw on her face was one of open admiration. It hit Cynthia straight in the chest. 

Her hair was twisted into perfect curls and pinned up at the base of her skull. It was nearly impossible to pull her attention away from her face, but eventually Cynthia’s eyes travelled down to her old-fashioned clothes: A blouse with a claudine collar perfectly tucked into the waistband of a wide swing skirt. Bobby socks and heeled saddle shoes below. Just over her heart was a pin—a swirly and thin sprig of flowers, gems encrusted in the center of each. 

As they stared at each other, all tender smiles and sparkling eyes, Lydia became less and less transparent. 

Colors bloomed in front of her. Her skirt was a deep green and her blouse a simple cream. Her brown shoes stood out against the green grass. The pin over her heart shone gold, the flowers blue and the gems a light pink. Her hair was a rich auburn unlike anything she had ever seen. 

She never became fully opaque; something Cynthia was almost grateful for. Lydia’s grey-green eyes were captivating enough now. She was fairly certain that if she ever saw the full power of them she’d let herself get lost in them forever. 

Of its own accord, her own hand moved to rest over Lydia’s. When it fell straight through to her knee, the spell broke.

Despite being able to feel the weight of her hand, Cynthia’s went straight through her. Because she was a ghost. Because she was dead. Right.

With an apology and a goodbye that she hoped seemed sincere and not too rushed, she turned and started towards the gate. Lydia called after her, but her voice was cut off as Cynthia stepped out onto the path. She’d disappeared to wherever she disappeared to. 

Her heart thundered the whole way home. Because she’d just seen a ghost. And that was definitely the only reason. 

Chapter Text

Time after time  /  I follow signs

“Cynthia?”

The sound of silverware clinking on plates swam around her. It was almost meditative. It made it easy to keep her eyes locked onto the jagged chip at the edge of her plate.

“Yoohoo!” 

She blinked as something soft bounced off of her cheek. By the time she’d looked down at the floor to see what it was, the cat had already pounced on it and was high-tailing away. 

She looked up, confused. “Huh?”

Jen burst out laughing and set the rest of her dinner roll back down onto her plate. A little giggle from across the table caught her attention. Lucy’s tiny hand clapped over her mouth, hiding her gap-toothed smile. It was the loudest sound she’d heard her make in the three weeks she’d known her. “What?” Cynthia asked, now smiling too. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. We’ve just been saying your name repeatedly for the last minute, or so.”

“Oh, shi–oot. Sorry.” She sent Lucy an extra look and a little wince. “Sorry.” With a sigh, she picked her fork back up. She must have been out of it long before they started trying to get her attention because her food had gotten cold. “I’m just out of it today.”

“Not just today,” Sonia pointed out gently. “Everything all right?”

Cynthia shrugged dismissively. “Just a lot going on.”

“Anything we can help with?”

She turned her head to either side, meeting each of their encouraging expressions. Then she looked over at Lucy, who had frozen in the middle of organizing her food by colors and was patiently waiting to see what she’d do next. 

“So, I have this friend…”

“Is this one of those things where you’re the friend and we’re supposed to infer that from the story and give you advice, or are you really talking about a friend here?”

Cynthia shot Jen a look who held her hands up in surrender. “An actual friend, I swear. I’ve been avoiding her for a couple days—I’m starting to feel bad about it.” Actually, she’d felt horribly crushing guilt since the moment Lydia’s voice cut off behind her. 

“Okay. So what happened that made you start to avoid her?”

“Things got weird.”

“Weird how?” Cynthia looked up at her, begging her to read her mind so she didn’t have to say it out loud. She saw the moment Sonia understood. Her eyes grew wide, then excited, then purposefully chill. She and Jen made microexpressions at each other from across the table and Cynthia couldn’t help but let out another sigh. 

“Anyway–” she said pointedly. “I bailed.”

The table took that in for a moment. Fender was back at her feet, sniffing around and hoping more bread would fall from the sky. She reached down to run her hand along his back and he arched up into it. 

“Is this one of your good friends?” Sonia asked. 

In lieu of waxing poetic about how Lydia was undoubtedly, after only a couple months, one of the best friends she’d ever had, she shrugged. “She’s new.”

“Well, do you want to be friends with her?”

But it didn’t really matter what she wanted. Their friendship quite literally couldn’t go anywhere else. “Yeah.”

“Then tell her that. New friendships can be a little weird sometimes—it’s difficult getting over that hump between acquaintance and something more. She’s a person just like you.” Some might debate that. “For all you know she feels the same way. Apologize for avoiding her, work through the weirdness together, and move forward as friends.”

She nodded, hoping that would be enough. “Yeah,” she breathed out. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

It’s not like it was bad advice. They were trying to help; given the significant details she’d left out, they’d done the best they could. 

But she thought about how right it felt when they were together, despite all odds. She thought about how Lydia had been looking at her when her face came into focus for the first time. She thought that maybe the only thing more heartbreaking than an unrequited crush was a requited crush that was doomed.

A little hand pushed a small plate gently across the table. On it was a homemade brownie with the sprinkles all grouped up by color. Lucy looked up at her with kind eyes; she couldn’t help but smile back.

____

After days of taking the long way to school, Cynthia parked her bike outside of the cemetery and pushed through the gate. The morning dew clung to the iron; something about the cool against her skin helped to ground her.

The walk to Lydia’s grave seemed shorter this time, like the hills could tell that she was hesitant and made themselves smaller in retaliation. When she reached the split in the path, she took several moments to gather herself before stepping onto the grass.

As always, her body had a physical reaction to crossing the invisible barrier. Goosebumps broke out along her arms as a watchful gaze fell against her skin.

“Hey.” She didn’t realize how much she’d been looking forward to seeing her face again until her eyes settled onto the empty space where she knew Lydia was. Somehow that felt like a punishment, too. “Look, I’m sorry about last time–”

“I’m just glad you’re back.”

The tremble in her voice made Cynthia stop mid-step. The sound had cut straight through her. “Are you okay? I know I left kind of suddenly…”

“No, yeah I’m fine. I just didn’t know if you were coming back, and after a couple days I wasn’t sure if–”

“Wait, days? You–you didn’t go away?” The thought of Lydia here on her own, conscious and waiting made her stomach roll.

“Not this time.”

Her mind was scrambling, hoping desperately that what she was saying wasn’t true, but unable to come up with any reason why Lydia would be lying to her.“But, I felt you disappear when I left. Like always.” 

“I didn’t. You left, but trust me, I felt every single second of the last few days.” She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I shouldn’t have–” All the things she shouldn’t say were trapped behind her teeth, tripping over each other in their fight to spill out and humiliate her. “I’m so sorry. I was being a coward, and–”

Lydia interrupted, a slight edge of panic to her voice. “No, it’s okay! Just–” Cynthia felt her move to the far side of the bench. “Just come sit down with me and tell me how your week’s been.”

After a moment, she made her way over to the bench. She went slowly, feeling like any sudden move might send Lydia retreating further back into the shadows. As she sat down, the girl next to her let out a quiet, relieved sigh. 

She intended to let it go, she really did. Instead what came out of her mouth was, “I can tell you’re holding back.” When that was met with silence, she braced herself. “You can get mad at me, you know. You don’t have to like, placate me because you’re scared that I won’t come back. I know I didn’t exactly prove myself this last time, but the only thing that could make me not come back is if you didn’t want me to. I promise.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“Lydia…” she prodded.

At that she stood up from the bench. Then she took a deep breath and absolutely let her have it. 

“Six days! You didn’t come back for six days?! Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to not know if you were ever coming back? No one else can see or hear me, and I thought I’d be alone here forever! I felt like I was going crazy!” The more she spoke, the more her form started to fade into view. Not that she noticed, of course. She was way too focused on yelling at Cynthia. “And I don’t even feel like I can be mad at you because you don’t owe me anything—but don’t you, though? And by the way, why didn’t you come back? At first I thought something terrible happened, but then… What? Were you sick? Bedridden? Did I—did I do something, or was seeing me—I mean was I–” 

But Cynthia couldn’t even dispel that notion because in front of her stood Lydia, looking more alive than ever. She was almost completely opaque, her cheeks were tinged pink as she ranted, and there was even a hint of perfume in the air; something floral, spicy, and warm that matched the glow in her chest. It pounded up against her ribcage with the beat of her heart. 

“But even if—you know what? No. That’s not even an excuse. At the very least you should have let me know that you weren’t planning on seeing me anymore. And, oh yeah! When you finally came back you didn’t even tell me that you were gone for nearly a week. I’m the one who brought it up! Were you ever planning on telling me, or were you just going to let me think that it was the very next day? And why the hell are you smiling at me like that?!”

Truthfully, Cynthia didn’t even realize she was. But now she could feel the way her mouth was pulled up in a cheesy smile as she looked up at Lydia like she was the sun. “I can see you again.”

That stopped her rant in its tracks. She looked down at herself, eyes widening and mouth dropping open. “Oh.”

Without thinking, Cynthia reached out to grab her hand. She didn’t know why exactly, but Lydia looked so real and alive —so much so that she was shocked when her hand fell through the empty air. Her brain stuttered at the dissonance of feeling nothing against something that looked so solid.

The missed touch brought Lydia out of her daze. With a deep breath, she turned and sat back down. 

“I’m sorry,” Cynthia said sincerely. “You have every right to be mad at me. I ran and then avoided you, and that’s not okay. If I had any idea that you would be awake the whole time I was gone, I would have never–”

“Cynthia–” The way she said her name made her breath catch. She was focusing so hard on steadying her breathing that she almost missed what came after. “Why were you avoiding me?”

She could feel her eyes—those eyes whose color had seeped into the corners of her dreams—boring into her. She tried to hide by turning her face away, but wasn’t that an answer in and of itself? The small space between them had a gravity of its own, and it was taunting them with the fact that it could never be closed.

She cleared her throat and started speaking so she wouldn’t do something stupid like start crying. “Look, I won’t go away again unless you ask me to. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the fact that time moves differently for you.” The possibility that Lydia was done disappearing hung between them. The how and the why of it were too big to consider, so she plowed on. “And please, get mad at me when I deserve it. You feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around me isn’t a good way to start a friendship.”

“And that’s what we are?” It was a question, but Lydia’s voice was resigned. “Friends?”

She wished that her answer could be anything else. “Yeah. Friends.”

For a while, they sat silently; the harsh reality choking them. Cynthia wanted to scream—rage and stomp and throw a temper tantrum like a child. Because this should be a happy moment, right? Liking someone and getting confirmation that they like you back. Only she didn’t get to have that. Neither of them did.

When she finally felt confident that she could say something without a sob breaking through, she broke the silence. “You know, friends tell each other things.”

Lydia’s hair bounced slightly as she shook her head. “I still don’t want to talk about–”

“Nothing you don’t want to share obviously,” she clarified. “I just mean… I’m here.” But what she meant was: I’m not going anywhere. I’m always going to come back. If I can’t be something more to you, then please at least let me be a good friend.

Lydia heard the message underneath the words, because of course she did. So, she started to talk.

Over the course of the next several weeks, Cynthia finally started to feel like she knew Lydia just as well as Lydia knew her. Everyday, twice a day, she showed up with a laundry list of questions; questions that nearly always got answered. Now that they were both being more open, every meeting felt like the best sleepover. Only the cruel inevitability of real life was enough to get Cynthia to leave.

When she wasn’t with Lydia, she was thinking about Lydia. All day she filled her notes app with questions and random thoughts so she wouldn’t forget to tell her anything. Every thought she had throughout the day got written down and relayed to her, no matter how insignificant. According to Lydia though, every glimpse of the outside world was like gold. 

She never disappeared again. Instead she was conscious 24/7—unable to sleep, talk to anyone else, or leave her little plot. Cynthia was more than happy to help find things to entertain her while she was away. Armed with a library card and a list of requests, she frequently checked out books for her. There were some old favorites of Lydia’s and some new fiction that Cynthia thought she might like, but what she devoured most quickly was the historical non-fiction. 

After seeing how passionate Lydia was about music, she found a cheap mp3 player online and filled it with songs for her. It ended up being a sort of music history guidebook with popular songs from the years she’d missed. She’d often arrive to find her laying in the grass, headphones in, and singing up to the sky. 

The topic of school and homework was not one Cynthia could have predicted, but eventually that became another aspect of their routine. 

That all started when they were laying on the grass together, staring up at the darkening sky and talking, when her phone lit up with a notification. It was just some social media thing that she swiped away automatically, but the time could no longer be ignored. “Ugh,” she groaned. “I have to go.”

Lydia practically whined and tried to grab her phone. “No, stay.”

“I can’t,” she chuckled, switching it to her outside hand and holding it away from her. 

“Why?”

“Homework, unfortunately. Trust me, I don’t want to go either.”

“You can always do homework with me.”

She turned her head, immediately stamping down the warm whoosh that bloomed in her chest when she found that Lydia had already been looking at her. “I–” The pink of the setting sun against her skin made Cynthia gulp. “Um, I wouldn’t be able to be here and not talk to you. I’d end up getting nothing done.”

“Let me help, then.”

And that started the strangely fun tradition of doing homework as a pair. Apparently Lydia missed school (the learning part, anyway) and as a result she ended up being a great study partner. She helped proofread her papers, because at least grammar hadn’t changed in the last 70 years, and in turn Cynthia walked her through her calculus homework and showed her the wonders of the graphing calculator. 

In many ways they were each other’s perfect tutor. If one of them didn’t understand something, the other had a good enough handle on it to explain it in a way that made sense. Cynthia had the benefit of hearing her teacher’s lectures first hand, but Lydia had the ability to read something from a textbook and immediately understand how to apply it. One weekend with her biology textbook and suddenly she had a better chance of passing the AP exam than Cynthia did.

Then they started to have the occasional visit where they wouldn’t even say much to each other. They would just work or read quietly with the other person nearby. It was never awkward or uncomfortable. Neither of them had ever had a friendship like that before.

She was still reluctant to discuss certain aspects of her life. Of course Cynthia was curious, but she’d made a promise and she planned on keeping it. Any little glimpses into her life that she did volunteer got added to her Lydia puzzle.

Somehow they got on the subject of her headstone one day and she offhandedly mentioned that she was surprised her parents shelled out for one. She didn’t talk at all about how most of the people she knew were likely gone, probably laid to rest somewhere in that very ground. Cynthia offered to take a walk around, look for familiar names, but Lydia just shrugged her off. 

Their talks swung widely from light to dark. They seemed to know instinctively when the other person needed to laugh and have fun, and when they were emotionally available to have deeper conversations. 

On one such night, they were laid out side-by-side, looking up at the pinpricks of light in the black velvet sky. Lydia’s cool shoulder was up against hers, and despite the winter chill, she’d never felt warmer. 

“What’s something you miss,” she asked quietly. “About before.”

She took a while to think, her even breaths sending up puffs of fog into the air. “Performing.” She thought she’d stop there, but Lydia wasn’t done. “Eating. Sleeping. Dreaming. Taking walks. Riding in cars. Swimming in the ocean.” Then after a few more seconds she added, “Having a future.”

A heat building behind her eyes, Cynthia patted around on the grass gently. When her fingers slipped through a thicker, viscous patch of air, Lydia solidly settled her fingers in between hers. 

They laid there, silently daydreaming about a future that couldn’t come to pass, until Cynthia had to leave. 

Like always, she replayed their latest encounter on her way home; something to hold her over until she got to see her again. As she was reliving their goodbye, she had a realization that stopped her in her tracks. Under the flickering gold of a streetlight, she looked down at the hand that had been in Lydia’s. When they’d let go, there was a cold, empty feeling in her palm. Like the sudden absence of body heat. 

Chapter Text

I was young so I forgot  /  which was my place and which was not

People were starting to get concerned. It was all very kind and well-meaning, but it was also putting a wrench in her visits with Lydia.

Her dad was perpetually concerned about her not having enough friends her age, and as far as he was concerned, she’d been spending significantly more time alone for the last several months. At dinners with Jen and Sonia, she was more distracted than usual. People from school invited her to things, but she always politely turned them down in favor of vague plans. Only her teachers were excited by the change. 

The person growing most suspicious was the groundskeeper of the cemetery. She couldn’t blame him. From his perspective, there was a teenage girl who visited every day, twice a day. That may not have been strange if she’d just suffered a recent loss, but she walked right past all of the recent graves and headed straight to the older area of the grounds; where no one had been buried in at least 60 years. 

She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was always respectful, and it was a public place. She was totally allowed to be there. But it was weird. 

The unspoken truth that she and Lydia couldn’t go on like this for much longer lingered around them. Whether it was someone in her life asking too many questions, the groundskeeper keeping too close of an eye on her, or graduation—the clock was ticking. Despite all concerns and suspicions, they spent every moment they could together. 

