Archive of Our Own

i - in which megan has a problem

Megan Chagughlaight-Accource has a problem on her hands.

Well, okay. That isn't uncommon. Her job is solving problems. It isn't in the description, but then neither is half of the shit Julie puts her up to. But she's far too old to go job-hunting, she quite likes Julie and hacking adulterers, and anyway her wife makes enough for the both of them so it doesn't matter that she's more or less paid peanuts. Nonetheless, there's a difference between a puzzle and a problem. And Megan has a problem.

It starts like this. Megan makes the fatal error of agreeing to be a part of Julie's timetable.

Anyone who knows Julie at all knows that she is, pathologically, a creature of habit in a way Megan thinks is probably linked to autism. She's thought about getting her wife's opinion - Angie's got thirty-odd years of psychology experience under her belt - but suspects it might not go down well. Julie seems to know herself about as well as she bothers to know anyone else, which is to say, not at all, which is to say, any attempts to get her doing any introspection will inevitably end in failure.

Anyway.

What this means, practically, is that Julie has a fairly strict two-week timetable. And okay, she might stray from it every so often, but it's never by choice. Megan can always tell when she's being forced to do it because she's always in a foul mood and she forgets to do things because they're not in their proper places. This is inconvenient for everyone. So Megan, most of the time, is a fan of the timetable, because at least it means Julie is taking care of herself and not staying at work so late she’s exhausted, forgets her keys, locks herself out of her house and has to call Megan out of bed at three in the morning to rescue her.

So far this year, this has happened twice. So you see the importance of the timetable.

When Megan had first been hired, she had quickly learnt that Mondays through Thursdays are for work, eight till six. She sees her sister every third Saturday and her mother every fourth Sunday, if she can’t avoid it. A more recent addition is visiting Charles on Sundays for games night at the retirement home, and taking him out on Tuesdays for lunch - Julie lets him choose the location, which Megan thinks is testament to how much she likes him. And there are all sorts of other little things that don’t concern Megan because they mostly involve things like buying milk.

Julie had taken a few months to open up, but it had happened eventually. And Megan was so delighted to finally be asked if Megan wanted to get breakfast at the Waffle House round the corner at nine-thirty a.m. on a Friday, she had said yes without thinking. And Waffle House Fridays are now as much a part of her timetable as they are of Julie’s.

In and of itself, this isn’t the problem.

Megan likes Julie. She’s clever, good-hearted, generous. She’s an excellent boss and Megan feels deeply maternal towards her. She is also, for want of a better description, fucking weird. So it doesn’t come as a surprise to Megan when Julie’s acting weird on the Friday in question, because it’s not a surprise. It’s Julie.

She and Julie always walk to the Waffle House together. It takes them seven minutes. Megan knows this because Julie told her so when she arrived at nine-twenty-six one morning and they were a whole three minutes late to breakfast. As usual, Jaylen - one of the longer lasting members of staff here - greets them at the door.

"My favourite customers," he says, sunnily, and shows them to their usual seats up on the counter. “How are you two today?”

“Wonderful, thank you Jaylen,” Megan says. She hears Julie say “you say that to everyone” under her breath. Megan nudges her. It's said completely humourlessly, but Jaylen doesn't seem to grasp the nuance and laughs anyway. Oddly enough, Julie likes Jaylen. She just has a bad habit of making loud observations.

"What can I get for you ladies this morning?" Jaylen says, taking out a pad and pencil.

“Black Americano, two eggs over-easy, and brown toast no butter," Julie rattles off, as she always does.

"How do you want the eggs?" Jaylen says, making a note in his pad.

Julie looks at him. Megan can tell from her face that she’s about to say something stupid, so she interrupts before Julie can open her mouth. "She'll have them over-easy. And I'd like a latte and some raisin toast, thanks, Jaylen."

"You interrupted me," Julie complains, when Jaylen leaves them.

Megan shrugs. "He's a nice boy. You’re just in a bad mood because you’re hungry.” She nods her head over Julie’s shoulder, where Jaylen’s sort-of-girlfriend of two months is standing. Also, look who's behind you. Poor thing couldn't focus.”

Julie cranes her neck and makes dead eye contact with Tabitha, who waves at them. Megan waves back. Megan can see she’s keeping half an eye on the fry cook, who is busy flipping over a long line of bacon rashers. “She’s new,” Julie says, pointing at her.

“Don’t point,” Megan says. Julie lowers her hand. “She’s not new. We’ve seen her before. She manages this branch.”

“They’re short on staff, then,” Julie muses. “Hm. That doesn’t bode well for the quality of our food.”

Megan sighs. “Julie, I keep telling you that if you want high-quality food then we should go somewhere that isn’t a Waffle House.”

“Yes, but we always go to Waffle House,” Julie explains. Her tone is extremely patient, as if Megan’s the one saying something ridiculous.

“I wouldn’t mind going somewhere else,” Megan says.

Julie narrows her eyes at her. “You have six other mornings a week to go somewhere else, Megan, why would you want to give up Fridays with me?”

“The idea is you’d come with me, and-,” Megan starts. She shakes her head. “Oh, never mind.”

Jaylen walks up and places two coffees on the table. “Bon appetit, ladies,” he says. Julie watches as the fry cook slides two plates of food towards them.

“Thank you, Jaylen,” Megan says. She smiles her thanks to the fry cook. She’s a familiar face. Dark hair, dark eyes, about Julie’s age, attractive. In any case, she’s different to the usual cooks on duty here - most of them come from the local high school. She can tell that Julie’s watching her, but doesn’t comment on it. She bites into her toast.

She keeps half an eye on Julie as Julie pops the yolk with her knife, and freezes. “Megan,” she says.

“The eggs are fine, Julie,” Megan says, because sometimes that suffices to set her at ease.

“No, they aren’t,” Julie says. She pokes at the yolk. “This isn’t over-easy. My yolk is hard. I can’t eat this.”

She pushes the plate away and signals to Jaylen, who walks over with a knowing glint in his eye. “The eggs?” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Megan says, like she always does.

Julie isn’t, actually, an unreasonable person. (Charles calls her particular. It's probably the best descriptor.) She just feels very strongly about the ins and outs of her breakfast. Megan is willing to understand that as long as Julie is polite about it.

“I’m very sorry for the inconvenience,” Julie recites, mechanically, “but would you mind asking the fry cook to please redo my eggs with runny yolks? Thank you for your help.”

Jaylen nods, and takes the plate. “Sure.”

“It’s going to start sounding insincere if you say the same thing every time,” Megan warns. “You can switch it up, you know.”

“I don't want to improvise,” Julie says. Megan watches as Jaylen addresses the fry cook, who looks directly over at the two of them. “She probably knows who I am now,” Julie says to Megan.

