Chapter Text
I leaned back on the table, making the wood creak, and then hopped up backwards into a sit on it. My legs dangled.
Jessie was slumped back in her chair, still taking unsteady breaths. In some ways, she looked more of a mess than I'd ever seen her. The bun was coming out of her hair, her shirt was askew, and the way she let her legs stretch out was lacking in her usual precision. Her arms were left dangling, fingertips scraping the ground.
“Satisfied?” I asked.
“With that? What? No,” she said. She didn’t even hesitate. Her eyes fixed back onto me. “I've wanted to kiss you a number of times in the triple digits. That was only thirty-one. Have some self-awareness, Sy.”
“Oh,” I said, like a dolt. Triple digits. Right. “That's fair. Would you like to kiss some more, then?”
It took a second for her to answer. “I’m conflicted.”
“You’re conflicted?”
“I want to get started. I want to get out of this apartment, go shopping and get out of these clothes, and then I want to skip this town on the next train out.”
“But?”
“But a more impulsive part of me also wants to kiss you more, yes.”
“We could compromise,” I said. “One more kiss and then we go.”
Jessie hauled herself out of the chair and stepped over to me. Sitting on the table wasn’t doing much for my height. The top of my head was about half a foot below the top of hers.
She took her glasses off and folded them into her shirt pocket. She squinted at me, as if keeping track of where I was.
Then she stooped over and grabbed the front of my shirt, yanking me into the kiss. Her other hand braced on the table, knuckle of her thumb pressed up against my outer thigh.
It was bizarre being on the other end of that. Lillian had always waited for me to go to her. But it was a good bizarre. Judging by how it made my brain shut off for a solid second. And it was a long kiss, probably twice as long as the longest kisses I’d ever given Lillian, really cheating on the technicalities of being just one kiss. I wrapped my hands around the small of her back, running a thumb over the arch of her spine. She liked that, moving closer to me.
Jessie wasn't very good at kissing, I was discovering. Incredibly enthusiastic, but not very good at it. Or at least, I had notes about the amount of teeth and tongue. About how she wasn't using any technique or consideration to pull a reaction from me, only pressing forward like she couldn't possibly get close enough. It was fantastic. I liked it so much. Her acting like she wanted to fuse with me. In that moment, something warm and jittery burst inside of me, like yes, yes, I care this much about you, too.
She released me. Her face was tinged even redder than before, ruddy in the cheeks and at the tips of her ears. “Okay,” she smiled, sounding sort of out of it. “Now I want to get out of here.”
I wanted to say No, can’t we do that just one more time?
As she put her glasses back on, she was still standing close to me, almost between my knees. It somehow registered as even more notable than the kiss, in a way, because it was unusual for Jessie. The kiss was one thing, and this ratcheted up yet another level. Even knowing she liked me, I was used to her being the type to keep a physical distance. We never clung to each other like I had with Jamie, we never invaded each other's personal space. All of a sudden, I felt a fierce pang of desire to hook my legs around hers, or lean forward and hug her tightly. A buried part of me had missed that, had desperately missed getting to cuddle up with Lambs since I’d left them.
I looked around the apartment instead, restraining the urge before my pause became too obvious. I didn’t want to startle her, or override her boundary about leaving and changing first and push her away again, or move too fast, or…I didn’t know. Look like a clingy idiot. “This feels like a place to move onto better things from. I like that skipping-town idea.”
“While we're on wants and likes, I would also like to be somewhere with air conditioning. This heat is atrocious.”
Her phrasing was normal, but she still looked and sounded slightly distant. Unfocused. From me? I did that? To the girl who spent a good eighty percent of every day flat-faced and drilled in?
Geez.
“Cold showers?” I suggested. “And then un-sweated-in clothes, and we pack up and book it for some shops.”
“Mm,” she said. Absentmindedly, she tugged the bun the rest of the way out of her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders, and wound the sinew band around her wrist. “I wasn't expecting that,” she said.
