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The night had properly settled, and Adrian had settled into it: she snored peacefully on her side of the bed, her rest deepened by and deserved after the day they’d had. Franziska’s rest would come later. She moved silently out of the room, with a single guilty glance towards her lover, and sought her relief in what she could only hope would amount to temporary solitude.
She would damn that therapist that Miles had recommended, in the morning – and then herself, for even entertaining the suggestion. She’d never needed this sort of thing before. She walked the carpeted ground of the hall as if it were thin ice.
The month following the incident where Franziska had kissed Adrian Andrews for the first time had left her giddy and spellbound to the point of outweighing her embarrassment of it. An impulse had lead to a declaration, and that to an arrangement: they were “official”, “girlfriends” as other, much less busy and burdened girls of her age would have it, and the novelty had addled her senses as she imagined a severe blow to the head would. Adrian looked at her as though she saw no one else in the world, wanted her in a magnetic, disembodied way that yet gave Franziska a keener awareness of her own self. What was a spotlight, to this? Not a single challenge was involved, and certainly no testimony: Adrian Andrews had come to her with no need of Franziska to offer proof to justify the incentive, which was a very new kind of attention. It demanded some back, and this she certainly gave, frothy-headed and foolish for weeks with nothing so deserving of her concern and the space in her mind as her beloved, her Adrian.
And yet novelty spoiled quicker than milk. This was Franziska’s impression, at any rate, when the necessary terror of it always came fast upon her heels.
She brooded in the kitchen that night – the quaint, serviceable three-star kitchen in the room that Adrian had absolutely insisted on paying for – thinking of the afternoon at the Kunsthalle. It had been meant to be a pleasant break, after the long hours they’d spent on various parks in the morning, giggling and wearing out the soles of the shoes Franziska had chosen poorly for the trip. What had been a more appropriate choice was the suggestion to see an art exhibition, which, it should be mentioned, was also a very considerate one, and perfectly mindful of her girlfriend’s present interests and professional concerns; no objection to it would hold to scrutiny! Adrian was her witness, her face lighting like dawn once they’d made it to the sleek galleries. Franziska could have laughed at the idea of paying attention to any of the artwork.
The trouble came when they met that guide. It hadn’t been a problem when she’d heard Adrian speak, noting her foreignness, and mentioning her own relatives in America; nor when Adrian was delighted to learn that they lived in the same city she grew up in, which the guide had visited many times; nor when they exchanged numbers once Adrian mentioned her job at Lordly Tailor; nor, even, when the guide – whose name, which burned resentfully in Franziska’s memory, was Petra – suggested that they meet up again that same week for a drink. The problem had been the look she’d given Franziska, before she’d added, as an evident afterthought, to “bring your girlfriend, too!”
And the cherry on top, of Adrian looking excited for the prospect.
“I never expected that you’d also help me make a new friend, in Germany!” Adrian had said brightly.
Franziska had become adamantly convinced that the rest of the day required course correction. When Adrian had had her fill of incomprehensible contemporary art, their stops had become more frequent, quick and confused. Adrian absolutely had to see this museum, this church, that gallery; all the history and trivia Franziska knew, she was determined to share before the sun set, and though Adrian visibly struggled to keep up, nodding even more nervously with each stop, Franziska did not consider the tightness in her stomach at the sight of it reason to slow down. She gave Adrian no rest even when they sat for dinner: she might have stuffed her full to bursting with all that she insisted on ordering for her, and ignored her questions on why she herself wasn’t eating much.
The high adrenaline frenzy of it had long faded, leaving Franziska with that more painful awareness of herself she felt when alone.
She’d left the lights off, not knowing if it was out of fear of waking Adrian or a stubborn, inexplicable conviction that the place should be left undisturbed. She was thirsty, though unwilling to move to pour herself a glass of water: the vinyl flooring and laminate counters had become dangerously fragile, and might shiver and turn to ash should she make a sudden movement.
Franziska was very tired, and not especially interested in tracing back to the cause of her behaviour in the latter half of the day. She knew herself perfectly, without needing to think about it, and especially without needing anyone to come to her conclusions for her, be they shrink or brother who acted high-and-mighty because he’d seen one. Though it was less reluctantly received advice nagging at her than it was the thought of Adrian, asleep in the next room, whom she’d left alone.
Romance had always been something in her periphery, something that happened to other people and that other people wanted: as with many things, it had never been meant for her. This was easy to assume, when one was exceptional. And who more exceptional than her? No one had made history as a lawyer the way she had, at her young age, as a woman, as a person of Japanese descent living in Europe – and for no one had any such impressive accomplishments mattered less. Franziska had always been too separate for the world: she had not been just any girl and did not grow up as just any girl would, with what just any girls had in common, with what brought them together. She had never wanted romance the way a girl was supposed to, but often she wished that she did. Friends were made in the playground, sharing dreams about a prince, weren’t they? It had never sounded very appealing, but certainly better than this: being not enough a girl because of where her eyes ultimately settled, and being too much of one for the world of men she’d been raised to join.
Adrian Andrews, she could only describe as a miracle. Franziska had an awful fondness for how she seemed convinced that their relationship had grown entirely through her own whims – and a more shameful enjoyment in occasionally acting as though it were the case. But where would they be, had Adrian never reciprocated? Every advance Franziska had made had been thoughtless impulse, never to be followed through, and Adrian had responded with more daring than she even believed herself capable of. Franziska did not stutter, and demanded rather than asked, but she could not have walked up to Adrian after the first kiss, took her hand softly in hers, looked her in the eyes, and told her without pretense or affectation, “I really do like you, you know.”
