Work Text:
“You can’t write my memoir, you’re too obsessed with me.”
She’s sitting on the chaise in one of the living rooms (Ava’s favorite for their working environment. The ‘aesthetic slaps’ she had said), legs crossed, one of them bouncing up and down. She has a pencil in one hand, the other is holding Ava’s as Deborah brainstorms, her thumb delicately tracing along her fingers while she balances her notebook on her knee.
“So I was thinking-” Deborah says.
As she looks over at the girl, she’s met with a mouth ajar, closed eyes, and a light snore. She glances at her watch and realizes they’ve been up writing all night, and it’s just struck 12:30 in the morning.
She hums, smiling tenderly as she gently strokes Ava’s cheek, admiring her freckles, her faint smile lines. Her lush lips.
Refocusing, she jots down a few more remarks in her red notebook. Changes a punchline here, removes an offensive line there (She knows Ava would disapprove if she saw it). All of a sudden she encounters an entirely separate idea.
She knows it will keep Ava busy. Keep her distracted. Keep her close to Ava even after she’s no longer on this earth.
It’ll be good for her, Deborah thinks.
She knows what Ava will do if she doesn’t give her this:
She’ll isolate herself, stop writing, stop pursuing her work, stop doing what she loves. Will end what she and Deb created together. And Deborah can’t stand the thought of that happening.
She needs Ava to write her memoir.
The following day
They’re sitting by the pool, Deborah in her favorite leopard caftan, Ava in her revealing black bikini, arm dramatically draped over her face as if this simple act will shield her from the sun.
She really should be under the umbrella with her “pasty complexion” as Deborah so kindly puts it. She’s already scolded her twice for it and lost the argument both times, while Deborah seeks solace under the cool umbrella right next to her writing partner.
“I’ll let you write it,” Deborah says, breaking the silence after taking a sip of her second martini of the afternoon.
“Hmm?” Ava questions, sitting up on her elbows, squinting from the sun as she turns to look at Deb.
“My memoir. But-” Deborah, points a finger at Ava and lowers her sunglasses to meet the girl’s soft brown eyes.
“I have one request.” She says.
Ava’s interest is officially piqued as she fully sits up to give her undivided attention to the blonde sitting next to her.
“Yeah D, anything. What is it?” She asks, fidgeting with her nails, picking at the skin around her cuticle until it’s nearly bleeding (Something Deborah constantly chastises her for. She really ought to use some of those special creams she’s always raving about).
Deborah notices the fidgeting and takes Ava’s hand in hers, thumb caressing the pads of her palm. Deborah turns Ava's hand over in hers, now beginning to feel anxious herself.
She inhales deeply, debating her next words.
“I’m going to come out.” She says, almost using the words of her sentence as an exhale; a sigh of relief. An admission.
It’s obviously nothing Ava didn’t already know, but she was proud that it was starting to get easier for Deb to tell herself.
Ava had carefully explained this to Deborah in detail: The range of emotions she would go through, how it somehow felt like the stages of grief while simultaneously feeling liberated. How each stage and feeling would be different and intense but always valid.
“You’re-” Ava starts.
But Deb cuts her off.
“After I’m gone.” She clarifies. “Put it in the book, and then release it when my crushed bones are hanging out in a box in a mausoleum. Then everyone can call me a historic gay icon or whatever the hell.” she says, waving her hand in the air and rolling her eyes.
Deborah sighs deeply and lets her shoulders slump, lowering herself a bit farther into her chair. To disappear? Her hand begins to slip out of Ava’s, but Ava tightens the grip.
“I’m already ashamed enough. For not being stronger.” She says, more serious this time.
“For not coming out. For being a coward. I’m still trying to come to terms with all of this” she says, gesturing widely with her free hand.
“I could never think of you as a coward, D.” Ava says, squeezing Deborah’s hand reassuringly and smiling, running the tips of her fingers along Deborah’s knuckles, giving her hands something other to do than fidget nervously.
“Hey,” Ava begins, taking Deb’s chin in her hand to turn the older woman back toward her.
“Of course. Of course I’ll do that for you. Whatever you want, yeah?” Ava says, smiling proudly.
“And hey, just being able to even acknowledge this whole thing is big enough in itself. To go all of those years through life hiding. Or at least not knowing you were hiding.” Ava frowned.
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like…” Ava’s voice trails off, imagining a teenage Deborah, pushing her feelings down. Imagines a young, married Deborah, pretending to love her husband for the sake of appearance and expectation. Ava’s eyes well up with tears and manages to gather herself.
She gives Deborah’s hand another reassuring squeeze, looking into her familiar piercing blue eyes. They have their own unspoken language after all these years.
Ava could swear she sees tears welling. Fighting to break their way out of the dam Deborah had built for so many years, still refusing to cry in front of Ava during certain circumstances.
Deborah always folded when Ava was serious after being so used to her ability to turn any serious conversation into her own mini comedic performance. But this time Ava wasn’t riffing. She was composed.
“I love you” Deborah finally says, softly.
“And I love you” Ava responds, beaming proudly at the older woman.
“So how long should I make the chapter on how many times you’ve made fun of my hands? I’ll tell the world that yours are actually bigger than mine and it’ll be a bigger scandal than the great Deborah Vance being queer.” Ava threatens.
“Don’t you dare!” Deborah swats her arm playfully, and laughs that howling cackle that always has Ava crying laughing right back with her, and things are the way that they’ve always been.
6 years later
For Immediate Release:
Deborah Vance Revealed to Have Had Long Term Romantic Relationship With Friend and Writing Partner, Ava Daniels, 36, Per New Memoir