Archive of Our Own

Southport is exactly the same. 

Ava isn’t sure what she’d been expecting. It’s only been a few months, after all, and it’s not like the world has changed, it’s just opened up a little bit, showing her something different. But home, the place she’d left behind, it’s exactly as it always has been. Glittering and beautiful and slow and small. All things that aren’t bad, necessarily. Just…different. 

It’s funny how easy it is to adjust to something new and feel out of place in what you’ve always known. 

When the Uber pulls up outside her house, she thanks the driver as she gets out, hurrying to the back as the woman pops the trunk. The driver doesn’t offer to help and Ava doesn’t ask anyway, grabbing her two massive suitcases and hauling them out and onto the street. Maybe it wasn’t fully necessary to bring home most of her wardrobe -some in need of washing, some desperately hopeless in her new surroundings- but it’s too late now and besides the bags have wheels anyway. 

Ava lets herself in, the house quiet once she shuts the door behind her. Her dad had given his assurances that he would be home in time for a welcome back dinner and, if not that, then, well, a welcome back breakfast. You know how hectic a schedule can be, Ava, be reasonable. The house, too, is exactly the same, and Ava knows this time she’s most certainly the incongruous part, mostly because she has been for quite some time. She gives everything a passing glance, pausing in dragging her bags behind her only to pull open the fridge and contemplate the items inside, grabbing a cheese stick before continuing her journey toward the stairs that will take her to the bottom level of the house.

Here, at least, she feels like she belongs. Everything is as she’s left it and that is a relief for the first time. Ava exhales, letting her suitcases flop over onto the floor of her bedroom. She unwraps the cheese stick, sticking one end between her teeth as she takes a tour of the room like it wasn’t hers just months before. Pictures and books and medals and the detritus of her life, all positioned just so and gathering dust. Ava lets her eyes skim over pictures of her and Milo, settling instead on the ones of all of them together, or of her and her mother, or her and Danica. Ava smiles, picking up a framed photo of her and Danica the night of graduation, both in those hideous gowns that wouldn’t look good on anyone except maybe Danica Richards, their cheeks pressed together, arms around one another. She remembers how tightly she’d held on in that moment, acutely and sharply aware for the first time that soon they would be saying goodbye. 

Ava puts the picture aside, trying to ignore the stab that still comes from that memory, from the actual moment when they’d hugged for the last time, when she’d last seen Danica’s face in person. She sits on the edge of her bed, fishing her phone from her pocket and finding Danica’s name, starting a Facetime call.

It rings three times before the screen changes, blurry and pixelated and then Danica’s face appears. Ava grins, laying back against pillows that her head hasn’t touched in months. “Hey babe.” 

“Are you home?” Danica asks, her voice sounding echoey and far away. “You look cute, what is that top? Have I seen that before?” 

Ava glances down at herself, at the travel rumpled buttery yellow t-shirt she’d thrown on when getting up way too early that morning. She quirks an eyebrow, squinting at the screen. “Okay, you’re acting weird. Why are you acting weird?” She pauses, trying to study the picture more closely. “And where are you?” 

Danica blows out a breath, her cheeks puffing. “Okay, please don’t be mad.” 

Ava props herself up on her elbow, doubt already churning in the pit of her stomach. “O…kay?” 

“You know that I love you,” Danica continues, which does little to help all that roiling uncertainty. “Like, so, so, so much.” 

“I-” Ava pauses, tilting her head. “Are you in a car?” 

Danica sighs, the picture briefly freezing as she says, “Yes. I was about to call and tell you…” The image unfreezes, showing her Danica, once more, looking wide-eyed and contrite. “Teddy’s parents just surprised us. I swear. I had no idea.” 

Now Ava sits up fully, drawing her knees up to her chest. “What are you talking about?” 

“Jill and Grant rented a house…in Cape Cod. They wanted to do something different this Thanksgiving…” Danica grimaces, her apology clear despite the poor quality of the call. “I…I had to say yes, Ava, I’m so sorry.” 

Ava opens and closes her mouth again just as quickly, at a loss of what she’s supposed to say. Like, of course she had to say yes. A trip with her boyfriend’s family over Thanksgiving isn’t the type of thing you decline, not to return home from college for a week…even to see your old friends. No, not old friends, Ava corrects quickly. Best friend. 

But still. 

And so, Ava fixes her expression, quickly shaking her head. “No, yeah, of course. Of course. You should go! Have the best time!” She hopes that she sounds genuine, or that the quality of the call is poor enough to hide her disappointment. “I’m so excited for you!” 

Danica exhales, a tentatively hopeful expression on her face. “Are you sure? I’m so sorry, Ava, really. I wanted to see you and…” She pauses, crinkling her nose. “I mean, duh, I want to see you. I miss you so freaking bad I feel like I’m going to, like, explode.” 

Ava laughs, nodding. “Yeah. Same. Me too.” It helps, a little. “But, seriously, have a great time. I’ll…I mean Christmas isn’t that far, right?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Danica nods, relief in her eyes. “Sleepover at my house and we can eat raw cookie dough and watch bad Hallmark movies?” 

In spite of the ache blooming in the center of her chest, Ava nods, grinning. “Seriously you’re not going to be able to get rid of me.” 

“Promise?” Danica smiles and it only makes the sharpness of missing her all the more apparent. “I love you.” 

Ava nods, swallowing. “I love you too. Send me so many pictures.” 

The call ends quickly after and Ava sighs, laying her phone facedown on her bed and laying back onto the pillows once more. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that seeing Danica had been the primary motivator for even coming back to Southport. Getting to see Teddy, her dad, all those things had been secondary. That, and the fact that basically no one stayed on campus over the holidays and how pathetic did she want to be anyway? And now here she is…already near tears and the holiday hasn’t even technically started. Must be some kind of record. 

Ava rolls onto her side, picking up her once more, opening her contacts and scrolling through lackadaisically. She pauses briefly on Milo’s name, even though the texts they’ve exchanged few and far between over the past few months have been enough to let her know he won’t be coming back from D.C. for the break, that his parents are flying to visit him instead. And she’s not sure she’s all that ready to see Milo again anyway, despite their efforts to keep their friendship intact after their “high school is over, the world is a big place” breakup. 

Quickly, Ava switches over to Instagram, scrolling through her feed instead. So much of her screen is pictures from the people she’s met in school, friends and acquaintances posting about their own holiday breaks or journeys home. She absently taps the heart on every picture she comes across, from views outside plane windows or cute cats or impressive charcuterie boards, not even bothering to check the time as she flicks her thumb across the screen. 

It isn’t until the sound of her own name being called that Ava jerks out her reverie and she sits up in surprise. She pauses, listening, half certain she’d been hearing things, until it comes again, her father from upstairs, calling her name from above like he’d done so many times before when she was in high school.

Surprised, Ava glances at the clock, not sure if she’s more shocked to find it’s after five or that her dad is actually home. She slides off the bed, stuffing her phone into her pocket, and heading back up the stairs. The smile that crosses her face when she sees her father comes easily, genuine. He, too, looks at the same, something that is comforting rather than depressing. “Hi, Dad.” 

She goes over to him, fitting into his arms just like she’d done that day months before when they’d parted ways outside her dorm. Her father wraps his arms around her and Ava closes her eyes and for a moment she feels like they’re both happy she’s here. 

And while she’s sure that her father is glad to see her, the feeling that she’d made the right decision to come home only really lasts until they get halfway through dinner, running out the things to talk about over their pizza. This, too, is something that has clearly not changed. 

“So,” her father says finally, when it seems like he’s run out of questions to ask about her classes and she is devoid of anything job-related to ask him, “do you have plans to see your friends tonight?” 

Ava glances at her phone, which is been all too quiet for the past hour. “Uh. Yeah. I’m sure we’ll find something to do.” 

Or, she will at least. Because, already, the house feels too stifling to spend another minute in. 

Let alone an entire week.  

Stevie can feel Ray’s eyes on her from across the bar. It’s been happening a lot more frequently lately, him watching her with this new level of intensity. She pretends not to notice, wiping down a table just recently vacated by a family of four, tourists from out of town. She’d done all the appropriate waitress-y stuff, asked them where they were from, smiled toothily at the kids even after one of them spilled Coke all over the floor. But she doesn’t remember much of what they’d told her -where they were from, why they were visiting, the kids’ ages and how little so-and-so got sunburned at the beach and such-and-such thought he saw some dolphins. To be honest, she doesn’t give a shit. But that’s not exactly the full reason she can’t remember much of their conversation and judging by Ray’s focus, Stevie figures he might be onto her.

Just a little bit anyway. 

