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“Didn’t Divina borrow your swimsuit top?”
“Oh my gosh! Thank you, Wednesday!”
Wednesday understood, a year ago, that Enid and Divina exchange clothing more often than not. Divina borrows Enid’s nicer dresses for date nights with Yoko, and sometimes her swimwear when she wants something a little more…decent if she thinks prying eyes are going to be around, and Enid, in turn, will sometimes squeeze herself into Divina’s too-tight jeans or wear her hoodies that smell like sunscreen and the bottom of the lake.
The clothing exchange and the bonding over their love of fashion have always been acceptable things to Wednesday. She oftentimes has difficulty wrapping her introverted head around the fact that girls do things like that, but she understands that sharing clothing is a very normal part of being a teenaged girl. Young women have always done this, even centuries ago. It’s always been some kind of hallmark of for an adolescent woman. And if Wednesday were to ask about it, Enid would surely remind her that sharing is caring, or whatever nonsense that means.
Wednesday has accepted the fact that Divina and Enid are inseparable. That, she can understand and deal with. She can deal with the late-night texting and the nights she has to spend alone in their dorm while Enid rooms with Divina. She can deal with the solitude as she lays awake, thinking about Enid and what she and Divina might be doing in Divina’s room, on the floor below Ophelia Hall. Sometimes, when Wednesday is going a little batty, she’ll press an ear to the floorboards, just in case she might hear something revealing. Yet, she never hears anything more than the hum of the air vent or the heating kicking on. She’ll get back up and collect herself and try to move on, as if she hadn’t been sprawled out on the floor to begin with. But Enid doesn’t know that. It’s not very important to their friendship.
The first week of senior year is uneventful. It’s been uncharacteristically warm in Vermont this past week, and Enid mentioned going for a swim in the lake, alongside Divina, but nothing was ever confirmed, because everyone is still trying to settle in and absorb high school life one last time before they’ll have to embark on their journey as adults in about nine months. It was mentioned in passing, a simple suggestion that fell on Wednesday’s deaf ears when she was eavesdropping on Enid and Divina. Maybe Enid had agreed in a whisper or over a text, or maybe Wednesday wasn’t paying all that much attention to them, but when Enid reminds Wednesday that she’ll be gone all evening, Wednesday drops her fountain pen and spins around in her chair. Enid is tossing a bottle of sun cream into a bag, and suddenly, she’s wearing a bubblegum pink bikini and her hair—dyed pink and blue, the color of skin after a good beating—is tied back.
“I don’t recall you planning to leave today,” Wednesday says. “Where exactly are you going?”
“I told you,” Enid replies. Her back is still turned to Wednesday, and Wednesday’s eyes drift lower and lower until she sucks in a sharp breath and forces herself to lift her chin and focus on the back of Enid’s cotton candy head. “Divina invited me to go swimming at the lake. It’s Friday. Curfew isn’t until ten on Friday nights. Don’t wait up.”
Golden sunlight floods the room and shimmers over the silvery clip holding back Enid’s growing hair. Wednesday’s just now noticing that the clip has a wolf head embellishment in the center. Sunlight cascades down Enid’s back and stretches shadows across her skin. The little freckles dotted between her shoulders are more prominent when they’re bathed in the warmth of a star.
Wednesday stares, halfway interested, halfway awestruck, until Enid’s voice pulls her out of her mulling. The next time Wednesday blinks, Enid is pulling up a pair of denim shorts that don’t quite fit. The freckles are suddenly covered by a t-shirt Wednesday’s never seen before.
“Those aren’t your clothes,” Wednesday audibly observes.
“They’re Divina’s,” Enid says as she smooths her hands over the periwinkle fabric. “She wanted to borrow one of my swimsuits, and I told her fair trade. So this is what I picked from her closet.”
“She has a partner she could share clothes with,” Wednesday simply says.