So her dad asking her to help at the shop over winter break was not ideal. Not in the slightest. 

Cynthia was sitting in her dad’s little office, hunched over a stack of receipts. The ancient chair underneath her squeaked rhythmically as her knee bounced under the desk. Helping her dad write off his expenses was something she’d done a thousand times, she could almost do it in her sleep. Unfortunately, thoughts of Lydia pushed themselves persistently to the front of her mind. 

In the middle of entering a parts order into a spreadsheet, her eyes flicked helplessly to the time at the corner of the screen. Still two hours before she saw Lydia. “Ugh,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. She just needed to focus. She could do this. 

And that’s when the hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She was being watched.

For a moment, she froze under the weight of the gaze against her back. As the rest of her body remained stock still, her heart began hammering in her chest. Slowly, she lowered her hands and spun the chair around. “Lydia?” The word didn’t have far to travel in the cramped space. 

No one answered, because of course they didn’t. That wasn’t possible. 

Just then, a breeze tore through the windowless room. Along with the chill came the faintest whiff of perfume—floral and warm. And then, a whisper on the wind. “Cyn?”

She practically flew out of her seat. “Lydia, can you hear me?” The voice was directionless, but she was positive she was there somewhere. She started waving her arms through the air senselessly, praying that a hand would pass through a patch of thick, cool air. “Can you try–”

The office door creaked open behind her. 

All at once, the energy in the room returned to normal. Lydia was gone. 

“Kid, what the hell are you doing in here?”

Cynthia spun around to face him. “Oh.” She cleared her throat and sat back down. “Uh–just–just practicing for the play.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but luckily the front desk bell dinged at that very moment. “I’ll be right with you!” he called. Turning back to her, he said, “Leave the practicing for later, yeah? I need you to go around and get the guys’ dinner orders.”

“Yeah.” With a slightly shaking hand, she dug around the drawer for a pencil and paper. “I’m on it.”

The next 118 minutes were nothing short of excruciating. By some miracle, she managed to accurately take down everyone’s dinner orders and get them called in, but it was nearly impossible for her not to get sidetracked once she was behind the wheel of her dad’s truck. The cemetery was nowhere near the Palace, but that didn’t stop her from unconsciously taking several wrong turns towards it during the run. 

When she got back, she wolfed down her dinner and flew through the rest of the receipts. Her mistake was poking her head into the shop to tell her dad and the rest of the guys goodbye. Immediately a set of keys was being tossed her way. The next thing she knew, she was doing an oil change for a walk-in customer. She’d never done one so quickly. 

At some point during the journey from the front gate to Lydia’s plot, she’d started running. She was breathing hard when she finally stepped onto the grass. “Was that you?!” she gasped out. 

Lydia rushed over to her from the bench, eyes wide. “It worked?”

“What–” She coughed a little, the cold winter air setting her throat on fire. “What worked?”

“I missed you–” Her eyes widened. “No, I mean… well, I did but–” She clamped her eyes shut and shook her head, resetting. “Anyway, I was bored and I reached out.”

“How?”

“I can’t really explain it,” she said, heading back over to the bench and motioning for Cynthia to follow. “I just thought of you and…” She shrugged. “Reached out.”

“Could you see me? I couldn’t see you, but I definitely felt you. You said my name at least once.”

Lydia chewed distractedly on the inside of her cheek. “No, I couldn’t see you either. I could hear something, but it was like you were under water.”

If they figured out how to strengthen that connection… Her mind and heart raced with the possibilities. “Can you try it again tonight? Maybe if I reach back it’ll be clearer.”

For the first time, she was excited to go home from one of her visits. They spent about an hour going over exactly what Lydia had done and planning the experiment. In their eyes, they had nothing to lose and everything to gain. After slipping off her shoes and tidying her room a little just in case, she sat down on her bed and closed her eyes.

Thinking of Lydia wasn’t hard—it was pretty much the only thing she ever did anyway—but this time she let the thoughts spread throughout her whole body. Taking slow, deep breaths, she began by picturing the feeling of soft grass under her feet. Then the cool stone of their bench underneath her. She let herself feel Lydia’s floral breeze flutter against her skin, the cool weight of her touch, and the flip her stomach did when she said her name. 

What she did next wasn’t something they discussed beforehand. She’d never told Lydia about the warm glow in her chest or how it pulsed with the beat of her heart when they were together. But focusing on feeling it now was only natural. It was one of the many sensations she associated with Lydia. 

As she turned her attention to its steady beat, it grew bigger and bigger. It was like liquid gold, branching out from her heart until she could feel it in her fingertips. She took a deep breath through her nose; she wasn’t sure if she was still imagining the scent of her perfume or if it was actually in the room. Either way, she let it fill her lungs and tucked it soundly alongside the warm, pulsing glow. 

Goosebumps skittered along her skin. She felt a pair of familiar eyes on her. 

“Cyn?”

Her eyes flew open at how close her voice sounded. Sitting on the floor, as real as she’d ever looked, was Lydia. 

“Holy shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled. 

It wasn’t that Cynthia didn’t know what to do next. It was that there were a million things she wanted to do and her brain was struggling to find an appropriate order of operations. Overwhelmed by both the options and Lydia’s general everything she just sat there, smiling dumbly at her with wide eyes. 

Her eyes flitted around the room, taking in Cynthia in a way she never had before. It was strangely vulnerable, her whole life being laid out in front of the other girl this way. “Can I?” she asked, pointing at her desk. All she could do was nod as her pounding heart filled her throat. 

Lydia planted her hands on the carpet and stood up. She watched as her head fell back to take in the ceiling—then she realized it was the first time she’d been inside. Her attention shifted to the picture-filled cork board that hung above her desk. It was a collage of family vacation photos and postcards from the places they’d been; never too far away from home, but it was the company that mattered. 

She shifted uncomfortably as she realized Lydia was quietly giggling at one particular photo: Jen with her arms stretched out, and Sonia and Cynthia tucked safely into either side. The Cynthia in that photo wore a ratty backwards baseball cap and had a smiling mouth full of braces. 

Without even having to looking back at her, Lydia cooed, “Stop—don’t be embarrassed. Look how little you are! You’re adorable.”

Her cheeks may have heated, but it was difficult to tell with the warmth from her chest still radiating all over her body. “Yeah, great,” she said, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear.” Lydia sent a playful grin her way. 

She watched as she continued around the room. Every now and then she’d reach out to brush something with her fingertips. First it was the smooth wood of her windowsill, then the cool metal handle of her bedside table. She froze when she saw the thin metal glasses sitting there. 

“How come you never wear these?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you don’t look that dorky.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure.” 

In a move she could have never seen coming, Lydia plucked the frames from the table and sat down next to her. The mattress shifted as it took on her weight. Before she even knew what was happening, Lydia had flipped the glasses around and was gently sliding them onto her face. They settled on her nose and her face scrunched as the combination of prescription lenses and contacts blurred the world. 

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed. Cool fingers tucked a flop of hair behind her ear, then lingered there—Cynthia gulped. 

“Well?”

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Yeah, no you were right. You shouldn’t wear these in public.”

Cynthia’s mouth dropped open and she pulled the glasses down her nose to look over the bridge. When the world pulled back into focus, the first thing she saw was Lydia’s grey-green eyes trained on her lips. “That’s not very nice.”

Slowly, her eyes came up to meet hers. Cynthia thought her heart might beat right out of her chest. “I’m just being honest.” 

“So, what do I win?”

“What?”

“The bet.” She slid off the glasses and folded them into her lap. “What do I win?”

“Depends. What do you want?”

“Now, that’s a very dangerous question.”

There was a moment, then. One charged with wishes and maybes and a tangle of past, present and future. And then it ended.

Lydia sucked in a breath and stood up, leaving the space next to her cold. “Well, um. Let me know when you figure it out.” She continued her path around the room, and Cynthia saw a fine tremble in her hand as she reached out to brush against the foot of her bed.

“You pick.” Lydia’s eyes met hers, questioning. “I want my reward to be transferred to you.”

She shook her head and smiled, breaths still shallow. “You know what you can do? You can wear them for me when I’m having a bad day and I need a pick-me-up.” 

“Sure,” she said, leaning back to return the frames. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When Lydia got to her closet, she glanced back for permission. As soon as she had it, she pushed aside the slatted accordion door. Her hand came up to run along the line of clothes. Something about the way she lingered a little over her hoodies sent another wave of warmth down Cynthia’s spine.

Apparently satisfied, she closed the door carefully and moved to continue her exploration—only, what she saw shocked her still. More accurately, it was what she didn’t see. She was in front of her full length mirror, eyes transfixed on the empty space where her reflection should have been. 

After a beat of dense silence, Cynthia spoke. “Lyd–”

Keys jangled against the front door lock, cutting her off. A moment later her dad’s voice rang out. “I’m home, kid!”

“I should go,” Lydia breathed out. 

“You don’t have to,” she said hopefully. “We’ll be quiet.”

Her dad’s voice boomed through the apartment again. “Cynthia—you’re home, right?”

“Yeah, I’m here!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You can stay,” she told her.

Her smile was small and tinged with sadness. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then she was gone.

____

The next morning she was up before the sun. When she found Lydia, she was laid out on her stomach, feet kicked up behind her. She looked up from her book when Cynthia approached. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. How’d the rest of your night go? You know, after the thing with the m–”

Lydia snapped her book shut and sat up, effectively cutting her off. “I came up with a list.” 

“Okay.” Cynthia watched as she rummaged around in her things for a second, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a dog-eared page. “A list of what?”

“Of things for us to try today. Now that we know I can go to your house and your dad’s shop, I want to see where else I can go. Is there a distance limit? How long can I stay somewhere before I get booted back here? I think if we use our time right we can get through the whole list before–”

Cynthia placed her hand on edge of the notebook, pressing it down to meet Lydia’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

They’d never talked about it, not in so many words anyway, but she knew Lydia was starting to feel hopeful. After all, she’d started as nothing more than a distant voice and now she looked just as real as anyone else. She used to only be awake when Cynthia was there, and now she was awake all the time. And then when she showed up in Cynthia’s room… 

What exactly everything was building towards she wasn’t sure, but she knew that Lydia had been hopeful that it was all building towards something. And then she looked in the mirror.

She watched as her eyes filled with glassy tears. “Not your fault,” she said thickly. “It’s just how it is.” No matter how much they wished that wasn’t the case. She cleared her throat, blinking up at the sky. “Now—are you ready to help me get through this list?”

If she couldn’t bring Lydia back to life, at least she could do this. “At your service.”

Lydia explained that she had spent the night before doing some tests of her own and found that she still couldn’t walk off of her plot. When she tried, she hit an invisible barrier that kept her inside. She also tried showing up alone at different places around town, but had no luck without Cynthia’s help. 

The first place they tried was just outside the gate. Letting the warm glow fill her up was much easier the second time. Just a few minutes after she’d left her behind, Lydia was standing right next to her outside of the cemetery’s entrance. 

Cynthia felt a smile bloom on her face. “Yes!” She fished the list and pen out of her pocket and bent over to use her thigh as a writing surface. “Okay, so now we know you can show up outside. Where should we try next? The Palace, maybe?”

When she didn’t get a response, she looked up to see Lydia next to her motorcycle, running her fingers along the shiny chrome. “Please tell me you’ll take me on this.” When Cynthia didn’t respond right away, she widened her eyes and pouted. “Please! C’mon, this can be a test, too—see if I can leave one place and go to another without getting kicked back inside.”

Unfortunately, the thought of Lydia on her bike was still short circuiting her brain a little. “But I only have one helmet.” Lydia looked up at her, eyebrows lifted pointedly. “Right.”

Refolding the list and stowing it in her pocket, she made her way over to the bike. She grabbed her helmet off of the handlebar and slid it onto her head, grateful that it would cover any humiliating blushing that was about to happen. She threw her leg over and motioned for Lydia to follow. It took a little maneuvering to get seated with her long skirt, but she managed it eventually. 

“Ready?” She twisted the key and the bike roared to life underneath them. Behind her, Lydia gasped and wrapped her arms tightly around Cynthia’s waist. It pressed her forward so there was no space between them. The juxtaposition was strange—the weight of her against her back was real and tangible, but a quick glance over to the rearview mirror told her that Lydia was still invisible to everyone and everything but her.

Lydia let out a deep breath. She suppressed a shiver as the cool air hit the back of her neck. “Ready.”

They pulled out into the street and were barely going five miles an hour when Lydia’s bright belly laugh cut through the engine’s rumble. The sound tore a helpless laugh out of Cynthia, too. “What?” she called back. 

“This is so much fun!”

She turned back to smirk at her. “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” And with a twist of her wrist, they were speeding off down the street, Lydia’s arms flying up to touch the sunrise.

____

As far as they could tell, there were no limits regarding time or distance. They spent the whole morning riding around Rydell, and not once did Lydia get kicked back to the cemetery. 

She was having more fun than Cynthia had ever seen. Just being out and in the world seemed to lift a weight off of her. She waved and made faces at people as they passed, occasionally screaming nonsense and then immediately dissolving into laughter. Cynthia was grateful for the helmet—without it, passerby would’ve seen her cackling and talking to no one.

They gave each other a tour of Rydell; the town they knew so differently. She’d spent countless hours driving around those streets, but seeing them with Lydia was a new experience entirely. They pointed out things that had changed, things that had stayed the same, and places that held echoes of childhood memories. It was incredible to think that all those times she’d walked around a certain corner, she was walking in the shadow of where Lydia first fell off of her bike, or that they both learned to swim in the same pool.

After a few hours, Lydia rested her chin on Cynthia’s shoulder. “You’re hungry.”

After a quick inventory, she realized she was right. Evidently she’d been having way too much fun to listen to hunger cues. “How’d you know that? I didn’t even know that.”

“I don’t know. You are though, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but… nevermind.” 

She took her to the Palace, because of course she did. It didn’t take long to realize that getting her food to-go was the wisest move. Even in the short span of time between walking in and ordering, she had to stop herself from turning to talk to her. The last thing she needed was to also be known as the girl who talked to herself. 

Initially they were headed back to her house, but instead they were seduced by the sight of the city park. They were the only two people willing to picnic in December, so they had the place to themselves. 

As she sipped her milkshake, she asked a question that had been on her mind for weeks. “How come you can touch me, but I can’t touch you?” 

“Yet another mystery,” she sighed. She set her hand palm up on the warped wood of the table; an invitation. Cynthia reached forward only to find that her hand slipped straight through the misty space and down onto the wood below. Disappointed,but not surprised, she flipped her hand around for Lydia.

A gentle fingertip made of ice trailed along the lines of her palm. She couldn’t hide her shiver. “Not fair.”

Lydia brought her hand back and used it to prop her head up against the table. “Is anything?”

“Guess not.”

As she finished her meal, a rustle in a nearby bush caught their attention. Out of it scampered a squirrel, its eyes twitching frantically from side to side. “Hey, little guy.” To their surprise, it leapt up onto the table and sat up on its haunches. Its tiny hands came up under its chin. Cynthia spun the empty bag around, showing off the napkins and wrappers. “Sorry, bud. Nothing for you.”

She figured it would scurry away, back to safety. Instead, it went back down on all fours and walked towards them timidly. They froze, waiting to see what it would do. After a beat, it stood up again. It looked at Cynthia, then at Lydia. Not through her, but at her. It blinked once. Twice. Then darted back into the brush.

They stared at each other for a second, neither knowing exactly what just happened. “Perfect,” Cynthia remarked. “Just what we need. Cryptic squirrels.” 

“He could see me, right? Like, I didn’t imagine that?”

“No, I saw it too.” Quickly, Lydia’s hand landed once again, palm up on the table. Heart in her throat, Cynthia placed her hand on hers. She half believed it would be different this time. 

But, no. It fell straight through to the table.

They both visibly deflated. “So much for experimenting and getting answers.”

“Hey, we have gotten some answers today.” Despite just reaffirming that she couldn’t touch her, Cynthia instinctively reached out to place a comforting hand on her forearm. They both ignored the slip. “I mean, we’re here. That’s something, right?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah,” she said eventually. “You’re right.”

Thanks to the mid-winter breeze, the swings across the park creaked and began to move back and forth of their own accord. “When’s the last time you played on the swings?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, searching. “Elementary school?”

Cynthia pushed herself up from the table and tossed her trash into a nearby bin. “Well, that changes today. C’mon!” She let her excitement carry her towards the swingset.

“Okay, okay,” she heard her call. “Give me a second t–”

Nothing. Cynthia spun around. “Lydia?” But she knew she wasn’t there. She couldn’t feel her anymore.