He’s probably seen it all in his years behind the bar. Or, better yet, throughout all the time he’d known her dad. But Stevie just keeps her attention on the table, wiping it spotless, pocketing the crumpled tip left tucked under one of the sweating plastic cups of half drunk sweet tea, so that the bills are wet when she puts them into her pocket. Fuck it anyways. The money will dry and at least the tourists tend to tip pretty well. Stevie isn’t sure if the decent tip is in spite of or despite the fact that the husband had kept looking at the sliver of skin where her shirt had ridden up by her hip -more staring she had pretended not to notice. Maybe the wife had made sure to give her a few extra bucks as a thank you for not flirting with her borderline super creepy husband; she’s been out of high school for a few months but that means she’d only just graduated. 

When there’s nothing more Stevie thinks she could possibly wipe up from the table, she grabs the bus tub and heads back toward the kitchen, hoping to dodge Ray. The bar isn’t too busy, now that it’s getting later on in the evening and the tourists are either going back to their rentals or heading off to watch the waves at night. Too early for most of the regulars, too late for the tourists. Perfect timing for Ray to step in front of her, reaching for the tub. “Let me help.” 

Stevie shakes her head, eyes downcast. “I got it.” 

Ray takes it easily and Stevie sighs, letting it go rather than fight him for it. What would be the point of that anyway? She goes to step around him, to find some salt shakers to fill or something, but Ray blocks her easily. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stevie says flatly, even though the back of her neck is tacky with sweat and her mind feels sluggish, thoughts rolling back and forth in her skull like someone is tipping a ship in a bottle back and forth, back and forth, the delicate little boat tossed on invisible waves. 

Ray lowers his head, clearly trying to meet her gaze. Stevie sets her jaw, ticking her eyes up at him. There’s only so much a person can do before it’s obvious that they’re avoiding looking at you, which only screams suspicious. All these little signs she’d missed once upon a time even when they’d been in her own house. “Stevie…” 

Stevie juts her chin out, meeting his gaze full on now. “Yeah?” 

It’s just weed, seriously. What’s the big fucking deal. So she got a little high before work…and at work, too. But not by herself! With one of the line cooks and the guy who does the dishes and one of the other servers who got cut an hour ago. Where’s their third degree, huh? 

Stevie has half a mind to tell Ray all this, too, to make herself the supremely uncool white girl by ratting out the rest of her coworkers, but then Ray seems to give up suddenly, deflating with a sigh. He shakes his head. “Take out the trash, will you?” 

“No problem, boss.” She shoots him a thumbs-up, stepping around Ray and heading toward the back. Trash, got it. Stevie holds tightly to the instructions so they don’t slosh around in her brain like everything else, stopping only to open her locker -locker being a poor name for a little metal cubby that doesn’t actually have a lock- to root her cigarettes out of her purse. 

There’s a decent pile of bags by the door, so at least Stevie can feel momentarily useful, a feeling that comes few and far between lately. She grabs the first two bags, letting the plastic twist around her fingers, the swollen bags bumping against her calves, as she shuffles awkwardly toward the back door, hefting the bags so they don’t tear and leave her with a literal heaping pile of shit rather than the mental and emotional piles she carries with her. 

Outside, the sky is violet, wispy white clouds smeared across the darkening palette of the oncoming night. There’s a chill to the air, that approaching winter somewhere on the horizon, the smell of a few early fires mingling with the fishy smell off the bay. Stevie hauls the bags over to the dumpster, muscles burning pleasantly as she slings them inside. The rattle of the metal door slamming closed once more echoes and she exhales, sweaty and tired. Casting a glance toward the back of the bar, Stevie pulls the cigarette pack from her pocket and moves further from the restaurant and down the dock, figuring she’s got a few minutes before Ray thinks to come looking for her. More than enough time to bring herself down a little bit, to steady her thoughts and recenter herself for the rest of her shift. Ray has been keeping her on longer and longer shifts recently, even when it’s not necessary, just so he can justify paying her. He’s doing it to help, something that makes Stevie feel guilty and like crying at the same time, and in her more terrible moments, it pisses her off, because she just wants to be at home, getting high in her bedroom and sleeping. 

Stevie leans against the metal railing, cupping her hand around her lighter as she touches it to the cigarette between her lips. She inhales, closing her eyes, breathing in deep. She tries to grab for something grounding, but her skin still feels all prickly and loose, and when she thinks about those kids from earlier, how small and messy and uncoordinated they’d been, it just makes her giggle, those stupid, sad, tiny little pathetic humans fucking up at all life’s basic steps. 

Join the club. 

“I guess I need what you’re having.” 

Stevie turns around, surprised, but on some level recognizing and placing and slotting the voice into its space in her heart long before her brain connects those pieces. “Ava.” 

Ava, yes. In the flesh, because shitty dime bag weed isn’t exactly going to make her start imagining visions of her old friends standing a few yards behind her. And Stevie can tell it’s really Ava, anyway, by the fact that she doesn’t look exactly like she did the last time Stevie saw her, the months that have passed changing her in subtle ways that her mind wouldn’t have known to do. Looking at her, Stevie isn’t fully sure what’s different, just that she looks older somehow, already bigger than Southport. The roundness of her face that Stevie had always loved, always thought made Ava look so young and soft, has become more angular, a sharp edge that matches that sharpness in her gaze.

But still, her smile is exactly as it always is in Stevie’s memories of her. Exactly how it is in the photos on her phone and the few she keeps in her room, even though she wonders how long she can keep them until it starts to feel pathetic. The smile makes Stevie’s heart sing, makes her body feel loose and liquidy warm, makes her want to do something horribly embarrassing like cry and throw her arms around Ava. 

“Oh shit,” Stevie manages, coughing around the exhale of her smoke. Thankfully, she holds her ground, keeping her expression cautiously incredulous rather than teary. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It must sound thrilled and shocked rather than accusatory, because Ava grins and laughs, sauntering across the creaking dock in her direction. “It’s Thanksgiving, didn’t you know?” She teases.

Stevie feels some of that excitement fizzle, though the need to cry hangs stubbornly on. “Huh.” She puts the cigarette to her lips again, watching Ava watch the movement. She’s wearing an oversized sweater that looks soft and warm and Stevie imagines that she if she were to put her cheek against the fabric it would smell of Ava’s house and take her immediately back there despite the fact that she hasn’t been inside for months. She looks at Ava out of the corner of her eye, exhaling a stream of smoke toward their feet. “You didn’t text.” 

It sounds so sad and pathetic that Stevie is immediately ashamed, so disappointingly embarrassed in herself that she cringes and feels she might never recover. Thankfully, Ava saves her by saying, “Give me that,” and plucking the cigarette from her fingers. 

Stevie gives it to her, relieved that Ava has ignored her, has spared the both of them some paper thin explanation. Her mind no longer feels pleasantly fuzzy, oozing around in her skull like buttery dough kneaded between someone’s fingers. Now everything feels brittle and stiff, the back of her neck sweating again, her wrists hot. She immediately pulls the hair tie from around one wrist, clawing her hair from the back of her neck into a ponytail to give herself a bit of relief. 

Ava inhales like a pro, looks fully comfortable with that cigarette between her lips, effortlessly beautiful in the way she’s always been. Always different from her and even Danica; Stevie had understood her role among them well enough, her coolness, intelligence, beauty, measured only by comparison to the others. And even Danica had had to work for it, all her rituals and routines, the careful styling directed by her mother’s discerning eye. But Ava had just been. 

Or maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it’s all those months that have gone by with Stevie here and wondering if her friends were thinking about her. Months of not seeing any of them, and of seeing Ava suddenly, unexpectedly, here in front of her now. If that sudden reappearance after not seeing her makes Ava look so much more beautiful than Stevie remembers. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Stevie says, and off Ava’s look, she adds, “Cigarettes.” 

Look, she’s not exactly new to this whole thing. It’s not like the cook and the servers at Ray’s are corrupting her, this sad little castoff girl dropped by Daddy and left penniless. But it had been cool and fun to smoke with her friends in the backseat of Teddy’s car or Danica’s, and Stevie isn’t entirely sure it’s cool anymore, what she’s doing. 

“Oh, yeah, my roommate got me into it,” Ava says, rolling her eyes. “At parties, mostly.” She shakes her head, holding the cigarette back to Stevie. “Disgusting.” 

Stevie grins, putting the cigarette between her lips where Ava’s had just been. “Absolutely filthy.” 

They both smile, looking at each other, and suddenly Stevie isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do. As vaguely unfamiliar as Ava had looked to her moments before, she suddenly feels like a stranger, like far more than just a few months have passed. Like their entire shared history has been erased and Stevie doesn’t think her mind is clear enough to find any words. Does she play it cool? Ask Ava how things have been? Act like no time has passed or like she’s all too aware of every moment that’s gone by?

And suddenly Ava lets out a shriek of excitement, Stevie flinching at the sudden noise, and then Ava is wrapping her arms around her, squeezing hard enough that Stevie is certain her ribs are grinding together. “Stevie!” 