“Yoko’s style is different from hers. Divina is more like me than anything,” Enid says. “Yoko and I don’t share clothes because our styles are too different. Sometimes Divina will wear Yoko’s hoodies to smell like her, but they don’t really have that much in common. You and Yoko could share clothes more than Divina and Yoko can. Actually, I think I’ve seen Divina wear Kent’s clothes more than Yoko’s. She always steals his hoodies when he’s not around, and he hunts her down for them.”
“Fascinating,” Wednesday deadpans. “When will you be back?”
“Curfew, probably,” Enid replies, putting the bag on her shoulder and hanging a pair of sunglasses—her own, Wednesday’s brain comfortingly supplies—on the collar of the t-shirt. “You can join us, you know. Divina wont mind. She thinks your whole gothic aesthetic is cool.”
“I’ll elect to pass.”
Wednesday turns around again, absentmindedly glaring at the fresh ink on her paper. The words blur as a bout of unexpected rage begins bubbling to the surface and manifests in the form of her hand clenching tightly around her pen.
For a moment, Wednesday relaxes. Her grip loosens around the pen and she feels her shoulders significantly sag. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, why she’s suddenly feeling a kind of chip on her shoulder. It’s senseless and silly to be so wound up over nothing—because it is, without a shred of doubt, nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Enid’s voice asks, startling Wednesday out of a daze. Her presence feels nearer and stifling but warm and inviting all at once. “Wednesday?”
Wednesday turns her head and lifts her chin. Enid’s hovering over her shoulder, backlit by the golden light that makes her mess of hair look like a halo around her face.
“Nothing is wrong,” she says, and she must be lying, because something about it feels so incorrect. “Why do you ask?”
Enid’s head tilts like a curious dog’s. “You just seem…off today. Like something isn’t right with your vibe.”
“I’m fine, Enid.” Wednesday tilts her chin down and tries to focus on anything but the angelic light bleeding through the window. “You worry too much.”
“Uh, yeah, because you’re the only person I know who’s almost died, like, a million times, and it’s kinda my job to make sure you stay alive,” Enid says. Wednesday can only imagine her flailing her arms. She doesn’t bother to look, though. “Seriously, if something is wrong, you can tell me. It’s okay to be open about your feelings.”
The offer would be tempting if Wednesday knew exactly what she feels, but she doesn’t, and that feels like enough proof that this ridiculous rage rising inside of her is moot.
“Don’t beat a dead horse, Enid,” she eventually says when she hears the shuffling of Enid’s feet draw closer. Coincidentally, her heart starts to beat faster the closer Enid’s feet get to her chair. “I’m fine.”
“Why haven’t you thought about going back into therapy, like your parents suggested?” Enid asks. “I mean, I get that you think feelings are stupid, but I can’t help but to feel like something might be wrong and I can’t fix it.”
Wednesday sharply turns in her chair, and this time she’s an inch from Enid. Her eyes move up, up, up, until they’re aligned with Enid’s. Enid’s watching, curious and concerned. Her face is soft and worried but still angelic in the light.
“The horse is dead, as is this conversation,” she tells Enid. “Don’t let me hold you back. Be free and run with the pack.”
Enid gives her a critical once-over. “If you’re sure.”
Wednesday nods her head towards the door. Enid lingers for just a moment before slipping into some sensible shoes and waving goodbye to Thing, who’s been filing his nails at the foot of Enid’s bed. The door both opens and closes in the same second. Wednesday finally turns around again, glaring at Thing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she abrasively says.
Jealous? he signs.
“Jealousy is for weak people,” she immediately replies. “Even so, there’s nothing to be jealous of.”
Then why do you look murderous?
Her eyebrows and lips form into a scowl. “Haven't you noticed anything, Thing? This is my permanent expression.”
Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Enid and Divina share clothing?
“Of course not,” she huffs. “Quit making assumptions. You’re such a chismoso for a severed hand, you know.”
Did you know that sharing swimwear is only one step below sharing underwear?
“That’s it. In the trunk you go. You’d better hope Enid hears your screams when she gets back.”
She swipes him off the bed and tosses him into her trunk. After slamming down the lid and sitting on it, she scowls at the closed door. She sits there, feeling Thing throw himself against the top of the trunk, thinking hard about nothing in particular but also about what Enid and Divina could be doing down at the lake.