“Is that a good thing?” Megan asks.

Julie shrugs. "If she remembers me, I might not have to order twice next week." She hums under her breath for a few seconds, in an oddly good mood. Momentarily, Megan wonders if she's feeling okay. "Do you want to hear something I read about the Cambridge Five?"

"Yes," Megan says, and absorbs herself in her own breakfast. She nods along to Julie's steady stream of chatter. Suddenly, it stops, and there’s a loud “No!” to her left.

Megan peers over, and laughs. The eggs are now perfectly scrambled. “She’s messing with you,” Megan says.

“Why?” Julie says, frustratedly. She calls for Jaylen again. “Jaylen, I’m very sorry for the inconvenience but would you mind asking the fry cook to please do my eggs with runny yolks? Thank you for your help.” She says it all in one breath, and a note of annoyance is creeping into her tone.

“Oh?” Jaylen says. Megan can tell he’s only half-listening and the rest of his mind is on Tabitha, who has just managed to spill a box of salt packets and is now bent down picking them up. He picks up the plate distractedly. “Okay.”

Julie sits there, seething. Megan watches the cook catch Julie’s eye. She’s smiling at her. Megan can’t detect even a trace of malice in the smile, but there is a glimmer of mirth that leads Megan to suspect that she is provoking Julie on purpose.

"Scrambled eggs," Julie mutters darkly. "I mean, when have I ever ordered scrambled eggs?"

"If you rise to the bait," Megan says, sagely, "then she'll just keep doing it. "

Julie doesn't seem to listen. She mumbles and grumbles about scrambled eggs for the next five minutes. Megan keeps half an eye on her and half an eye on the cook. Her suspicions are only confirmed when the new plate slides down the counter, revealing two boiled eggs.

“Hard-boiled!” Julie explodes. She glowers at the fry cook, who is now visibly laughing. “Megan, I am not going to keep being polite about this."

Megan drains her coffee to stop herself from smiling. “We’ll pick you up something on the way back to the office,” she says.

“I don’t want to do that,” Julie says. Megan can tell she’s close to losing her shit, so she leaves enough cash on the counter to cover their bills and leads Julie outside.

“Hard-boiled!” Julie says again. “Megan, I’m not-“ She exhales shakily. “I’m calling Charles.”

Megan watches as she dials Charles’ number on her personal phone - a hideous Nokia brick that she calls ‘incognito’ but is of course twice as obvious as a smartphone. “Charles, I’m upset,” she says, as soon as he picks up.

“Oh no,” Megan hears Charles say. There’s a faint rustling in the background, and then Charles’ voice again, muffled. “Calbert, Virginia, Julie’s upset.”

“Oh no,” Calbert says.

“Sorry, muffin,” comes the shrill voice of Ginny. “Ask her what’s wrong, Charles.”

“What’s wrong, Julie?” Charles says.

(This is still not the problem at hand or indeed a problem at all, but Megan does sometimes wonder why she seems to collect friends who are just blatantly, non-stop weird. Having am emotional conversation with Julie or Charles is akin to talking to an robot whose every line is insert appropriate response here.)

“The Waffle House fry cook served her eggs wrong,” Megan says.

“They have a death wish or something?” Cal says in the background.

"Oh, shut up, Cal," Julie spits. Laughing at Julie's Julie-isms never goes down well. Megan thinks Mrs Kovalenko probably has something to do with the touchiness - and Julie's mother is first on Megan's hit-list if she ever gets three wishes from a genie - but today, Julie is riled up enough not to be too upset about it.

"They've been wrong before," Charles says. "What's the problem?"

“Three times!” Julie explodes. “Once, I would understand, but three times? I know she was trying to annoy me. Three times, Charles!"

“I think it was a joke,” Megan says. “You’re probably infamous there by now as over-easy egg lady."

“I wish!” Julie says, as if Megan had meant it as a good thing. “Then they might serve them to me like that!”

“Well, you stay strong now, Julie,” Charles says. “I’m afraid I can’t talk, though. I'm busy just right now.” This, Megan has learnt, is code for 'I am going to get drunk and possibly do weed with my elderly friends who are terrible influences and should probably be in jail and I don’t want you to find out about it.' "I can give you a call this evening."

"No, that's okay," Julie says. "I’ll see you on Sunday.” There’s a chorus of goodbyes before Charles hangs up, and Julie stuffs her phone in her pocket, still visibly full of vitriol.

“We can go to a different Waffle House next week,” Megan suggests.

As expected, Julie shakes her head. “No. That would be wrong. I am not doing that.” There is a short pause before she speaks again.

“Megan, how illegal are you willing to be?”

“Not at all,” Megan says, “and before you ask I’m not helping you blackmail her.”

Julie’s shoulders slump. “But-“

“No buts,” Megan says. “You’ll deal with her, or we switch locations. Your choice.”

Megan isn’t stupid. Of course Julie isn’t going to agree to switch locations. So there is, ultimately, no choice - Julie is going to have to deal with it or nothing. Still, Megan had been sort of hopeful that Julie would agree to go somewhere else, because it's clearly weighing on her mind. When the two of them walk into the Waffle House the next week. Julie is acting somewhat more apprehensive than normal. The fry-cook waves at her. Julie pulls a hideous face and waves back.

“Are you okay?” Megan says, genuinely concerned. “Did you step on something? Broken glass, or-“

Julie’s face relaxes into a scowl, which is somehow less intimidating. “I was trying to be polite, Megan.”

Luckily, Megan is saved from replying by Tabitha approaching to take their order. “Julie, Megan,” Tabitha greets. “Good to see you both. What can I get you?”

“Blueberry pancakes and a breakfast tea, please,” Megan says.

“Black Americano, two eggs over-easy, and brown toast no butter,” Julie says. She pauses. “Tabitha, it’s really important that the eggs are over-easy. That means runny yolks. Could you please specify that to the cook?”

Here is another relevant fact about Julie. She doesn't really have a sense of scale.

Once again, when her eggs are served, the yolks aren't as runny as Julie would like. Megan thinks the cook might even have tried. The yolks aren't hard, they're just slightly less runny than Julie likes them. Megan starts to try and explain this, but Julie is already off. Because, as specified, zero sense of scale.

“Hey, lady,” Julie says. Her brow is furrowed and her tone irate. She pushes the plate away from her with a vengeance. “I’m not interested in messing around. I just want the right eggs. Please.”

The fry-cook looks offended, for a moment, and then neutral. “Okay,” she says. But the flicker of mirth is back, and Megan can almost see disaster before it happens.

It turns out that the fry-cook is apparently a real wise-guy. Having had her effort rejected once, she’s not about to properly try again. And so, combined with Julie’s lack of an ability to see that sometimes, eggs are not the biggest problem facing humanity, Megan shouldn’t really be surprised at what happens next. When the fry cook proudly serves her a piece of toast with a hole cut out for the egg, Julie picks up the toast and throws it at the cook.

