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Cheyenne opened her front door before Amy could knock.
"Baby's sleeping," Cheyenne said in a hushed voice. Amy nodded in understanding, slipping through the door as softly as she could.
Cheyenne had never really asked her to start coming by outside of work, but she hadn't stopped her either. With her mom in prison and Bo off who-knows-where, she was left to do far too much on her own.
All things considered, she was really amazing. Holding down her job, taking care of the baby, and with how many Corona stories she brought to work, she must somehow still have time for friends her age. Amy was glad for that.
"Tell me what I can help out with," Amy said, quietly.
Cheyenne smiled. "Want to help me fold laundry? I've just kinda been piling it on the couch."
"You've got it."
Cheyenne wasn't kidding about the pile. She probably had more clothes here than Amy had ever owned combined. She got to work folding and organizing clothes into piles.
"I don't even remember buying this one," Cheyenne admitted, leaning against the arm of the couch.
"Maybe you could donate some clothes. It would cut down on the laundry."
"Donate to who? Like, Sandra?"
"I was picturing the Goodwill, but whatever works for you."
Amy didn't realize what she had next picked up until it was already in her hands. It was a midnight blue bralette, sheer and obviously for display only.
"Oh, that one!" Cheyenne giggled, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "I wore it once. Like, one time. I think Bo liked it, but the straps kind of hurt my shoulders."
Amy stared at the delicate garment, her mind traitorously drifting toward a mental image of Cheyenne wearing it—and not as a coworker or a girl she was mentoring. She quickly folded the garment in a manner that bordered on aggressive, her heart suddenly pounding. She almost felt a need to apologize for a thought she hadn't even spoken aloud.
"Anyway," Cheyenne continued, oblivious to the sudden tension in Amy's shoulders, "I think we’ve officially conquered the mountain." She gestured to the neatly squared-off piles on the coffee table. "You're a lifesaver, Amy. Seriously. I feel like I can actually breathe for five minutes."
"I'll can put these away," Amy said. "I promise I can do it without waking Harmonica. Maternal ninja powers, or something."
Cheyenne snort-giggled at that. Cute. Amy was quick to leave the room.
Amy opened Cheyenne's door as quietly as she could (it helped that the door was labelled CHEYENNE in large block letters). She made a beeline for the dresser, stacking everything as neatly as she could. Luckily working in retail for as long as she had gave her a knack for this sort of thing. When she was done, she looked up, observing her surroundings. The walls were a light pink, plastered with posters from boybands and magazines. It was almost odd next to the stack of baby books on top of the dresser. She peeked into the crib, smiling at Harmonica breathing softly as she slept. On the window sill, she spied an empty bottle with a scrunchie (or, if you were Cheyenne, a "hair thingie") wrapped around it. The room smelled like baby powder and cherry blossom body spray. It was very, very Cheyenne.
Amy liked it.
Closing the door behind her as quietly as she could, Amy tiptoed down the hall back to Cheyenne's living room. Cheyenne was there, sitting on the couch with two bottles in hand.
Amy raised her eyebrows.
"One is sparkling cider. Since, you know." Cheyenne gestured at her stomach. Right.
Amy didn't even ask where she'd gotten the wine. She didn't think she wanted to know. She did, however, let Cheyenne pour her a glass of sparkling cider, and watched as she poured a glass of red wine for herself.
Having a baby should entitle a person to as many glasses of wine as they'd like, legal drinking age be damned.
"I feel like I'm actually an adult now," Cheyenne sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. "Like, a real one. Who has a guest and a clean living room. Do I look like a real adult to you?"
"You could teach Adulthood 101," Amy said.
Cheyenne beamed. She shifted, sliding closer to Amy on the couch until their thighs pressed together.
She probably should have shifted away—that was the logical, managerial thing to do—but the pressure of Cheyenne’s leg against hers felt grounding. It was the first time in weeks she hadn't felt like she was carrying the entire world on her shoulders, or at least the weight of a growing human and a middle schooler and also an entire department store for good measure. She let out a breath and leaned back, allowing her shoulder to brush against Cheyenne's.
"You're like, the only person who doesn't make me feel like a kid all the time," Cheyenne said. She tilted her head, resting it on Amy’s shoulder. "Everyone else is always like, Cheyenne, do this or Cheyenne, why is the baby wearing that? But you just... help."
"It's okay to be young," Amy said. "But I'm happy to help." She glanced at Cheyenne's face. She had a slight pink flush to her cheeks beginning to set in. It matched the pink dyed tips of her hair. She should probably remind Amy of her own teenage daughter but... she didn't, really. When Amy looked at her, she saw her own eighteen-year-old self, who was in so many things over her head and just needed someone to fold her laundry and hold her for a while.
"Hey Amy?" Cheyenne asked.
Amy turned her head to face her fully.
When she did, Cheyenne leaned forward and kissed her. It was soft, tentative. It sent a jolt of surprise through Amy's chest.
Amy froze for a heartbeat, the world narrowing down to the point of contact between their lips. They were coworkers. There was a decade-plus age difference between them. She was pregnant and probably not thinking straight. But soft lips and warm breath and that cherry blossom body spray and the taste of wine she hadn't been able to indulge in for months all seemed to blend together and before she knew it, she was kissing her back.
Amy’s fingers softly grazed Cheyenne’s cheek to brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. As they pulled apart, Amy looked the younger girl in the eye, her gaze searching. She was looking for a sign of regret, a sudden realization of the mistake. She wanted to know if this was a momentary impulse born of loneliness or something... else.
She didn't know what she hoped the answer was.
Cheyenne didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against Amy’s, her eyes fluttering closed. "I've wanted to do that for like, forever," she said. "But I didn't think you'd ever actually want to."
Amy took a shaky breath. "Chey, I—"
"I know," Cheyenne said. "You don't see me like that. It's okay."
"Who said I don't see you like that?" Amy asked, the words surprising even her as they left her lips.
Cheyenne raised her eyebrows in surprise. Amy continued. "I was going to say, I think you should take some time to think about this. And if it's something you want to talk about... we can talk about it."
Cheyenne nodded. Amy leaned back, pressing a soft kiss to Cheyenne's forehead before she pulled away.
Just then, the baby monitor crackled, and a tinny cry filtered through the small speaker. Both Cheyenne and Amy stood up on instinct.
"It's okay, I've got her," Cheyenne said. Amy nodded and watched her go.
This wasn't where she'd expected this night to go. And it somehow didn't feel as wrong as it should.
She would have to do a lot of thinking, too.