There’s so much joy in that word, in this embrace, that Stevie thinks now she really might cry, and she drops the cigarette so that she can wrap her arms around Ava instead, and just like she’d thought, her friend smells exactly the same. Despite Stevie’s long limbs, the height she’d been teased for since middle school -lovingly by Teddy and Milo, maliciously by the other kids until Ava and Teddy had caught wind of it- Ava still feels like she dwarfs her, scooping her up and holding her close, like she might actually take Stevie off her feet. Like Stevie might gratefully let her sweep her away. 

“I missed you!” Ava says and that’s effortless, too, how she says it, like it’s not embarrassing at all to admit this. 

The words feel good, warm and gooey as these spread themselves through Stevie’s rib cage like honeycomb, so Stevie decides not to point out that there’s the whole thing called phones and text messages and FaceTime -all of which had been put to use only sporadically in past few months. And so Stevie just closes her eyes, pressing her hands into the small of Ava’s back, the space between the wings of her shoulders. “I missed you, too. A lot.” 

Ava pulls back and stares at Stevie, grabbing her face between her hands, and Stevie feels a surge crackle down the length of her spine at the strange and dizzying thought that Ava might kiss her, suddenly, right here on the pier, even though they’ve never done something like that, not so out in the open. But Ava doesn’t kiss her. Instead, she just gives her cheeks a squeeze in a way that is almost uncomfortable but not nearly enough to make Stevie want to wiggle loose. “I am so glad to see you.” 

Stevie lets herself grin as best as she can with Ava’s hands smooshing her face together. It’s better this way, probably, because then her grin isn’t so embarrassing. “Yeah?” 

Ava rolls her eyes, her hands falling away, and she just gives Stevie a poke in the forearm. “Duh. Idiot.” 

Again, Stevie doesn’t point out the sporadic phonecalls and texts, the fact that she hadn’t even known that Ava was going to be home. It’s pathetic, maybe, but she swallows the words anyway. “Do you-” 

The back door to the restaurant has an unmistakable squeal when its swings open, a fortunate defect that Ray hasn’t gotten around to fixing, one that alerts any of his employees that he’s about to show up so they had best exhale smoke and stomp out elicit substances posthaste. Stevie and Ava both turn in unison to the sound, something that, in Stevie’s sudden surge of joy and relief at seeing Ava again, makes her feel all stupid and sentimental and puts her in mind to all the moments where she did almost everything in unison with someone else. Ray appears, his eyes scanning first the back lot and then further out toward the docks, resting on Stevie. 

Stevie can tell Ray isn’t sure if he should be mad or relieved to find her standing there with someone else. A friend, a blessed friend for his sad and lonely little employee. This derelict daughter of an old friend who has somehow been dropped into his lap. Ava gives him a smile, a jaunty wave, rocking back on her heels, and Ray just nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks back toward Stevie. “I could use you back behind the bar,” he says tentatively, like he’s not entirely sure he should.

But Stevie nods, Ava’s presence dulling some of the annoyance she’d been feeling earlier. Her heart feels light again, her thoughts a kaleidoscope in her mind. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Ray gives her another nod, popping back inside and leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Stevie turns back toward Ava, her smile a slightly apologetic one. “I…” She flops a hand in the direction of the place. “I’ve gotta help finish closing. You could…I mean did you…” When was it ever this hard? Never, of course, never. Because she’s never had to ask Ava if she wanted to hang out; for most of her life, it’s just been understood. “You could hang around? We could do something after?” 

Ava nods, crossing her arms across her chest, letting the big, soft sweater fall around her wrists. “Yeah, totally.” She pauses, lifting an eyebrow. “At the bar…?” 

Stevie only scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, no way.” She shakes her head, starting back toward Ray’s. “Ray is such a hardass. He’d never serve you.” 

Ava laughs, bemoaning her defeat, before they part ways and Stevie ducks back into the backdoor, leaving Ava to go around the front. It isn’t until Ava walks back in through the front doors that Stevie realizes she’d been slightly worried she wouldn’t come back.  

Ray doesn’t seem to mind Ava hanging around at the bar, in spite of the fact that she’s underage and he has a pretty firm policy against his employees bringing their friends over to the restaurant. Stevie figures this is just one of those times she needs to be happy that, for whatever reason, Ray has decided to take his assurances to her father that she’d keep an eye on her seriously. Ava nurses a Coke and scrolls through her phone and Stevie spends the next hour trying not to want to shrivel up from the embarrassment from both the fact that Ava is watching her wipe down tables and haul away other people’s half eaten food and because she keeps glancing over toward the bar, relieved to find that Ava hasn’t grown tired of waiting for her. 

Eventually, though, the bar closes and Ray tells Ava she has to wait outside while they mop up and count the drawer because it’s a liability having her hanging around and Stevie tries not to curl up from embarrassment all over again. But Ava seems largely unbothered by even more waiting and Stevie is sweaty and red-faced by the time she’s done moping and wiping down everything, half breathless from the speed with which she feels like she’s accomplished this task. She tries to catch her breath as she knocks on the door frame of Ray’s office. “I’m done.” 

Ray nods, pausing in the midst of counting through the till and making notations on the computer in front of him. “Okay.” He looks at her, seemingly wanting to say something, his brow furrowed. 

Stevie wonders what he sees when he looks at her like that, or why he even bothers. She never gets any type of weird vibes from him, certainly not like she does with so many of the other guys -tourists, mostly- who frequent the place. No, she’s never been worried or anxious about being alone with Ray, never felt anything more than genuine care from him, genuine worry and a willingness to stick out his neck for her. Which is almost worse, because that she doesn’t understand. She barely remembers him from before; if he used to come by the house and hang around with her dad, it didn’t make much of an impression. And she never came by the restaurant until she started working here, so it’s not like Ray was anything more than a stranger when he’d extended the lifeline of a paying job and a way to get out of the house. But it doesn’t answer the question of why or if he sees her father when he looks at her or just some pathetic kid or hopeless case like everyone else does. 

“Have fun,” Ray decides upon finally, glancing back toward his computer. “And be careful.” 

Even though Stevie wants to roll her eyes at the words, how serious and adult they sound, she doesn’t have anyone else who has been reminding her to be careful when she leaves the house or hangs out around Southport into the wee hours, so she lets it slide. Instead, she just nods, heading back toward her locker to retrieve her bag and the clothes she’d brought to change into, and heads back out the front of the bar.

Ava is leaning against the railing of the dock, staring out across the water, and Stevie exhales in a whoosh of relief, overcome all over again to see her standing there. It’s as though Ava’s sudden reappearance as only made it painfully obvious how much she’s missed her -all of them, really- tearing that wound open so that it beats with a fresh ache. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Stevie says, walking over to her. She shakes her head, now letting herself roll her eyes since only Ava can see her. “There’s way too much shit to do.” 

She pulls out her cigarettes, offering it to Ava, who slides one out. Stevie considers, thinking better of it, fishing out the lighter instead and Ava leans close, keeping the cigarette between her lips as Stevie lights it. The faint flame dances across her face, making her eyelashes look longer, her eyes darker, and finally the cigarette catches and Ava inhales, the filter crackling. She passes the cigarette over, just as Stevie had been hoping she would, and Stevie puts her lips to where Ava’s had just been.

“So,” Ava says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. It’s gotten colder with the sun down, the pleasant cool of the day now officially chilly. Stevie’s arms prickle with goosebumps and she takes another drag off the cigarette. “I didn’t know you were working here.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” How would you? Stevie swallows down the words, pressing her lips together as she looks over her shoulder back toward the bar. “It’s…” She isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say about it, not to Ava anyway. Once upon a time, she had been just like her, like all their friends. Safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to work, not really, until they got into their actual careers. No part-time jobs around here, no thank you. But when the money goes, well, any such securities tend to go with it. And now Stevie is all too aware that she’s sweaty and tired and probably looking worn out and ragged in front of Ava, who has never actually worked aside from babysitting her little cousins or helping Danica’s mom with a charity fundraiser or two. 

And Ava seems to have realized all of this too, looking uncomfortable for the first time since showing up here. It terrifies Stevie, this expression on her face, the panic cloying and thick in her throat. Like Ava might realize, finally, that they really don’t work anymore as friends, that too much has changed between them. That they might have to admit to the few-and-far between text messages, the occasional phonecalls, the fact that no one had reached out to say they would be coming home any time soon. And Stevie really, really doesn’t want to do any of that. 

She just wants to pretend, maybe, that things are like they used to be. 

“Come on,” Stevie says quickly, passing the cigarette back to Ava and then reaching for her wrist, tugging her toward the parking lot. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Ava seems willing to comply, reaching into her purse and retrieving a set of car keys, letting them chime together as she shakes them. “What did you have in mind?” 

