Chapter Text
The choice to move was a natural one. You and Carm both love the city - really, really love it - but you want a family, and each of you agreed that a bustling city isn’t where you wanted to raise yours. The downside is, of course, that your dearest friends still reside there, but that’s what FaceTime and vacations are for, right?
It was over a year ago when you first mentioned relocating to Carm.
“But what about your job?” she’d asked.
“What about yours?”
“I can fight fires anywhere. You work for Newsweek, Laura. Newsweek!”
“Carm,” you laughed. “I can write anywhere! I’ve had a great run with Newsweek and I’m proud of the work I’ve done, but my job is always going to come second to my life with you.”
Carmilla’s eyes went soft and she tilted her head at you. “Where do you want to go?”
“I… hadn’t gotten that far in my thought process,” you’d admitted.
You’d both set to researching then. You quickly agreed on staying in the northeast region of the United States.
“That way,” you’d reasoned, “we can still pop in and see our friends or they can come out and see us and it won’t be a big hassle!”
/
Carm was the first to suggest Vermont, on account of its proximity to the city, the scenery, and the work opportunities for you both.
“Plus,” she’d shrugged, “there’s that gigantic teddy bear factory.”
“And,” you’d added, “the home of Ben & Jerry’s!”
/
When you and Carm had made a final decision, the first thing you did was call your dad. As always, he picks up immediately.
“Hey, pumpkin!”
“Dad,” you’d laughed. “Hi. How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m in California, working on the National Park Service job. You’ve got to come out and see these redwoods someday. Carmilla would just about pass out from the beauty, I think.”
“It’s on the to-do list,” you told him. “Speaking of trips…”
“What’s on the agenda?”
“Well… Carm and I have decided to move out of the city. We’re going to Vermont. Montpelier, to be exact. We’ve done all the research and we have a real estate agent and we’re going to find a house with a yard and maybe get a dog or something and I also have interviews set up and Carm found a fire station already and -”
“That’s great!” your dad had said. “What’s got you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous!”
“Laura,” he’d said gently.
“I’m excited, Dad, I really am, but it’s scary. I’ve been here since I graduated from Silas. It’s a big change! But an awesome one, right?”
“Right. Right!”
“I wasn’t nervous until I called you.”
“That’s usually how it works, kid. Listen, it’s the next chapter of your life. It’s big, but it doesn’t have to be scary.”
“It’s me and Carm; it won’t be scary.”
/
It all took off from there quickly and, before you knew it, you and Carm were closing on a house and putting in notice at each of your jobs. Then, all of a sudden, all the boxes on your calendar leading up to December 20, 2019: MOVING DAY! had been checked off and it’s time to embark on your new adventure with your wife.
/
“God,” Carm groans as she lets another box thud to the floor in your new foyer. “Who the fuck thought moving in the middle of December was a good idea?”
“You did,” you say as you set down a box of your own and kiss her on the cheek.
“Oh,” she says. “Right. Well, who the fuck didn’t talk me out of it?”
You only laugh in response as you pass her to head back out to the moving van.
/
A few hours later, you’ve brought in and unpacked the bare necessities and Carmilla has run out for groceries. That’s how you got here, sitting cross-legged on a blanket in the middle of your unfurnished living room with your wife, eating Chinese food, and drinking wine.
“There’s so much space,” Carmilla says after having a few glasses. She’s walking around barefoot, eyes wide like she can’t believe this is hers. Yours, together.
“Can you believe we have three floors all to ourselves?”
“And a yard!” She’s at the window now, looking out over the backyard. It’s not much right now, but it’s enough. Carm has a small smile playing at her lips and the moonlight is shining through the window just enough to illuminate her face. “Laura?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“When the snow melts, can we have a garden?”
“A garden?” you ask, and she turns to look at you and nods. “Of course. If you want a garden, a garden we’ll have.”
“My mom had one,” Carmilla says, absentmindedly playing with the bronze ring on her right forefinger. A matching one sits on yours and your hearts swells every time she touches hers. “She grew all of our veggies in our backyard, and she taught me how to do it all. I haven’t had a garden since she was alive.”