"Julie!" Megan says. "What are you doing?"

Julie's face is pink. "That isn't what I asked for," she says.

“No shit!” Megan says.

The fry cook picks up the toast from the counter where it has landed, and hefts it in her hand. Megan isn't sure what to think, but she winds her arm back and throws it directly back at Julie. Julie blocks the throw and it hits her in the palm of her hand. To add insult to injury, Megan can tell that the yolk isn't even runny.

Julie stands up, pushing her chair away. Megan grabs hold of her hands. “No,” Megan says, firmly. “We will eat somewhere else. You are not going to fight this woman.”

“How hard is it to make over-easy eggs?” Julie says. Her eyes flash with fury. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Eat it?” the fry-cook volunteers.

Julie rips her hands free of Megans and squares up to the cook. “How hard is it?” she says, again. “I asked for fucking over-easy eggs. Not whatever that is.”

“Which I gave you!” the cook says. “And you sent them back!” She points at the egg-toast, which Jaylen is now sweeping from the floor with a dustpan and brush. “That is your fault. The eggs were fine.” Megan is inclined to agree with her.

“Fuck you!” Julie says, pure hatred.

“Fuck you!” the fry-cook says, equally angrily. And it takes five minutes and a new order for the cook for the two of them to break eye contact and stop glaring at each other, at which point Megan seizes the opportunity to forcibly remove Julie from the Waffle House.

This. This is Megan’s problem. Her friend is now sworn enemies with a fry-cook. And if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard then her name isn’t Megan.

ii - in which megan tries to fix a problem and presently creates several more problems

“Her name is Didi Santos-Cordero,” Julie says, out of the blue.

“Whose name is Didi Santos-Cordero?” Megan says.

“My enemy,” Julie says.

“The Waffle House lady?” Megan says. “Julie, what are you doing? Stop stalking this woman. We’re meeting with a client in an hour.”

“Work is irrelevant to my mission,” Julie says.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Megan says. “Your mission?”

She can see Julie scrolling. “She’s twenty-five. That means she’s a year older than me. Fuck her! She should be mature by now. Her frontal lobe is developed.”

“Put that away,” Megan says. “Don’t make me cut off your internet access.”

“She went to community college here in San Fran,” Julie says, clearly not listening. “Degree in Business Management. Ha!” She points at her screen. “For all the good it’s done!”

Megan sighs, and walks over. “That’s it,” she says. She locks Julie’s computer screen. “We’re going to go for a walk.”

“No we aren’t,” Julie says. “I’m going to stay here and comb LinkedIn for her details.”

“Do you realise how insane you sound?” Megan says. She hands Julie her coat. “How much of the weekend did you spend doing this?”

“She’s playing a long game,” Julie says. “Megan, don’t you see what this is? She must be related to a past case. Someone I’ve pissed off. A scorned mistress. This is important.”

“No it isn’t,” Megan says. “If it was that important we would switch Waffle Houses. But I’m not the one who keeps saying no to that, am I? Come on, put on your coat.”

Julie obeys, eventually, with no small amount of mumbling and grumbling. They step outside onto the green. Megan lights a cigarette.

Julie huffs, and shifts around on her feet. The image reminds Megan so profoundly of a toddler throwing a tantrum that she snorts a laugh and coughs on her cigarette before remembering why they came out here. “Julie, this whole business with Didi is entirely self-inflicted. There is absolutely nothing stopping us from going to the other Waffle House. You need a hobby that isn’t related to fighting this woman.”

It's not even just Julie. That's part of the problem. Didi's egg dishes are growing steadily more elaborate to the point where Megan thinks she's practicing in advance and spending her week learning new ways to piss Julie off. The tipping point had come last week when she had produced salt cured fucking egg yolks. This stupidity is completely mutual, and Megan can't have that, because she will not spend every Friday for the rest of her life stopping Julie from jumping a chef.

“What I don’t understand,” Julie says, “is what she stands to gain by making my eggs wrong.”

“She’s looking for a reaction,” Megan says. “Which you are giving her.” She squeezes Julie’s shoulder. “We’re going to go for a short walk and then you’re going to get your head in the game and wow our client so both of us can keep our jobs. Sound good?”

Julie manages to shut up about Didi for all of five seconds. But it seems she’s incapable of getting Didi out of her head and she’s off again almost as fast as she’d stopped. All of Megan’s attempts to steer the conversation away are rebuffed and Megan is truly sick of hearing about this woman by the time they get back up to the office. And Megan can tell that Julie’s heart isn’t in their new case because she’s visibly scrolling Didi’s LinkedIn while the client is talking.

Julie is stubborn. This is inescapable. Sometimes she can be talked out of things, but more often she can't. This is one of those times. Julie is a lost cause, and it becomes clear to Megan over the course of the rest of the day that her only hope of ending this is to try from the other direction and talk to the other source of the problem. With a mumbled excuse about going to get coffee that Julie ignores entirely, Megan leaves the office and walks to the Waffle House.

Her phone rings while she's on her way. Normally, Megan ignores phone calls during the work day, but the name on the screen is Angie's so she clicks accept. "Hello?" Megan says.

"Hello, love," Angie says. "How's work?"

"Not too bad," Megan says. "I'm just off on a personal errand. How about yours?"

"Alright," Angie says. "Is the errand Waffle House related?"

Okay, Megan's probably a hypocrite, because it's not as if she hasn't mentioned the Waffle House drama to her wife once or twice or six times. But that's different. What's Megan's is Angie's, and that applies to work gossip. Angie wouldn't have it another way. Megan has checked.

"Yes," Megan says. "Did you call for a reason?"

"Oh, yes," Angie says. "I left my key at home. I'm pretty close to you guys. I wondered if I could come pick yours up."

"I'm nearly done for the day," Megan says. "Give me half an hour to sort this out. You can go up to the office and wait for me."

"Roger," Angie says. "See you in a bit."

The Waffle House is thronging with activity when Megan walks in, mood light. Jaylen looks surprised to see her. "Megan!" he says. "But... it's a Wednesday. And where's Julie?"

"I can do things by myself," Megan says, irritated. "I'm not honour-bound to a timetable, you know. And Julie doesn't know I'm here, so keep schtum."

"Okay," Jaylen says. "Your usual seat?" And even though Megan hates having a "usual seat" she nods.

"Just an espresso, please," Megan says, to Jaylen. "I'm not going to stay here long."

"Nice afternoon for eggs," Didi Santos-Cordero says, from behind the counter, when Jaylen leaves. "What, no Julie this afternoon?"

"How do you know her name?" Megan says.