Once again, Stevie hesitates. It’s another thing they’ve never had to do before, make these conscious decisions about where they night would take them. When they had been the five of them, those types of things never really seemed to matter or never fell on Stevie, at the very least. No, Teddy always knew somewhere they could go, or Danica always had some off-the-beaten path type of idea, the five of them together in someone’s car with the music loud and the windows down and Stevie bursting with love and excitement and possibility and not caring where they were going anyway, as long as she was with them. And then all of that had been taken away and now she has to think about what she does now, now that she’s just one, and it’s embarrassing, how she spends most of that time. Embarrassing, like cleaning up people’s trash at Ray’s.

“I…” Stevie exhales, fishing for the only thing she really has to offer. “I could probably get us some weed.” 

Thankfully, Ava grins, tossing her the keys effortlessly. “Yes. Definitely.” 

She’s never actually had to buy weed before. In high school, it had always just been there, either provided by Teddy, who could seemingly get anything whenever his little golden heart so desired, or Milo, whose older brother likely didn’t mind contributing to the corruption of Southport’s youth. And in college, it might as well have been stocked at the student union for how easy it was to get your hands on -a proffered gift at every party she’d ever been to and Ava never made a habit of turning it down.

But this is completely different, going with Stevie to the house of some guy she knows through working at Ray’s. This she explains to Ava as they park on the street outside the apartment building, as Stevie finally peels off her work shirt and swaps it for another, an equally loose tee with a fading LCD Soundsystem logo on the front, making her look much like she had before. Ava tells herself it’s surprise at this sudden action -the twist of wrist, the yank of fabric over head, brief moments of skin and stomach and beige bra on display- that makes her stare at Stevie, though the surprise is probably unwarranted given the number of times that she and Stevie and Danica have all performed this exact ritual around one another -shedding and swapping clothes with effortless ease. 

The apartment is on the second floor, lit primarily by weird blacklight and the glow from a fish tank that seems to contain only snails, which Ava pretends to be intensely interested in just to keep from opening staring at the place. Honestly, it doesn’t seem much different than some of the dorms she’s been in recently -right down to the way Stevie’s friend keeps openly staring at her as though Ava isn’t wearing anything at all, rather than some old sweater she dug out of her closest. At least his girlfriend is hot; Ava doesn’t mind her staring nearly as much.

Stevie hands over the bills she takes from her pocket, tips for the night, if Ava had to guess, and Ava feels a twinge in her chest, doubt creeping in suddenly. She hasn’t been keeping up with Stevie the way that she knows she should’ve been, all things considered. All her best intentions had fallen away quickly enough once she’d gotten to school and it sounds better to be able to blame it on her classes and keeping up with studying but that’s only half the story, she knows, that it had been easy to be drawn in by the rest of it too, all these new people and this new place. She’d kept up with Danica but only just barely and because they still had a shared language. She wasn’t sure what to say to Stevie, now that their lives were so markedly different. But regardless of Ava’s inability to pick up her phone, Stevie’s life had been moving forward without any of them, reshaped by her father, by the crumbling of the foundation they’d always just taken for granted, and now she’s standing here in the apartment of one of Stevie’s coworkers from a job Ava hadn’t even known Stevie had until a few hours ago, watching Stevie buy a bag of weed with her tips and she feels guilty, how this only serves to remind her why she hadn’t been able to pick up the phone in the first place. 

Outside, Ava pauses, her hand resting on the half open passenger side door. “I’ve got some cash if-” 

Stevie looks at her across the top of the car, the watery orange streetlights making her features hard to read. “Don’t do that.” 

“What?” 

“Feel bad for me.” 

Ava snaps her mouth closed, looking away from Stevie and ducking into the car. Stevie follows suit and for a minute they just sit there, in silence, in the quiet car, and Ava studies the view out the windshield, this part of Southport she’s so rarely seen, without glittering water and towering houses. It’s strange to feel like she doesn’t know what to say to Stevie. 

Stevie starts the car and Ava finally turns to look at her. “Where to now?” 

The question earns her a smile, one that is so fully familiar and Stevie that the sharp edges of uncertainty that Ava had been feeling start to melt and trickle down her spine. “Where do you think?” 

They park just beyond Reaper’s Curve, off the road itself in a much safer alcove of space, popular among teenagers in Southport with a license and a free Saturday night. There’s no one there now as Stevie parks and cuts the headlights, studying the view through the windshield. It’s not as nice as being on the road itself, the curve of the road partially obscuring the view of the marina below, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. When Ava thinks about home, when she tries to describe the place she’s come from to all the new and unfamiliar people she meets thousands of miles away, this is the place she often thinks about. This is the view of Southport that springs so easily to her mind, time and time again. Looking down from the arch and loop of Reaper’s Curve, staring down into the town like it might belong just to her, glittering and sparkling in the velvety darkness. Or, when it had been her and Stevie and Danica and the boys, like it might belong to them all, these privileged children of Southport, swollen with youth and promise, worthy of the shimmering lights and languorous waves. But then all the stuff with Stevie’s dad had happened and it had been the first taste that maybe life wouldn’t always be so glittering and shiny and then they’d left anyway, the four of them, and for the first time in Ava’s life she’d had to close her eyes to conjure up views of home. 

Ava goes to stand by the edge of the road, near the rusting and crooked barricade someone had put up decades before, when it became clear that two things were inevitably true about this road: it was killing a bunch of teenagers and teenagers weren’t going to stay away. Ava noses a discarded glass bottle with the toe of her shoe, pushing it over the edge and listening as it tumbles off into the darkness, toward the road. From here, she can see the road itself, a vantage point that likely would’ve saved quite a few lives if only the curves themselves were so easy to navigate. No one is coming. From here, like always, it feels like the rest of the world is empty. 

When she glances over her shoulder, Ava sees Stevie still sitting behind the driver’s seat of the car, one hand loosely curled around the steering wheel. In the dark, it’s hard to tell where her attention is, if she’s looking out at Southport or at Ava herself. Still, Ava gives her a smile, an impatient flap of her hand. “What are you doing?”

The door pops open and Stevie steps out, the wind toying with her loose hair. It’s longer than Ava remembers; everything about Stevie seems to be longer than she remembers. Her slender arms and legs, still slightly gangly like those of a colt, maybe, the promise that she was going to grow into her height not entirely fulfilled. Her fingers, long and thin as she tries to comb back her hair. And her expression, that long and faraway stare that her eyes have taken on. Ava tries to remember if Stevie had been like this before, or, at least, after her father had gone and taken everything with him, or if she has happened over the past few months, without the rest of them. 

“Nothing,” Stevie says, giving up on her hair and coming to join Ava by the railing. “It’s cold.” 

Ava isn’t sure if this is an observation or explanation, but either way she shrugs. “I feel like we used to be up here all the time. Even when it was colder than this.” 

Stevie chuckles, tilting her head in a sort of agreement, and then fishes the plastic baggie out of her front pocket. The guy, her coworker, had given them some sort of hodgepodge of what Ava can only assume is cheap, seedy weed. A few pre-rolled joints, some extra loamy clusters for making their own if they felt particularly enterprising. Stevie retrieves one of the joints, holding it out to Ava as she slides the bag back into her pocket. “Thanks.” Ava slips it between her lips, letting Stevie light it for her. 

They stand that way for a bit, staring down at Southport, passing the joint back and forth. Just like Ava had thought, it tastes awful, burning her throat with every exhale, but she doesn’t point this out, thinking again of the crumpled bills Stevie had taken from her pocket and handed over to her friend. Instead, she says, “So. Do you still come up here a lot?” 

Stevie looks at her, the wind taking her recent exhale of smoke. “Up here?” She lifts her eyebrows. “Why would I do that?” 

Alone, she means. Ava isn’t sure where to go with this next, the fact that she’s probably committed all the worst of all best-friend sins by not having spoken to Stevie in at least two months. She decides to side-step her faux pas by saying, “What? You don’t want to enjoy the view?” She grins, teasing. 

Once again, Stevie lets her get away with it, something Ava isn’t sure she deserves. “Oh, yeah, good point. I just come up here all the time and gaze lovingly down at Southport and thank god that I get to wake up here every day.” She smirks, flicking the stub of the joint off the side of the road. 

Ava laughs, turning back toward the car and settling onto the hood. She used to do this in high school, much to her father’s continual annoyance. She draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. The wind has picked up, the air growing chillier as it comes in off the water, and she can feel the goosebumps creeping across her skin even under the fabric of her sweater. 

“Remember when we came up here after graduation?” Stevie asks, coming over to join Ava. She sits down beside her, taking the spot she’d held countless times before. It feels right, like something slotting into place, and Ava feels like she’s just spent the past few months of her life waiting for someone to fill that spot at her side -Stevie or Danica or Milo, making it so she never had to stand alone. “Teddy kept saying he was going to walk along the edge of the railing.” Stevie rolls her eyes. “He swore he could do it.”

Ava laughs, leaning back so that she’s resting against the windshield, the cold of the glass seeping through the fabric of her sweater. “Yeah, like a fucking idiot,” she mutters. “We kept telling him it wasn’t even flat but he just acted like that didn’t even matter.” 