As quickly as she could, she mounted her bike and zoomed off towards the cemetery. She made the journey in record time. 

She stepped onto Lydia’s plot to find her pacing around in a tight circle and wringing her hands. “Are you okay?”

Her shoulders dropped at the sound of her voice. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“No, I know. What happened?”

She shrugged helplessly and moved to sit on their bench. “I don’t know. All of a sudden I was back here.”

“Were we wrong about there not being a time limit?”

Lydia’s brow scrunched up in concentration. “I don’t think so. There was this… tightness.” Her hand came up to her sternum. “Right here. As soon as you walked away.”

Cynthia’s eyes focused on where her hand was pressed against her blouse. She thought of the golden warmth in her own chest.“So, maybe it is distance. Not distance from here, but distance from each other.”

“Only one way to find out.”

A few minutes later, she was back just outside the gate. It was even easier this time; to close her eyes and will Lydia into existence right in front of her. “Okay,” she breathed once she’d appeared. “Let’s try this again.”

She started down the sidewalk. Now that she was thinking about it, she did feel a little tightness in her chest, right where Lydia’s warmth lived. It pulled and pulled as she walked, then–

Lydia was gone again.

Really hoping that the groundskeeper wasn’t on duty, she made her way back through the hills to Lydia. She explained the rubber band sensation, and they both agreed that they’d found the line. Another experiment told them that it worked the same way if Lydia was the one to walk away. 

To see how far they could go, Lydia suggested that they stand close, then back up and count steps. When they found themselves once again on the sidewalk, this time almost nose to nose, Cynthia had to bite back her smile. 

“Shut up,” Lydia said, smacking her on the shoulder. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face is loud.”

“I’m not in control of my face.”

“Categorically untrue,” she countered. “Now, please be serious. This is science.”

“We were further apart than this already today. We didn’t have to start here.”

It looked like that genuinely hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m just being thorough.” 

“And I’m just saying I admire your attention to detail.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the way the corner of her mouth tilted up. She took Cynthia’s shoulders in her hands and turned her around. With a push at her back, she stepped forward. “That’s one.” Then she heard Lydia turn and take a step of her own. “Two.” They went like that, stepping and counting, until Cynthia was left on the sidewalk alone.

“Ten paces each,” she said as she returned to her plot.

Lydia nodded. “Ish.”

Neither of them mentioned the fact that they apparently hadn’t been more than 20 steps away from each other all day. Cynthia wondered how long it would have taken them to figure it out if she hadn’t run ahead to the swings. 

“So, should we even ask questions at this point, or just accept it and move on?”

“I certainly don’t have answers.” She sighed and lowered herself to lean against her headstone. Cynthia followed. “The ‘what’ and ‘why’ are completely out of my realm of understanding. The ‘when’ is a little more clear.”

“The ouija board thing.”

“But you said people have been doing that for decades, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Since the 80’s at least.”

“Then it wasn’t just the ouija board. What happened right before I came back? Do you remember?”

Cynthia closed her eyes, letting herself go back to that night. “So, we were asking questions.”

“Mhm,” she hummed. 

“And they were all moving the plank to wherever they wanted it to go. They asked for permission to let me perform, it said yes, they congratulated me, then they told me to thank you.”

Lydia looked over at her knowingly. “You said my name.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” she shrugged. 

“That’s it. That’s the first thing I heard.”

“Wait–” She shifted to sit up straighter. “But people had been saying your name all night. What’s so special about me saying it?”

A thousand questions hung around them. Why did Cynthia saying her name wake her up for the first time in 70 years? Why was she the only person who could see her; hear her? She didn’t have a single answer. All she knew was that for some reason she was Lydia’s anchor to this world, and she would be willing to moor her through anything.

Chapter Text

Let the moon do what she does / she don’t need to make a fuss / she don’t know she shines for us

“Could I come to school with you?”

Cynthia sat straight up, blades of the park’s yellowing grass sticking to the back of her shirt. “What?”

Lydia adjusted her head to look up at her. “I kind of miss school—the learning part, at least. With the new semester starting, I thought I could tag along with you.” Cynthia was still staring down at her, stunned. “I was almost done with my junior year when everything happened. Thanks to you, I’m pretty much caught up on senior year. I know I can’t graduate or anything, but–”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“Of course!” Lydia’s face lit up at once, and Cynthia felt hers do the same. “I didn’t even consider asking because I assumed you’d never want to step foot in that building again.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged and her blouse scratched against the brittle grass. “I mean, it’s not exactly the backdrop for my happiest memories, but now you’ll be there.”

She let that sink in. Walking through the halls with her, having lunch by her side every day, always having her to turn to. Sitting in class with her like they were normal. Being there to help Lydia create new memories to write over the bad ones. 

“I’d like that a lot.”

____

She hadn’t been nervous for the first day of school in years, but when Monday dawned she’d already been up for an hour and was on outfit number four. It wasn’t as if Lydia hadn’t seen her before, on her best days as well as her worst, and yet she was in the bathroom doing and redoing her hair when she felt a tug in her chest. With a deep breath, she let Lydia through. 

“Morning,” she said cheerily, hopping up on the edge of the sink. 

Cynthia turned the tap and ran her hands under the cool water. With a few quick swipes, her hair was back to its original state. “Morning.” She popped the top off of the bottle of mousse next to Lydia’s thigh and gave it a shake. A low hiss echoed off of the walls as she sprayed some into her hand. Before her hands descended back into her hair, she shot her a quick smile. “How was your night?”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned back for a better view of Cynthia’s face. “It–” She tilted her head to the side. “It was fine,” she said distractedly. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to…” A chunk of hair, wet and matted together with thick mousse, flopped in front of her face. “I have no idea.”

“Can I help?”

That’s how she found herself kneeling on the bathmat with her head under the faucet. One of Lydia’s hands was flat between her shoulder blades while the other meticulously worked the product out of her hair. By the time she’d draped a towel around her head and guided her to sit on the toilet seat, her heart was pounding. 

She rubbed the towel roughly against either side of her head. “Geez,” Cynthia let out as she jostled back and forth. 

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” Her hands became gentler after that. “So, why the sudden impulse to style your hair?”

“It’s the last first day of high school,” she shrugged. Also, you’re going to be there. And for the first time you’ll get to see how I am around people who aren’t you. And I seem to be freaking out about it. 

The world brightened as Lydia pulled the towel away. Before she knew it, she was bending down to her level and delicately brushing through her hair with her fingers. “Well–” After one final swoop through the mostly dry strands, she stood up. “If we don’t leave soon you’re going to be late to your last first day of high school.” With a gentle finger, she tipped Cynthia’s chin up. “Are you sure you’re okay with me coming with you?”

“Yes,” she insisted. Her hands reached out automatically to wrap around the back of her knees; neither of them mentioned when they swished through cool air and landed awkwardly on her own thighs. “I’m sure.” She poured every ounce of sincerity she had into the words. 

Lydia smiled bashfully. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Are you sure?” She couldn’t even imagine the feelings being at the school would bring up. Everything different would be just as devastating as everything that was the same. To her, that building would be full of ghosts. 

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes and hauled her up to standing. “For the last time—yes.” A light jab landed between her ribs. “Worrywart. C’mon!” 

It turned out that her worries were completely unfounded (a fact which Lydia was quick to point out several times throughout the day). There were a few times she caught her looking off into the distance with a furrowed brow, but she always snapped out of it with a smile when Cynthia drew her back to the present.

Having her close felt just as natural as it always had. She stood over her shoulder in class, pointing out small mistakes she’d made or whispering questions in her ear which Cynthia would then raise her hand and ask the teacher on her behalf. She knew Lydia loved learning, but seeing how grateful she was to be back at school made her regret all the times she’d taken it for granted. 

Honestly, the most difficult part was keeping herself focused. Her attention kept shifting to Lydia, just as it had for months. But now she was there, and beautiful, and a whole new level of distracting that required constant maintenance. 

She couldn’t talk to her without looking crazy, so they developed a communication system all their own. Lydia asked questions out loud and Cynthia would jot down her answer in a notebook, or subtly nod her head. This worked great all morning because up until that point she hadn’t spoken to anyone beyond the incidental.

And then they met the girls for lunch on the football field. She and Lydia approached their circle of trays. Having already seen pictures of them, she knew who was who. Yet, in a stroke of brilliant idiocy, Cynthia set down her tray and greeted them one by one with small nods. “Jane. Olivia. Nancy. Hazel.”

Lydia facepalmed.

“Uh—hi,” Olivia said skeptically. 

Nancy tucked her legs underneath her to give Cynthia more room to spread out. “What’s with the corporate greeting?”

“Can’t a girl casually greet her friends by their names?” After a beat of blank stares, she shrugged and popped open her bag of chips. “Nevermind. Don’t mind me—I’m in a weird mood.”

That must have been a good enough explanation, because they dissolved into their normal rhythm after that. Cynthia kept up with the conversation the best she could, but it was a little difficult. Lydia was stalking around the circle like a lion. She was walking around and staring at them, fully taking advantage of the fact that no one could see her. It was like she thought if she stared hard enough she could somehow steal the answers to all the questions she couldn’t ask right out of their heads. 

Despite Cynthia’s best efforts to redirect the conversation, it eventually turned to graduation and college. “Have you guys heard of anyone who got early decision?” Olivia asked.

Jane hugged her jacket around her waist to shield herself from the winter air. “No, but I haven’t heard of people applying anywhere crazy. Just the CalState system, mostly.”

“Ehem!” Nancy coughed pointedly. 

“Except for you of course.”

“Thank you.” She gestured with a grape, then popped it in her mouth. “But none of the applications I sent in were for early decision. Now it’s just a waiting game.”

“Honestly,” Hazel said, adjusting her glasses. “I think the bigger news around here is going to be about scholarships.”

Jane’s head tilted from side to side. “That, but also the fallout from couples getting into different places.”

“Great,” Nancy mumbled. “Can’t wait for that inane drama.” 

“I’m just excited to get out of this tiny little town.” Olivia leaned back on her hands, face angled up to the sky. “New places, new food, new people–”

“New potential partners,” Jane finished with a little nudge to Cynthia’s shoulder.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lydia stiffen. “I guess.”

“You guess? You’ll be fighting girls off with a stick. I know no one around here has really floated your boat, but college will be a never-ending line of possible matches.”

Her gaze lifted to Lydia, who was now busy looking anywhere but her. Cynthia had just opened her mouth to speak when Hazel looked over her shoulder, right at where Lydia was standing. “What is it?” Everyone’s heads swung around, but as far as they were concerned, Cynthia was staring at nothing.

“I–uh–”

Blessedly, the bell clanged out around them, signaling lunch’s end.

She had been dreading drama class more than usual. Not only would she have to participate in those stupid theatre exercises with Lydia watching, but there was no way for her to shield the other girl from the emotional fallout of being back in that space. In half the rumors, she’d actually died in the theater. She wouldn't have blamed Lydia if it all became too much for her and she had to pop herself back to the cemetery. 

But of course, Lydia surprised her. The moment she stepped on stage, her eyes fell gently shut. She stood under the warmth of the lights, completely unbothered by the people milling around her. A smile of pure contentment bloomed on her face. 

Cynthia was so busy looking at her that Mr. V had to say her name three times before she actually heard him and sat down. 

Having the other girl there was awkward at first. She felt like she had at the beginning of the school year—locked inside her own skin with a million eyes on her. The thing that finally made her break out of herself was a single, cheeky lifted eyebrow from Lydia. It was a clear challenge; one that Cynthia was more than willing to take.

After that, she was on her A game. She had everyone in that room eating out of the palm of her hand. They laughed at her jokes, sat in awe of her commitment, and really saw the extent of her potential for the first time. 

It felt like everyone came up to compliment her afterwards; Mr. V was beside himself. No one could figure out what it was about that day that really made the whole theatre thing click for her, and she didn’t know how to explain that everything simply felt easier when Lydia was in the room.

Pleasantly surprised by how successful the day had been overall, she came with her to the shop after school. Heart pattering in her chest, she led Lydia through the lobby and into the garage. As soon as she pushed the door open, a chorus of greetings rang out. 

“Hey, boss!”

“Look alive—the boss is here!”

Greasy hands stuck out from under cars as they passed by. She made sure to bend down for each one. “About time, boss. Where you been?”

She wasn’t even sure who said it; the hissing air compressor muffled their voice. “School,” she answered to the room at large. “Ever heard of it?”

“Unfortunately!”

Someone turned and coughed loudly into their elbow. “Nerd!”

The low noise of a rolling creeper on concrete sounded next to her. “Finally!” Cynthia stepped easily over coverall-shrouded legs and looked around for the source of the voice. “Someone around here who knows what they’re doing.”

“Quiet, Jack,” her dad chastened with a smile. He lifted up an arm and she tucked herself automatically into his side. She was close enough to feel how much he was favoring his bad hip. “The boys are making fun of me again.”

“What now?”

“It’s the damn scheduling software. It’s on the fritz.” 

Jack swung a dirty rag over his shoulder with a laugh. “It’s fine! He just made the toolbar disappear again. We offered to help, but–”

Her dad was already shaking his head. “You worry about your own job. She knows how to fix it.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes and smiled up at him fondly. “I’m back at school for one day and the whole damn shop falls apart.” 

“Well, other than that and a supper run, I don’t have much for you to do today.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “I might work in the back a little.”

“Sure, sure.” A hard kiss pressed into the top of her head. “Holler if you need us.”

When she looked up, Lydia had another one of those small, content smiles on her face. Making sure to brush their shoulders together as she passed, Cynthia led them back out of the garage and through the empty lobby.

The whirring and buzzing of the shop muffled as the door to her dad’s office clicked shut behind them. “What were you smiling at back there?” She sat down in her dad’s rickety chair and jiggled the mouse. When the screen blinked to life, she set to bringing back the missing toolbar. 

Behind her, an old wooden chair scraped along the tile. “Nothing, boss.”

Cynthia huffed out a laugh and shot a quick, “Shut up,” over her shoulder. 

“They seem great.”

“Yeah.” Toolbar crisis averted, she pushed the keyboard away and spun herself around to look at the other girl. She was leaning back, legs crossed like she hung out there all the time. “The guys, most of them anyway, have worked here my whole life. They still see me as a kid, but… I don’t mind so much.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “I get that. You might not exactly fit in, but you still have a place here.”

She wondered if it would ever stop surprising her; the way that Lydia seemed to just get her. 

After a bit, they made their way out to the tin shed by the alley. The shop had a special place in her heart. In many ways, it was just as much her home as the apartment—there was even a line of pencil marks along the doorframe of her dad’s office that reflected a decade’s worth of growth spurts. But ultimately, it was a public place. A place, first and foremost, of business. The shed was just for her and her dad. 

It was where she learned everything she knew about cars. It was where she built her bike engine from scratch. It was where they could always go to get away from it all. 

As soon as the late afternoon light streamed in through the door, Lydia gasped. “Wow.”

Cynthia quickly grabbed a greasy rag that had been laying limp over the convertible’s windshield. “Yeah.” She shifted around awkwardly and the gravel crunched under her feet. “So, this is the project I was telling you about.”

Lydia looked to her for permission, and once she had it she ran her fingers along the Thunderbird’s inky black paintjob. “It looks like new. I mean, it’s exactly how I remember them.”

“Did you know anyone who had one of these?”

“Not personally, but someone in town had a cherry red one that they used to drag Main with. I always liked the look of it.”

“Well, c’mon.” Cynthia pulled at the chrome door handle and gestured for Lydia to take a seat. As soon as she was inside, her hands were running along the hard leather of the wheel. “You didn’t have your license, right?” she asked, climbing into the passenger’s seat. 

“No,” she answered with a roll of her eyes. “Apparently, ‘ladies don’t drive’.” 

“And how exactly did your parents expect you to get around in a town with no public transportation?”

The knobs on the dash clicked softly as she fidgeted with them. “Well you see, it was all very simple. All I had to do was marry a nice boy and then he’d take me wherever I needed to go. Or,” she amended. “Wherever he thought I needed to go.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“Did you have a dream car? Something that would have been number one on your list if you’d been allowed to learn?”

She immediately buried her face in her palms. The little giggle she let out was muffled by them. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“Will not!” Lydia shot her a look through a gap in between her fingers. “Okay—I might, but I have to know.”

“A um…” She cleared her throat. What came out next was a mumbled mess, but Cynthia was still able to catch the words. “A La Femme?” 

Cynthia had been prepared to rack her brain; sift through all of the car history she’d absorbed over the years in order to conjure up an image of whatever Lydia’s answer would be. But for that car, she didn’t need to. “No fucking way!” Lydia groaned and threw her head back against the squishy headrest. “That little pink thing?”

Her head popped up. “Excuse you: It was not pink, it was dusty rose.”