Didi shrugs. "How do you think? I listen when you tell her off." She sighs, flipping over a rasher of bacon. "I suppose she's why you're here."

"Yes," Megan says. "This can't carry on. Julie's wasting too much of her time on it, and frankly so are you."

Didi raises an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Megan says, "don't have me for a fool. I know some of these egg concoctions are time-consuming. So I'm here, independently and of my own free will, to ask you to please make her the eggs right so she quits bothering me about it."

"I did," Didi says. "Several times, actually. She just doesn't like me." Megan considers explaining the finer points of Julie's taste in eggs, but Didi cuts her off. "Look, this job is below my pay grade, and I've handed in my notice. The fact that I'm technically no longer working here is the only reason I can get away with breaking the customer service code of conduct. So give it three weeks, and you can be done with me." She huffs. "But I am not letting her win."

Megan considers, for a second, taking the wins where they come, but then she thinks of spending three more weeks in this special version of purgatory, and shakes her head. In her desperation, an idea starts to form. "No, enough is enough on this. Why don't you come round for dinner tonight? You and Julie can... oh, I don't know, talk it out."

Didi furrows her brow. "That's a weird offer. I didn't know you guys lived together? Are you like... dating, or..."

Megan chokes on her drink. "What? No! She's half my age and we don't live together. We're platonic colleagues. You know, on account of me being married and her being twenty four."

Didi grimaces. "My bad." Megan's so used to her acting like a shit that the awkwardness is almost endearing. Sometimes, she forgets that the two of them are, at heart, young and stupid - though she doesn't remember ever acting like this at their age, thank you very much.

Megan is now committed to her idea, and despite that ridiculous question, she wants Didi to agree. She raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "Is that a yes or a no to coming to dinner? Because I'll have to tell my actual age-appropriate wife about this."

"Your wife is okay with this sort of thing?" Didi says.

"My wife is interested in psychology, so yes," Megan says. Probably too okay with it, actually, Megan wouldn't be surprised if Didi and Julie ended up as a case study, but that's neither here nor there and if that happens then that’s on them for being case study-worthy.

Didi sighs. "Well, why not?"

Megan sits at the counter draining two more espressos and scrolling through the hundred-odd photos of cats sent by her mother in law, until Didi's shift is finished and the two of them can set off towards the office.

"So what do you do for work?" Didi says.

It's so weird to be in a real conversation with Didi that Megan takes a second to answer. "Me? I'm in private investigations. Julie employs me for Excel spreadsheets and the occasional email hacking and whatnot."

"You don't look like much of a hacker," Didi says.

"Hacking isn't like in the movies," Megan says. "If I log into an email with a password that someone left in a helpfully open password book, that's hacking. I do it on Julie all the time."

"Oh?" Didi says. "Why?"

Megan shrugs. "Because there are other ways to mess with Julie other than physically eggs and one of those ways is rearranging the colour tags on her work emails. And she does the same to me. Last month she changed the Wordle interface so that the answer's always penis."

Didi laughs. "That's pretty impressive."

"She's clever," Megan says. The vague sense of pride that sometimes emerges in her heart when she talks about Julie threatens to make an appearance. Megan ignores it. "How about you?"

"You know what I do," Didi says.

"I mean, what are you doing next?" Megan says.

"Oh," Didi says. "I finished my degree a couple of months ago. Applied for a job in lower management at Pacific View - you know the retirement home? And thankfully they said yes because I've worked at that Waffle House since I was sixteen and I really didn't want to have to be a lifer there." She shrugs. "The pay is way better and it's what I actually want to do with my life so I'm not sad to see waffles go."

"My friend lives at Pacific View," Megan says. "He says the people are great but it gets a bit boring. I don't know how, because he does a lot of weed."

Didi laughs. "Well, it'll be fun to meet him. That's good to know, actually. I've got loads of ideas for how to make Pacific View better."

The look of hopeful excitement on her face makes Megan cave. "Like what?" Megan asks.

As it turns out, Didi is really passionate about geriatric care. It's infectious enough that Megan stays engaged enough to actually listen. She has to cut Didi off, however, when they get back to the office. "Let me introduce you," Megan says.

Didi nods. She suddenly looks nervous. "I don't smell all like bacon, do I?" she says, sniffing her sleeve.

Megan furrows her brow. "What? No. You smell fine." A thought dawns on her. "Holy shit. You like her."

Didi blushes a deep red. "What? I do not!"

Megan contemplates, for a minute, simply leaving. This is appalling. "Please don't tell me this has all been some ridiculous way for you to flirt with her."

"That's not what it is," Didi says.

"Oh, uh huh," Megan says. "Well, good luck with that." She raises an eyebrow conspiratorially. "She's into women, you know. You could just ask her out. You don't need to flirt through eggs. I mean, that's ridiculous. You have to see how ridiculous that is."

"Not listening to you," Didi says. "Are we going up or what?"

Megan schools her features into a neutral expression. "Kids these days," she says, only half-joking. Didi trails behind her up to the office. Megan can tell she's nervous. She holds up a hand to tell Didi to wait as she lets herself in.

"Hi, Megan," Julie says.

"Hi, love," Angie says. She kisses Megan hello. "Julie was just telling me about the Cambridge Five."

Megan might mock Didi for being hopeless with a crush but in truth it's hypocrisy. Angie still makes her heart jump. "Uh," Megan says, temporarily forgetting how to talk. "Cool." Suddenly, she remembers who's outside. "Oh, shit. Hang on." She looks at Julie. "Don't freak out."

"What's going on?" Julie says. Megan's eyes dart over to the door. "What have you got out there?" She glares at Megan. "If it's my mom or a dog I'm firing you."

"Why would I bring either of those things here?" Megan says, baffled. She sighs, and leans out to signal Didi to come in.

Julie gapes like a fish for a few seconds. "Why would you bring her here?" Julie says. "Megan! Now she knows where I work. She could egg my car."

Didi looks like she's seriously considering exactly that. Megan looks apologetically at Angie. "I suggested the two of them come for dinner," Megan explains. "It's high time they talked it out.”

“No it isn’t!” Julie says. “There’s nothing to talk out.”

“It’s not for your sake,” Megan says. “It’s for mine. I’m forty-seven, for God’s sake. I am too old to be breaking up fights.”

“We haven’t even fought yet,” Julie argues.

“Thanks to me!” Megan says.

“Didi said yes,” Angie says. “Surely you’d rather be there and make sure she’s not plotting anything nefarious and underhand.” Not for the first time, Megan thanks her lucky stars that her wife studied Psychology. It comes in handy more often than you’d think.

Didi splutters. “Pardon you?”

But this is enough for Julie to finally nod. “I guess…”

“I’ve not done a single nefarious or underhand thing!” Didi says. “I’ve been very overhand about it all.”