“Milo finally had to talk him down,” Stevie adds with a laugh. 

Her words pull a slight twinge from the center of Ava’s chest, but Ava isn’t sure if it’s because of Milo or just the idea of it, the five of them together, laughing and a little bit drunk and a little bit high and how the fact that she loved them all so much made Ava want to stand on the edge of the railing herself and howl out into the dark settled over Southport until she relieved some of that pressure in her chest. How much it could hurt, feeling rounded and stuffed with love for her friends, for whatever was going to happen next. 

“Yeah, Milo always was the smartest of all of us.” 

Stevie leans back, turning her head so that they’re nearly nose to nose stretched across the hood of the car. “Do you miss him?” 

“Milo?” 

Stevie shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. 

Like that might not be what she’s asking at all.

Ava reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together. This, too, she’s done a dozen times. But, like seeing Stevie earlier in the car, the strip of white stomach there in the glow of the streetlights, it feels fuzzy and strange. “I missed you, Stevie.” 

Stevie stares back at her, her long face and faraway eyes briefly those of a stranger, her hand loose in Ava’s. And, honestly, Ava can’t even blame her. She has a lot of nerve, after all. But then Stevie’s expression shifts, and she smiles, squeezing Ava’s hand in response, so tight it almost hurts. “I’ve missed you too. All of you.” This she says almost like it embarrasses her. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

And Ava smiles, even though her chest thrums with guilt, because that morning when she’d been getting ready to come home, she hadn’t even thought about Stevie. “Yeah. Same. Just like old times.” 

Stevie gives her hand a squeeze before pulling away, sitting up. She gingerly touches the back of her head, scowling. “I still don’t understand how you and Danica could stand laying like that,” she grumbles. “It gives me a headache.” 

“Probably because we’ve got hard heads.” Ava grins, sitting up too, and the change in position and the weed makes her head spin, just a little. 

Stevie smirks, snorting a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that again.” She reaches to try and pull the hair away from her face once more, holding it back for a minute before surrendering. “Hey, have you heard from Danica? Or Teddy or…” 

“Uh, no, not really,” Ava hedges. She scrunches her nose, glancing out toward Southport again rather than look at Stevie. “I know Milo’s staying in DC…his parents and brothers are going up there to visit him.” This she’d learned a few weeks before, when it was late on a Saturday night and Milo had clearly been doing what she was in the middle of: enjoying yet another college party. He’d messaged her, his text long and raw enough that she could imagine him being more than a little drunk when he’d written it. “And…Danica is spending Thanksgiving with Teddy’s parents out of town.” 

“So you have heard from them,” Stevie says, the words half-laugh, half-accusation. 

Ava can feel the awkwardness of the smile on her face, how it feels like more of a grimace, stretched too tight. 

When the wind kicks up once more, it snatches at Stevie’s hard, twisting it away from her face, and Ava is grateful for this flicker of a distraction. “Okay, seriously, here.” She tugs the hair tie from her wrist, leaning closer to Stevie and reaching to gather her hair away from her face, pulling it back. “Your hair is so long.” 

Stevie sits, ramrod straight, under Ava’s attention, offering no protests as Ava leans into her and works her hair into a ponytail. This close, Ava can feel the puff of Stevie’s breath, the smell of her somehow both comforting and unfamiliar, weed and sweat and gardenia lotion and the traces of the bar. That off-kilter, fuzzy feeling floods her brain once more, her thoughts sluggish and warm in a way Ava isn’t sure she can fully blame on the weed. She has to peel her eyes from the curve of Stevie’s throat, the way it moves when she swallows, and she can’t help but wonder if she’s ever really looked at Stevie like this before, at this stretch of skin, this corner of her body. 

When Ava pulls back, Stevie is looking at her like she’s wondering the same thing.

Ava isn’t sure what makes her do it. Even later, when she’s back in her childhood bedroom and her heart is still beating so fast she isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to fall asleep again, she still won’t be sure. In that moment, especially, the why feels far less important than that sudden impulse that rabbits through her, hammering in the center of her chest with every labored thump of her heart. It’s safe to say that she doesn’t think, she only does, moving closer back into Stevie, so that their shoulders meet a half-a-heartbeat before their lips. And the thing is, she’s kissed Stevie before -when they were fourteen and Ava had learned only recently that kissing girls felt good, sometimes better even than kissing boys, and that kissing Stevie felt both absurd and soft and thrilling, and when they were fifteen, too, and probably too old to just be doing things like that without them meaning anything, when they’d been sleeping over with Danica and Danica had fallen asleep first, as she always did, and she and Stevie had been sitting out on Danica’s balcony, wrapped in blankets, giggling and drunk on being fifteen and together and happy and Ava hadn’t been able to keep herself from moving closer, from sliding her body against Stevie’s and kissing her. 

So it almost feels familiar, this impulse, the follow through, the meeting of their lips. But, if fifteen had been too old to pretend like kissing her friends was only silly and girlish then nineteen most definitely is and the press of Stevie’s mouth against hers feels suddenly more meaningful, fiery and delicious and Ava can taste cigarettes and something acrid on her lips, on her tongue, too. 

Stevie doesn’t seem to hesitate, to question this sudden occurrence, only kissing Ava back, her hand fitting itself against Ava’s ribs, the fabric of her sweater between their skin. Ava pulls Stevie closer, the kiss deepening, her lungs tight with the need to breathe, but she can’t bring herself to pull away, like if she stops, if she and Stevie get the chance to look at one another, then this moment, whatever it is, will pass and Ava isn’t sure she wants to be done kissing Stevie. 

And, judging by the way Stevie’s fingers are tangling themselves in her hair, Stevie isn’t done kissing her either.

The apartment is quiet when Stevie lets herself in, something that makes complete sense given that it’s nearly three AM, though the hush that seems to fall across every inch of the place isn’t exactly unusual. Regardless of time of day, her mother never seems to have much to say to her anymore. The only conversation seems to come from the podcast hosts that drone continually from her mother’s phone, offering endless self-help tips about how to maximize the amount in your bank account or move on from piece of shit men or reclaim your power, Girlboss. But, this late -or early, depending on how you see the glass that is life, Stevie reasons- the house is completely quiet and Stevie wills herself to keep it that way, creeping toward her room on tip-toe. It’s not like late-night comings-and-goings are out of the question, occurrences that her mother never seems to really care about, but Stevie does them the favor of giving her mother plausible deniability when possible, just so the woman doesn’t have to speculate about what her child is up to. Stevie isn’t sure which of them is more eager for Stevie to finally have the means to get her own place. 

Once the bedroom door is closed and locked behind her, Stevie exhales, leaning against the wood for a moment, letting her breathing start to return to normal. Or as normal as it can given the way her heart is still quickening in her chest, something that has nothing to do with creeping around the darkened apartment. She steps out of her shoes, kicking them in the direction of the bed, and then moves through the bedroom, still cloaked in blackness, until she finds her desk chair. The window is a square of muted orange light, continual throughout the night regardless of how Stevie has tried to arrange the curtains over the months that this place has become home, but now she uses the persistent glow to see by, leaning across her desk to force the window open. The space is small, less than half of what she’d once had, some many odds and ends from her old life wedged into this tiny room now. Honestly, she should probably just push the desk out the window and be done with it. What does she need it for now that her schooling has officially come to an end? 

Stevie pulls the plastic baggie from her pocket, the joints and buds inside now more than a little squished, but the weed wasn’t great to begin with so it probably can’t make it much worse. She lights up another joint, propping her elbows onto the surface of her desk as she exhales toward the open window. No smoking in here, her mother has told her time and time again, one of the refrains spoken when she pauses her podcasts and fixes Stevie with a weary stare, but neither of them really seem to listen. Slowly, Stevie feels her body starting to relax, that frantic sparkling of electricity calming, dulling, the edges rounding and becoming less sharp. 

Stevie is no stranger to bad ideas. They practically run in her blood, after all, given the fact that clearly her father never met a good idea he couldn’t ruin. And now here she is, in a small, shitty apartment -the cheapest in Southport, home to many of the fishermen and dock workers and the temporary people who come and go seemingly with the tide- tired and her head cottony thanks to bad weed and…whatever the hell that just was. 

Kissing Ava Brucks. Huh. 

Stevie puts the joint to her lips again, scoffing out loud at herself. Ava is her friend, one of her best friends, and kissing your best friends…well…this is no rom-com that she’s been living in after all. Then again, Ava was the one who kissed her so really what is she getting all deep in her thoughts over. It wasn’t her bad idea. 

But it is a bad idea. That’s something Stevie can’t deny. Because Ava has always been the wild one of them, always a little in danger of spinning off on her own if not for Danica’s warmth, Milo’s steady hand, Teddy’s comforting solidness, Stevie’s…honestly she’s still not sure what she ever had to offer any of them. Maybe that’s exactly why it had been so easy to forget about her when they’d left. Maybe that’s why she had been so easy to leave. 