It all feels absurd to worry about, and yet, Wednesday worries.
—
Divina is an easy target. She’s not a vanisher, and her powers only work in water and by her voice that she knows she shouldn’t use unless something dire comes along. If she’s not in water or singing her siren song, she’s closer to a normie than anything, and Wednesday has seen her wrestle Kent to the ground. She’s not very good at it.
But Wednesday isn’t planning an attack or an ambush on her. She’s merely observing, standing out on the balcony at a quarter to curfew. She was playing her cello for awhile, until her fingers started to ache against the pull of the strings, and then she waited and waited for the stars in the sky to become brighter. Then, she knew that it had to be close to curfew, which meant Enid would be arriving home soon.
Finally, out of the shrouds of shadows, Enid emerges with Divina at her side. They’re both giggling to themselves, acting like happy schoolgirls. It’s age-appropriate and normal for teenaged girls to laugh like that, but Wednesday notices that their shoulders are just a little to close together. As Divina steps under one of the large security lights that beams across the patch of grass that’s been regrown, Wednesday notices a sliver of neon pink peeking out from under the collar of her t-shirt.
As Enid and Divina are approaching the entrance, Wednesday quickly ducks back into the dorm. Thing gave up on trying to escape the trunk, and fell asleep, so it’s been more than a little quiet in here. Typically, Wednesday wouldn’t complain about the silence, but her mind has been racing a mile a minute, and now that Enid is coming home, the room will be filled with chatter and a playlist comprised of modern day artists and happy melodies.
She’s going to miss that part tonight, though. Before long, she’s sneaking out of the dorm in just her fuzzy socks and her nightdress that touches just above her knees. Grandmama taught her that she shouldn’t leave her living quarters looking less than decent, but she’s only going to see Divina and, if Wednesday were to be candid, Divina isn’t owed a presentable Wednesday at almost ten at night. Grandmama would shake her head in disappointment if she were to see her granddaughter’s distressed nightgown outside of the Addams estate, but Grandmama isn’t here, and Wednesday is feeling a little miffed.
Wednesday descends one flight of stairs. Her socks keep her footsteps discreet. The staff often roam the halls before lights-out, and she’s not in the mood to be interrupted. She exits the staircase on the second floor and makes her way down the long, winding hallway where most of the sirens reside. She knows, from past experience, that Divina’s door is the penultimate on the left. As she approaches and considers knocking, the sound of footsteps trailing behind her has her yanking her hand away from the door as if it burned her.
“I’ve never seen a goth Ebeneezer Scrooge,” Divina says, leading the conversation with a smile. “Nice.”
Wednesday tilts her head. “I don’t understand.”
Divina’s smile shifts into a perplexed frown. “Oh. Never mind.”
Wednesday’s eyes travel up and down Divina’s shadow. The hallway is lit dimly by sconces and candelabras fixed into gold plating along the walls, giving the siren a sort of eerie, mysterious glow. Divina’s shrouded in the cloak of Nevermore’s poor lighting, but the neon pink bikini string sticks out like a sore thumb against her pallor.
“You’re wearing Enid’s swimwear,” Wednesday audibly points out. She hooks an uninvited finger under the string and lets it snap against her skin. “You and Enid must be close.”
Now it’s Divina’s turn to tilt her head. “Well, yeah. She’s actually closer to Yoko, in terms of sharing secrets and stuff, but we share clothes because our styles are a little more similar.”
“I’ve noticed,” Wednesday deadpans. “Several times.”
Divina draws nearer. She smells lightly of sun cream and sunlight. Wednesday would bet that Enid smells similarly, and that, in particular, bothers her.
“Is there a reason you’re standing at my door at ten o’clock at night?” Divina inquires. “You and I don’t know each other very well. This is odd, even for you.”
Wednesday’s quiet for a moment. Truthfully, she hadn’t considered what she might say to Divina if she had gotten to this point. She isn’t even certain of why she’s here, what she wants out of Divina, what she’s supposed to tell her. She had scripted the conversation only this far.