“Yes you did,” Julie said. “You sent me that email. You called me a remorseless bottom-feeding two faced rat.”

“Smooth,” Megan says, under her breath. Didi doesn’t seem to be listening.

“I sent you that from my own email!” Didi says. “Sending hate mail from Didi Santos Cordero at Waffle House dot com isn’t even slightly underhand. And I know it was you who had sent me all those rare bird eggs.”

“All those rare bird eggs?” Angie ventures.

Julie’s self-satisfied smirk tells Megan all she needs to know. “Let’s just say I have a contact,” she says, smugly.

“Right,” Megan says. Rare bird eggs is over the line. “That’s it. Julie, if you don’t come, I will quit.”

Megan would never actually quit, of course. "I am going to quit" is a well-established code for "please do this thing Julie I can't keep begging it's incredibly demeaning."

Julie looks like she's considering calling Megan's bluff, but eventually sighs loudly and stands up. "One hour. That's all. And I call shotgun."

And that is how Megan ends up sitting in the back of her own car with Didi Santos-Cordero like disgraced children. Megan can tell from Julie's poorly disguised tone of irritation that she's complaining to Angie about something. Tentatively, Didi strikes up conversation. Despite Julie's foul glare at her in the mirror, Megan joins in enthusiastically.

When they finally arrive at Megan and Angie's house, Megan is the first out of the car, stretching her legs out from the slightly cramped conditions of the back seat. She walks round and opens the door for Angie. "Aren't you chivalrous," Angie teases.

"Why else would you keep me around?" Megan says, taking Angie's hand. "God, I'm sorry you got dragged into this nonsense."

"What's yours is mine," Angie says. She turns round to look at Didi and Julie, who are standing side by side and furtively glancing at each other in a way that reminds Megan of a bad Tom and Jerry sketch. "I must say, though, what's yours is weird."

"That's the only way to describe it," Megan says.

It's not as if Angie isn't used to Julie. It would be unusual for them to go a week without seeing each other. If Angie isn't visiting the office, Julie's picking up something from Megan's house. And Megan keeps her appraised of all the office happenings in any case. On top of all that, Angie's a psychologist. Summarily, she knows weird, so her calling something that outright takes some doing.

"I think Didi likes her," Megan says.

"What, Julie?" Angie says. She snorts. "God help us all if this is what Didi liking her looks like."

"Remorseless, bottom-feeding, two-faced rat," Megan recites.

"Pretty sure that was in our wedding vows," Angie says.

"Get a room," Julie says, loudly.

Megan rolls her eyes. "Get a hobby." She reaches into her pocket for her keys and is about to unlock the door when she remembers the sticking point. "Didi, you're not allergic to cats, are you?"

Didi shakes her head. “No."

"They have so many cats," Julie says. "Pity you're not allergic."

"Julie," Megan says. "Quit acting like an idiot." She opens the door. "We have four cats, which is a completely reasonable amount. Put your shoes in the cupboard or they'll wreck them."

"You have a reasonable amount of cats now," Julie says. "But that's only because one of them got knocked up and ran away with her boyfriend."

Didi lets out an abrupt bark of laughter. "What?"

Megan sighs. "Any excuse to bring up the pregnant cat and you'll take it, won't you, Julie?"

"Because it's funny," Julie says. "Obviously."

Here's the thing about Megan and Angie. They're childless women over a certain age. And Megan doesn't want children, thank you very much, they're mess and fuss and she needs her eight hours, but there's a certain maternal instinct there. Some of it's filled by Julie, nowadays, but, outside of that, her and Angie have always been cat people. Cats are much better than human babies, because they're far more independent and they don't ever grow up to be criminals or aspiring musicians who can't hold a tune or any of the other vile things a person can be.

So their collection of cats had grown quite quickly. They've had plenty over the years. Most of them came from shelters, but a few of them were just taken as strays from the streets of San Francisco. Among them was Peter Piper, who had moved into their garden one day and refused to leave. There was no getting her indoors, but anyway. She had been sort of their cat, for a time. There were two things to know about Peter Piper: one, she liked long, loud orgies with the neighbourhood toms, and two, she was completely in love with the neighbour's Siamese. 

Eventually, she had managed to get pregnant. The Siamese next door moved away and Piper ended up running away and reaching the neighbours at their new house in Oregon. In Megan's professional opinion, it's unlikely that any of the kittens - who Megan and Angie have taken to referring to them as the Rats, for obvious reasons - will have turned out Siamese, purely due to probability, but according to the neighbours the two of them are perfectly happy together.

She relays this story. Julie, as she always does when she successfully provokes Megan into telling it, is doubled over in stitches, and gasping for breath. The story isn’t that funny, but the mirth is infectious and, when Didi joins in too, her nervous giggles quickly turning into loud laughter, Megan struggles to finish it.

“It wasn’t our fault!” Angie says. “Piper was a law unto herself.” She bends down and picks up Motorcycle Michael, who stretches and buts her hand affectionately. “Anyway, that’s how we found out Mickey here hadn’t ever been neutered, so it’s a win-some-lose-some situation.”

Megan looks at Mickey’s self-satisfied expression. Now that's a cat who almost certainly fathered one of Rats. She can see it on his face. “Well, you two can make yourself at home. We’d better start on dinner.”

She doesn’t like leaving the two of them alone, but they really do need to talk things out and she’s hungry, so she decides she’ll take her chances. Through the kitchen door, she can see Julie turn on the TV to a quiz show, as per usual. Before long, her and Didi are shouting answers at the screen. It’s extraordinary - as if a switch has been flipped to make them civil to each other. Megan is reminded, not for the first time, that trying to predict people, in particular those two, is a losing game ninety-percent of the time.

As she keeps watching, Borat starts walking around the sofa, inspecting. Eventually, he leaps up onto the armrest, and pads cautiously over to Didi, settling on her lap. And now Megan has a new problem, which is that she’s genuinely starting to like Didi. The cat trusting her is only affirming that. And that’s a whole other variable in the ending-this-madness equation, which is only going to make things more complicated.

Although actually, Megan thinks, as she turns away from the door and back to the chopping board, judging by the affable competition she can hear over who can answer the most questions, she might be overthinking things. Just a little.

iii - in which… well. these things have a way of working themselves out, don’t they?

Over the course of the next two weeks, Megan discovers that she was wrong in several different ways, which is fairly unusual and therefore warranting of an explanation.

Dinner goes surprisingly well. Didi and Julie don't choke each other out at the dinner table. Megan turns a blind eye to the chatter that starts off as a whole-table conversation and quickly isolates itself to their end, because mentioning it would just give them stage-fright, and ends up enjoying a pleasant dinner-date with her wife. And this is a good thing, if you ask her. She's completely in support of the emerging friendship.