It had been so good to see Ava again, so…so…right and Stevie tries to swallow around the sudden, embarrassing press of tears, the pot making it harder to keep the tears at bay, making her thoughts sticky and maudlin. Having Ava back, in just these few hours, has only managed to make her ache all over again with the emptiness that has been her life over the past few months. 

That’s the downside of having friends like hers, the thing no one ever thinks to mention. It’s impossible to replace them when they go. 

The tip of the joint glows, crackling, as she inhales once more and Stevie tries to hold it in her lungs, in her chest, even as she remembers Ava and the sound of her voice and the feeling of her mouth and how she had laughed, throaty and loud on the hood of her car as they’d kissed and touched each other over their clothes like freshmen. 

They hadn’t kissed or touched or really said anything at all when Ava finally drove Stevie back to her apartment, aside from Stevie’s staccato directions, since Ava didn’t know the way anymore to where she lived. It had only been when Ava had put the car in park outside the building, keeping her attention on Stevie rather than taking in the peeling paint and junky cars in the lot, that she’d said, “Are you working tomorrow?” and before Stevie could answer, a sort of clarification, “We should hang out.” 

That tightness in her throat, the same feeling Stevie can’t force aside now, had been there as she’d nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely.” 

Now, Stevie replays the conversation, particularly the sound of her own voice. Had she sounded too desperate, too eager? Had her longing, which she’d been trying for hours to keep pressed down in the same deep part of her where she keeps all thoughts of her father, risen to the surface and been too plain to Ava? 

“Fuck it,” Stevie mutters, though she’s not sure exactly who she’s directing the words to. Herself? Those stupid worries in the back of her mind? The voice telling her she’s been too eager, too desperate, too much the exact person who gets left behind without a second thought. Or maybe even to that part of her that knows kissing Ava is a terrible idea but wants to do it again anyway. 

Exactly. Fuck it. 

Stevie inhales until her lungs burn, holding the smoke in for even longer. Her go to move when she wants to stop thinking about all of it. Thankfully, this trick has yet to let her down.

When Ava wakes up in the morning, there’s that immediate feeling of disorientation, the same sensation she’d had to battle through months before, during the first week of waking up in her dorm. Now the confusing part is being home again, in this bedroom, trying to remember where she is. 

But it all floods back easily enough. Southport and awkward conversations with her father and all the detritus of her high school life and last night with Stevie and yup, the kissing too. 

“Shit.” Ava grabs one of the pillows from her bed, covering her face with it. It blocks out the light flooding into the room, but none of her treacherous thoughts. It’s probably not great that she spent last night making out with Stevie on the hood of her car and probably not great that she’s considering what might happen if they hang out again tonight, like she’d been the one to suggest, but who doesn’t go home for college break and make bad decisions by hooking up with someone from their hometown. 

Groaning, Ava rolls over, reaching for her phone and clumsily yanking it from the charger. There’s a text from Danica, a picture of the beach and ocean shining with sunrise, and she sends back a smiling emoji with heart eyes, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard. So, you’ll never believe this she thinks about typing but honestly the idea curls up in the pit of her stomach, roiling and thick and Ava isn’t sure she can deal with whatever happens next. Danica’s questions or, god forbid, a phone call, a demand to know exactly what the hell Ava is thinking.

Probably her least favorite question, honestly. 

So Ava just drops the phone into bed beside her, any further message left untyped. She’s always told Danica every single important thing that’s happened in her life. It stands to reason if she doesn’t say anything, then it hardly matters.

“Truth or dare.” 

Stevie smirks around the rim of the bottle in her hand, taking her time before replying. It’s late and it’s cold, the wind slightly more unforgiving than it had been the previous night as it comes in from the water, but neither of them have made a move to go inside. Sitting out in Ava’s backyard, on lounge chairs lit only by the glow of the lights off the pool makes it all seem like this night, with its sloppy sort of giddiness, might never end. 

Ava is looking at her expectantly, wrapped in a blanket, the tip of her nose red. Stevie takes another drink from the bottle -wine, something nice because Mr. Brucks wouldn’t stock his fridge with anything else- just to stretch the moment out. “Dare,” she says finally. 

“Jump into the pool.” 

Stevie laughs, putting up no resistance when Ava leans forward to pull the bottle from her fingers. “No way. It’s freezing.” 

“Come on,” Ava goads, finishing the rest of the bottle, her mouth stained slightly red, “you can’t turn down a dare. That’s so lame!” 

“Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure I can since I’m not ten-years-old and you calling me lame doesn’t exactly hit the same.” 

Ava scrunches up her nose, her eyes bright. “Boo, Stevie.” She affixes a pout onto her features, something Stevie assumes would probably be more effective if she hasn’t seen this exact expression a dozen times throughout her life. 

Stevie sticks her tongue out, earning another laugh from Ava. “Listen, if you’re trying to get me out of my clothes, you can just say so,” she teases.

Immediately she regrets the words, feeling her body heat with such a swiftness that the chill in the air doesn’t stand a chance. Maybe she should jump into the pool; it might help her cool down.

But Ava doesn’t call Stevie on her word choice, doesn’t seem to find the statement nearly as embarrassing as Stevie does. Instead, she just shrugs. “I didn’t say you had to take your clothes off.” 

Stevie looks at her, trying to read in Ava’s face whether she, too, has spent most of the day thinking about last night and wondering if they would end up there again. But Ava just looks back at her, lifting her chin slightly, a challenge. 

Stevie rolls her eyes. “I’m not jumping into the pool. You do it.” 

Ava scoffs. “No way. It’s freezing.” 

Stevie huffs a protest, taking the pillow from the chair and aiming it squarely at Ava’s face. Ava slumps back against her lounge chair, throwing her head back dramatically and earning herself another eye roll, this one far more impressive if Stevie does say so herself. “Okay, drama queen,” she says with far too much affection in her tone. 

How is that after the past few months spent trying to fill the void both adults in her life seem to have left torn and gaping open that just being around Ava again makes it so easy to remember how to be young again? 

Stevie gets up, going to retrieve the pillow before the wind rolls it into the pool or something ridiculous. But before she can get more than a few steps past Ava’s chair, Ava’s hand snakes out from beneath her blanket, cold fingers curling around Stevie’s wrist. Stevie looks back at her, tilting her head, and Ava smirks. “Dare,” she says, and Stevie can’t help but match Ava’s smile with one of her own.

The cold makes Ava press herself into the bowl of Stevie’s body without thinking, chasing the warmth of her skin and breath. Even with the blanket draped across them and most of their clothes still on, in some fashion anyway, it’s still chilly enough that she’s starting to rethink her decision making skills.

Which is, you know, not exactly new. 

But staying outside, trying to angle and balance and fit in the lounge chair and beneath the blankets, kissing in between reassurances that her father wasn’t going to be coming home any time soon, had been so much easier, so much less…of everything. Getting up to lead Stevie into her bedroom had felt too important, too intentional, and while Ava thinks her feet might freeze off before the night is over, it’s a small price to pay to keep from having to wonder what the hell she’s doing. 

Stevie’s hands are cold against her bare stomach, but Ava doesn’t twist away, letting her nose brush against Stevie’s collarbone, how her skin smells of cigarette smoke and the bar. “I have to say,” Stevie says, her voice languid and low, “I definitely would not have not put this on my Bingo card.” 

Ava snorts out a laugh, nodding. “Hooking up with my friend? Yeah, me neither.” 

There’s a pause, long enough that it makes Ava start to wonder exactly what is going through Stevie’s mind, but even if she had a hundred guesses she’s not sure she would’ve predicted the next words that spill out of Stevie’s mouth. “Did you ever hook up with Danica?” 

Ava draws back just so Stevie has the full advantage of being able to look in her incredulous face as she barks out a laugh. “Why would I hook up with Danica?” 

“I mean…” Stevie gestures toward herself, quirking an eyebrow. 

But Danica is my best friend. Miraculously, Ava manages to swallow the words before they actually pass her lips, certain that having to see Stevie’s face in response to them while they’re both half-dressed and shivering on the lounge chair beside her pool is definitely not something she’d be able to come back from. Instead, she just rolls her eyes, readjusting herself beneath the blanket. “No. I never fooled around with Danica.” 

Ava isn’t sure what she’s supposed to read in Stevie’s silence, can’t bring herself to look at her face. She isn’t sure she wants to know how the words land.

Ava swallows three aspirin, already contemplating a fourth even as she chases the pills with a bite of cereal from the bowl sitting in front of her, the coffee still too hot to drink. She rubs the center of her forehead with the heel of her hand, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. It’s not the disgustingly greasy breakfast burrito she wishes it was, but the idea of trying to navigate even the sleepy roads of Southport to find something to help lessen the throbbing in her head is too ludicrous to consider. So soggy cereal it is. 