You push yourself to your feet and join Carmilla at the sliding glass door. You hug her from behind and she presses back into you as she takes your hands in hers.
“When we have kids, I’ll teach them to garden, too.”
“Perfect,” you say, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
Carmilla turns there and kisses you fully and, in this new and strange place, you feel at home.
/
You wake up the next morning, Carmilla’s naked body pressed against yours, on that same blanket in the middle of the living room floor, body aching in good ways and bad. You turn over in Carmilla’s embrace and your breath catches; she’s just so beautiful. It’s funny, now, to think about how far the two of you have come from a drunken marriage, from how hard you fought to not feel what your heart wanted you to.
“What’re you lookin’ at,” Carmilla mumbles and a grin spreads across your face.
“Just the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world,” you say, brushing hair from Carmilla’s face.
“Mmm,” she says, “Did I fall asleep with a mirror on my face?”
“You’re - god, that’s an awful line.”
“Did it work?” she says, opening one eye. Your smile gives you away and she says, “Thought so.”
Just then, the mail slot on the door clicks open and then closed and it pulls your attention from Carmilla.
A small piece of paper is lying just in front of the door and you roll from Carmilla - who immediately whines in protest, the drama queen - to see what it is.
You pad to the front door, suddenly very grateful that you’d decided to hang and close your front curtains, and reach for the paper. It’s a thick piece of navy cardstock and, in large, white block letters, it says, “Happy solstice!” You read it over quickly and then squeal in excitement when you realize what it is.
“Are you going to share with the class, cupcake?”
“Our neighbors invited us to a party! A winter solstice party!”
“A what? People do that?”
“Montpelier people do!” You rush back to the blanket and kneel beside your wife. “Carm, this is great! We’re being welcomed to the neighborhood! Oh god. Fuck.”
“What?” she asks, sitting up at your sudden shift in tone.
“What am I going to wear? What are you going to wear? Should we bring something? We should, right? That’s what people do at adult parties. They bring cheese or wine or fruit platters. What are we going to bring?”
Carmilla gently takes your hands, which were previously flailing around.
“Laura, one step at a time,” she says.
“You know I can’t do ‘one step at -’”
“Laura,” she laughs. “It’s a neighborhood party. How serious could it be?”
/
Very serious, it turns out.
/
You weren’t sure about the dress code for a solstice party - Google wasn’t helpful and neither was your wife - so you decided on a sweater dress and tights. Carm put on her favorite pair of leather pants and you had briefly considered talking her out of it - you want to make a good impression - but she caught you looking and you decided you need her ass in those pants if you’re going to be calm and confident at this party.
You had told her as much and she’d replied, “Are you telling me that Miss Maximus is your security blanket?”
You’re trying to keep calm as you walk down the street with Carm, her hand in yours, but, as always, she sees through you.
“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” she asks, lightly bumping your hip with hers.
“I just - I want them to like us,” you say, and it sounds pathetic coming out of your mouth.
Carmilla suddenly stops walking, halting you with her.
“Laura,” she starts, voice soft. “They all invited us to a party within the first twenty-four hours of us living here, which tells me they want to welcome us to this community. You are bright and kind and wonderful; there’s absolutely no way you’re not gonna sell them on the Hollis-Karnsteins.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, but her eyes are soft and the corners of her lips are slightly upturned when she kisses you.
/
Carm rings the doorbell at the Watson’s house and you push out an anxious breath. The door is quickly pulled open and you’re face-to-face with a young, red-headed woman with a baby on her hip.
“You must be the new neighbors! Welcome, come on in!”
Carm steps over the threshold first, tugging you gently along with her left hand.
“I’m Carmilla Hollis-Karnstein,” she says.
[You wonder if hearing her say that will ever get less exciting.]
[You’re willing to bet it won’t.]
“And this is my wife, Laura. Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“I’m Tara,” she says and then she gestures to her child, “and this is Quinn. My husband, Ryan, is out back tending to the fire. Most of the neighborhood is already here, so I’ll introduce you.”