“No?” I asked.
“I haven't changed anything yet. And there's Lillian. I thought if I changed myself up more and you got used to it, you would maybe be interested later down the line…” she trailed off.
I was starting to recognize the look on her face as the specific expression of someone not quite all the way to believing that something extremely good had just happened to them. Being that something good made my heart flip-flop with the thought of I’m not sure I’m qualified for this.
After what had happened with Lillian just hours earlier, after almost ruining things with Jessie, the day coming to have this much optimism felt almost too good to be true to me, too.
“Jessie?” I said. “If I ever start to cock this up, even slightly, tell me.”
She tilted her head. “Obviously,” she said, as if I was being strange. “This is a very strange day,” she said after another moment. “I wasn't expecting any of this. You keep finding ways to surprise me.”
“Yeah, well,” I said. I shrugged awkwardly. I didn't know why I wasn't pouncing on the opportunity to say something sly. Maybe it was that Jessie wasn’t like Lillian. I didn’t know what to say that would be guaranteed to flatter or fluster her instead of…not. I didn’t know what she liked, and it was better not to overplay my hand. “I like girls. I really like you. So. Combine the two. There's a pretty inevitable conclusion, I guess. And I'm pretty good at fancying more than one Lamb girl at once.”
“You kept saying things like that, but I really thought it was involving a more hypothetical set of premises. Apparently not.”
“No one ever believes me when I'm being honest.”
She quirked another one of those tentative smiles. It was almost embarrassed, which was a bizarre expression to see on her. She was standing awkwardly, like she wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself. It reminded me of how girls looked when they were showing off a new outfit they weren't sure about.
Except instead of a new outfit, for Jessie, it was a whole new sense of self. New being Jessie.
I wanted to say something encouraging, but there was no version of “That dress is pretty on you” that came to mind for this situation, and before I could think further, the moment was over. She was sitting back down in her chair. I bit my tongue in frustration. I had wanted to say something, and I almost never ended up stumped for words like that.
Jessie rested two fingers at her temple with her thumb at her jaw, leaning her elbow on her knee. “It's easier if we don't reorganize when Shirley and Pierre leave. They can follow us tomorrow. We'll have to tell them we're going ahead now. They can take our luggage beyond the essentials.”
“Are you going to tell them about you?”
“Later, I think. We'll stop by to see them before we go shopping. I'll decide what I want to tell them before they catch up with us. Shirley will understand. I suspect Pierre won't care. Maybe I'll talk to Shirley first and ask her to break it to Pierre.”
“Shirley seems like an understanding sort,” I commented. Shirley was a bit of a loose cannon, but she was also what people called ‘a sweetheart.’
“She is. I know she was friends with some of those girls in Tynewear.”
“That's that, then. Are you taking the shower first, or am I?”
I thought it was the right thing to say, since it would be awfully soon for the alternative, and she had wanted to sort herself out before kissing me more. But right after the words came out of my mouth, I felt a jolt of worry that maybe I would be offending her by assuming we weren't sharing.
“I'll take it,” she said, and I was relieved that it was casual and unhesitating.
Then I frowned, because I had wanted the shower first.
“You pack up,” she said, with her argument clearly already prepared. “You'll get antsy if I pack while you go first and you don't have anything to do while you wait. I'll make sure you didn't miss anything after I get out.”
“Look at you, finding a good reason to hog all the nice cold water.”
She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. “Am I wrong?”
“Selfish. Water hog.”
She waited, not giving me anything else to work with.
“No,” I grumbled.
She left the door open. That was new. The curtain was closed, and thick enough that I couldn't even see her shadow, but it was some kind of tentative step forward. Chilled mist drifted out from the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of pattering water. It was pleasant enough in the tiny oven of an apartment that I plopped down on the floor in the middle of the cloud to pack and organize our bags.
That felt right. It was nice, in the end. She left the door open, and I sat in the doorway, and the silence was cool and brimming with quiet echoes of possibility.