When her phone starts vibrating, she considers ignoring it, the act of carrying on a conversation equally impossible. But Ava reaches out a hand anyway, flipping the phone over to see whose name is flashing across the screen. Danica. The immediate guilt that floods through her after she still considers ignoring the call makes Ava pick up the phone and accept the Facetime, trying to make herself look slightly more presentable.

Not that it matters, considering the fact that Danica looks sunkissed and perfect, golden hair being teased playfully by the sea breeze. “Hi babe.” Danica’s smile falters somewhat, eyes narrowing. “What’s the matter with you?” 

Ava scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, nice to see you too,” she grumbles, propping the phone against the side of her coffee mug. “I’m hungover.” 

Danica grins, shaking her head. “Should I be jealous that you’re getting up to trouble without me?” 

“Uh…no, definitely not.” Ava hopes the connection isn’t good enough for Danica to see the spots of color that dot her cheeks. 

Stevie is still asleep in her bed downstairs, sprawled out on her stomach, likely sleeping off her own hangover. Eventually, the cold had been too much to ignore, chasing them both inside, where they’d swiped another bottle of wine and paired it with one of the joints Stevie had brought with her and they’d drank and smoked enough that at some point they’d fallen asleep in Ava’s bed and she’d woken up thirty minutes ago with her head pounding and the desperate need to brush her teeth at least ten times. 

Unfortunately, this answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Danica. “Okay, so…spill! What are you doing? Have you been hanging out with anyone? Did Milo come home from DC?” She grins, wiggling her eyebrows.

At least this is a a decent enough distraction from the rest of Danica’s questions, Ava hopes. “Uh. No. And Milo and I aren’t even together anymore.” 

Danica only arches an eyebrow. “So? Aren’t you supposed to, like, hook up with people from high school when you’re home on Thanksgiving break?” 

Ava salutes with her a spoonful of cereal, shoving it quickly into her mouth to avoid answering. 

“It’s…uh…it’s not much.” 

Ray looks almost ashamed as he says the words, bashful creeping toward embarrassment, the nape of his neck flushing as he lets her into his place. Stevie shifts her gaze so she doesn’t have to look at him, to acknowledge this other part of him. “Not much is kinda my whole thing these days.” 

She means for it to be a joke, or maybe even reassuring, but somehow it falls flat between the both of them, and Stevie looks at Ray to find he’s already looking at her and she grimaces, nose crinkling. Yeah, not much. That pretty much sums up the both of them nowadays, these two working class bar-rats of Southport. 

Ray leads her the few steps from the door toward the rest of the apartment, which is really just one continually open space with a square set aside for a dining room, a rectangle of a living room with a kitchen kinda wedged between them and the hint of a hallway that promises just a little more to be found toward the back of the place. Stevie has never been here before and, until two days ago, had never even considered that she would ever step foot in Ray’s apartment. But here she is, looking around the place, how it seems to scream middle-aged single man in a way that feels more endearing than depressing. Everything is dark colors and seaside kitsch and as orderly as Stevie would’ve guessed from the man she’s come to know, how he works and worries at things with a quiet capability. 

“Here,” Stevie says, following Ray toward the boxy kitchen, holding the pie out toward him. Store bought, of course, just another compliment to their not much Thanksgiving.

It had been pretty much what Ray had promised her when he’d awkwardly made the suggestion the other day, as they’d closed the bar, Stevie still warmly stoned from sneaking into the cooler an hour before with the other server and the dishwasher, the three of them giggling as they’d passed the joint back and forth, imagining that Ray might not know what they were doing, Stevie, covered in goosebumps and weirdly giddy from both the weed and the fact that she and Ava were doing whatever it was that they were doing, that they’d spent the morning walking along the beach and fumbling with each others buttons and zippers behind the dunes. It hadn’t even really been until Ray had suggested she come over to his place for a not-much-Thanksgiving-dinner that Stevie had even really, fully remembered that it was Thanksgiving at all, that this weird week was spinning toward its end, that she and her mother hadn’t even really talked about what they were going to do or if it even mattered at all. Her first Thanksgiving since her dad had taken off, soon to be followed by the first Christmas, the first brand new year, first birthday, first blah-blah-blah until it stopped making a difference. “I mean, if you want,” Ray had added quickly, awkwardly, not looking at her. “I don’t really cook or anything but. If you wanted to come we could just eat, watch the game, I don’t know. Your mom can come too, of course.” 

Her mother had not wanted to come, scoffing at the mere suggestion of it. Ray, of course, was just a tangential connection to her lying, piece-of-shit ex-husband, who had run off with their money, their future, all their new Southport things, and she was not about to rub elbows with someone who clearly still thought fondly of the man…what would the hosts of her podcasts say to that? 

Ray takes the pie, staring at it almost like he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to be doing. “Oh. Thanks.” 

And Stevie laughs, unable to help herself, because really, what the hell are they doing? It’s been her mantra as of late, though, so maybe all of this just checks out anyway. Hooking up with one of her best friends and then having Thanksgiving dinner with her boss. Why not. 

Ray just grins, shaking his head. It seems to dissolve some of the awkwardness between them and he chuckles, setting the pie onto the counter. “Want a drink?” 

Stevie feigns an expression of shock, clucking her tongue in disappointment. “Serving to minors now?” 

“Hell, it’s not at the bar,” Ray says with a grin, pulling open the fridge, “it’s not like I’m gonna lose my license.” 

“Well, in that case…” Stevie accepts the bottle he passed over. 

And sure, the grocery store rotisserie chicken and sides and pumpkin pie in its crickling packaging isn’t much, but if this week has taught her one thing, it’s that life has a way of reshaping itself so that not-much isn’t all that bad when you squint. 

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you had a fun night.” Ava laughs as she lets Stevie into the house, giving her the once over -her windswept hair and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “Did you drive here?” 

Stevie rolls her eyes, waving the words away with a swipe of her hand. “I’ve driven here a hundred times before.” 

Ava presses her teeth into her bottom lip, but the words stay stuck in the back of her throat. Stevie is already here after all, so clearly she’d managed the empty, winding Southport roads. “I guess you had a better day than I did,” she says instead. 

Stevie seems just a touch unsteady on her feet, her long fingers curled around the back of the couch to brace herself. “The holidays suck,” she says decisively, “we should just be drinking.” 

Ava scoffs. “I think you have been.” 

But Stevie only shrugs, stepping closer, pulling her hand from the back of the couch to reach for Ava instead. It’s been hours since she and her father had given up the facade of a family dinner, all the leftovers boxed up to be thrown away uneaten a few days later, her dress traded for sweats and a hoodie, and Stevie’s fingers curl against the stretch of skin at the crook of her hip. “Just a bit,” she says and then adds, seemingly in response to some question only she can hear, “I just wanted to see you.” 

Stevie pulls her closer, her hands lifting up Ava’s body to catch her face, kissing her, her mouth tasting of spice and beer and there’s a touch of desperation in her kiss that makes Ava tense, her heart clenching. The words reverberate in her mind, weirdly intimate and warm and needy and Ava swallows, pulling her face away. “Okay, okay,” she says, her smile unsteady. “My dad’s upstairs.” 

The house is big enough that she has never worried about her father overhearing anything that she’s done, whether it be late night sleepover shenanigans with Danica and Stevie or sneaking Milo in and out during the early days of their high school romance, but it seems like a good enough excuse, easier than trying to pinpoint why her chest suddenly feels tight, her footing off-kilter and uncertain. 

It also seems to be enough of an excuse for Stevie, who just pulls the face Ava is certain she’s made more than a few times in her own life, the look of someone teetering toward drunk who thinks they’re being serious and solemn. “Oh, right.” She nods, her fingers curling around Ava’s wrist. “Let’s go to your room. We could get another bottle of a wine and…” She grins, arching her eyebrows. 

“I think you’ve had enough, Stevie.” Ava laughs, shaking her head.

Stevie frowns slightly, pressing her lips together. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you cared about that type of thing all the sudden.  I mean you’re usually the one we’re trying to keep up with.”

Ava blinks at her, startled. Her tone is surprisingly sharp, eyes darkening, and Ava pulls her wrist from Stevie’s touch. She opens her mouth, any words she might’ve said stuck somewhere in the back of her throat. If Stevie had felt unfamiliar to her days before, this person standing with her now feels like someone she’s never seen before.

Finally, Ava shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Okay. I get it, today sucks. Let’s just…go watch a movie or something.” 

Stevie sighs, her shoulders deflating, slumping. “Yeah. Sorry. Good idea.” 

They head downstairs, Stevie changing into the pair of pajamas that Ava offers her, the two of them slipping beneath the covers of Ava’s bed. When Stevie rests her head on Ava’s shoulder, she doesn’t pull away, even though their closeness feels heavier than it used to. 

