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Elle knocked on Vivian’s door, pressing her ear close to listen for signs of movement. After a minute of quiet shuffling, the door creaked open, and Elle stepped back, expecting the worst.
Vivian’s eyes were red, her face was swollen, and her hair stuck up, unbrushed, barely held up by a loose claw clip. “She said it’s over. For real this time,” Vivian mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Elle sighed, a wave of empathy crashing over her. Her own breakup with Emmett had happened about a year ago, but she still remembered the suffocating feeling of heartache and endless tears all too well. Vivian’s girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend now, had strung her along for months and now finally discarded her. Really, Elle was almost grateful. She couldn’t stand to see Vivian fall for another useless apology. She opened her arms, and Vivian slumped into her hold.
As her best friend sobbed shakily in her arms, Elle silently vowed to fix this. She could fix anything, after all.
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“Putting mascara on is a very effective way to deter yourself from crying,” Elle explained. “You’ll ruin the whole look if you do.”
“This is why they invented the waterproof stuff,” Vivian whined. Elle gave her an unimpressed look. She finished putting Vivian’s hair up, then started digging through her closet and tossing options onto the bed.
“Perfectly slutty, tasetfully booby… hmm, this one shows a very classy, yet provocative amount of collarbone.” Elle held up the clothes to Vivian, squinting her eyes. This was like Princess Diana’s revenge dress. This was pivotal.
Vivian rolled her eyes, but grabbed the ‘tastefully booby’ option, turning around and tugging it on. “You know you don’t need to do this, right? It’s really not your usual scene, I don’t want you to have a miserable night trying to cheer me up.”
Elle scoffed. “Don’t be silly. Just because I’ve never been to a gay club before does not mean I won’t have the best night ever. I’d have the best night ever anywhere with you. Plus, I won’t have to deal with guys trying to hit on me! It’ll be a relief, honestly.”
“And if girls try to hit on you?”
Elle paused. She hadn’t considered this. “I’ll tell them I’m just an ally there for a friend! But that they’re very pretty... and then I’ll just wingwoman you instead.”
“How noble.”
“It’ll be a perfect night, I promise, now come on! The taxi is almost here.” Elle helped Vivian gather her things and pulled her out the door, down the stairs, and into the waiting car. The ride to the club was silent, but Elle squeezed her friend’s fidgety hand in a quiet show of support. When the girls stepped through the doors of the club, Elle blinked rapidly, adjusting to the flashing lights and the sea of people in front of her. Vivian’s involuntary smile was confirmation enough that they were in the right place, so Elle snapped into action, dragging her friend towards the bar.
“Two double tequila shots, please! With salt and lime.”
Elle grinned at Vivian, who narrowed her eyes. “You know what tequila does to me.”
“Honey, god knows you deserve a messy night!”
Several hours and an unknown (but substantial) amount of drinks later, Vivian was giggling uncontrollably as Elle busted out her worst dance moves on the floor under the colorful lights. Elle spun her friend around, moving freely to the music, the warm hum of drunkenness running through her body. She watched happily as a gorgeous woman appeared behind Vivian, dancing with her and whispering a question in her ear, which was quickly answered by Vivian turning to wrap her hands around the woman’s waist and pressing their lips together. She moved her hand to give Elle a quick thumbs up.
A smile spread across Elle’s face, and she quietly slipped away, leaving Vivian to it. She grabbed a water at the bar and sat sipping it. Suddenly, a voice sounded behind her: “Elle?”
She whipped her head around, meeting dark, wide eyes. There was absolutely no way. “Liz?”
Liz’s hair still curled in the same way. Her soft freckles, her expressive face, her eyelashes, it was all the same, but it wasn’t. Elle hadn’t seen her in years and years, and suddenly she was filled with a hot jealousy at everyone who had been there by her former best friend’s side as she lived her life and became somehow even more confident than she had been. Liz’s rings, her loose vest, her tie, the pin on her collar reading ‘butch’, her boots, it was all so effortlessly cool, so Liz, that it made Elle’s heart hurt, the feelings of missing her resurfacing in a sharp and overwhelming way.