“No reason in particular,” she eventually says, because Divina won’t quit scrutinizing her with those bright siren eyes.
“Then why the visit?” Divina asks. She doesn’t seem challenging, only curious and concerned. “Is something wrong with Enid?”
“No,” she quickly replies. Her eyebrows furrow, frustrated and strained. Her body starts to warm up like she’s standing under afternoon sunlight. “It’s not about Enid.”
Perhaps that’s a lie, but Divina doesn’t need to know that.
“Then you need to tell me what this is about, because it’s late and you’re standing here looking like Jack Be Nimble,” Divina says. It seems she’s trying to be humorous, but the joke falls flat. “Why are you here if it’s not about Enid?”
Wednesday looks down at her socks, then back up at Divina. That stupid bikini string looks a lot brighter now.
“You say you aren’t that close with Enid; not in the way she’s close with Yoko.”
Divina purses her lips. “You said it’s not about Enid.”
“Answer the question.”
“That wasn’t a question.” Divina stands a little straighter. “What do you want to know?”
Wednesday thinks for a real second. She feels herself becoming more and more disgruntled the more she tries to intellectualize her emotions. Even she doesn’t quite understand why she’s here or why the thought of Divina wearing Enid’s clothes—the clothes that touch Enid’s skin—is so upsetting.
“How close would you say you and Enid are?” Wednesday asks.
For a long second, Divina is quiet. And then, “Close. Not, like, overshare about intimate details close. But close enough that we talk and gossip.”
“And share clothing,” Wednesday completes.
“Yeah, that, too.” Divina’s siren eyes zero in on Wednesday’s face and take note of the way her eyebrows are tight and her lips are squeezed shut like she’s holding in hurtful words, and she softens up like butter. “Oh. I see now. I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You’re bothered by the fact that Enid and I share clothes,” Divina surmises. Her voice is so soft and understanding. “You’re…jealous.”
Wednesday quickly takes a step back. “Jealousy is for weak people. I’ve not a jealous bone in my body. Especially not about something as trivial as this.”
“Then why bring it up?”
Everything inside of Wednesday feels horribly warm and discombobulated. She hates the way Divina is looking at her, and what she hates more is the fact that she’s been rendered speechless.
“I simply assumed that…” Wednesday exhales, lifting her chin. “I assumed that…you and Enid…”
Divina giggles quietly. “Are you saying that you assumed Enid and I are together? Like, girlfriends?”
Wednesday holds her breath and stares incredulously at the neon pink stripe on Divina’s shoulder. “In so little words.”
Divina’s expression remains muted for a second before her face splits into a smile. She giggles softly behind her palm.
“Oh, that’s so cute!” she gushes at Wednesday. “You’re so stupid, but so cute!”
“Stop it,” Wednesday huffs, eyebrows furrowing again. “I may be a lot of things, but cute is not one of them.”
“I just think it’s cute that you’re jealous over something that’s not even true,” Divina says. “You know I’m with Yoko, right?”
“I have a few polyamorous relatives in my family,” says Wednesday. “I don’t hold judgment.”
Divina exhales, still amused by the way Wednesday continues to huff and puff in frustration. “So not only did you think that Enid and I are together, but you thought that we were in a throuple with Yoko. That makes it even better.”
“Shut it,” Wednesday snaps. “This is not funny, Divina. I have just admitted something very vulnerable to you, and I hardly know you outside of your friendship with Enid. So if you would kindly forget about this entire conversation, we can just move on from this and no one will be any the wiser. You speak of this to anyone and you might as well sign your death certificate.”
“But what about Enid?” Divina asks.
Wednesday inhales. “What about her?”
“If you were jealous of our friendship and thought we were a couple, you clearly have some kind of emotional and romantic attraction to her,” Divina says. “Why else would you care how close we are if not for your jealousy and pining?”
Quiet, Wednesday tries, desperately, to look anywhere else but at Divina. She takes note of the shadows painting the walls and the golden light drowning out the eerie darkness of the night. She fixes her stare on a gold candelabra, distracted by the brassy shimmer under the candlelight.