Ava finds Stevie outside, perched on the arm of a plastic deck chair in front of a flickering bonfire with a handful of people Ava doesn’t know. It seems odd that there are people here that are strangers, after spending her entire life in Southport, but it’s not like she’d ever attempted to expand her horizons beyond her friends, her perfect pack. Besides, the guy currently passing a nearly finished blunt toward Stevie looks to be a good five years older than the both of them, the ease with which Stevie is sharing his space suggesting that they know each other well enough anyway. 

“There you are,” Ava says with an uncertain smile, crossing her arms over her chest mostly against the cold. Despite the fire, fed by scraggly branches from the neighboring trees and flattened boxes of PBR, there’s an inescapable chill in the air that she hadn’t dressed for. She shouldn’t have bothered, clearly, seeing as most of the other people she’s see over the past few hours hadn’t heard the word “party” and taken it as invitation to dress up. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

Stevie looks at her across the smoke, her face brightening. “Ava.” She lurches to her feet, laughing as she has to put her hand on the guy’s shoulder to keep from losing her footing. “Guys! This is Ava! She’s one of my best friends.” The words, despite the clumsy way they collide with one another, crackle with more warmth than the fire. 

For some reason they churn in Ava’s stomach, sinking like rocks as she stretches her lips into a grin, giving them a wave. “Hey.” 

Stevie reaches her, looping their elbows together, leaning into Ava, unsteady. “Let’s get another drink.” 

In the time they’ve been apart, when Stevie had disappeared to use the bathroom and apparently been waylaid for quite a while after the fact, it’s clear that Stevie has definitely been helping herself to the cheap beer and heavy-handed drinks and skunky weed. Her eyes are glassy, the smile on her face lazy and serene, an expression that makes Ava feel like she’s back in high school again. 

The kitchen is crowded but they wedge their way up to the counters anyway, mixing drinks in red solo cups that Ava knows she probably won’t bring herself to drink, her tongue still coated with the sharp stickiness of the drinks they’d made right when they’d gotten there. The music is loud and the space is crowded and she doesn’t know anyone and it prickles the back of her neck, all that heat and closeness and how awkward it feels to be standing around with people she thinks she remembers from a class or two below theirs. Ava leans into Stevie. “Let’s go back outside.”

It’s cold but still a relief to be away from the thumping music, the jostling people. Thankfully, they avoid the firepit, instead sitting down on the bottom step of the porch facing the backyard. Stevie’s shoulder presses into hers, the red plastic of her cup crinkling between her fingers. “Are you having fun?” 

Ava is grateful that it’s dark, that she can look out across the yard rather than at Stevie. Danica and Milo used to get endless amusement out of the fact that she, for all her scheming, was a terrible liar, unable to fool even the most trusting teachers, let alone her best friends. “Yeah. It’s been fun.” 

Stevie takes a swallow from her drink before setting it onto the wood beside her. “What’s with you?” She glances at Ava, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting weird all night.” 

Ava huffs, rolling her eyes. “What? No I haven’t.” 

Stevie doesn’t even bother to argue against these words. She just studies her, glassy eyes narrowing slightly. “Sorry this isn’t one of the super awesome cool college parties you’re probably used to.” 

“Okay, wow.” Ava scoffs, putting her own drink aside and flattening her palms against her thighs. “No idea where that came from.” 

“But that’s what you’re thinking, right?” Stevie presses, eyes pressing into her. “Poor Stevie and her sad little high school parties.” 

Ava rolls her eyes, the words pressing themselves into her soft insides. Now, in addition to that horribly artificial sweetness, her mouth feels tacky with the taste of guilt. “I never said that, Stevie. And what the fuck is this? Where is this coming from all of the sudden?” 

Stevie opens her mouth, only to shake her head, instead letting her face fall into her palms. “Fuck. I don’t know,” she mutters, the words muffled. “It just feels…fuck, shitty, I guess.” She scrubs her hands across her face, combing her hands through her hair, pulling it away from her face before letting her hands fall into her lap. “I just keep thinking about you leaving again tomorrow and I’m still stuck here and…fuck.” 

Ava swallows, a fist wedged against the center of her throat. “Stevie…” She settles her hand against Stevie’s knee, a wave of longing rushing through her suddenly. Not for Stevie necessarily, at least not in the way they’d been recently. But for the girls they’d been before, the girls who might’ve sat on this very step or one just like it before, twined together against the cold, swearing they would never leave each other. But leaving is what they’d all done…or almost all of them. 

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, at the end of the semester,” Ava points out. “And we can still text and-” 

Stevie scoffs, mouth twisting. “Yeah, that worked out so well before.” 

The words find their mark exactly as Ava knows Stevie intended, hitting her just as efficiently as if Stevie had decided to reach out and punch her in the chest. The guilt she’d felt curdles, licking her insides with something hotter, more self-righteous. Something easier to carry. “Sorry that things got busy, Stevie,” she says flatly. “And you know you’ve got options, right? You don’t have to just hang around Southport…there’s scholarships, loans, you can-” 

“Maybe that’s not what I want, Ava. Maybe I’m actually happy here, staying around Southport.” Before Ava can offer a retort, Stevie adds, “It just would’ve been nice not to feel like my friends stopped giving a shit about me.” 

And just as quickly, the anger heating her from the inside flames out and Ava feels herself deflate, exhaling in a rush. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

The words, thankfully, seem to be enough, Stevie nodding, more forgiving no doubt thanks to the weed, the cheap alcohol. She reaches for Ava’s hand, linking their fingers together. “It has been nice, right? Being together again? Being home?” She gives Ava’s hand a squeeze, smiling at her. “And…all the rest of it.” 

Ava bobs her head up and down a few times in a jerky nod, not entirely sure why it feels like she’s lying. Because it has been nice to be with Stevie again, to fit that empty piece of herself back into place. “Yeah.” 

It’s easier than trying to find the words to explain that she isn’t entirely sure this place feels like home anymore, especially without most of the people who kept her anchored here. 

The door swings open before Ava can even reach out a hand to knock and an ear-piercing shriek splits the air. “Jesus Danica,” Ava laughs, even as Danica rushes out to sweep her into a crushing hug, “I think only dogs can hear you.” 

Danica doesn’t let up from trying to crush her ribs, nearly lifting Ava off her feet in her enthusiasm. “I don’t care! You’re here!”

Ava laughs, throwing her arms around Danica in an effort to return the force of her embrace, feeling herself melt against her friend. She can’t resist the urge to bury her face against the side of Danica’s neck, breathing in the familiar smells of her, how it suddenly feels like nothing has changed at all. Home. 

Finally, Danica lets go, stepping back and grinning so wide Ava worries she might actually stretch the skin permanently. “Okay, okay, come in!” Danica grabs her, yanking her forward and through the front door like Ava might actually consider finding somewhere else she would rather be. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in five months. Like I can’t believe I even survived that.” 

“Yeah, same. I know exactly what you mean.” Ava shakes her head, keeping her hand firmly clenched around Danica’s, following her into the living room of the Richards’ home. Clearly Danica’s mother has fully embraced the Christmas spirit, the entire living room covered in decor. There’s a towering tree in one corner, glittering in silver and gold baubles and ribbons, the mantle overflowing with garland and carefully painted Nutcrackers standing at attention between a trio of crimson stockings. A fire is crackling in the hearth and the smells of balsam and sugar threaten to overwhelm her senses. “Jesus,” Ava says as she drops her duffel bag to the floor, “it’s like Christmas threw up in here.” 

Danica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You always say that,” she chides. “Just because your dad can’t even put a wreath on the door doesn’t mean that having a tree and a few decorations is going overboard.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think this is just a few decorations.” Ava sweeps her hand across the living room and all the holiday trappings. “But, yeah, I guess I’m not complaining.” 

Danica drops onto the couch, grabbing a throw off the back and draping it around her shoulders, holding one end open for Ava. Ava doesn’t hesitate, curling up beside her, snuggling closer to Danica as she pulls the blanket around the both of them. “I’ve missed you so much,” Danica says, squeezing Ava against her. “Seriously, can we never be apart again please?” 

Ava laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sure. I’ll tell my roommate to get the hell out and you can come to New York.” 

“You could come to Vanderbilt with me,” Danica points out. “Find another cute Southern boy to take Milo’s place.” 

“Or girl.” Ava smirks. 

Danica laughs, nodding. “Or girl. Probably the better way to go, honestly.” She sighs, leaning her head on Ava’s shoulder. “I hope you just brought everything you need in that bag for the next month because I am not letting you leave.” 

Ava nods, breathing in the smells of sugar and Danica and the burning wood. “Yup. Definitely planning on moving in.”

She’d done the obligatory dinner with her father the night before, the both of them making vague conversation, talking more about their availability and schedules than how Ava’s first semester at NYU had gone. It hardly matters now. Ava feels like she’s just been biding her time anyway, waiting to get to this moment. 

Honestly, she probably could spend the entirety of her break here with Danica and never think twice about wanting to be anywhere else.