“Oh, well pardon me…” 

“And for your information, it had just come out and there was this ad with Rita Hayworth which–”

“Okay,” she said, holding out her hand when Lydia went to scold her for interrupting. “So, you didn’t actually want the car. You wanted Rita Hayworth. That makes so much more sense.”

“That is not true!”

“Thank god, honestly. That’s a choice I can respect.” Her cheeks hurt from smiling, so she didn’t even flinch when the back of Lydia’s hand connected with her gut. “Because if you were seriously sitting there telling me that your dream car came with its own purse and lipstick–”

“If you must know,” she interrupted, shoving at her shoulder. “It also came with a rain hat and a lighter.”

“Oh good! That’s more dignified!” 

“Give me a break, okay?” she laughed. “It was cool at the time.”

Cynthia levelled her with a look. “The La Femme was never cool.” 

“It was!”

“No. I hate to break it to you, but it absolutely was not. Nobody bought that car.”

“Well, had I been allowed to drive, I would have.”

She watched Lydia’s hand slide gently over the gearshift, like she was testing how it felt in her hand. “Would you want to learn now?”

Her head whipped around. She stared at her with wide eyes. “What?”

“I mean, I could teach you if you want.”

“Yes!” She leaned over the console and wrapped her forearms around Cynthia’s neck—she made a noise of surprise and went to reciprocate the hug automatically before remembering she couldn’t. “Yes, yes, yes! Thank you!” Lydia reared her head back while keeping her held tight in a hug. “Will you teach me in this?”

Cynthia winced. “Well…”

She let out a melodramatic gasp. “You don’t trust me to drive your fancy vintage car.”

“No. Well, yes but–”

“After everything we’ve been through?” Lydia ducked her chin a little. They were still mostly locked in a hug, so her purposefully pouty bottom lip and puppy dog eyes hit Cynthia extra hard. For a moment, she seriously considered it. 

“Th–” The green-grey eyes. The shiny lip. The soft breath on her face. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “This is not a learning car. It’s still a work in progress. A very expensive work in progress.”

“Fine,” she relented. Her fingertips lingered on Cynthia’s neck for a split second when she extricated herself and returned to her seat. “So, what? Are you going to teach me in your dad’s truck?”

Unfortunately, that was also vintage and therefore a little finicky. “Maybe Sonia’s car?” Jen drove a stick, but Sonia’s little hybrid would be easy enough to learn on. “We can catch her on a day she doesn’t work.”

“Sounds good. When I inevitably master that skill after one session, will you teach me to ride your bike?”

Her gut reaction was hell no. She’d teach her if she really wanted to learn, but the thought of Lydia getting into a motorcycle accident was enough to make her stomach roll. Then she remembered. “Sure—why not? Let’s start with the car though, okay? If something weird happens and you disappear behind the wheel I’d be screwed.” 

The rest of that evening was spent with the boys in the shop; takeout containers balanced on laps, the acrid smell of oil and gasoline, jokes and laughter and familiarity. 

It wasn’t lost on either of them that this was a lot like ‘bringing someone home to meet the father’. The father didn’t even know she was in the room, but that didn’t stop it from feeling significant. That feeling, that intangible thing, remained unspoken between them, but they’d moved past the need for words months ago. 

Once Lydia met her dad, it seemed only natural that she would meet the women who had been more motherly to her than her real mother ever had. Bringing Lydia around to meet her dad felt low stakes in comparison. He was the kind of guy that everyone loved, and in return his big heart stretched out infinitely to love everyone back. His love for Cynthia was huge, and constant, and completely unconditional. 

Not to say that Jen and Sonia weren’t loving—they absolutely were. They essentially adopted her and her dad, inviting them into their lives without question. And Cynthia knew they loved her. They said as much constantly, and their actions reflected that. 

But there was something in her that desired to impress them in a way that never felt necessary with her dad. She wanted to prove to them that deciding to love her was worth it. Logically, she knew that their love for her was just as unconditional as her dad’s, but for some reason there were moments when her shadow self had doubts.

Lydia said that her feeling like she needed to do something worthy in order to have worth probably had something to do with her mother, and the subsequent abandonment issues that emerged after she left. Cynthia said that she needed to stop reading her AP Psychology textbook.

Regardless of why, later that week she found herself freaking out on Jen and Sonia’s porch. Just a little.

“Relax,” Lydia begged. “They’re not even going to know I’m there. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”

“I know.” And she did. But, still. “I just really want this to go well. It’s just… All of the most important women in my life are going to be in the same place, and it feels like it’s up to me to make sure you like them, and to make sure that you understand why I love them so much, and to make sure that they still like the person I am when I’m with you even though they won’t know that I’m with you, and–”

“Hey.” A cool hand cupped her jaw and tilted her head up so their eyes met. “I won’t be offended if you want me to go. We can do this another time, or not at all.”

Cynthia sighed and leaned further into her palm. “No, I want you to meet them. I really do.”

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

“This is just really important to me.”

The corner of her mouth tilted up into a smirk. “Yes, you said. ‘Most important’ were the exact words you used, I believe.”

“Wh–” Her brain was just starting to catch up to what she said, and what Lydia meant, when the door swung open.

“I thought I heard someone out here!” Even though they didn’t need to, she and Lydia startled and jumped apart. “Who were you talking to?” Sonia asked. 

“Oh, just my dad.” She reached into her pocket to fiddle with her phone a little. 

“Let me guess: he accidentally printed the schedule on receipt paper again.”

Cynthia let out a breathy laugh. “You know how he is.”

“Well, come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

They couldn’t even step into the house without incident. Sonia stepped aside to let her in, but because she didn’t know that there was a third person, she nearly closed Lydia’s leg in the door. Cynthia had to pretend to stumble and use the door to steady herself in order to push it back open it a little. Lydia was able to slip inside, but her nervous fumbling was loud enough that Jen heard. 

Her voice sounded out from the kitchen. “The hell was that?”

“Nothing!” she called back. “I just tripped.”

“How much water have you had today?”

Sonia led her further into the house by her shoulder. “Oh god,” she chuckled. “You’ve activated Nurse Jen.”

“Hey, I heard that!”

The patter of tiny feet came down the hall towards them. The little girl stopped at the end of the hallway; she smiled shyly and waved one hand. “Hi.” After months of silence, Lucy was finally comfortable enough to talk a little. Maybe they were just one word whispers, but each one was coated in care and trust. 

“Hi back, Lucy Loo!”

With Lydia’s presence heavy behind her, they filed into the kitchen. “Grab a plate, everyone,” Jen said. She reared her head back when a lifted lid sent steam floating up her glasses. In a practiced assembly line, they walked along the counter, filling their plates and grabbing silverware. 

When Sonia made it to her wife, she pressed herself up onto her toes to give her a quick peck. “Thank you for dinner.” Cynthia wouldn’t have even registered it if it wasn’t for Lydia’s gasp.

There wasn’t an extra chair for her at the table, so she leaned against the windowsill as the four of them ate and talked. At one point, she shifted on her feet; just moved around a little to get more comfortable. Sonia stopped mid-sentence and looked back, directly at where she was standing. Lydia froze. “Did you guys hear something?”

“No,” she said, maybe a little too quickly. “Nothing. But you were saying something—what were you saying?”

After that, Lydia wandered off with wide eyes. She poked around as respectfully as she could, leaning in to look at family photos and running her fingertips along the frames. Eventually, she left Cynthia’s line of sight. She did keep her ears open for her, though. Her soft footfalls along the carpet made her easy to track.

“And your first week back was good?” Jen asked.

“Yeah. You know—the usual.”

“Let the countdown to graduation begin…”

“Ugh,” she grumbled. “Can we please talk about something other than college?”

PLUNK! 

The whole table whipped their attention around to the living room, where Lydia sat behind the piano. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was twisted up in a wince.

“What was that?”

Lydia looked up, right at her, and mouthed, “Sorry.”

“Fender?” Lucy asked. 

“Must be!” Cynthia squeaked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cat cross the hallway. About a million miles away from the piano. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to her plate and sinking in her fork. “We were talking about college?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about college.”

“Well, h–hey it’s a… I mean, it’s a valid topic of conversation.” Jen’s eyebrow furrowed. She cleared her throat. “What did you want to ask?”

There was really only one significant issue after that. Eventually Lydia got a little too comfortable with the amount of space she could put between them. The rubber band tightened in her chest as she wandered around the house, darting into rooms to look around. At one point, their connection pulled taught. She figured she’d back up like she had been, but then the connection snapped. Lydia was gone. 

Cynthia stopped mid-sentence, blinked, then tried to continue her sentence as normally as possible. 

Lydia was knocking, metaphorically of course, a moment later. When Cynthia let her through, she popped up by the windowsill. “Sorry… again,” she whispered. 

“Uh–” She said to the table. “Excuse me. Restroom.”

The conversation continued as they made their way down the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, Lydia turned to her. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay. What were you looking at?”

“Lucy’s room,” she shrugged. A few quiet steps and she was in the doorway, looking into the small room; single bed on one side, Ollie’s old crib on the other. “I like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re great. Exactly as wonderful as you described.” Cynthia leaned against the wall, arms behind her back. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but… It’s different seeing it, I guess. They have a whole life here, you know? They’re a married couple. Loving parents. It’s just unreal.” She looked back at Cynthia, a sad smile on her face. “I can’t imagine growing up seeing this. I mean, it’s right in front of me and I still can’t believe that life can really look like this.”

“It can,” she assured her. “It does.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “For some people it does.”

____ 

Now that they could be together all the time, every second they weren’t felt like a waste. Every morning, Lydia popped up next to her so they could talk while she got ready, and then they went to school together. Now that they were spending less time at the cemetery, people’s well-meaning concern began to lessen. 

Maybe ‘lessen’ wasn’t quite right. ‘Change’ was probably more accurate. From their point of view, she was no longer spending an inordinate amount of time alone, but when she was with people, she was horribly distracted. 

Not only would she stare off into what seemed like empty space, but there were several times she actually turned to Lydia to speak to her before realizing. She was being careful, but it was difficult. She was right there and just ignoring her felt impossible. 

After a few weeks of this new routine, she finally fulfilled her promise to teach Lydia to drive. It took a while to find a parking lot that was big enough to drive around in while also being empty enough that what (to everyone else) looked like a self-driving car wouldn’t draw any attention. In the end, they settled on the vacant lot of the drive-in.

“Okay,” she said, closing the passenger side door. “So, first–”

“I got it, I got it.” Her arm came up to adjust the rearview mirror. She let out a squeal of excitement. 

Cynthia pulled the seatbelt across her body until it clicked. Her fingers wrapped around the handle above the window.

“Oh, calm down.” Her feet shuffled around in the footwell. “The one on the right is ‘go’, right?”

“Jesus christ…”  

She actually wasn’t that bad. The first half hour or so was pretty much just her driving around the parking lot in a wide circle, laughing brightly with the windows down. Once the novelty wore off, she calmed down enough to actually learn. By late afternoon, they’d officially exhausted the amount of practice that could be done in a parking lot. 

“I want to drive.”

Cynthia looked over at her, eyebrows lifted. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing all day.”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. “I want to drive on the road. For real.” She pointed down at the fuel gauge. “We need gas and there’s a station two blocks away.”

“Please know that I mean this with all the respect in the world: You have got to be fucking joking.”

“Aw c’mon, Cyn! Please?” She was shaking her head, but Lydia kept right on going. “You’re the one who wanted to teach me! It’ll take five minutes.”

“And when we get pulled over because it looks like there’s no one at the wheel? What then?”

“What are the odds that we’ll see a cop between here and the gas station?”

As the fact that she was actually being serious sunk in more and more, Cynthia folded her leg up underneath her so she could turn and face her completely. Lydia’s stupidly captivating eyes were wide with hope. She probably did that spark of joy thing on purpose to torture Cynthia in particular. “Do you want me to make up an actual statistic, or…?”

“Please?” she pouted dramatically.

“That doesn’t work on me.”

Lydia smirked, one eyebrow lifting. “Really? Since when?” Her eyes were playful. They bored into Cynthia’s in a way that flipped her stomach over on itself.

It wasn’t fair. At all.

She closed her eyes and sighed. When she finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Just to the gas station and back.”

“Yes!” She went to put the car in drive, but thought better of it and wrapped Cynthia up in a hug instead. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just be careful, please.”

The car shifted into drive, and they slowly rolled over the crunchy gravel and out onto the quiet suburban street. 

Getting there was fine. They did see one other car on the way, but ultimately passed without incident thanks to what could only be described as a passionate performance of “Bohemian Rhapsody” by the other driver. 

The gas station was pretty deserted, too. They could see one attendant behind the counter inside; someone Cynthia recognized as having graduated a few years ago. He was so engrossed in whatever was on his phone that he didn’t even look up when they pulled in. 

Just as she had been doing all day, she calmly talked Lydia through the steps of filling up the car. She nearly choked when she saw the numbers going up on the screen. 

“Wait, that number is per gallon?” she yelped. 

Cynthia chuckled. “Yup. And this is a hybrid. You should see what it takes to fill my dad’s truck.”

“Gas used to be–”

She hunched over and put on a raspy grandpa voice. “Back in my day…”

Lydia’s hand whipped out to smack her stomach, but she dodged it with a laugh. “I’m just saying, my dad used to be able to fill up his whole tank for $3.” 

“Behold: The wonders of inflation.”

Afterwards, they went through the automatic car wash just because they could. Lydia smiled the whole time, staring up in fascination at the multi-colored soaps as they striped across the windshield. Cynthia spent the whole time smiling too, but she was staring straight at her. 

They ran into trouble on the way back, though. More specifically, they ran into a cop.

“I don’t know,” Lydia shrugged. They rolled gently to a stop just as the light turned from yellow to red. “Part-time jobs just weren’t really a thing. I mean some people worked for their family business on weekends or whatever, but otherwise people just focused on school.”

“Wow… I cannot imagine that.”

Her eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. “Yeah, well–” She froze. In an instant her whole body was tensed up and trembling. “Shit!”

“What?”

“Shit shit shit!”

Several things happened at once. As Cynthia spun around to look out the back window, Lydia crossed her arm over the console to unbuckle her seatbelt. By the time she finally registered that a cop was about to pull up next to them on the driver’s side, Lydia had one hand under her knee and the other around her shoulders and was just lifting her over the console. She simply picked her up and pulled her across her lap. 

Once she realized what was happening, she was able to help get herself over. The back of her head knocked against the ceiling, the bumpy fabric immediately filling her hair with static. Her knee banged against the gear shift. There was an elbow in her face. It was about five seconds of messy limbs scrambling around. 

By the time the cop pulled up, she was firmly on Lydia’s lap. The other girl’s foot was still pressed on the brake, but the other three feet were tangled up in the footwell. The height provided by Lydia’s body made her thighs squish up into the wheel. Her hands popped up as if she’d been steering this whole time. Lydia’s found their way around her waist, just like they did when they were on her bike. 

“Holy shit.”

“Just be cool,” Lydia said, clearly trying to pacify her. 

“I’m going to prison.”

“Yes, good. That’s exactly what I meant.”

It felt like the light stayed red for an hour. Cynthia remained stock still, refusing to look over at the cop lest they spot the panic in her eyes. She thought back to Lydia’s question earlier—what were the odds that they’d run into a cop? The entrance to the drive-in was maybe ten yards away. If they’d gone through that yellow light, the cop would have never even seen them. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by movement at her back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” It came out muffled. 

Instinctively, she looked up at the rearview mirror to see what she was doing back there. A split second later, she remembered that Lydia didn’t have a reflection. 

So when she saw her in the mirror, making a series of ridiculous faces, she did a double take. 

This was all a little much for her, so all that came out was an undignified “Ah!”

“What?” Lydia asked. She pulled her thumbs out of her mouth so her face would stop stretching. Then she put wide hands up by her temples like antlers and stuck her tongue out.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making childish faces at the cop because he can’t see me, what does it look like?”

“But—you–”

“Light’s green.” Her voice turned serious and calm; all silliness gone. “Okay, I’m going to let off the brake and you’re going to steer, okay?”

“But–”

“We’re going!”

It was a straight shot to the parking lot. All they had to do was work together, two bodies doing a one person job, for a few seconds and then everything would be fine. 

As soon as they started moving, Cynthia was completely locked in. Lydia, on the other hand, was flipping the cop the bird. “Oh my god, would you chill?”

“Sorry, but how often do you get to do that without consequences?”

She was ready to micro-manage the turn into the parking lot, but she didn’t need to. They worked seamlessly like one person.

Lydia took them in a bit before pressing on the brake. They parked. Cynthia twisted the key and the car went silent. 

