Chapter Text
“Okay, for real though, Lizzie. Almost a year, and neither one of you has said it?” They’re sat at Lizzie’s former apartment in San Francisco, perched sporadically on a collection of boxes, drinking tea off a too-clean countertop. The place looks as if it was never hers. She can’t say she’s sorry, though. The butterflies in her stomach sing of new promise.
(She’d said she wouldn’t move in with him right away.)
(She didn’t tell him, that as well as being about making sure things were secure, it was also because she couldn’t afford his rent.)
“No,” she says, taking another sip of tea and staring at her life, packed into flimsy cardboard. It’s messily-done: photo albums and mugs slotted into every space they could find, jumbling along in an eclectic union. She wouldn’t have it any other way. William tried to offer to help, but Lizzie wasn’t quite ready to let him organize her perfect chaos just yet. So her sisters and Charlotte flew in for a reunion weekend together, and helped her pack up her life for a second time while they were at it.
Still, they’d have to move towards some thin line of chaos and organization between them at some point.
“That’s weird, Lizzie. You’re moving in together. It’s your anniversary coming up. And neither of you have said the L-word. What’s the deal?”
Lizzie shrugs. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She feels the phantom lens of a camera on her, like she does sometimes, and stares into its blinking light. A confession flashes before her eyes.
“Technically,” contributes Lydia, “He has said it. A long time ago.” She smirks, and Lizzie would smile at the brightness of her sister seeping through all those clouds if it wasn’t for the thought the memory gave her.
Lizzie lowers her eyes to the rim of the mug. “Yeah, well... that was, as you say... a long time ago.”
“So?” says Charlotte. “You know he loves you. He made that pretty clear when...”
“Episode ninety-eight! says Lydia, and grins mischievously. (Lizzie would be annoyed if her smile wasn’t contagious.)
There’s a pause before she lays it out on the line. “The thing is... I always thought he’d say it first.”
“He did,” says Lydia, and Lizzie knows she’s rolling her eyes.
“Under entirely different circumstances. He’s always been the one who’s good at that kind of thing. So I guess it scares me, and I wonder if I should.”
“The real question,” says Jane, who has been pre-emptively brewing more tea, “is do you love him? That’s what really matters here. Not whether or not you should say it.”
“Yes.” The words are very quick from Lizzie, almost defensive. “Yes. Yes. I definitely do. I just can’t say it, and I don’t understand why he hasn’t either.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to say it, this time,” says Charlotte. “I know he’s brave when it comes to that kind of thing, but the last time he said it, it didn’t end well for him.”
Lizzie rolls her eyes, but somewhere inside her heart she has a sneaking suspicion that Charlotte (as she usually is) may be right