☙
Sylvester knocked. Shirley looked up from her dime novel. She could tell it was Sylvester because it had been Sylvester and Jamie's knock, and she could even tell that it had been Sylvester and not Jamie because of the cadence to it. Jamie followed the pattern, but was flat in tone, sounding identical every time. Sylvester varied more, making it almost sing-song.
“I'll get it,” she and Pierre said simultaneously. She laughed. He chuckled a little, too.
“I insist,” he said, and he was already extending from the couch onto his overlong legs, so she let him have it.
“I hope it's nothing bad,” she said as he strode across the room to the door. They weren't expecting to hear from the pair for another day or two. Sylvester and Jamie–she thought mainly Sylvester, given the tone of things–were seeing one of the Lambs, and she and Pierre were left to see the town.
It had been nice enough, if a little dry at times. Pierre was an interesting conversationalist. They'd gone on a walk or few, discussed books, discussed pasts.
He stooped to open the door, and Sylvester and Jamie stepped inside, both toting suitcases and bags. Internally, something about it made her raise an eyebrow, and she couldn't place a finger on why.
“Good afternoon,” Sylvester said. He bowed, with an exaggerated amount of his usual flourish. “Shirley. Pierre.”
Jamie stood behind him, one hand in his pocket, eyes flicking to watch the deep bow with mild amusement. Pierre, meanwhile, shut the door. The three of them made their way to the sitting room.
“Is everything alright?” Shirley asked. “We weren't expecting you.”
“Everything’s okay,” Sylvester said, and then he didn't elaborate.
She tried to look at things from the mental angles Sylvester had taught, and then she saw it. The boys were placed differently relative to each other than usual. They were fractionally closer, and, she thought, they were also fractionally more tense–although, unlike Sylvester, she couldn't articulate what clues were making her think so.
It was Jamie that spoke instead. “The two of us are leaving a little earlier than planned,” he said. “We thought you could follow at the time we initially set on, and bring all the luggage.” He scooted one of the suitcases he was holding forward in demonstration.
“The same arrangement, just bring more bags with us?” she said. “Sure.”
“It's not a problem,” Pierre agreed. He was standing next to the couch instead of sitting back down, bouncing faintly on his feet. She had gathered that he liked to stand, like how he liked to run.
“How was the visit with…” she thought for a moment. “Lillian?”
Jamie was silent, offering nothing, not even an expression.
“Bad,” Sylvester said.
Jamie nodded.
“Oh! I'm sorry. Can I ask what happened?”
Again, Jamie was silent, only peering down at Sylvester over the top of his glasses. Normally Sylvester would have hopped into a sit somewhere or started a handsome lean on his luggage handle, but he was treating this all more formally.
Finally, he said “There was a difference in how much we wanted to see each other long-distance.” His voice was faintly sad, but as smooth and sure as ever. “We had to work it out.”
It was Jamie that provided real information, locking eyes with her and blinking. Somehow, she perfectly understood him to mean Oh, it was a lot more than that.
“I'm sorry,” Shirley said again. “Was there anything else you had for us?” She didn't mean to sound brusque. Rather, she thought that with Sylvester, the considerate thing was getting down to business. Judging by how he finally went into that lean on his luggage, looking expectantly up at Jamie, she had been right.
Again, she felt that eyebrow-raising feeling. This time, she could place why faster. Sylvester and Jamie were alternating, less of a cohesive unit. She felt a flare of proud excitement about being able to identify it like how Sylvester could have, although he probably would have also known why things were awkward.
She would have liked to bring it up to him and ask for further pointers, but she wasn’t sure he would appreciate being the subject of her analysis. Then again, maybe he was exactly the type of person to congratulate her on it.
“One thing,” Jamie said. “Shirley, could I talk to you in the other room for a moment?”
“Only me?”
He nodded. “Just for a minute.”
She stood from the couch, and had to take a second to find her bookmark.
“On the floor,” Jamie said. “It fell when you tipped the book.”