“You’re making assumptions,” she says to Divina. “You’re projecting.”
“I have nothing to project,” Divina defends. “I’m already in a relationship—with just one person, by the way. I’ve got the girl I’ve always wanted. I don’t have much else to say about that.”
“You are still making assumptions about the way I might feel about Enid,” Wednesday says. She blinks at the candelabra. “You don’t know me well enough to make those judgments against me.”
“Then why do you care so much about us sharing clothes and being close?”
The candelabra starts to fade in and out like a distant memory as Wednesday’s heart starts to drum faster in her chest. There’s a painful twinge in her chest that reminds her of Enid.
She hears Divina sigh and her feet shuffle closer.
“It’s okay to be jealous, even if there’s nothing to be jealous about,” says Divina. Her voice has gone syrupy sweet, like she’s talking to a child. “But maybe you should tell Enid how you feel. It might make you feel better if you do.”
“Or it could destroy whatever kind of relationship I do have with her,” Wednesday says.
“Friendship. That’s called friendship,” Divina says. “But you’re harboring some very strong feelings and emotional attachments to her. If you like her in that kind of way, maybe you should tell her so. Enid is an understanding person.”
“She’s a heterosexual.”
Divina giggles. “Oh, Wednesday. You don’t know her as much as you think.”
Wednesday’s still speaking to the candelabra, but she can feel Divina’s presence hovering over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Normally I would never out someone, but it’s not entirely a secret to the painfully attentive crowd and she doesn’t care if anyone clocks it, so I’ll just say it; Enid’s not a heterosexual.”
Wednesday turns on her heel and bumps right into Divina, who takes a step back and gives her enough space to take a breath.
“What do you mean?”
The smile on Divina’s face is overshadowed by the candlelight. “I mean, she’s not straight. I know this, Yoko knows this, a lot of the furs know this. But it looks like you missed the memo. It could be the autism.”
Wednesday glares at her. “How did you know I—“
“Same way I know about Enid; I have eyes, Wednesday,” Divina replies. “Anyway, if you fear being rejected by a straight girl, you won’t be rejected for her being straight.”
“Then what would I be rejected for?”
A minute passes while Divina thinks. Then, she shrugs.
“Nothing, really,” she says. “Trust me.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I trust you enough to tell you to go after Enid if you feel so strongly about it,” Divina says. “I trust that you won’t hurt her. I know you and I don’t know each other very well, and maybe I shouldn’t trust you, but Enid speaks so highly of you that I feel comfortable encouraging you.”
“She speaks highly of me?” Wednesday tilts her head, puzzled. “I didn’t know that I was a topic of conversation.”
“A lot of our conversations revolve around you, actually,” Divina says. “She appreciates you and your company so much. She’s crazy about you.”
For the first time since Wednesday found a cold and shivering werewolf Enid in the middle of a Canadian forest, she feels warm inside. There’s a muted feeling of safety and security that envelopes her and keeps her comfortable.
“You’re softening up,” Divina continues. “Your jaw just relaxed and your shoulders loosened.”
“Stop it.” Wednesday straightens her back like a cat’s tail. “But I should thank you.”
“No need to. Just send me an invite to the wedding and we’ll call it even.”
Wednesday scowls at her. “Now you’re just being facetious.”
Divina smiles and nudges her. “Well, go on. You’ve got a lot of talking to do. Don’t waste it on me.”
—
Wednesday returns to her and Enid’s dorm a few minutes later. Her palms sweat and her heart gets all fluttery and nervous. She refuses to acknowledge the fact that she might actually be afraid of something that isn’t inherently murderous or out to get her. Even as a worried lump starts to form in her throat as she approaches the door, she keeps her face stoic and unwavering. The tremble in her hands belies her expressionless eyes and the hollowness behind her dark browns.
