Stop. Stop. Stop.
Edie’s breath smelled like cinnamon toothpaste, which she would never forget, so precisely could she imagine sucking on Edie’s tongue.
“I don’t think your mom was fair to you.” Edie took a deep breath. “I’ve thought this before, about the list she made. Her bucket list. In principle, it sounds nice. It sounds like the kind of story in one of those weepy internet videos your friend sends you in the middle of the night when they’re on their period. But if I had to guess, Phoebe Frank gave you that list, all made out, without warning, and without any possibility of dissent?”
Cosima looked at the wool rug covering the step beneath her. “She dictated it to me. She’d put a meeting on my shared calendar for the purpose.”
“Okay. Somewhat worse than I imagined, then. My point is, that kind of thing has to be mutual. It has to mean a great deal tobothpeople. Otherwise, it’s your mom dictating the terms of her good-bye because she has enough power in your relationship to do that. If she had this list for herself, to do for herself, and youchoseto help her or join her”—Edie paused, and Cosima looked up—“do you see how that’s different?”
Cosima did. She had seen it for a long time, but no one ever said it out loud.
Dictating the terms, avoiding anger or denial, preventing real communication—these moves were the core of how her mother managed her life with Cosima and Duncan.
“She loved me,” Cosima said. “But the way she knew how to love me was to keep me safe. Anger and hard conversations aren’t safe.”
“I believe she loved you,” Edie said softly. “My mom loves me, and in a different way she does the same thing. She tears down anything she thinks isn’t safe or will disappoint me, and sometimes that means tearing downme.”
“But you can’t believe what she says.” Cosima’s voice was still rough. “Why are you taking a job in a pizza crust factory when you want so much more?”
“I tried, Cosima. For once, I decided to believe in me. I had my big chance. It didn’t work.”
“No one gets justonechance, though.”
“And nooneperson is responsible for another person’s legacy. In fact, the only real legacy your mom has right now is a daughter who ran away and a widowed ‘companion’ she wouldn’t permit to be her partner or your father.”
Cosima sucked in a breath.
“I’m sorry.” Edie’s voice was gentle. “It’s just, I’m looking at this magnificent pile of a building, and it didn’t keep Gregory Gregory alive, did it?”
Cosima studied the ceiling, too, and noticed another bearded, robed marble god, holding up a scroll under the bright-blue false sky. “Just his name.”
Then they looked at each other, solemn, and Cosima lost track of the edges of her body again, dissolving into the space between the two of them.
Edie’s leg was still around hers on the step. They were stillwithin hugging distance. The words finished settling between them, like snow in a globe, and she saw Edie so clearly.
Slowly, Cosima leaned forward. When she closed her eyes, she heard Edie inhale with surprise, which made her smile as she kissed her on her cheek.
Just one soft, smiling press of her lips against Edie’s skin, and then a moment when she lingered instead of pulling away—lingered so she could breathe in Edie’s scent, because this wasn’t a kiss for a friend.
But it wasn’t a kiss with a future, either.
Edie slid her hand around the back of Cosima’s neck just as she retreated a reluctant millimeter. “Wait. Let me—”
“Um. I basically need to use the stairs?”
They turned their heads together toward the voice. It belonged to a young person, a student, with faded purple hair shaved at the sides. The student wore a crop top that saidPROTECT TRANS KIDS.
“Pardon us,” Cosima said. “We’re sorry.”
She wasn’t sorry.
“Don’t tell Goody Bidderscombe,” Edie said.
“What?” The student tipped her purple head like a bird.
“We were just figuring out where to go,” Edie explained. “We have this set of clues, and the second one is here somewhere, but probably not obvious because the clues are from the seventies. It’s got to be something that’s been here for a long time, though, because the clues are so old, and whoever made them couldn’t know when someone would be searching. Maybe it’s a statue. How many statues are there?”
The student shrugged, unperturbed by this rapid stream of context-free speech. “If you’re looking for something that’s been here a long time, I’d try the library. Not the universitylibrary. Like, Gregory’s. They have a bunch of stuff he left behind in displays in there.”