“We, um, weren’t sure what to bring, so we decided on a bottle of wine,” you say, holding out your gift.
“That’s lovely; thank you, Laura. Have you ever been to a solstice party?” You shake your head. “Well then, you’re in for a treat. In short, we come together on the shortest day - the darkest day - to celebrate the light in the world, the things for which we’re grateful. We sing and talk and enjoy the company of one another and nature. It’s a night of reflection, really.”
“We have a lot to be grateful for,” Carmilla says, taking your hand again, “so we’re in.”
/
Tara quickly introduces you to everyone, and you do your very best to keep track of names and faces. You meet your next-door neighbors, who turn out to be an older couple, Richard and Susan, on one side, and a young, single woman, Kiara, on the other. There’s Todd and Brian, Kate and Tom, Marc, Doug and Heather, Nathan and Claire, and Izzie. You think that’s everyone. Some of their kids are running around together, but you figure you can worry about their names later.
It’s hard to focus on all of that, though, when your attention is being constantly pulled to the large spiral on the edge of the woods in the Watson’s yard. It looks as if it’s made by branches and there are candles dispersed along the path, seemingly randomly.
Tara must notice because she says, “That’s the advent spiral. If you’d like to walk it, take and light a candle in one of the votives and move along the path, all the while thinking about what’s important to you, what brings you peace and happiness. When you feel satisfied, stop and place your votive alongside the branches.”
“I think I will,” you nod. “Thank you.”
Carmilla quickly gets pulled into a conversation about her having joined the Montpelier Fire Department, so you squeeze her hand before letting it go and heading toward the spiral. It’s kind of breathtaking, if you’re being honest. The Watsons have strung up lights in the trees at the edge of their yard and that, coupled with the fire in the center of the yard, casts a soft glow on the spiral. Your chest feels full as you walk, candle in hand, to the spiral, Carm’s laughter permeating the air around you.
When you make it to the outermost portion of the spiral, you pause. You have so much to be thankful for; where do you even begin? Carm is the most obvious, the most concrete and tangible thing that you feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness for. You take a few slow steps and you think about your journey here, to this moment in time, with Carmilla’s ring on your finger. You think about Danny and how you’re happy, now, that she cheated on you, because it brought you to that bar, it brought you to Carm. You think about LaFontaine and Perry and their unwavering support, all the way from your college days at Silas through to today. You think about your dad. Your wonderful, marvelous, loving dad. It all has your heart swelling and you feel yourself getting emotional. You pull in a deep breath and a few tears escape; you roll your eyes at yourself.
This must be the moment.
You look at your progress and you’re nearly three-quarters into the spiral. You crouch down and place the votive containing your still-lit candle in the snow beside some of the evergreen branches.
You don’t leave just yet, though. You press your palm deep down into the snow and close your eyes.
“Thank you,” you whisper. To who, you don’t know.
When you rejoin Carmilla and your neighbors, her eyes flit between each of yours and a crease forms between her brows. You shake your head, a silent signal that everything’s okay, and kiss her quickly.
“Did y’all see that? Those two just had an entire conversation with their eyes.”
Carmilla flushes so you say, “We have a shorthand. Like, a super shorthand.”
“Ignore my husband,” Brian says, “He’s been watching a lot of Elementary, so he thinks he’s -”
“Tell us your story,” Todd interrupts.
You look at Carmilla and she takes your hand. “Well, it all started on a rainy day at Silas University -”
“She was The Worst,” you interject.
“Do you want to tell this story?” she asks with a smile.
“No, no. I like the way you tell it.”
“Anyway, it started on a rainy day at Silas University, and she's right, I was the worst.”
/
When you get home - home - you pull Carmilla upstairs to your bedroom, which is currently only furnished with your box frame, mattress, and a few suitcases, and push her down onto the bed. She braces her short fall, propping herself up on her elbows, and you pull off your dress before climbing atop her.
“Happy solstice, Carm. Welcome home.”