This turns out to be the first thing she's wrong about - that the friendship is a good thing.

First of all, the egg thing proves completely unresolved. Didi still presents Julie with a stupid egg dish. Julie still argues with her about it, loudly, in public. It's just that when they're done arguing, Julie will schedule to see Didi when she gets off work. Megan's not sure if Didi knows that she's all but a part of the timetable - and more fool her - but she suspects that Didi is so smitten it wouldn't bother her at all.

When Megan brings up the fact that Didi is still making her eggs wrong, so why is Julie suddenly okay with it, Julie rolls her eyes. "I'm not," Julie says. “But she’s leaving soon, so it won’t be a problem. I can be friends with her and she will never cook my eggs again. It’s a win-win situation.”

Which is ridiculous. And it turns out to be mistake number two: Julie has some, albeit small, sense of perspective. This quickly morphs into mistake number three, which is that Julie is willing to disrupt the timetable to see Didi on non-Friday evenings when Didi's schedule doesn't allow for it. And that's evidence of mistake number four - Megan is starting to wonder if Didi's affections are returned.

She can't broach it with Julie, because Julie was never properly socialised and can't grasp subtlety. Megan would have to outright ask her, which is equally ineffective because Julie is emotionally constipated. So, she finds herself talking to Charles about it. Which says something about the options she has available, because you don't talk to Charles about people-stuff unless you have no other options.

Which Megan doesn't. So here she is.

She and Charles meet in a neutral location - not the office, and not a breakfast cafe. Megan had been a bit unsure about bringing him into this, but quickly discovers that there’s no need to be. Charles is obscenely well-connected in the local gossip network. Because Didi is going to start work at Pacific View soon, and all of Pacific View are more or less in love with Julie and trying to marry her off to their grandchildren, having Megan as an inside source to gossip about both of them is pretty much the most valuable possible currency.

So they meet in a park. Charles arrives first. Megan laughs when she sees him. He’s sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper with very visible eyeholes cut out. “Megan!” he says, when she approaches. “How did you see me? I was going to surprise you.”

“It’s my job, Charles,” Megan says. “And between you and me, the newspaper thing’s a bit overdone.”

Charles sighs. “I was trying to stay incognito.”

And of course, there’s nothing more incognito than visibly spying on people.

“I know,” Megan says, diplomatically. “But I’m trained in this sort of thing, so.” She sits next to Charles. “Anyway, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Now would be a good time to point out that Megan is completely aware that this isn’t a necessary conversation. Didi’s leaving Waffle House in under a week. Julie and her are on good terms, and while Megan still hears about her constantly, it’s in a wow my friend is so cool way instead of a holy shit Megan did you know you can anonymously send zebra shit to someone? Unrelated, but can you get me Didi’s address kind of way.

And that’s all true, but there’s one other factor. Megan just. Likes gossiping. So help her, she and Charles like sticking their noses where they don’t belong, and this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in either of their lives ever since Beverley at the home had that fling with a Starbucks barista. They both care about Julie and Didi, to different degrees and for different reasons, and sometimes it’s just important to have your two cents when someone is completely in love with your chronically oblivious friend.

“Didi starts next Monday, right?” Megan continues.

“Yes,” Charles says. “There’s quite a lot of excitement around it, I have to say. More even than when Beatrice Vanbeck brought in that Flat Earther for Susan to debate.”

Megan remembers that. The man in question had left in tears. Susan may not be a very good debater, but she certainly has a lot of spite in her soul. “I don’t doubt it,” Megan says. “Charles, do you think Julie likes her?”

“Beatrice?” Charles says. He shakes his head. “No. Beatrice has a boyfriend. Lovely young man named Tyson. Plumber. Gay, most likely, but-“

“No,” Megan interrupts. “Didi. Do you think Julie likes Didi.”

Charles nods. “Oh. Yes, without a doubt. Why?”

"No reason," Megan says. "I just had a suspicion. I wanted to confirm it with you."

"I don't know why you couldn't just ask her," Charles says.

"Please," Megan scoffs. "Of course I can't just ask her. When have you ever gotten anything out of Julie by asking her directly?"

Charles nods. "Touché." He frowns as Megan takes out a cigarette. "You shouldn't do that, you know. Elliott says it's bad for you."

"Elliott's a chain smoker," Megan says.

"Was a chain smoker," Charles corrects. "Then he got cancer. Now he's just a nuisance. Particularly about the cancer. Did I tell you he's been getting in fights in the hospital ward? The gentlemen with prostate cancer have apparently been giving him funny looks."

It would be, of course, completely like Elliott to start a gang in a cancer ward. "We all have our vices," Megan says. "Don't think I don't know you smoke weed in that place."

Charles holds a finger up to his lips mischievously. "Medicinal weed."

Which (obviously) isn't true, but Megan had decided on the live and let live approach ages ago for Charles. It's part of why she likes him. They spend a very enjoyable couple of hours getting coffees and discussing Didi and Julie until Megan feels vaguely like a scientist studying a pair of hamsters.

They're a sweet pair, somehow. Didi shows up to the office several times that week, always with some excuse or another, and the two of them stumble through the awkward motions of being embarrassingly in love with each other.

This continues until Thursday, when Julie's phone beeps in the middle of the day and she dives for it like it's a live grenade. Megan doesn't comment. "Megan," Julie says. Megan ignores her. "Megan."

"Yes?" Megan says, realising this isn't one of those things she can just ignore until Julie stops talking.

"We're going to Didi's leaving party this afternoon," Julie says, eyes on her phone.

"Who's we?" Megan says. "Ask Charles."

"Charles is also coming," Julie says. "Who do you think I'm messaging?"

Megan rolls her eyes. "Of course, my mistake." She turns back to her work. "Anyway, I can't. I have plans."

"No you don't," Julie says."You can invite Angie if that's what's bothering you."

"Angie has a job," Megan reminds her. "Her boss doesn't just let her leave halfway through the day to go to a party."

Julie snaps her fingers. "That's it! This is a work thing, so you have to come. Because I'm your boss."

This, like Megan threatening to quit, is an equally well-established code for "please do this thing Megan I can't keep begging it's incredibly demeaning."

The codes exist for a reason, and Julie doesn't use hers often enough to warrant calling her bluff and quitting on the spot, so she nods. "Alright. Fine."

As so many of the things Megan doesn't want to do end up involving, Megan ends up in the back of a car with Julie and Charles up in the front, and an equally reluctant Calbert sitting next to her.

"Charles," Megan says, "why would you bring Calbert?"

"I've been asking the same thing myself," Calbert says.

"What, Julie can bring you and I can't bring Calbert?" Charles says. "Double standard, much, Megan?"

