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“Nope. Not doing it. Not getting up.”
This declaration is made definitively by the lump that is Danica, hidden underneath a pile of blankets that Ava thinks she spends half the night kicking off or getting tangled in but that never seem to bother Danica, despite the sweltering New York City summer. The AC unit hums determinedly all night long and into the day too, but despite its valiant efforts Ava still finds the nape of her neck tacky with sweat more often than not.
Now she stands still in the shorts worn perfectly soft from countless washes, ignoring the way the strap of her tanktop has slipped past her shoulders, contemplating the pile of blankets with an amused smile on her face. “Why not?”
The blankets move just enough to suggest that Danica hasn’t smothered herself beneath them yet. “I don’t need a reason.”
While Ava is certainly a proponent of the idea of a self-care day spent rotting in bed, she’s pretty sure they both know that statement isn’t exactly true. There’s plenty of reasons not to get out of bed today…or most days, honestly, when she thinks about all those reasons stacked up on top of each other like a Jenga game from Hell. But today of all days, especially.
Still, Ava sits on the edge of the bed, leaning her body against the mass that she assumes is Danica somewhere beneath all of those blankets. Danica gives a huff of protest, her knee pressing into the small of Ava’s back, but it’s not exactly like they’re strangers to sharing one another’s space.
“Come on,” Ava wheedles, pressing more of her weight into Danica, “it’s a beautiful day. A long weekend. There’s so much we could do.”
“I’m serious, Ava,” Danica protests and despite the muffled nature of her voice, she sounds like she means it. “I’m staying right here for at least the next twenty-four hours. I’m not risking it. No way.”
Honestly, Ava isn’t entirely sure why she’s even bothering to argue. If she had any sense, she’d probably still be in bed beside Danica, fully on board with her plan to leave bed only for takeout and matcha. But she’s not sure it could ever be said that Ava Brucks has good sense.
“What about breaking the cycle? Making new memories?” When this tactic doesn’t work, Ava switches gears, nudging at the Danica lump with her elbow, for whatever good that might do. “We could take the ferry out to Roosevelt Island and watch the fireworks later. And I know how you feel about fireworks.”
Finally Danica’s forehead and eyes appear, her brow furrowing as she glares at Ava over the sea of blankets. “How dare you use that against me.”
Ava laughs, reaching for the blankets, trying to pull them further from Danica’s face. She whines in protest but doesn’t fight, allowing herself to be unwrapped. Ava leans forward, stretching out on her stomach so that she’s wedged between Danica and the edge of the bed, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “We could get food from that Moroccan place you like.”
Danica wrinkles her nose but Ava can still see it in her eyes. Not doubt, no. It’s more than that. A genuine shimmer of fear, shrouded in worry. “Ava…”
“Danica.”
Sighing, Danica sits, leaning against the wooden headboard of the bed. “It’s the Fourth.”
The way she says it suggests that that should be the end of the conversation. All that needs to be said on the subject. The Fourth of July. It’s not like this date doesn’t make Ava want to run to the shoebox of a bathroom and throw up until her stomach has turned itself inside out. It’s not like she’s harboring any pleasant memories of the holiday. Looking at Danica, right now in front of her, tangible and alive, is the only thing Ava thinks is keeping her from imagining Milo and Teddy and Grant and Tyler and a car smashed against rocks and surf and blood blood blood and how sometimes she can’t even use a knife because cutting into a tender cut of meat is as easy as cutting through human flesh and bone. No, she has no fondness for the Fourth of July.
Not in the slightest.
But fuck it if she’s just going to be hiding under her covers all day.
Ava reaches for Danica’s hand, threading their fingers together. “I know,” she says softly. “But maybe that’s why we should…I don’t know…do something else. Make a new memory. Fuck, I don’t know.”
Danica just stares back at her, holding tightly to Ava’s hand.
Ava sighs, glancing at their fingers intwined and resting on the comforter. They’d gotten it together months before, back when the city was still cold and snowy and grey and Danica had grown tired of complaining about how Ava always kept her apartment far too cold for her liking, declaring that she needed reinforcements when she spent the night at her place. Now it feels like it’s always been a part of the space, just like Danica’s clothes in the closet, her face wash on the counter, her body tangled around Ava’s in the middle of the night.
“It’s stupid,” Ava mutters, shaking her head. “I just thought…”
Honestly, she’s not sure what she thought anymore. Fuck the Fourth and fireworks and stupid American flag tee-shirts. Clearly Danica has the right idea.
But before she can admit this, Danica leans forward, kissing her softly, letting her hand linger on the curve of Ava’s jaw, thumb brushing against her cheek. “It’s not stupid. I’m probably being stupid. It’s just hard not to feel like the whole thing is…cursed.” She grimaces, embarrassed, sure, but not enough to make the words mean any less. “Like everything has been great…better than great, honestly. And then today…bam.”
Both sentiments are things Ava is sure she can’t disagree with. Because everything has been great. Better than great. The past year, for all its nightmares and sleepless nights and stitches and curious glances from people in line next to her at the grocery store, has been better than the Ava of a year or even two years ago ever would’ve thought to hope for. Danica, back in her life. Falling in love with her best friend. Getting to share the city with her, making a new home. In fact, the idea of asking Danica to move in officially, maybe in a new place that belonged to the two of them together, has been nudging its way into her mind more and more often recently. Though maybe Danica isn’t entirely off base, considering the fact that Ava wouldn’t imagine bringing up the possibility of moving in together on a day like today…just in case.
“Like if we leave the apartment the Universe is going to remember we still owe it something.”
Danica’s eyes widen, forehead creases deepening. “Exactly,” she says softly. “Karmic balance.”
Unbidden, the vision of Milo, dead in the backseat of his car, crowds to the forefront of her mind. Teddy trussed up on the dock. The glean in Stevie’s eyes. Ava squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head to try and banish the thoughts once more, shoving them to the back of her mind. When she opens her eyes again, there’s Danica. Still here. Still whole. Still holding her hand.
“I think we’ve given the universe enough,” Ava says bitterly.
Danica squeezes her hand, grip refusing to slacken. “Just in case…I don’t want to give it anything else.” Danica looks at her pointedly, thumb tracing the veins in Ava’s wrist.
Ava sighs, leaning forward to kiss Danica softly, her forehead resting against Danica’s. “I don’t really care about the fireworks anyway,” she mumbles, closing her eyes, allowing her body to loosen in proximity to Danica’s.
Danica threads her fingers through Ava’s sleep tangled hair, brushing it away from her face and over her shoulders. “But maybe we could still order from the Moroccan place.”
Ava laughs and allows Danica to wrap her up in her arms, allows herself not to care, if just for a little while, what day it is.