There was a moment of tense quiet. The reality of the last minute settled down around them. Cynthia’s heart was pounding, and she could feel Lydia’s racing at her back. 

A little puff of air tickled the hairs at the back of her neck. “Oh my god.” She was still a little out of it, so it took a moment to understand that she was bouncing up and down because the girl underneath her was laughing. She looked up at the mirror again to see that no, she wasn’t just laughing. She was completely beside herself. It was one of those laughs that was so hard it was completely silent. 

And of course, that set Cynthia off. 

They cackled and wheezed, tears streaming down their flushed faces. They couldn’t even get words out. Their scream-laughter filled the car. 

It went like that until they were both hiccupping—abs sore and faces tired from being contorted. Even as their breathing finally slowed, neither moved to return Cynthia to her seat. 

____ 

She waddled the short distance down the hallway and into her room. She tried to swipe her damp hair into something resembling acceptable. When she got to her door, her bleary eyes took in Lydia’s frame across her bed, book in hand.  “Oh no,” she said, closing the door behind her. “No way am I letting you steal that from me. The library won’t let me put another hold on it, and every time you steal one of my books it has to go back before I get a chance to read it.”

“You should be flattered.” Her feet kicked up carelessly behind her as she turned the page. “Me stealing your books is a testament to your good taste–”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh fine, but it’s going on my list for later.” With a sigh, she pushed herself up and returned it to the desk. “You were so patient with me earlier, where did all of that go?” 

“I must have left it at the drive-in.”

Cynthia flicked off the light; the room fell into a silvery blue darkness. Usually, this was where she and Lydia would say their goodbyes. She’d settle down under the covers and pray that sleep would come quickly and soundly so she could see her again as soon as possible. This time though, a flash of impulsivity made her hold the comforter open, inviting the other girl inside. If Lydia thought it was strange, she didn’t let on. Without hesitation, she crawled in next to her. 

They were still moving around and getting settled when she began to pat around the sheets, looking for her phone. 

“I can’t believe this is the look I’m saddled with for all eternity. I didn’t even really like this outfit.” 

Cynthia turned to see her holding the black screen up to her face. White moonlight streamed in from the window, kissing off her smooth skin. The deep shadows dipped into all the curves of her face and cast her into a sea of shades, each lovelier than the next. She looked like she belonged in a film noir—a femme fatale come to enchant Cynthia and seduce her away from her boring life.  

“You are unbelievably beautiful.”

Lydia’s attention snapped away from her reflection. Her eyes were wide, like she expected her to take it back, or at least soften the impact of it somehow. Instead Cynthia met her eyes without reservation. She’d said it with her whole chest, and she had no desire to pretend otherwise.

With a small smile, she took the phone from her stunned hands and rolled over to plug it in for the night. The artificial light that filled the room briefly seemed to unbind Lydia. Soon they were laying shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the faint ridges and bumps of the ceiling. 

“So… On a scale from ‘one’ to ‘jail time’, how much trouble could we have gotten into if that cop caught us?”

“Seven.” Then she remembered that ‘the ghost was driving’ as an explanation would probably have gotten her involuntarily committed. “Maybe eight.”

Lydia giggled softly. “Fuck, that was so stupid.”

“Oh, without a doubt… Fun, though.”

“Very.”

“What’s the most trouble you've ever gotten into?” she asked. “Before today I would have guessed something like, I don’t know… Getting caught stealing a candy bar as a little kid. Maybe getting detention for mouthing off to a teacher if you had a really bad day. But then you convinced me to do something illegal and flipped off a cop, so now I’m picturing all sorts of scandalous things.”

Lydia stiffened momentarily. Before she had a chance to ask if she was okay, she was sighing and delving into her story.

“I, uh–I lied about going to church,” she said. “I always hated going—eventually my parents started to catch on to the fact that I only ever seemed to get sick on Sunday mornings. So, one day I told them I had an early morning study group. I said I’d meet them at church as soon as I was done, but I never did. Instead I made sure I was outside when the service let out. I told them that I’d actually been there the whole time, but I’d just snuck in the back. It worked once, so I kept doing it. I didn’t go to church for months. Eventually one of the neighborhood busybodies ratted me out.”

“If you weren’t at church, what were you doing?”

“Some days I’d just sleep in. Sometimes I’d wake up and enjoy having the house to myself. Go on walks. Hang out at the park–” She kicked her foot out gently to nudge Cynthia’s calf. “Our park, actually. It was dumb; way too big a risk for one lousy hour of free time every week.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbow to look down at her. “I don’t think it’s dumb,” she insisted. “You found a way to take care of yourself. I think that’s brave.”

“That makes it sound way cooler than it was.”

Knowing convincing her otherwise was a losing battle, she laid back down. She counted fifty heartbeats before she spoke again. “What were you about to say?”

“What?”

“Before,” she clarified. “You thought of something else first, then decided to tell me the church thing.”

The room was quiet enough that she heard Lydia’s hard swallow at that. She shifted around in the sheets. “I don’t really want to get into it, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“It’s just—Today’s been so much fun. I don’t want to ruin it with that story. It’s kind of heavy.”

The circumvented facts and half-told stories. The large, still-missing pieces of the Lydia puzzle. “I think a lot of your life has been heavy.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Whatever happened, you know you didn’t deserve it, right? All the heavy stuff that happened… it wasn’t your fault.”

She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

“You–” She rolled over onto her side and waited for Lydia’s green-grey eyes to meet hers. When they did, she offered her hand face up on the bed between them. Their fingers threaded together. “You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

She watched as her breath caught in her chest. Tears filled the corners of her eyes, but didn’t fall. “I’m not used to that.”

“I know.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it and shook her head. She nudged Cynthia’s shoulder. “Flip over.”

She shifted around, rustling the sheets a little as she flipped over onto her other side. Lydia drew close behind her, her cool form sending a pleasant shiver up her spine. She moved back so their bodies were flush. An arm wrapped around her waist and she sighed contentedly. She was halfway to sleep in an instant. “Would you–” A large yawn interrupted her. “Would you stay here?” she mumbled. “Until I fall asleep?”

Her reply was spoken directly into the back of her neck. “Sure.” 

Cynthia was one foot in the land of dreams—maybe that’s why she could have sworn that the lips brushing against her skin were warm.

“G’night.”

“Night, Cyn.”

With soft, even breath against her neck, she drifted blissfully off into sleep.

____

The next morning greeted her gently. Her room was bathed in soft light, just barely peeking through the pink of her eyelids. A comforting weight was on her chest; underneath it her muscles felt safe enough to fully relax. Everything she touched felt like the cool side of the pillow. Craving more of that cool smoothness on her skin, she cricketed her legs in the sheets. 

“Mmm.” The soft sigh of pure contentment tickled her neck. 

She froze.

Her eyes flew open, then immediately squeezed shut at the late morning light streaming through her window. Suddenly wide awake, she realized that the weight on her sternum was Lydia’s head. Her arm was strewn across Cynthia’s stomach; her hand was fisted in the fabric of her shirt. 

Very slowly, she blinked until her eyes were adjusted. “Lydia?” she whispered. 

“Hmm?”

“Are…” Cynthia watched as the arm thrown across her raised and lowered faster and faster with her own breathing. “Are you asleep?”

A finger landed clumsily across her lips. “Shh. Five more minutes. I promise.”

Her heartbeat was pounding against Lydia’s cheek. She couldn’t believe the other girl was sleeping through it, but more importantly she couldn’t believe she was sleeping at all. It was impossible, and yet her breathing was even. Her limbs were heavy. 

Cynthia did earnestly try to give her five more minutes. She tried to match up their breathing, and after a bit her heart rate slowed a bit. Her hand slowly stroked through the patch of dense air that was Lydia’s hair.  She did honestly try, but four and a half minutes later she spoke again. 

“Lydia?”

“Mmm…”

She pushed herself up to rest on the headboard, jostling the other girl and finally waking her from her slumber. “Hey.”

“Hey…” After a few slow blinks, she gasped and sat straight up wide-eyed. “Holy shit!”

“Were you–”

“Asleep!” she shouted. “I was asleep! We fell asleep!”

Cynthia half-heartedly covered one ear, but couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Yeah, I know—I was there. You don’t have to scream at me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lydia scrambled up to kneel on the rumpled sheets. “Wait—what…” She buried her face in her hands with an exasperated laugh.

“You were really asleep?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I was really asleep. I had a dream and everything.” The mattress shifted as she practically bounced with excitement. 

Cynthia let out a deep breath before leaning over and grabbing her glasses from the bedside table. She knew Lydia was smiling even before they settled on her nose. “Shut up. We have more important things to deal with than how dorky I look in glasses.”

“Only barely.” Her eyes tracked where Cynthia’s hand was swiping through her sleep-tousled hair. “Uh—anyway. So, I guess we can add sleeping to the list of things I can do now.”

“Did anything feel different about last night?”

“I–” she shrugged. “I thought that maybe I was starting to feel tired, but I didn’t know if I was just imagining things. I even th–” Her eyes flicked up to meet Cynthia’s. She nodded encouragingly for her to continue. “I even thought the other day that I felt hungry. Just for a second. I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong.”

For a few moments, they sat in silence; cars whooshed by on the street below, dogs barked just to hear themselves. 

“So,” she said finally. “You’re able to leave the cemetery now. You’re able to sleep. You’re even feeling hungry. What does–”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, do–”

“I don’t know.”

Of course she didn’t. Neither of them had any answers. All of the illogical hope in the world, but no answers. “Right. Okay. Well…”

All at once, Lydia’s posture changed. Her shoulders straightened and her chin came up defiantly. “What you said last night, about helping me carry the heavy stuff?”

Cynthia laid her hand out on the bed. Lydia’s covered it a moment later. “Yeah.” 

“Are you sure?”

The hurt in her eyes was raw, peeled back and exposed. There was no doubt in her mind that whatever she was about to learn would break her heart, but she nodded without hesitation. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Her grip on Cynthia’s hand got tighter, like she was afraid she’d fly away without it. “Then I think it’s time for me to tell you everything.”  

Chapter Text

Love, lower your eyes  /  leave me a sign

As quickly as she could, she got up and ready for the long conversation ahead. Perhaps unconsciously, she decided not to put her contacts in. Her dad had already left for work, so she shot off a quick text telling him that she wouldn’t be coming into the shop. Whatever granola bar she touched first went down quickly—it was like cardboard in her mouth. Once she was all washed, watered, and fed, they sat back down on her bed. Cross-legged and facing each other, Lydia sighed and began. 

“You said there were rumors, right? About what happened to me?”

“Yeah—I’ve heard a couple.”

“Tell me?”

Cynthia hesitated. Speaking so casually about her death, especially after months of deliberately avoiding the subject, felt cruel. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if she was as ready for the conversation as she hoped. 

Then Lydia’s hand landed softly on her knee. “Please?”

She took in one last, steadying breath. “Okay. So, some people say that you fell off of the stage and broke your neck. Some say a spotlight fell and crushed you.” She watched Lydia’s face carefully as she spoke, hoping to catch a micro expression that would reveal if she was getting warmer or colder to the truth as she continued. “There’s one story that said you accidentally got caught up in the fly system backstage and–” She couldn’t bring herself to finish that one. The mental image alone made her stomach roll. “Uh, but then there are the rumors that you got the lead in a play and some jealous girl got revenge. And then, the rumors that you didn’t get the part you wanted and…” 

“Okay,” Lydia nodded. Her shoulders lowered a little as she took it all in—that reaction told Cynthia that none of those rumors were true. 

“Those are just theatre kid stories, though. Before I got stuck in there, I’d never heard any stories about a student who died.”

More nodding. “Right.”

“H–how do you feel? Hearing all of that.”

“It’s weird,” she admitted. “Like they’re stories about someone else. I’m a fable. A fireside story people tell to freak each other out with flashlights under their chins. I don’t really know how to feel about it, to be honest.” 

She let her sit in the tangle of feelings for a minute. While the other girl was sorting through it all, Cynthia was quietly lamenting, for the millionth time, about her inability to touch her. Her hand passing through heavy air wasn’t enough. She needed to wrap her up in her arms, protect her from the big bad world and never let go. She’d never let her feel pain again, if she had her way. In reality, she couldn’t even hold her hand.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t look anything up, and I haven’t. You can tell me as much or as little as you want and that will be the truth for me.”

Lydia bit compulsively at her lip for a few seconds; maybe preparing herself, maybe reconsidering having this conversation altogether. Then she looked up.

“I never felt like I belonged anywhere. It was like I wasn’t built for the world I was in. I was an implant. When I was a kid, I thought everyone felt that way to some degree—like their whole existence was a mistake, like their life didn’t make sense. Then I got older and realized that wasn’t true.

I never had friends. At best, I had acquaintances. No one was stupid enough to get close to me for real. 

I was queer. ‘Different’. Somehow, everyone seemed to know it even before I did. Maybe they couldn’t put their finger on what was so weird about me, but they knew something was off. 

My parents felt it, too. They were ashamed of me. I did everything I could to make them happy. I bent and broke myself to fit into the mold they had for me—being their perfect daughter was the acting role of a lifetime—but it never clicked. 

Every day was full of pretending. Pretending I was normal, pretending I didn’t care that I had no one. It felt like there were a million eyes on me at all times. A while ago, you mentioned feeling like you grew up in a glass box. That you could see people around you forming relationships, but never felt like you were fully included and didn’t know why. That you could subtract yourself from any group and they would continue on as normal. I felt like that too, only I knew exactly why people kept me at arm’s length. 

The one exception was summer stock. I still didn’t fit in there perfectly, but it was better. There were group activities that everyone did together, and the cast was small enough that I couldn’t be left out. For two months every year, I got to be out in nature doing the one thing that made me anywhere close to happy with people who, more or less, included me.”

She took a pause. Her throat had started to thicken with tears. A fine tremble shook her fingertips. She gathered herself before continuing. 

“The summer before my junior year, I went back. Every school year was worse than the last, and I really needed the break. This time, there was a girl. 

She scared the shit out of me. Any suspicions I had about my sexuality, any hope that maybe I was just confused or a late bloomer, was destroyed. And I was fully ready to keep the truth quiet forever. From everyone. I would have, too. Then she kissed me. 

We were inseparable for six weeks. When the sun was up, we were best friends and scene partners. Then at night, behind the cabins, we were something more. Looking back, it was like a dream. A lightning fast blur of fireflies and sunscreen and lemonade. It went so fast that I didn’t even worry that it was too good to be true—For once, I didn’t worry about anything at all. 

Then one–um… one night–”

Her chest started to heave with panicked breaths. Like she was experiencing it all over again. Cynthia reached out for her arms, but whooshed right through. She had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep the scream of frustration from pouring out. Instead she started purposefully breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth slowly. Her eyes locked onto Lydia’s and soon the other girl was breathing with her. 

“One night, we snuck out like we always did. We were… And then the porch light came on. It was so bright it hurt. Then there was yelling. And what could we say—with our swollen lips and red cheeks? And then the questions started. I froze up. She answered.  

She said it was my idea. That I’d manipulated her. Forced her.”

Tears were leaking down both of their cheeks now. There was no use trying to reign them in.

“The girls didn’t want me in their cabin anymore. Getting dressed in the green room, and the communal showers, and… it was just too much for them. The director called my parents that night. That’s the most trouble I ever got into. They drove through the whole night. By the time they pulled up, I’d been sitting outside with my suitcase for hours watching the sun come up. Alone.” 

Lydia took in a shaky breath and swiped her tears away. 

“Somehow it followed me back to Rydell.” She huffed out a wet laugh. “I have no idea how, because she didn’t live anywhere near here. It was like people could sense it on me, or something. More likely, there was someone who knew someone and it spread out from there. My parents sure as shit weren’t telling anyone. They could barely even look at me.

The next school year was rough. Now all the ways I didn’t fit in had a name. It was more than just a sense of weirdness. It was queer. Before, people mostly just avoided me—I was ignored more than anything. This was worse.

I was completely on my own. I had no one. Nothing. I felt like my whole life was a mistake. I felt like I was a mistake. Every day was hell on earth. I couldn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel. There was no way out, no escape.”

Cynthia’s heart was beyond aching. She was shattered. The thought of this person—this beautiful, smart, funny, kind, strong person—getting beaten down like that made her sick. It was a dizzying mix of pain, righteous anger, and false guilt. It wasn’t fair, and she wanted to destroy everyone who ever made her feel that way, and somehow she should have been there to stop it. 

She was sure she didn’t want the answer, but she asked the question anyway. “Did… I mean, did you…”

Lydia’s answer was not the one she expected. 

“I don’t know.”

“You–what do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?” 

“I honestly don’t remember. I told you that it’s like I was asleep, right?” She nodded. “One day I was there, and the next thing I knew you were saying my name. It was like a blink.”