When she opens the door, she peeks around the edge and scopes out the room. Enid is standing by her bed, rummaging through the bag she took with her to the lake. Her back is turned to Wednesday. Wednesday first notices the bikini strings hanging out of the collar of her t-shirt, then secondly the way the damp material clings tightly to Enid’s skin. Her eyes are wandering for a moment, and then Enid turns around and her eyes perk up like a dog’s when they see a steak.
“I thought you ran off or something,” Enid says.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Wednesday replies. She intends to be spiteful, but her words are too soft and smooth. “Back so soon?”
Enid tilts her head. “What’s wrong with you? You seem mad or something. Your vibe was off earlier, too. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Enid says. She shuffles closer. “Where’d you go?” She leans in close to Wednesday and flares her nostrils. “Were you just around Divina? You smell kinda like her.”
Wednesday’s quiet. She doesn’t want to admit to Enid that she might’ve been near Divina, but she would also hate to think that Enid could assume something of her smelling like another woman. The idea of that is bothersome, so she decides to tell the truth.
“Maybe I was.”
“Why? You don’t know her that well,” Enid says.
“I wanted to speak with her about something,” she replies, trying to think of anything in the world she and Divina might have in common. “It’s been resolved.”
“About what?”
“Why the fifth degree?” Wednesday asks. “It’s been handled.”
“I’m just asking.” Enid takes a step back and gives Wednesday a proper once-over. “You look like you did something wrong.”
“That’s always a possibility,” Wednesday says. “I always look emotionally reserved and stoic. You know that.”
“But you just look…uncomfortable. You haven’t looked at me like this since we first met. You’re looking at me like I’m a science experiment or something.” Enid pauses. “Did Divina say something to upset you?”
“I’m not upset,” says Wednesday. “I can’t promise a lot of things, but I can promise that I’m not upset.”
“Well, if you won’t tell me, all I can do is offer to listen if you do wanna tell me,” Enid says, shrugging. “You know where to find me. But until then, I guess I’m just gonna shower and get ready for bed.”
Enid starts walking away, towards the bathroom, and the space between her and Wednesday only grows larger and larger and larger, until Wednesday’s feet are following Enid and they’re not so far apart anymore.
“Enid.”
Turning around, Enid bumps into Wednesday, who’s been following quickly but quietly.
“Geez, you move like a cat!”
“You know how stealthily I move,” Wednesday says. She inclines her chin so she can properly look Enid in the eye, but she takes a step or two back to allow Enid some space. “Maybe I do have something on my mind.”
“Well, yeah, that’s pretty obvious,” says Enid. “What’s wrong?”
Wednesday thinks about how one of Poe’s most famous pieces of literature is The Tale-Tell Heart, and how the narrator was driven mad by his own mind conjuring up the sound of his victim’s heartbeat taunting him from under the floorboards. For analogy’s sake, her sexuality and the adoration she has for Enid just might be the heart beating under her feet.
It beats louder the longer she stares wistfully at Enid. She tears her eyes away for a moment, looking down awkwardly at her feet.
“You’re being shy,” Enid comments. “Why so shy? You’re never shy around me.”
“I’m not shy, Enid.”
I’m embarrassed, she wants to say, but she doesn’t.
“You gotta tell me what’s wrong. I’ll wait up all night if I have to.”
Wednesday lifts her eyes. “You’d wait up all night for me?”
“Yeah, I would and I will,” Enid says. She sighs quietly and her voice starts to melt. “Just tell me? You’re freaking me out, and that’s saying a lot, considering I’m used to you and your weird obsession with dead things and the occult.”
The heart beats louder. She can almost feel it vibrating under her feet.
“I was talking to Divina. Well, I confronted her.”
“Why? You don’t even know her enough to have beef with her.”
“Perhaps that’s true.” Wednesday inhales. “I’ve noticed that she shares clothing with you.”
“We had a whole conversation about this before I left,” Enid says. Her eyebrows suddenly shoot up. “Wait. Are you jealous? Does me sharing clothes with her bother you?”
Wednesday’s lips tighten so much they almost turn blue. “Maybe it did. But then I discussed it with Divina, and now I’ve come to the conclusion that it means nothing other than the fact that you are friends.”