Franziska loved Adrian Andrews, with all the passion in her heart that she possessed – though her passions were many, not often favourable, and her love has had to grow around and swallow them as a tree would a cable wire. Jealousy was inevitable: she’d spent an entire childhood stewing in it, stinging with it, knowing that things belonged to others that would never belong to her.
It quite possibly was that Petra was not a threat. She had never implied to Adrian that she also liked women, and as far as Franziska knew, none of what she had done could be considered flirting. But the easy suggestion of friendship had stung on its own: Franziska could hardly imagine the same thing for herself. What did she have to share with a complete stranger, that would put them on even ground? Who could she meet with an earnest smile, in order to shake their hand?
Not even with Adrian was she on even ground. They both took great pains to act like this could be negligible – the new care Franziska took with her makeup, and this very hotel room, were proof of it – but today, it reared its ugly head. Franziska could not help the petty and spiteful little instincts, creatures of malice, needling at her: they flocked to Adrian’s weaknesses like buzzards to carrion, and she felt, insistently, more than she had in a very long time, that she was better than her, and that it was outrageous for the fool that she was to ever act otherwise. She had done as she had the very first time they’d met, which was put her in her place.
It didn’t take long for the shame to follow, along with that wretched fear of treading new ground. Franziska did not want to meet that woman Adrian wanted for a new friend. She hardly knew what she would do, nor what she would feel, if she did. She loved Adrian, and she desperately wanted this to work. Was she the kind of person that could manage it?
Everything suddenly flashed and went bright: Franziska winced and shielded her eyes, though her stomach sank once she realized who had turned on the lights.
“Franziska?” said Adrian groggily, rubbing her eyes, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
Though she was still sagging with interrupted sleep, Franziska saw the tremendous effort Adrian was making to look concerned, as though she was trying to lift weights with her eyelids. She felt a fondness like a powerful, violent blow to the chest, along with a dampness in her eyes.
As Adrian slowly blinked herself awake, she appeared to take note of Franziska’s expression. She made a sudden, half-movement, as if she’d gotten the instinct to draw back but thought better of it. Though she did not come closer.
“Is... everything alright?”
Franziska did not respond. Everything she could say felt decisive, and incredibly dangerous for it. She felt she saw the room tremble, terribly sensitive to her every little movement; she hardly felt that she could take a breath.
Adrian, evidently, did not feel the same. Words came streaming out of her: “If it’s about today, I’m really, really sorry, and I mean awfully: it’s not that I didn’t think Frauenkirche wasn’t fascinating! It’s a beautiful place, and it’s impressive that you know so much about it. And I loved dinner, really! Only I feel like you spent more time treating me then eating yourself, and it feels terrible that you have to pay for everything, you know, and well, I was stuffed, at a certain point you can’t take it anymore. And–“
“Adrian Andrews,” said Franziska, trying to summon the strength in her voice she reserved for scolding, and failing. She sounded as tired as she felt. In hindsight, it was obvious that Adrian would try to shift the blame onto herself: it was funny how much of a relief it was that Franziska felt terrible about it.
It made the next part easier: “I am sorry to have suddenly left you. I– well, the advice, you know, when it gets difficult, I only supposed that I should...”
Franziska did not say enough for Adrian to understand, though her face still lifted as though she did. Franziska hardly had the heart nor the energy to correct her.
“Right, your therapist!” said Adrian, sounding relieved. “I’m really happy the advice is working for you, you know, since you had your doubts. It might be doing better for you than it did for me!”
At that evidently self-abasing comment, Franziska found the strength to look Adrian in the eye. That wry, apologetic expression of hers: it appeared to Franziska that, in an overcorrection to the old façade she’d assumed when they’d first met, Adrian Andrews became insistent to convince both herself and Franziska of where they both stood as people. It was as infuriating as it was pitiful. One of them had received a new number during their date week through no effort at all, and it certainly wasn’t Franziska.
As it stood, she didn’t want to bother with the headache of addressing it. She was terrified of where it might lead. Instead, Franziska moved for the first time in what felt like several hours, moved towards Adrian, silently, still with that lightness and care in her step that feared the room would collapse; she wrapped her arms around her with constrictive force, burying her head into her shoulder.
Adrian was still at first, and then hesitantly brought her own arms around Franziska, before putting more strength into it, pulling her closer though Franziska was already glued to her skin.
Franziska had never wanted, nor needed, a person to such a violent degree. Adrian rubbed gentle circles onto her back, and she thought, this woman is mine, I can have her, and she wants me to have her. She wanted it to be enough. She wished that nothing stood in their way, and for the very thing that did to not be so often herself.
“Do you... want to talk about it?” said Adrian, softly, as though speaking to a frightened stray kitten.
“Let’s go back to bed,” said Franziska.
There was no objection to it. They separated, with some difficulty, and Adrian held out her hand to Franziska. She took it. They returned to their room and settled in bed together, Franziska holding Adrian by the waist, Adrian cradling her head.
Franziska hoped that Adrian would still be there in the morning, foolish as the thought was. Certainly, she would not go anywhere. But the very trouble of having something new and unfamiliar, in an otherwise monotonous life, is to always wonder about its permanence.