"You should've brought Emily," Julie says.

Charles sighs. "I tried to reach her, but it went to voicemail. She's probably just working."

Palpably untrue, Megan thinks to herself. Emily never ignores Charles' calls during work, not since the time Charles got drunk and tried to buy a pug off eBay. She had ignored his text asking whether she was free to collect it, hadn't been able to talk him out of it, and had ended up roped into driving to San Francisco to tell some unfortunate old woman that she'd have to keep the pug for the time being. According to Charles, these things happen from time to time and there's no sense dying the richest man in the graveyard.

The point is that the only way Emily would ever ignore Charles’ call is because she’s heard about this already from Julie and made the very wise decision to steer clear of it.

"Why is Didi's leaving party this afternoon?" Megan says. "It's a Thursday. Who quits on a Thursday?"

"Didi got the Friday off so she could go to Pacific View headquarters and meet her new boss," Julie says. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Megan parrots. "Does that mean we're not going to Waffle House tomorrow?" The thought is almost inspiring.

"Of course not," Julie says, wrinkling her nose. "I don't go there for Didi, you know."

"We're going there for Didi now," Calbert points out.

"That doesn't count," Julie says. "Charles, have a look in the glove compartment for a leaving gift."

Megan splutters. "Julie!"

"Maps or granola bars," Charles announces. “I wouldn’t gift her a map, if I were you. They’re all out of date.” He tuts. “Julie, what good is a 2022 map of San Francisco going to do you in today’s city?”

“Yep,” Calbert says. “That’s the only problem with it.”

"You can't give her a granola bar as a leaving present," Megan says. "I shouldn't have to explain that to you. If you want to get her a gift, get her something proper or don't bother."

"Yes," Julie says. "You're right." Julie very infrequently admits that she's wrong about anything, so Megan takes it as a win. "Wait here." She pulls into a parking space along a parade of shops and ducks into one.

"Ten bucks says she walks out with a map," Calbert says.

"Now, Calbert," Charles says, "that's my daughter you're talking about."

It's a joke, of course. Last year, Julie had been hired to locate a thief in Charles' retirement home under the guise of being a new resident's daughter. Charles being Charles had become an enormous nuisance, spent most of the time getting high or having poorly timed revelations about aging, eventually solved the case by a stroke of luck, and moved into the retirement home full time. And, of course, wormed his way into Julie's heart and her timetable.

Well, that's the ungraceful way to put it, but it's how Megan tends to think of it because she loves Charles, she really does, but he'd caused her so many problems during that case that she's sure it accelerated her hair going grey by a few years. Granted, her hair isn't grey, but still. When it does go grey, she'll know who to blame.

She busies herself by sending a message to Angie, loosely to the tune of "you'll never guess what that woman's done NOW" which passes the time nicely until Julie gets back in the car, grocery store bag in her hand. "Did you know they don't gift wrap things for you in Costco?" Julie says, sounding indignant. "I had to do it myself."

"I don't know why you're so surprised," Megan says. "I'm sure we had the same problem on your nephew's birthday." Poor Elias Kovalenko had been gifted what every child wants - a set of novelty hair gels. Luckily, Eli was a year old at the time, and anyway he had been a very happy baby, so Julie had gotten away with it.

Megan is dreading his second birthday. She's always getting dragged along to Julie's family reunions, which is ridiculous for several reasons, and awkward for one - she had been very slightly complicit in breaking up one of Julie's brother-in-law's friends' marriages. Which, okay, completely his fault, don't sleep with your dentist if you're not prepared for your wife to find out, but, well. That's neither here nor there. Julie had been involved too, but she wouldn't know awkwardness if it shot her in the face with a machine gun.

Anyway.

When they finally arrive, Didi seems to light up the second she sees them at the door. She hugs them all hello, but Megan can tell her eyes are only on Julie. "You came!" she says.

It's not much of a party, Megan thinks. She supposes that technically, it isn't one. Julie had explained that it was during working hours, so they weren't about to break out a disco ball, but so few people are at a Waffle House, particularly this one, at this time on a Thursday, so the staff have all emerged from the kitchen and are standing in little groups chatting to each other.

"Of course we did," Julie says, grinning. Her face flashes with something. “Oh, I almost forgot! I got you a present."

How she almost forgot, Megan doesn't know. The grocery store bag hasn't left her hand. She hands it to Didi, who opens it to find a frankly ridiculous quantity of eggs. Julie's grin is somewhere between self-deprecating and mocking, and Didi looks like she might cry.

"Thank you," Didi says, sincerely.

Get a load of these idiots, Megan thinks to herself.

It looks like the two of them are about to shake hands, or something equally stupid, but then Julie goes in for a hug - which is a first, Megan has to admit - and Didi puts the eggs on the counter and hugs her tightly. It goes on for quite a bit longer than the rest of the room is going to watch, and people have all gone back to their conversations by the time Megan sees them break apart out of the corner of her eye.

"I'll still see you," Didi is saying. "Right?"

"Obviously," Julie says, with the tone she so often adopts when she thinks someone is saying something stupid. "Why wouldn't we? We're friends. Besides, I'm at Pacific View all the time. I couldn't stay away if I wanted to."

"And you don't want to?" Didi says.

Julie pulls a face. "If I did, you'd know about it."

Megan likes a good heartfelt reunion, but she decides to give them their privacy and leaves Calbert and Charles to complain to each other about something and migrates outside for a smoke. Luckily, no well-meaning idiot follows her out, and she finishes her cigarette and stubs it out under her shoe before sitting on a bench just out of sight of the window.

She calls her wife. "Hi, love," Angie says.

"Hi," Megan says. "I don't suppose you'd like to come join us at this party?"

"Party?" Angie says.

"Didi's leaving party," Megan says. "I texted you about it. Then again, your boss isn't as willing to kidnap me and leave in the middle of the day, so..." She trails off. "I guess you didn't see it."

"Why are you at a party?" Angie says. "You hate parties."

"So does Julie," Megan says. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Calbert. He catches her eye, and they exchange polite grimaces before he walks in the opposite direction. Megan loves him. "She played the boss card, and you know I don't say no to that unless she's asking me to take a hit out on someone."

"Of course not," Angie says. "And no, I'm not coming. God help you that you are. I told Peter I'd go for drinks with him. He just got dumped by his girlfriend."

"The lemon farmer?" Megan says with interest. "Wow. He must've been going some to get dumped by her."

"You're telling me," Angie says. "Anyway, he's been crying all day so I might be back late. Don't wait up."

"Ahh," Megan says, affably. "I see how it is. You're cheating on me."

"Sorry you had to find out like this," Angie says. "But the lemon farmer's available now, and I can hardly pass that up."

"Darn it," Megan says, and blows a kiss down the phone. "Okay, love you, see you later."