“But it did bother you before…because you thought it meant we are more than friends,” Enid surmises. “And the idea of us being more than friends upset you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Wednesday? Is this your weird way of saying you…like me?” Enid asks, voice still buttery but now quieter. “You really like me? Like, as in more than a friend or a roommate?”
The room is silent for a minute. Wednesday finally lets herself breathe, trying to stop the heart beating under her. The heartbeat is falling quiet, but it’s not still.
“Yes. I do like you as more than a friend, Enid. So much so that I would have flayed that siren had she set her eyes on you.”
“Oh. That’s concerning, but I love the sentiment.” Enid smiles. “If it helps any, I like you, too.”
Stepping closer, Wednesday tilts her head, hopeful but cautious. Her heart may be made entirely of ice, but ice is incredibly fragile, and she won’t take too many chances with letting someone destroy it.
“Do you mean that?” she asks. “Don’t placate me and continue to lead me on for the sake of keeping the peace. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Don’t tell me things you don’t believe.”
“I’m not,” Enid says. “I promise.”
Wednesday’s eyes watch as Enid’s hand reaches out, palm facing the ceiling, like she’s expecting to be paid for her promise. Wednesday stares at it, feeling staticky inside, and then she puts her hand in Enid’s and Enid gently tugs her close to herself. It’s not forceful or demanding, but compassionate and safe.
An arm safely curves around Wednesday’s waist and draws her in close. She freezes in the sudden embrace, unsure of what to do with herself. The last time someone held her this close, she got sucked into a monster’s trap. She knows, very reasonably, that Enid is not a monster and she’s not going to throw her out of a window, but that shred of doubt inside of her makes her think that anything is possible in this wicked world.
“I guess I’ve been hiding my feelings, too,” Enid says, startling Wednesday out of her mulling. “Ever since you saved me from the forest…I’ve been thinking a lot. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t been dating or going out with boys.”
“I’ve noticed,” Wednesday mutters against Enid’s shoulder, where she’s managed to let her head fall. “I assumed it was due to the trauma of being trapped in wolf form, far from any sort of safety or familiarity, for so long. You had to learn to use your thumbs again.”
That much is true; Enid took an embarrassingly long time to figure out how her thumbs work. Opening a bag of chips took more effort than what was considered normal. Wednesday observed and offered a hand when Enid gave up and cried about how frustrating it was to be human again. Neither of them got any proper sleep that night, but they also never discussed it.
“You helped me remember how to be a person again, though,” Enid said says. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
“I owed you, Enid.” Wednesday pillows her head on a sharp collarbone, inhaling the scent of algae and sun cream. “It was the least I could do.”
“Owed me?”
“Yes. You saved my life, more than once. I think assisting you in your recovery was the least I could do to repay you for that.”
Enid’s grasp tightens around her. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“But that’s what friends do. And dare I say, that’s what anyone would do for someone they have feelings for.” Wednesday feels Enid relax against her. “I would do it again if I had to.”
Holding onto Wednesday, Enid pulls apart from her so they can properly see each other. Wednesday struggles to maintain eye contact, too busy staring just over Enid’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to see the softness in Enid’s face. She might melt if she does.
The heart is noticeably muted under her feet. But it’s still there.
“You’re perfect, you know?” Enid says.
“Quit stroking my ego.”
Enid giggles. “You’re so cute when you get flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” Wednesday huffs. Her eyebrows turn down. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Then come here.”
Wednesday draws closer. A warm palm settles against the swell of her cheek and a hand moves to the small of her back. She’s brought snug against Enid and then Enid’s soft lips are on hers. For a split second, she doesn’t know what to do, but then she’s leaning into it, absorbing every little sensation between them.
The moment they withdraw, Enid nuzzles Wednesday’s cheek and presses a kiss to the dimple in her cheek, her hands still protectively holding onto her.
“I love you so much.”
Wednesday exhales. “The feeling is incredibly mutual, Enid.”
The heart from under the floorboards stops beating just then.
And at the end of the story, the narrator confesses to the murder, driven into madness by his own paranoia.