Cynthia still didn’t know why, after years of people saying her name at her gravesite, her saying it caused her to wake up. She put the thought aside to question later. 

Across from her, Lydia shrugged. Her eyes were locked onto her fidgeting fingers. “I don’t know. To be honest, I could have. The thought crossed my mind once or twice, but I never seriously considered it. All of my memories from the end are kind of fuzzy, though. For all I know, I did.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was at rehearsal. Then I went home. Then I was in the cemetery, hearing your voice.” 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed. 

Cynthia ducked her head, trying to catch her eye. “Hey–” She looked up from under her eyelashes, her green-grey eyes no less arresting when bloodshot and surrounded by puffy skin. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it wasn’t easy. Will… will you hug me, please? I want to hold you so bad, but I can’t, so–”

She was cut off by Lydia’s arms wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. With a little effort, they managed to lay back against the pillows; her head resting on her sternum just as it had when they first woke up. She felt something tickle the fabric of her shirt. Below her, Lydia sniffled. 

“Thank you for listening. I know you said you would, but it’s a lot, and I didn’t want to scare you off, or–”

“No,” she whispered into her hair. “No—nothing you could say would turn me away. I’m here.” Forever, she wanted to add. The last sliver of self-restraint she had slammed her teeth shut like a portcullis. No matter how much she wanted to, she knew that was a promise she may not be able to keep. Instead, she reaffirmed the one thing she could guarantee in that moment. “I’m here.”

They laid there for a bit, letting the weight of each other’s bodies sew together their shredded hearts. 

Hours must have passed, because eventually Cynthia’s stomach gurgled underneath Lydia’s palm. They wordlessly shuffled into the kitchen so she could throw together a sandwich. One of them clicked the TV on, but it was just noise. 

They were standing at the sink, Cynthia scrubbing at her plate and Lydia waiting next to her with a dry towel, when she finally spoke. “Do you want to look it up?” Seeing the confused tilt of her head, she clarified. “What happened to you? There had to have been news articles written at the time. Of course we don’t have to, but we can if you’re curious.”

She took the plate and began to work the towel around the edge. “I want to. As things keep… changing, I keep getting more curious. Whatever we find won’t explain why I came back when I did, or anything that’s happened since, but I think I’m finally ready.”

Laptop in hand, they returned to Cynthia’s room. Her fingers swept over the keys, typing out a name, a date, and the town they shared. She angled the computer towards the other girl, giving her control. 

“Here we go,” she said, tapping the key. 

The screen flooded with results. The first bunch looked to be archived articles from the Rydell Record. One headline seemed to catch Lydia’s attention right away. When she clicked on it, the screen filled with a scan of a yellowing newspaper; the article was thin and looked to be tucked amidst several others. They leaned in closer to read: 

LOCAL GIRL GOES MISSING

Between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am on April 14, 17-year-old Lydia Wilson went missing from her family home. When her parents woke up to find her gone, they assumed she’d run away. Upon further investigation, they found that there was nothing missing from their daughter’s room, nor the rest of the house. Police say that there is no evidence of a break in. A county-wide search is set to begin tonight at 6 pm. Interested volunteers are encouraged to meet at City Hall where they will be assigned to a search team. If you have any information that may be relevant to this case, please call the RPD.

“Missing?”

They turned to each other, identical looks of confusion and worry on their faces. Slightly panicked now, Lydia swung the laptop back towards herself, clicked around a few times, then pushed it back out. A new article was on the screen. This one looked like a front-page story. 

MISSING TEEN MYSTERY - ONE YEAR LATER

One year ago today, 17-year-old Lydia Wilson disappeared from her Rydell home. While initially assumed to be a runaway, the trail quickly went cold. “According to her parents, nothing was missing from her room or the rest of the house,” Police Chief David Moore told reporters. “Runaways nearly always pack a bag before taking off. Money, food, toiletries, cherished items, etc. It looks as though Ms. Wilson didn’t even take walking shoes.” Not only is it unlikely that the teen ran away on foot, but according to her father, Joseph Wilson, it is just as unlikely that she left under her own power by way of transportation. “She didn’t have money of her own,” he said in an exclusive interview. “And none of ours was stolen. She didn’t have a driver’s license, let alone her own car.” Police checked all bus terminals, train stations, and cab companies within walking distance, to no avail. When they expanded their search state-wide and similarly found nothing, they investigated all outgoing planes and passenger boats from San Diego and Los Angeles. Although, as Chief Moore pointed out, it is unlikely that she could have gotten to either city on foot without anyone seeing her. “As soon as the call came in, her description was being blasted on every radio station in Southern California.” 

It didn’t take long for her loved ones to start fearing the worst. “As unfortunate as it is, myself and my department did have to begin to consider more heinous crimes at that point.” The morning she went missing, police did a thorough search of the property. According to Chief Moore and subsequent police records, there was no evidence of a break in, violent altercation, or malicious coercion by a third party. “She had set out clothes for the next day. Her alarm was set. It’s details like that that make this case so difficult.” A volunteer search party set out that evening, but found nothing. Over the next two weeks, the search went state-wide, then national, but no evidence was ever found.

When police questioned her classmates and teachers at Rydell High, they were also at a loss. Teachers described her as quiet and studious. Classmates said that she tended to keep to herself. No one could think of a place she spoke of often, or someone that she could have been staying with. Eventually, her parents did find several diaries that were hidden in her room. They were handed over to the authorities, but yielded few results. “The entries revealed that she was a troubled girl. Confused, you might say. They did not, however, reveal any intentions of running away or harming herself.”

While the official searches have died down, the case remains open. “The investigation is still officially ongoing,” Chief Moore said. “Joe and Maggie are good people. The whole department wants to help find their girl. But ultimately, we essentially have the same information today as we did the morning we got the 911 call. Without more to go off of, I’m afraid there’s little we can do.” When her parents were asked what message they would give to anyone reading this article, they said, “If you have any information, anything at all, please contact the police. Someone out there knows what happened to her.”

In a few short weeks, the Rydell class of 1956 will be graduating one student short. Lydia’s classmates have opted to honor her during the ceremony by leaving the chair that would have been hers empty. “We all decided that we should do something to remember her, you know?” Rydell High’s senior class president and valedictorian, Elena Torres, said. “No one really knew her that well, but I mean it’s still sad. We’re going to get her cap and gown and put it on the chair for her. I mean, I think we all hope people would do that for us if we were the ones who went missing, you know?”

Lydia let out a sigh. “I–” She folded over her own lap, face buried in her hands. “I don’t even know.”

“None of that rings any bells?” she asked. “Nothing at all?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” Her fingers brushed comfortingly along the heavy patch of air that was Lydia’s back. Useless, but she had to do something. “I can’t imagine how hard that is to hear.”

Lydia popped up, fire in her eyes. Cynthia pulled her hand back. “What the fuck?” In a blink, she was up. Her breaths quickened as she paced in a tight circle around the room. “Seriously?” Her voice rose to a yell. “A whole year of searching, and nothing! How hard did they really try, huh? Not a single person knew enough about me to come up with an idea of where I would have run off to, or who I would have run off with. And they read my diaries? Not just my parents, but apparently the whole precinct passed them around! I was ‘troubled’? I was ‘confused’? I was depressed! I was lonely! I was gay and scared and fucking traumatized!” 

As her shoulders tensed up towards her ears, her hands found their way into her hair. The locks that had once been supernaturally locked in place now dislodged from bobby pins. 

“And absolutely fuck Elena Torres, by the way. Fuck my whole class! We went to school together for 12 years and it’s only after I vanish without a trace that they finally decide to give a shit? God, I just know they were at graduation, patting themselves on the back for being so thoughtful for setting my cap and gown out—as if any of them would have spared me a single glance if I’d been there.”

She stormed over to the bed, grabbed a pillow, and buried her face in it. The scream she let out was dampened, but even through layers and layers of fabric, Cynthia could hear the raw pain in it. 

By the end of the muffled bellow, her chest was heaving. It looked like she was gearing up to let out another, but something about the inhale stopped her short. Her shoulders fell. Face still buried in Cynthia’s pillow, she took another deep breath in. When she finally lowered the pillow from her face, the crinkle that had been carving up the skin between her eyebrows during her rant had disappeared. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry. You have every right to be furious.” 

Lydia returned to her spot on the bed. When a previously pulled back lock of hair fell into her face, her eyes flicked up to it. There was a moment where she tried to decide whether or not to react to this new development. In the end, she just rolled her eyes, threw the other bobby pins on the bed, and fluffed her hair out with her hands. 

“Well, just give me a minute,” she said. “In about five minutes I’ll probably be crying again.”

“That’s totally okay. You’re grieving.”

“Speaking of–” Lydia spun the laptop back around to herself and clicked around. She pushed it back so they could both read.

LYDIA WILSON

June 17, 1937 - April 14, 1955

It is with profound sadness that we announce the passing of Lydia Wilson (17) who was declared dead in absentia on April 14, 1962 after being missing for seven years. She is survived by her parents, Joseph and Margaret Wilson, and her grandparents. A private service will be held for the family on April 15 at Fellowship Church. 

“Well, that’s…”

She brushed a stray tear away from her face. “Short.” 

“Yeah.” Cynthia placed her hand on her own knee, palm up. Lydia’s was there a moment later. 

“I guess they really never found anything,” she mused. “They picked the day I disappeared as my death date.”

Before then, Cynthia had never given much thought to what was buried at Lydia’s plot. She understood, by virtue of being in a cemetery, that there was something there, but didn’t really consider it beyond that—why would she think about the Lydia that was underground when this Lydia was right in front of her? Still, there was something different about knowing that there was nothing but an empty box at the foot of her grave.

Lydia broke through her train of thought with a question. “Is it weird that I don’t care where my body ended up?” Cynthia looked at her questioningly, so she continued. “I feel like I should be worried about where my body is, or how it got there, but I’m not. Whether I was alone, or scared, or…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t bring myself to care.”

“That’s not weird,” she assured her. “Nothing about this is normal, and you’re handling it the best way you know how. I don’t think there’s a perfect way to handle any of this.” 

“Thanks.”

She meant everything she’d said, and she wasn’t going to push it, but she absolutely cared about what happened to Lydia. She hated the idea of her body being out there somewhere, alone and still and cold. 

Her brain was spiraling down a rabbit hole of nightmarish vignettes of what Lydia’s last moments could have been. Had she been in pain? Was it an accident? What did she go through that night that she didn’t remember? Why was there no evidence? People don’t just disappear. 

Her thoughts circled and circled like water flowing down a drain. She was finally pulled out of it by the bed bouncing slightly. She blinked to shake herself out of her spiral.  

Lydia was twirling a lock of finally-freed hair around her finger and staring off into the distance. Her knee bounced nervously up and down. “I want to look up my parent’s obituaries.”

Cynthia nodded and tapped a little on the keyboard. She clicked on the first link—as soon as the page loaded, they both made a quiet noise of surprise at the death date listed. 

 JOSEPH WILSON JR.

March 18, 1910 - February 3, 1966 

Joseph Wilson, 56, of Rydell, passed away on February 3, 1966. Joseph was a valued colleague and community member through his work at Miller & Wilson Law Firm. He is survived by his mother Eloise Wilson, and his sister Ruth Shelton (Wilson). He was preceded in death by his daughter Lydia Wilson, and his father Joseph Wilson Sr. A memorial service will be held at Fellowship Church on February 7, followed by a wake at the Rydell Community Center.

“Wow,” Lydia breathed. “I guess he finally made partner.” 

“He was so young…” She looked over at her, hoping for some insight, but the other girl just shrugged. 

“He started smoking when he was stationed in Italy, and never stopped. Cigars too, with his lawyer buddies. He had some heart issues, too. It could have been anything.”

Her mom’s obituary was harder to find. Her name gave them nothing. They tried refining the search using all of the tricks Cynthia had learned over the years—still nothing. It was only when they tried her maiden name, Margaret Taylor, that something finally came up. 

MARGARET JOHANSSON

January 20, 1912 - August 7, 1983

“Johansson?”

“Does that name mean anything to you?” Cynthia asked. 

All she got out was a distracted, “Yeah, it does,” before she was leaning in to read. 

MARGARET JOHANSSON

January 20, 1912 - August 7, 1993

Margaret Johansson (Taylor), 81, of Rydell, passed away peacefully on August 7, 1983. Margaret was a beloved wife, mother, and grandmother. She was a cherished community member known for her love of piano and her passion for her work as the Fellowship Church’s organist of nearly 60 years. She is survived by her husband Thomas, her step-children Janet and Elliot, and her grandchildren Emily and Jack. She was preceded in death by her daughter Lydia Wilson, her sister Dorothy James, and her parents. A memorial service will be held at Fellowship Church on August 11. She will be deeply missed by all who knew her.

“My parents got divorced,” she whispered, almost to herself. “My mom got remarried and they didn’t list my dad as ‘preceded by’ in her obituary. If she was a widow they would have listed him, right?” Before Cynthia could answer she was talking again. “She got married to our pastor?”

“Wait, that’s where you know that name from?”

“Oh my god—Janet and Elliot Johansson were my mom’s stepchildren.” 

Dying for answers, Cynthia tried again. “You knew them?”

“Ugh.” With a groan Lydia fell back onto the pillows that were propped up against the headboard. Her forearm went up to cover her eyes. “That is so weird.”

“What is?” She shut the laptop and pushed it away before joining the other girl on her back. “Honey, you’ve gotta fill me in if you want me to contribute to this conversation in any meaningful way.” 

Lydia sighed. “My mom grew up with Pastor Johansson. They were childhood friends. No idea what happened to his wife, but apparently he and my mom got married at some point. Janet was a couple years ahead of me, and Elliot was in my grade. He was a total asshole. Thinking of him calling her ‘mom’ for more years than I did is so weird.” She shook her head, jiggling the arm that was still thrown over her eyes. “I can’t believe my parents got divorced.” 

She didn’t quite know how Lydia felt about that, so she tried, “I’m… sorry?”

She huffed out a breath; a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s okay. I’m not sad about it, really. Just processing.”

“Okay—that makes sense. Are you doing okay? Knowing your parents are gone?”

“I’ve been working through that grief for months already,” she said. “They would be like, 110 years old at this point. I didn’t know know, but I knew. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

They laid there for a bit, listening to the sound of their synced-up breathing. At some point, Lydia’s arm left her face and landed across Cynthia’s stomach as she rolled over onto her side. 

“Tired…”

“Take a nap,” she whispered. “You've been through a lot today.”

As gently as she could, she began to run her fingertips along Lydia’s skin—swirling patterns up and down an arm that looked so real. She drew a line connecting all of her freckles, then drew it again. She could almost trick herself into believing she could feel her, warm and corporeal. Lydia sighed contentedly as she drifted off. 

Cynthia was far from sleep. Her mind raced so quickly that thoughts would get cut off mid-stride, careening off into two more thoughts like the heads of a hydra. 

People didn’t just disappear. They left evidence of some kind, even if they were trying deliberately to disappear without a trace. They were seen by someone, they made a mistake and dropped a ticket somewhere, they were acting weird for weeks before, something. Cynthia had never really been into true crime, but occasionally she’d be flipping through channels at the shop and stumble upon something. There was always evidence in those stories—even if it was weird, even if it didn’t ultimately help the authorities find them, there was still evidence. A person couldn’t vanish into thin air.

Whatever Lydia went through was different. Whatever Lydia was going through now was different. Why did she wake up? The next thought that crossed her mind was something she’d avoided thinking about for months, because she didn’t think she could take the pain if she let herself believe and ended up being wrong, but now she let it take root. Why was she becoming more alive with every passing day? She could sleep, now her appearance could change, she was feeling hunger… what next? 

And what did any of it have to do with Cynthia?

____

The next week, they found themselves over at Jen and Sonia’s for dinner again. While they were in the kitchen getting ready, she’d pulled out a chair at the table so Lydia could sit with them. Now Fender was purring at both of their feet, weaving between their legs and rubbing up against them. For now at least, he wasn’t giving her position away. 

“How’s Lucy?”

“Mm,” Sonia wiped the corner of her mouth. “She’s doing well. Her dad feels comfortable letting her stay in touch with us, so we’re going to her orchestra concert later this week.”

“Can I come?” Of course, what she really meant was ‘can her and Lydia come’. Her eyes flicked to the girl across the table who was nodding in agreement.

“Absolutely! She’ll be so happy to see you.”

Jen pointed out at them with a green bean speared on her fork. “Ice cream after? We can bring some back for your dad.” 

She nodded at the same time Sonia said, “Yes, please.”