“Thank you,” she said. She reached down for it and then set her book aside on the couch arm.
In the kitchenette, she shut the door behind them. Sylvester and Pierre were already conversing in the other room, Sylvester doing most of the talking.
Jamie peered behind her. “What's that?” he asked.
Shirley followed his line of sight to the counter. “We've been feeding it,” she said. “Pierre heard it rummaging in the alley for scraps.” She scratched the cat’s head, and it squeaked in its sleep. It had an orange front half and a tabby back half, stitched up around the middle. “We thought we could at least give it a meal or two.”
She had a bit of a soft spot for strays. The Madam had disapproved of setting food out for them, which she supposed was fair, since the Madam was the one budgeting their meals. But also, boo, she wanted to. She enjoyed that she'd been able to do it this time without any scolding for the lost milk.
“Look at you, finding company,” Jamie said. He glanced at the door, and then fixed his attention on her. “I wanted to tell you this first, and ask if you could broach it with Pierre after we leave.”
“Oh?” she said. She folded her hands in front of her, waiting. This would be the source of all the subtle awkwardness.
Jamie stood a little taller. “I've decided I'll be a girl from here on out.”
“Oh!” she said. “That's not what I thought you were going to say. But, well–good for you!”
“I think so,” the girl nodded. She looked at ease enough, but it was a highly matter of fact nod. Very serious, very analytical. “What did you think I was going to say?”
Shirley lowered her voice for the next part, just to be safe. “I thought it was going to be about your big crush on Sy.”
She didn't look even remotely surprised that Shirley had been able to tell. “That's also a relevant subject,” she said.
“Are you two going to be an item?” Shirley asked.
“A lady doesn't kiss and tell.” She broke out into a bright smile, tight-lipped as she clearly tried to repress it. There was the faintest of blushes on her face as she craned her neck away in embarrassment. Even craning away, she met Shirley's eyes, clearly pleased with herself.
It was often easy to forget how young the pair were. They were both whip-smart, Sylvester was the smoothest talker she'd ever met, and the girl–whose new name she needed to ask, now that they were past the big announcements–was reasonable, calm, and already some large bit taller than her. But in the moment, Shirley thought, she looked every bit the flattered schoolgirl, proud and flustered that she’d gotten her prize.
“Well!” Shirley said, earnestly excited. “Good for you on two counts…”
“Jessie,” she said.
“Good for you on two counts, Jessie. I'm to tell Pierre? I can't imagine he'll have any difficulty. I mean, compared to him, it’s a little mundane.”
“I thought so. But I consider you a friend, so I wanted to tell you first, and I thought you could let him know that I'll be different by the time you catch up to us.”
“I'm happy you see me that way,” she said. She stood up on her toes to fold her arms over Jessie’s shoulders, giving the younger girl an affectionate hug.
Jessie let it happen, but didn't lean into it, and patted her back like the hug was mainly for Shirley's sake. Jessie wasn't much of a hugger, she supposed.
“I hope you have a nice time on your day with Sy,” she said, pulling back to more of a distance. “And this evening, too.”
“Thank you,” Jessie said. “I think we both have sort of a sense of this being an unpleasant transitional space, and we'd rather move on with the next phase of things now. There's not really a point to staying, now that Lillian is sent off. I'm sure you ran out of things to do fairly quickly.”
“It's not so bad. It's a little dull, but after so much excitement, a bit of dullness can be nice, you know? And Pierre is good company. I really think you made a good choice, hiring him.”
“Good to hear on several counts,” Jessie said. “Although I can't say I wholly relate to your feelings about dullness.”
“That about fits what I know of your tastes.”
Jessie gave her a Got me there look. “Astute,” she said, dryly amused.
“I've been practicing astuteness. Can I be nosy about something?”
“Have at it.”
Again, she lowered her voice. “About Sy and Lillian, what exactly was the severity…what was all…” she gestured, hoping Jessie would understand the general sentiment. “I'm not sure if I misread their relationship?”