“What on earth are you doing at a gay bar?”
“Oh, I…” Elle floundered, forgetting her practiced line. “Liz, what are you doing here? In this city?”
Liz leaned in so Elle could hear her over the music, her breath ghosting Elle’s cheek. “Take a wild guess as to why someone like me might enjoy Massachusetts. I moved to Provincetown a while ago, now work brought me to Boston.”
“Oh! Right. And you never called?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Elle frowned. “That’s not fair. Of course I would’ve wanted you to. I always tried to keep in touch, you’re the one who dodged my calls.”
Something flickered through Liz’s eyes, a quick, unreadable expression. Elle used to be able to read all her expressions, used to be able to tell what she was thinking immediately. She felt nauseous. Maybe there had been too much tequila.
A beat of uncomfortable silence passed. “I’m gonna go find Vivian.” Another unreadable expression from Liz.
“Who’s Vivian?”
“A friend. A real friend.”
Elle turned around, ignoring Liz calling after her, and pushed her way back through the crowd, finding Vivian and the mystery woman pressed against a wall, still kissing. The memory of seeing Liz again pounded through Elle’s mind along with the blaring music, and she started dancing with the strangers around her, finding herself pressed up against random women, giggling and moving loosely to the beat. It was strange to be looked at by them. Elle knew how someone looked at her when they wanted her, she had seen it enough from men. Never had it felt so normal, so inviting, so comfortable, as the heady gazes she was receiving now. Sue her for liking the attention. She wanted to dance.
A hand touched her shoulder. Elle, lost in the haze of the music and lights, moved against the body behind her, laughing when hands around her waist spun her around. Oh. Oh.
She met Liz’s eyes for the second time that night. There it was. This expression she could read, a mix of apology and the same look she had gotten from the other women she had danced with. Half-lidded, wanting, and hot. Elle didn’t think. She couldn’t think. She surged forward, pressing her lips to Liz’s. Liz responded immediately, her breath hitching as she frantically grabbed at Elle, burying a hand in her hair and pulling her flush against her. Elle kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, mindlessly falling into the sensation of lips and hands and movement, each touch burning her skin in the warm, sweaty air of the club.
This was Liz wanting her, being desperate for her, finally choosing her. Elle couldn’t get enough. She whimpered, sliding a hand under Liz’s top, feeling the skin of her back, pulling her impossibly closer.
Liz pulled away from the kiss to gasp for air, keeping her forehead pressed against Elle’s. “Fuck, Elle, what are y—” Elle didn’t let her finish her sentence. They hadn’t talked for years. There was no need for talking right now. She needed, no, she craved the proof of Liz wanting her. Again, and again, and again.
“Elle, is that…you?” Elle jerked away from Liz, seeing Vivian’s confused face.
Any panic she felt at Vivian seeing her lapse in judgement was quickly overridden by her desire to comfort her best friend, who had tears running down her face, mascara smudged. “I’m not ready. I miss her. Can we go home?”
Elle nodded quickly, hugging Vivian close. “Of course.”
As Vivian wordlessly headed towards the exit, Elle turned back around. Liz was standing where Elle had left her, frozen, dumbfounded. Elle tentatively stepped back towards her. “I…”
Liz snapped out of whatever trance she was in, grabbing a pen from her pocket and writing a phone number on Elle’s arm. “Call me. If you want,” she said, eyes pleading. “I’ll answer.”
Elle looking between Liz’s earnest expression and the familiar scrawl of her handwriting. She felt something squeeze at her sternum. She felt unsteady, unmoored. “Okay.”
Forcing herself away from Liz’s inexplicable gravitational pull, Elle left, catching up with Vivian outside the club. Once they had gotten home after another silent taxi ride, Vivian splashed water on her face and did breathing exercises, led by Elle. Having calmed down and changed into comfortable clothes, Vivian finally seemed to remember what she had seen earlier. She fixed Elle with an incredulous stare, a disbelieving smile spreading across her face.
“Elle, what the actual fuck?”