Once they finished their meal, they all migrated into the kitchen so Cynthia could work on dessert, Jen and Sonia could wash the dishes and quietly poke fun at each other, and Lydia could look on the whole scene with loving eyes.

Now that it was just the three (four) of them again, they didn't have to stick to kid-friendly movies. With giant bowls of ice cream and fuzzy blankets, they climbed onto the couch and happily watched as Neve Campbell and Denise Richards tried to kill each other, but in a sapphic way.

It felt special. Her surrogate moms on one side, Lydia on the other. If her dad were there it would have felt perfect; like family. Thoughts of spring swirled around her head—museum visits, and road trips, and hiking. Then summer after that—BBQs, and watermelon, and the beach.

Those thoughts had been creeping in more and more frequently ever since she allowed herself to consider the possibility that maybe Lydia was less dead than they thought she was. It would feel so right if she was able to be with them fully. If Sonia could look over and watch her reactions to her favorite lines, and if Jen could pass the ice cream bowl back and forth with her. It was almost perfect.

"What's he sniffing at over there?" Sonia asked, startling her out of her head.

Cynthia turned to see Fender sniffing at Lydia's outstretched hand. At Sonia's comment, she'd snatched her hand away, but Fender couldn't care less and began to climb up onto her lap. Her invisible lap. With a choked off gasp, Cynthia surged forward to prevent a floating-cat-induced freak out.

She almost cracked a rib trying not to join Lydia in her peals of laughter.

None of them had anywhere to be the next day, so one movie quickly turned into two. The next one was some cheesy romance—a straight to streaming thing that none of them had ever heard of before. When they saw that it only had a 16% rating, they were sold.

Ice cream bowls were rinsed out and became popcorn bowls as the night wore on. True to the reviews, the movie was horrible—so horrible that it wrapped back around to being amazing. Somehow, she managed to momentarily forget that she and the cat were the only two who knew Lydia was there.

"Hey, whatever happened with that friend?" Jen asked.

"What friend?"

"The one things got weird with? You mentioned it once, and then never again."

Very aware that Lydia had tensed up next to her, Cynthia brushed it off. "I don't even remember who you're talking about…"

"Oh, sorry. I'll be more specific: The friend you caught feelings for and then avoided because—"

"Okay!" At her shriek, Fender snapped up from his deep sleep and darted off down the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Lydia was biting back a smile. She felt her cheeks pink. "I remember."

"Well, how did things end up going?" Sonia asked much more gently than her wife had.

"Uh—"

"You're obviously not dating her," Jen reasoned. "Because if you've been dating someone this whole time and didn't tell us, you will be in such deep shit."

"It—" She stared into her popcorn. When the shifting light of the TV screen became too much, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Well, we—"

So quietly she almost missed it, Lydia spoke up next to her. "It's okay," she whispered. "Tell the truth."

"We're not together." It came out strangled through gritted teeth. "Just friends."

Suddenly, the space beside her was empty. When Lydia didn't immediately try to come back through the connection, Cynthia knew that she needed some time to herself. After a week of never being more than 20 steps apart, it felt like half of her had been ripped away—like she was suddenly breathing with only one lung.

A comforting hand landed on her shoulder. "That looked like it hurt to say."

Jen paused the movie. Frozen on screen were a hundred thirty-year-olds dressed as high schoolers, all stuffed onto bleachers and cheering for their football team. "Want to talk about it?"

More than anything. "Not much to say."

They turned to each other and exchanged one of their annoyingly perceptive looks. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." She popped a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth and tried to shape her face into something that resembled unaffected. "Play the movie."

She did, but about three seconds later, she was reaching over to steal the remote. With the click of a button, the lights stopped dancing and the sounds of generic crowd cheers left the room.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

Sonia's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline while Jen's mouth fell open. "Dude…"

Truthfully, the thought hadn't even really occurred to her until it was already tumbling out of her mouth. It was completely insane—fairytale shit that had no place in reality. Then again, so were ghosts.

"There's 'not much to say', but you've just coincidentally been contemplating the existence of soulmates lately? Yeah, I'm so sure."

Sonia whapped her wife lightly with the back of her hand and shot her a pointed look. "Well," she started, turning towards Cynthia fully. "I'd like to think there are soulmates. A little bit of fate and the stars and the universe all working to bring people together. Every great love is a miracle, in my book."

A soft smile had bloomed on Jen's face at her words. "And while I wish I could be as full of magic as you are," she said. "I tend to think of things more practically. There are probably multiple people who are compatible with everyone. Relationships are about choosing love every single day—and all of the joy, work, and beautiful mess that comes along with it."

Cynthia nodded, taking all of that in. "But what about like, real soulmates. Not metaphorically, but actually two halves of the same whole, soul bonded, you make each other more alive, type shit?"

Their brows crinkled identically at that; a product of being together for so many years. Again, Sonia answered first, "It's like how I feel about ghosts, I suppose." She shrugged. "The universe is huge, and strange, and anything is possible."

"Sure," Jen said. "As hard as we try, there'll probably always be things that fall outside the parameters of the world we know."

"Right," Cynthia mumbled. "Yeah."

"Hon…" Sonia gently tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. "She's clearly very important to you, even if you aren't together in the way you want to be. If there's someone in your life that's making you ask questions like this, we'd love to meet her."

Yeah, Cynthia thought. I'd love for you to meet her, too.

Chapter Text

So, put a poesy in your hair / Pretend you couldn't give a care 

As soon as she was sure that her dad was asleep, Cynthia tiptoed out of the house and headed for the cemetery. She'd tried to reach out several times through their connection, but Lydia never came through. Maybe she should have given her the alone time she was clearly asking for, but just a few hours apart had her feeling unbalanced in a way she was desperate to rectify.

The path to Lydia's grave was woven into her feet; although she hadn't walked it in nearly two months, she could have found her way there blindfolded.

As soon as she stepped onto her plot, all of the unease fell away. The gather of warmth in her chest hummed contentedly.

Lydia was sitting on the ground with her back against the leg of the bench. Now that she was able to, she'd kicked her shoes off and was absentmindedly wiggling her stocking-covered feet in the soft grass. Her gaze was focused on her headstone. Even as Cynthia got closer, her distant stare remained on it.

"Sorry I didn't come back through," she said quietly.

"No, it's okay. I get it if you need more time alone. I can go, I just wanted to make sure you-"

Lydia's hand came up to gently tug at the leg of her pants. She let herself be lowered down onto the ground next to her.

After a few moments of silence, Lydia spoke again. "You wanna know something I'm grateful for?"

"Of course."

"I never spent enough time outside. Before, I mean. Especially not at night. Since I woke up here, I've made up for lost time. Now, I have unlimited time to look at the stars." Still staring at the slab of rock, a sad smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "At least there's that, right?"

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Please don't feel bad for answering the way you did." She scoffed. "How the hell could you have said anything else?" Finally, her gaze left the stone and fell on Cynthia. Their connection, warm and golden in her chest, bloomed at the attention. "There's an expiration date on this."

A hot panic rose up her neck. "But why? I could-"

"Let me tag along with you to college? Then to work every day as you grow up, and meet people, and live? This is a dead end." She winced. "No pun intended. And I wouldn't blame you if, knowing that, you wanted to end this right now."

"What?"

"I'll find some way to fill my time. Maybe you can come visit me every few years, drop off a crate of books for me to work through. Or-"

"Shut up."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"That's not happening. You mean too much to me—and you know that," she said, eyes narrowed.

The armor she'd tried to fortify herself with melted away. Lydia collapsed in frustration, then threw her hands up. "I'm trying to give you an out, here!"

"I don't want one."

"Well, where does that leave us?" She spoke directly up at the stars as if they were at fault—maybe they were.

"Exactly where we were before. Together. For however long we can be, in whatever way we can be."

Her head lolled to the side. As soon as their eyes met, Cynthia felt herself smile. It was completely inappropriate for the seriousness of the conversation, but she couldn't help it. Lydia smiled back like she couldn't help it either.

"Now, are you done trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes," she sighed.

"Good." Cynthia brought her arm up; Lydia got the hint and tucked herself into her side, resting her head against her shoulder. "Was that seriously the best you could do? God, you're really bad at whatever the non-relationship equivalent of a break up is."

"Well sorry, but I've never tried to break up with somebody I wasn't in a relationship with before."

"Yeah, I could tell."

A pointy knuckle dug into Cynthia's ribs; she giggled and squirmed away. "Rude."

"I'm just saying, it was a little lame."

"Okay, fine. What would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have tried to non-relationship break up with you in the first place."

"Well, say you did-"

"But I didn't."

"My god, you're irritating."

"Was that another attempt? I can't tell—all the pointy parts of your personality are like a little kitten screaming at being scooped up by the scruff of its neck."

"I am intimidating! And terrifying!"

"You are a kitten."

"You'll see. One day, I'm going to get what I want by intimidating you instead of by turning on the big, sad eyes."

"I believe that you believe that…"

____

March was a series of utterly perfect days. They floated around each other and the world, bathed in soft, spring light. Cynthia had never laughed more in her entire life. She'd never felt so much like she was in a story—a nostalgic film grain seemed to wrap around their world, letting each moment feel timeless.

Her fingers trailed lightly along the smooth metal of the pin on her chest. It was whiplash curls in a delicate gold, almost like hair in the wind. "What is this?"

It took Lydia a moment to emerge from her book. After placing a finger between the pages, she turned to her. "Sorry?"

"Your pin—what is it?"

"Oh-" Her neck scrunched back as she looked down at it. "Lily of the valley," she explained. "It's my birth flower. Well, the Gemini birth flower, I guess. It symbolizes a return to happiness." She shrugged. "I wore it a lot towards the end."

Cynthia nodded sympathetically, taking that in. Then she asked, "Do you know a lot about what different flowers mean?"

"Yeah, kind of." Evidently giving up on going back to her book, she set it to the side and leaned back on the heels of her hands, face up towards the sun. "A lot of my favorite artists painted flowers very intentionally; I liked searching for their hidden meanings. I think I loved the romanticism of flower language, too. Passing secret messages back and forth through bouquets, confessing your feelings without ever having to say anything out loud…"

She was distracted for a moment as the sun kissed the expanse of skin between her jaw and the curve of her shoulder. Eventually she pulled her herself back to the topic at hand. "Loved?" Cynthia asked. "Past tense?"

"I didn't even realize I said that, but yeah I guess so."

"Why?"

"Too many dead flowers in the cemetery," she said. "There are better ways to tell someone how you feel than giving them something that's been actively dying since you picked it."

Struck by sudden inspiration, she grabbed for the book Lydia had abandoned on the blanket. Her eyes only opened at the sound of a single page being ripped from the binding.

Her gasp was nothing short of scandalized. "Cynthia, what the hell?!"

"Don't worry, it was a blank one from the back."

"You ripped up my book!"

She dropped the page in her lap and began tapping away at her phone. "My book," she corrected. "And I have an idea. Just go back to reading, I'll be done in a bit."

"But—but-"

"Read."

Biting back a smile, Cynthia spun around so her back was to her. After a few seconds of huffing, she heard Lydia settle back into the story. She got to work.

She clicked on the first one that came up. Two things became clear mere minutes into the task. 1) The page she tore out was not the ideal size for this sort of thing, and 2) She definitely should have added "easy" at the end of her search. Still, with deep breaths and a refusal to fail, she finished.

"Here." Careful not to crush it, she turned back around and leaned over to place the origami flower just behind Lydia's ear. Her eyes grew wide and the book fell off to the side, forgotten in her shock. Gingerly, her hand came up to feel its folded corners. "This flower won't die."

Astonishment looked stunning on her.

"What does this one mean?"

She blinked several times, mouth still hanging open in surprise. "I—um-"

So she didn't have to remove it, Cynthia spun her phone around for her to see. The last picture of the tutorial showed a perfectly folded flower with crisp edges and symmetrical petals. Her attempt barely turned out looking similar at all, but she'd just have to try again.

"It's a poesy, I think." Lydia breathed out. "It symbolizes new beginnings."

____

Later that night the little flower sat on her nightstand for safe keeping, bracketed by her glasses on either side. Cynthia was staring right through it, lost in a foggy abyss of hope-filled looks and whispers of renaissance.

"You're softer at night." The soft words gently rumbled against her back; she let out a frustrated little huff and Lydia's arm snaked tighter around her waist. "See? Even your demands for attention are quieter at night."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you." Cynthia's heart rate doubled as her breath tickled across her ear. "Your glasses, and your little sweater paws, and lines on your cheeks from the pillow."

"And that's…a good thing?"

"It's beautiful."

Completely incapable of processing any of what was going on, Cynthia turned her face into the pillow. All that made it out of her was an undignified little squeak—half tortured, half flying.

Apparently uncaring that Cynthia was having trouble functioning, Lydia continued. "I mean, you're always beautiful. All of the energy and confidence you have during the day is incredible, but when the sun goes down it gets rounded out. I like that I'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

She let out a shuttering breath into the pillow that, at this point, smelled like a homey mixture of Lydia's perfume and her own shampoo.

It was an honor to be known like this. To have someone she could be soft around—someone who had seen beyond the bravado and wanted to stick around anyway. For anyone to see her that way would be a privilege, but this was made infinitely more precious because it was her.

In that moment, nothing else existed. They were sidestepping the inevitable—just walking right around it like it wasn't even there. In the sanctuary of each other, reality couldn't touch them.

____

Two days later, college acceptances started rolling in. Cynthia opened them all with Lydia right next to her. For every acceptance, there was a moment of genuine celebration and excitement before the weight of the words sunk in.

Time pressed on. Cruelly, steadily, mercilessly.

____

One night they were at their park, laid out next to each other on a blanket that smelled like home. They were supposed to be looking at the stars, but it didn't take long for them to flip onto their sides so they could look at each other.

Inch by inch they shifted closer; it wasn't conscious, or even obvious whose fault it was. It was like they were the center of their own little solar system. The whole world was moving around them, but they were trying to ignore it all. They couldn't help that gravity was pushing them together.

When the tip of Lydia's nose brushed up against hers, Cynthia's eyes fluttered shut. Her stomach flipped over itself helplessly. Her breaths started to come quicker—she couldn't help it. Lydia let out a pleased little noise and shook her head slowly. Her stomach swooped again as their noses bumped softly.

The remaining distance between them was infinitesimal, but she was quickly reminded that it couldn't be closed when her hand came up automatically to squeeze at Lydia's hip only to fall through the air, landing pathetically on the blanket.

"This is torture," she said weakly.

"Yeah." Lydia, very rudely, nodded her head, bringing their lips a breath away from each other. "We should stop."

They must have laid there for another half hour—perfect torment.

"I think that maybe we're bad at not being in a relationship."

Cynthia immediately cursed herself for breaking the spell when Lydia laughed quietly and pushed herself away. The distance she put between them felt inhumane; only a few inches, but still. "I have no idea what you mean."

"We could be in a relationship if we wanted to. I mean, if…" She blinked her eyes open, letting them adjust to the silvery moonlight. "If we started calling it that, what would change?"

"Nothing. That's the problem." Cynthia let her eyes close again—this time because seeing the heartbreak painted across Lydia's face was too much to bear. "I wish that we could have more than this, obviously, but I don't want us to have any less than this either. At least not before we have to. This is all we get, so it has to be good enough. Calling it something different won't change that."

A whirlpool of what ifs swirled inside her mind—all of the possibilities, the truths that couldn't be known, and the eventualities that were pointed, antagonistic. Still, through the maelstrom, a pinprick of hope sat resolutely in the eye of the storm.

Gathering all her courage, Cynthia asked the question that had been sitting sentinel on her tongue for weeks. "What if you didn't die?"

Her face went slack. "What?"

"What if you didn't die exactly, but you just sort of… stopped existing?" She tried to keep the raw yearning out of her voice, but couldn't stop it from peeking through. "What if you being born when you were was a mistake—if all of the wrongness you felt was because you weren't supposed to be born without me? And vice versa?"

"Cyn…"

"I know that sounds crazy, but does it really sound any crazier than a ghost who's been slowly coming back to-"

"Stop!" Her mouth slammed shut. She'd been so busy spinning her theory that she hadn't noticed the way Lydia's eyes were filling with tears. "Please," she whispered. "I can't even consider that."

A punch of hurt sank itself into Cynthia's gut. "Oh."

"No," she rushed to assure her. "God, no—I just meant that I can't let myself get my hopes up." Cynthia melted in relief; then her brain caught up with the rest of her words and her stomach clenched all over again. "The thought of coming back, rejoining the world, being with you for real… I can't let myself hang onto that picture." Lydia shook her head, resigned. "The let down would destroy me."

"But-"

"And even if it was possible, there are some things you're not considering."

"Such as?"