Jessie spoke more quietly, too, voice measured. “You didn't quite misread it. Not as it was presented to you. Sy was a complete unthinking idiot, in the way he can sometimes be, and I wasn't very happy with him at all. Now I'm mostly happy with him again. But I might not be mentally rescinding his idiot status for some time.”
“Is it rude to laugh if I enjoyed how you phrased that?”
“No.”
“Well, I already held it in, but it was there.”
Jessie nodded, looking amused at that.
“He seems like he wouldn't be an idiot to girls whenever I talk to him.”
“He reserves his idiocy,” Jessie said. “And if he's ever an idiot to you, I'll have his head.”
“Violent.”
“You might be less surprised if you saw me operating in the field. But he tends to bring that out in me.” Jessie briefly set a hand on her shoulder, as what Shirley knew to be her version of a physically affectionate goodbye, and opened the door. She politely after-you gestured.
“Where's Sy?” Shirley asked.
Pierre, still standing, pointed down at the other side of the couch. She rounded it and saw that Sy was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, too short to be seen over the couch.
“Productive conversation?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jessie said. Shirley offered him a cheerful nod.
Pierre's big rabbit head swiveled, bulging eyes meeting Shirley's. He would want to ask, after the pair was gone.
It was funny to think of Sylvester being anything near an idiot. She supposed any idiot side he had only really showed around people who were smart enough to be able to consider him as such.
Like Jessie, who was offering him a hand off the table. Sy took it, dramatically swinging himself upright on the table. It made a nasty creaking sound. He stepped off like he was doing a trick on a tightrope, releasing Jessie’s hand a little too quickly. As if he was trying to make the contact look casual and going overboard.
Shirley had never known Sylvester to go awkwardly overboard with the social things. Why, if she thought about it for a second, she almost suspected that she was seeing what one might call idiocy. Not inconsiderate idiocy. Adolescent idiocy. Early into a relationship, awkward idiocy.
It had almost been imperceptible. A second later, she could have easily decided she imagined it. But she suspected.
“Sy?” she said. “Please don't stand on my coffee tables like that again.”
“Counterpoint,” he said, raising a finger. “I paid for the room, so it's my table.”
“It’s the landlord's table,” Jessie said. “And if you break it, we have to pay for it.”
“But,” Sylvester said. He spread his hands. “I didn't break it. And if I had, we could have used my spending money.”
“You don't have spending money. Because you keep spending it on things you shouldn't and don't need to.”
“That's the explicit purpose of spending money!”
“A broken table is not a fun little splurge.”
What Shirley said next, she said for two reasons. The first was that she was going to be telling Pierre anyway, so it didn't hurt to raise the subject with a joke. The second was that she wanted to see if she couldn't startle Sylvester.
“You two can really go at it like an old married couple.”
Jessie's eyebrows shot up to her forehead before receding to a normal level. As for Sylvester–only someone who had been around Sylvester would have noticed, but for him it was a massive, startled pause. A half-second where he stopped talking and looked at Jessie for her reaction. It was pretty good, if Shirley did say so herself.
Then the half-second ended. He looked to Shirley. “I'm winning, right?” he said.
“I'm on the side of not standing on tables,” Shirley said.
Pierre chimed in, “If I can say, I agree with Jamie and Miss Shirley.”
“Everyone on earth but Sy is on the side of not standing on tables,” Jessie said.
“Everyone is fired,” Sylvester declared.
“No one is fired,” Jessie said. “And now we're going to get out of your hair.”
“Off your tables, if you will,” Sylvester added.
“I won't,” Jessie said.
Shirley waved. She knew Jessie wasn't mad, because Jessie gave her usual single wave back and a smile. Sylvester offered a charming two-fingered salute, then held the door for Jessie. She walked out carrying the two smaller bags they'd kept with them, already starting to say something else about finances.
“May I ask?” Pierre said after the door shut.
Shirley grinned. “You won’t guess! Or maybe you will.”