"Love you too," Angie says.

The leaving party goes on much longer than she would’ve liked, but, as it turns out, it was warranted. Julie and her drive home in near-silence, and the atmosphere at breakfast the next morning is thick with tension.

When the new fry-cook finally slides Julie’s plate across the counter, she stares at the plate with derision. She sticks her fork in the egg and the yolk spills out, perfectly runny.

"First time in a while," Megan says, trying to cheer her up.

"Uh huh," Julie says, miserably.

Megan hates when she's weird and mopey like this. It reminds her of the early days in their relationship - of the sad, prickly, on-edge girl who had interviewed her and offered her a job that same day. It had taken her weeks to coax Julie out of her shell, and months to really be her friend. “She’s not dead,” Megan says, not really one for a comforting bedside manner. “You’ll see her again soon.”

Julie doesn’t finish her eggs. Megan doesn’t comment on this.

“I’m going to Pacific View this afternoon,” Julie says, suddenly, later that day. “Will you come?”

“Okay,” Megan says. She needs to return a book to Susan anyway. Interesting read. Ecology of lions. She’ll thank Susan for the recommendation. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Julie says. “I just want to go. Will you come?”

Megan looks up at Julie’s nervous expression, and folds like she always does. “Sure.”

And you see, this is the problem with acquiring a pseudo-daughter. You end up doing the sorts of things you really don’t want to do very much. You’re hired one day to work in a hideous little office by one of the strangest girls you’ve ever met in your life, and before you’ve blinked three years have passed and you love her.

Well. These things happen, she supposes. She loves all her cats. A person, she reasons, is more or less a cat, if you look at it through a very specific lens and aren’t too concerned with accuracy.

So when her car pulls into the car park, Megan pauses before switching the engine to neutral. "I'll give you a lift back later," she says. "So you can get your car."

"Thanks," Julie says. She doesn't move to get out. She's staring straight ahead, which is how Megan can tell she wants to say something. It's her tell. All of their difficult conversations have to happen in cars. She stays silent until Julie sighs. "Never mind."

"Spit it out," Megan says, not looking at her. Julie doesn't speak. "Come on. Trust me."

Julie, as a rule, is a mistrustful little shit, but hey, maybe she's growing as a person or something because she turns her hand palm-up and holds it out. Megan takes it and squeezes. It's cold in hers.

"I think," Julie says, slowly, "Didi likes me."

Megan nods slowly, and doesn't say 'no shit' because sometimes it's better to let Julie have revelations in her own time. "Yes?" she says. "Why do you think that?"

"Oh," Julie says, "she said so."

Megan snorts. "Well, that'd do it." She watches as a drop of condensation traces the windshield. "Do you like her?"

Julie nods. "Yes."

It's unusual, Megan notes, for Julie to be so sure of her emotions. Normally trying to get her to put a name on anything is a little bit easier than pulling teeth, but not by much. "Okay," Megan says. "So what are you going to do?"

"I thought you could tell me that part," Julie says. "You have a wife. How did you do that?"

Megan shrugs. "I don't know. There's not a script to these things. Can't plan them." She ignores the feeling of excitement in her chest - Julie talking about marriage! Jesus fuck, she might be dreaming - and tries her best to sound reassuring. "I tell you, though, if she's told you that she likes you, it's your move. So you'd better make it."

Peripherally, she can see Julie nodding. "Yes," Julie says. "Yes." She squeezes again, then lets go. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit."

"I'll wait," Megan says. She props her feet up on the dashboard.

When Julie comes out hours later, Megan is rereading her book. It's better the second time around. Julie's cheeks are pink and flushed. She knocks on the window, and Megan rolls it down. "I just came to say," Julie says. "Don't wait. Didi says she'll drive me."

Megan's smile feels like it's going to break out of her face. "I won't," she says. Her and Julie don't do hugs, not really - neither of them have ever particularly felt the need to - so she sticks her arm out of the window and lets Julie lace her fingers in hers. "You know I'm proud of you, right?" Megan says, and it's the closest they'll ever come to saying I love you, but Julie's hand tightens around hers like she knows what she means.

"Whatever," Julie says, pathologically unable to accept a compliment without making it into a joke, but her eyes shine with gratitude. "I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Have a good time," Megan says, and she rolls her window up and watches Julie's retreating form until she's safely back inside, and drives away.

iv - a postlude, of sorts

“Julie and Didi kissed today,” Megan says that evening, folding her glasses and putting them on her bedside table. “I mean, really! Of all the things!”

Angie laughs at her. “Megan, darling, of course this was going to happen. Didi’s head-over-heels. And I’ve never seen Julie more invested in winding someone up. They’re young and dumb. I don’t know how you didn’t expect it. Even Charles worked it out.”

Megan tilts her head up to look Angie in the eye. “I did work it out,” she says, indignantly. “I just didn’t expect it to actually happen.” She turns off her lamp, and curls into Angie’s side. “More people should do it like us. The old-fashioned way. We liked each-other. We kissed. Job done. I don’t remember sending you any mean emails or learning how to gourmet you food.”

Megan can hear the smile in Angie’s voice. “Megan, I was making subtle hints for weeks. I thought you weren’t interested.”

“Well, that’s on you,” Megan says, “because I didn’t hide it very well.”

Megan hasn’t forgotten what it was like to be in love with her roommate. Both twenty years old, Megan had been absolutely, irredeemably in love. When Angie had kissed her, it had felt like divine influence. Angie still carries the faint scent of vanilla that she had had back then - still using the same perfume - and Megan thinks, as she often does, how lucky she is that this is her life.

“Anyway,” Angie continues, ignoring her, “it’s no small wonder you and Julie get along so well. You’re just like her.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Megan hums.

Angie laughs. “I’m serious. I mean, you’ve got twenty years on her. Give it those twenty years, and Julie will be despairing of her own younger colleague who’s clearly in love with a woman.”

Megan pauses to think. “Was I really that bad?” she says.

Angie kisses her head. “Yes, you were terrible. It drove me crazy. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Megan feels a paw pressing into her side as one of the cats settles next to them on their bed. “Now be quiet, it’s bedtime.”

It’s a thought Megan will probably have to devote a little bit more time to, down the line. But then again, it wouldn’t achieve much. To think! If Angie had never confessed to her, Megan’s life would have been sorely different. She’d never have met Julie, or Charles. There’d be no book about lions on her dresser. She’d never be falling asleep in the arms of her beautiful wife in a needlessly expensive piece of San Fran real estate. The scent of synthetic vanilla wouldn’t make her heart leap, and the thought of eggs over-easy wouldn’t make her want to get shot in the foot.

And she wouldn’t be at a Waffle House every Friday morning at nine-thirty on the dot.

Incredible.