"Lydia Wilson is dead." Cynthia felt herself wince at the bluntness of it. "Legally dead. Where would I live? How would I work? I don't have an ID. Even if we could illegally forge paperwork, you can't just invent the history of a whole person."

"Sounds like you've thought about this more than you'd like to admit."

Apparently ignoring the accusation, she continued. "And plus, what if you don't like me when I'm alive? What if something happens between us, and because we're not together anymore I disappear again? Then you'd feel like you have to keep being with me in order to keep me alive, and that's not healthy. And what if-"

"What if it all works out?" she cut in. Lydia's teeth clacked together with the force of her mouth closing. "What if, somehow, all of the details fall into place because this," she gestured between them. "Is how it's meant to be."

Lydia looked torn in two. Like the war she was raging with herself was physically painful to continue. "What if it's not?"

Cynthia gulped. There was still one thing she'd never told her—not explicitly, at least. "Do you know what our connection feels like to me? The one that tightens when we get too far away from each other?" She waited until war-torn eyes met hers. "It's this warm, golden glow." She tapped gently at her sternum, right at the root of that feeling she loved. "It beats. I thought at first that the pulses were matching my own heartbeat, but…" She took a deep breath, preparing for one answer, praying for another. "Do you feel it, too?"

All at once, Lydia's tension fell away. Like something about that admission prompted an unconditional surrender by one side of her internal fight. Cynthia had no idea which one.

After a few agonizing seconds, Lydia grabbed both of her hands and brought them up to her own sternum. Cynthia could almost feel a phantom warmth pulsing in time with a heartbeat she knew was her own.

Lydia cleared her throat, blinking away the tears that had once again gathered at her waterline. "You know," she sniffed. "Talking about our hearts beating for one another when we're not even dating is, no contest, the gayest shit you have ever done."

She couldn't help the laugh that startled out of her. Despite everything, Lydia was laughing, too.

She wasn't wrong, but it was nothing compared to what Cynthia was keeping inside. Three little words threatened to tumble out of her mouth; she had to bite down on her tongue until she tasted blood to stop them. It wasn't fear that stopped her, though.

The words were true, of course they were, but almost too small for what she actually felt. Not to mention superfluous. They were talking about their hearts beating together as one—a connection with the power to conquer time and space. Surely 'I love you' was implied.

Chapter Text

Follow the signs / I know they wind / right back to you

Lydia had only one request when April 14th came around. She wanted the day to pass unremarkably; to at least try and pretend that it was just another day. Honoring that request went against Cynthia's instincts, but ultimately she was going to do whatever the other girl wanted (in this and many other circumstances).

Not making a fuss about the anniversary meant going to Jen and Sonia's for their usual Sunday brunch. Lydia's big, admiring eyes tracked them as they orbited around each other in the kitchen, smiling brightly and singing off-key to the 80's music coming from Jen's phone.

Cynthia was leaned up against the counter, carefully rolling up breakfast burritos, when Sonia grabbed her arm and pulled her into the center of the room. Over her protests, she just sang louder until Cynthia joined in. Then all three of them were dancing around the kitchen, singing and bouncing around freely in the late morning sun.

She was just about to pull Lydia into the chaos when Sonia stopped. Brow crinkled, she stared right into the space where Lydia was.

"What's up?" Jen asked, sobered suddenly. "You okay?"

Eyes still locked onto a frozen Lydia, Sonia hummed. "What?" Then she shook her head. "Oh yeah, sorry. All good." Cynthia watched as Lydia shivered under her gaze. "I just thought…" She waved a hand. "Never mind." And then they were singing again.

They mutually, wordlessly decided not to mention it.

When it came time to decide where they'd spend the rest of their afternoon, Lydia requested that they spend the day at her grave. For the first time in a long time, they walked side-by-side through the maze of green hills.

As it turned out, she didn't want to do anything special once they got there. The well-worn blanket was pulled off of the bike and laid out beneath the weeping willow. Shoulders brushing between them, they looked up at the drooping branches. Spring breezes shifted the them gently, occasionally revealing glimpses of the gray sky.

After a while, Lydia rolled over onto her side, bringing one hand up to Cynthia's sternum. Gently, she began to run her fingers back and forth against the dip in between her collarbones. Their connection hummed under the attention.

She'd been so focused on the perfect slope of her nose, just inches away from her own, that the question caught her off guard.

"Would it change anything?"

"Hmm?"

"If what you said about this—" Two little taps at her chest. "And us is true, would it change how you look at the world?" At her continued confusion, she continued. "I mean I know you were never really into church, but if we're talking about…"

"Soulmates?"

She had the privilege of seeing a split second of Lydia's smile before her face was hidden against her neck. "It sounds ridiculous," she grumbled. Cynthia's eyes fluttered shut. If she tried, she could pretend that the breath tickling across her skin was warm.

After a minute or so, she found the strength to pull herself out of her daydreams. "I don't know." It came out a little strangled; she cleared her throat. "I don't think so. Would it change anything for you?"

Lydia took a deep breath, tragically rolling away and onto her back again.

"I don't really know either," she admitted. "I've had plenty of time to think about death and the afterlife over the last eight months, that's for sure. I mean if I'm…" Cynthia could tell by her tone that she was choking on the word 'dead'. "Then everything sucks. My parents were right all along."

She let out a noise of fake offense. "Are you saying that being with me is your own personal Hell?"

Lydia's arm flopped over, sending the back of her hand into her stomach. Cynthia curled up with a giggle, fruitlessly trying to trap her hand there. "Obviously not. Being with you but not being able to be with you, however? That's definitely getting pretty close to 'my own personal Hell' territory."

"This isn't Hell," she assured her.

"No?"

"No way. Hell is a world where we never got to meet at all." A smile pulled across Lydia's beautiful face. She didn't need to turn her head to see it; somehow she just knew.

"I've heard Sonia talk about the universe." Now Cynthia did turn her head to look at her. She was staring up at the sky with something like acceptance on her face. "That the world is big, and mysterious, and beautifully random. That makes sense to me."

"Sure."

Their eyes met. Cynthia's breath caught helplessly in her chest. "That leaves enough room to account for whatever this is. Enough for me, at least."

"I like that."

"What about you? Is whatever you believe in big enough to account for us?"

She gave herself a moment to let herself relish in how right 'us' sounded coming from Lydia's mouth. "Definitely. Maybe I don't know all the details, but I definitely believe in something. The goodness of people, doing your best and being kind, and that love is powerful. I mean, we've obviously proven that."

Her brow crinkled at Lydia's quiet intake of breath. It took her a second to replay the last thing she said and make sense of her hopeful expression. When she finally added everything up, her heart hammered against the strength of the golden light pulsing in her chest.

"Oh." She gulped. "I mean, you knew that, right? You had to know that already."

Her eyes widened as Lydia pushed herself up and swung her leg over so her knees bracketed Cynthia's hips. Her smile was incandescent. "Know what?" she prodded. Before she could stammer out a reply, she was bringing herself down to brush the cool tip of her nose across Cynthia's cheek. "Tell me."

Trying to keep it in would have been useless. Her senses were overwhelmed by the other girl's proximity, for one thing—all of her thoughts had gone fuzzy around the edges. But more importantly, there was no reason not to say it. It was more true than anything else.

"I love you."

She felt a whoosh of warm breath against her cheek, then hands on either side of her jaw, and then their lips met. The world exploded into a burst of gold.

Heat bloomed between their lips. The shock of it had Lydia gasping away; Cynthia's hands were up immediately, pulling her back down with a desperation that was met without question. Because she could pull her—underneath her hands was skin that felt like it was on fire, and for the first time her fingers didn't fall through it.

Neither of them had ever felt more alive.

Their heartbeats pounded against each other as the two halves of their connection tried to reach out eagerly to reunite. Maybe they were both crying a little, and the kiss turned quickly into matching smiles and breathless laughter, but nothing had ever been so perfect.

She would have happily stayed right there for the rest of forever, but Lydia did eventually pull back to catch her breath. Meanwhile, Cynthia's hands were flying all across her body—cheeks, neck, shoulders, waist. Now that she could finally feel her, she'd never get enough.

"Are—are you…?"

"I don't know." Hot tears streaked down her pink cheeks; Cynthia brushed them away with her thumbs. "There's only one way to find out."

On shaky legs, they scrambled up off of the blanket. Cynthia couldn't even see straight as they stumbled off of the edge of Lydia's plot.

Turning away from her felt insane—every fiber of her being was screaming, begging her to turn back around and never let her go. But as soon as she heard the other girl take off counting, she forced her feet to carry her forward.

one

She knew she shouldn't get her hopes up.

two

But if she was being honest, the moment she felt Lydia's lips on hers ruined any chance she had of remaining grounded.

three

Life was hard, and the world unfair, but she couldn't conceive of a universe in which they didn't spend eternity doing that.

four

It was magic.

five

Their own person brand of magic that defied time, and space, and reason.

six

Lydia was magic.

seven

Breath heaving, she took the next few steps at a jog.

eight

nine

ten

She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She felt feverish, dizzy. With more hope than she knew she was capable of, she squeezed her eyes shut and stepped forward.

eleven

There was no tight feeling in her chest. No sudden feeling of being alone. Still, she couldn't be sure.

The sound of a gasp had her body spinning around before her brain could prepare itself for what she might see.

Lydia was there.

22 steps away—gorgeous, and hopeful, and alive.

A sob burst out of her, and then she was running. They both were. At full speed, they crashed into each other; arms holding on for dear life. Upon impact, another explosion of warm, golden light surrounded them. Finally, two souls became one. Finally, they were complete.

Cynthia's arms were around her waist, lifting her up and spinning her around. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she kept saying. Each one meant something a little different. I'm so glad you're here. They're going to have to use the jaws of life to pry us apart. I can't wait to spend forever like this.

Then a tear-wet chuckle interrupted her litany. "I love you, too."

The sound of it was enough to buckle her knees. Luckily she had the wherewithal to get them safely over to the grass before laying them out on the ground again. She was gripping Lydia so hard that she was probably going to give her bruises, but the fact that she could bruise meant that she was alive. And Lydia didn't seem to mind; she was grabbing onto Cynthia just as tightly.

Their next kiss tasted like laughter and the sunshine that had finally peaked through the clouds above.

"What…" She got distracted when Cynthia pulled her in for another smiling kiss. "What do we do now?"

For once she had an answer that felt right. "Now we live."

Chapter Text

I trust the signs so I may / find my way to you

Six Months Later

"Okay, one… two… three!"

She and Cynthia jumped into the air, bringing the lid of the trunk down hard. It took all of their combined strength, and some of the boxes inside were definitely being squished, but it finally clicked shut.

"Yes!" Their hands met in a sweaty high five that quickly turned into a sweaty hug. "At this point, anything we forgot is just getting left behind. We'll be back for Labor Day—whatever it is, we can live without it 'til then."

The amount of stuff she'd accumulated in six short months was truly staggering. The idea of fitting both her and Cynthia's things into Sonia's little car sounded fine when they first came up with it, but the packing process had quickly become a life-sized puzzle. My car, she reminded herself.

"Deal."

They pulled away at the sound of the screen door creaking open. "Snacks for the road!" Jen came out first, holding a tote bag. Sonia followed right after, twisting the cap of her water bottle shut and flicking excess water off of her fingers.

"Thanks!" She reached out to take the bag, and immediately almost dropped it. There was way too much food there for a 45-minute drive. Fondly, she smiled up at them—knowing them, they'd emptied the cabinets as much as they could so that they would have less to buy when they got there.

As soon as Sonia was done slipping the water into the sleeve of her backpack, she swung it onto her shoulder and ducked into the car. A lumpy trash bag full of pillows and blankets sat in the passenger foot well, along with a few rolls of paper towels and the spare motorcycle helmet. Carefully, she swung the food over the console, then did the same with her bag. The lily of the valley broach that was once affixed to her chest was now pinned proudly on the front of it; it caught the sun and glinted brightly.

By the time she stood back up, Cyn's dad was emerging from the house with a squirming Fender in his arms. "Aw, dad," she complained. "Why would you bring him out here?"

"He wanted to say goodbye, too!"

"Yeah, but now I'm gonna cry."

A sniffle drew her attention to the woman standing at her side. Jen was blinking up at the sky. At the sight of it, Lydia felt a treacherous heat build up behind her own eyes. "Oh my god—no." She pushed the car door shut. "No one is crying. This family has done far too much crying this summer. We're done."

Everyone grumbled in assent knowing full well that they'd all be blubbering in no less than two minutes. Cynthia, now clad in her leather jacket, crossed behind her to say her goodbyes. As she passed, she swept her hand along the small of her back just because she could.

Lydia made her way over to Charlie, desperately trying to keep it together. As soon as she was close enough, he pulled her in for a hug. They both chuckled at the noise of mild discontent Fender made between them. "Oh kid," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

Her eyes immediately filled with heat again. "Thank you." She scratched slowly between the cat's ears and he rewarded her by butting his face up into her palm. "I can't tell you what that means to me, Charlie. Seriously."

"You two take care of each other, okay? I know you will."

"We absolutely will." She ducked in for one more hug, pressed a kiss on top of Fender's orange head, then switched places with Cynthia. This time as they passed, she brushed their hands together. Her girlfriend's cheeks were already stained with tears, and she knew hers would soon match.

She stopped in front of the two most generous, loving people she'd ever met—her bottom lip was already trembling. Sonia cleared her throat and pulled out her phone. The screen was nearly touching her nose; wordlessly her wife handed over a pair of reading glasses. "Okay," she started thickly. "You have your house key—"

Lydia fumbled with her keyring until she found the shiniest one. "Got it."

"Your phone and charger?"

She patted her pocket then pointed back at the car. "Yeah—both of our chargers are in my backpack."

"Debit card, and credit card in case of emergencies?"

As she dug around in her pocket to get her phone out, she caught Charlie pulling Cynthia in for a shaky hug. With two quick swipes, both cards were in her hand. "Uh—check and check."

"And your ID." One more swipe and she was turning her driver's license around to show them. They nodded their approval with tight smiles, tucked up into each other's sides.

As she was slipping everything back into place, she couldn't help but get a little lost staring at the thin, plastic card. The smile in the picture was genuine, if not a little too excited for the dreariness of the DMV. It was her name that caught her eye, though. A name that she was more proud of than almost anything else because it meant she was part of a family that chose her.

Lydia Little. DOB: 06/17/07

She remembered the day it became official like it was yesterday; and probably would for the rest of her life. The adoption papers went through two weeks before her 18th birthday, and just a week after she and Cynthia graduated.

They really had been crying all summer.

"Well…" She stowed her phone with a sniffle and looked down at her tangled hands. "I, um… I'm not sure how to even begin to—"

Two hands grabbed either wrist and pulled her into a mom sandwich. She crumbled the moment their arms wrapped securely around her. Even racked with sobs, she was completely at peace.

"Don't you dare thank us."

"B—but—"

"Shhh," Sonia cooed, rubbing up and down her back. "We would do it all over again in a heartbeat, honey."

She buried her head between their shoulders, fat tears dropping rhythmically on both of their shirts. "I just found you guys. I want to go, I do, but I just can't believe this is already goodbye."

"It's not." Jen put a comforting hand on the side of her neck and pushed her back. She held her gaze deliberately as she said, "We'll always be in your life. That doesn't change just because you aren't living with us anymore. Okay?" With effusive nods and another sob, she let herself be pulled into another crushing hug.

After a bit, everyone's tears dried. The only evidence that they'd been there at all were the puffy eyes scrunched up by bright smiles. There was waving, and safety reminders, and light teasing about the depraved nature of the college lifestyle. Eventually, all of the parents climbed onto the porch, clumped together for support.

Lydia climbed into the car and immediately turned the air on. She rolled the windows down to let some of the existing heat out, but even a few seconds was too long. She used the rear view mirror to throw her hair up into a bun, smiling absentmindedly at the paper poesy and graduation tassel that hung there side-by-side.

She'd just clicked her seatbelt into place when Cyn appeared at her window, crossing her arms and leaning in to see her. "So," she smiled.

"So…"

"You ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

She gripped onto the soft leather collar of her jacket, and leaned in to bring their lips together. It was short and sweet and perfect.

Nothing had ever made sense before. Life was one big cosmic joke she was constantly on the wrong end of. She didn't belong anywhere, she didn't have anyone, and it all seemed like a huge mistake. Over the last six months, she kept having moments where she was astounded by just how right everything felt. Moments where, finally, it all made sense. This was another one of those.

"Then let's go."

There was one more soft press of lips, and then Cyn was standing up and shooting her a wink before flipping her helmet onto her head. She rolled her windows up, the bike ahead of her revved to life, and they simultaneously sent back loving waves to their parents. And then they were ready to head off down the road, together.