“Do you have a minute to come inside? I have a gift for you.”
Sarah studied her, assessing. Beth knew the look well; it was Sarah trying to map out her plan, trying to stay a few steps ahead.
Before she could think better of it, Beth reached a hand out, placing it lightly on Sarah’s thigh. “It’s okay to let yourself be surprised. You don’t always need a plan.”
She climbed out of the passenger seat, gently shutting the door. The bite of the crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks. Sarah followed closely behind her into the house, through the breezeway off the kitchen, and into her studio.
Her studio space smelled like turpentine and canvas, the concrete floors smeared with dollops and splatters of dried paint built up over years of creating, and in the center of the room sather large work table. On it, a small package wrapped in brown craft paper with a single emerald green bow—Sarah’s favorite color.
Beth reached for the package, her fingers shaking slightly as they wrapped around the edges of the gift. Turning, she faced Sarah, who was looking at her inquisitively, standing a few inches away.
“This is for you,” Beth said softly, handing the package to Sarah, who worked her slender fingers along the seam. She popped up the tape at the end, peeling back the paper to reveal a painting—the first painting Beth had completed since Jamie’s death.
“I had Lily grab that canvas we started from your house,” Beth continued. “And then I stretched it and continued painting until I got here.”
The painting Sarah was holding was a small portion of the one they had started together, dancing barefoot in the living room of Sarah’s house. Beth had taken it, letting her hands guide her as she layered on vibrant shades of teal, explosive yellows, and pinks, and every other color she felt so deeply needed to be there to take every feeling inside of her and get it out. And when she had stepped back, she saw it. Her joy and love of her craft brought to life again, all because of Sarah.
“It’s…” Sarah started, struggling to find her words, but it didn’t matter—Beth understood.
“I’m so thankful I have you in my life, Sar.” She looked up into those swirling hazel eyes, breathing deeply, knowing that they were each toeing the line of complicating their boundaries. “The last almost two years of my life have been so hard and so heavy. I had so much healing I needed to do alone. But I’m glad I did it, because all of that brought us back here.” Beth inhaled deeply, reaching for the right words to convey to Sarah exactly how much her renewed presence in her life meant. “I think whatI’m trying to say is that I’m so glad we’ve ended up where we have. Having you, yourfriendship, your companionship in life has always meant so much to me, and I really did miss you.”
There, she thought cleanly. Friends. They had always, no matter what, been friends. So why did this feel so much heavier?
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah said quietly, setting the painting on the work table, their bodies brushing against each other.
Their eyes met and something charged and intense passed between them—an old flare of heat she knew all too well. Beth fought the urge to drop her eyes to Sarah’s perfect lips the way she’d done hundreds of times over the years, the way that had gotten her in trouble before. But while she fought, Sarah didn’t. She gave in and Beth sucked in a breath as Sarah’s gaze dropped to her mouth, eyelids heavy with want, time narrowing, Sarah dropping her eyes further still.
You can’t keep doing this to each other,Beth told herself as she leaned in slowly, cautiously, moving towards Sarah’s supple lips, drawn to her like a moth drawn to an open flame. Sarah’s lips were millimeters from hers, breath hot against her, feeling so much like home. But a gentle press of Sarah’s palms against her chest stopped her. Not quite a full-on rejection, but definitely a redirection.
“I don’t—” Sarah whispered, turning her head, not looking at Beth. “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” she muttered, something flickering behind her eyes—was it panic, worry, unease? Whatever it was, Sarah smoothed it away quickly, her jaw tightening in resolution.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Beth swallowed hard, nodding her understanding, the heat of embarrassment blooming across her neck and cheeks. She found herself momentarily thankful for the dim lighting in the studio, currently doing the lion’s share of hiding how red her face must be. This was so embarrassing. How had she let herself misreadthat moment so badly? The way Sarah looked at her—Beth had been positive she wanted the same thing, but she had been wrong.
Sarah reached around her, picking up the painting with careful hands. “Thank you for this,” she said, Beth registering the sincerity in her tone. “I’ve always loved watching you create beautiful things, Beth. I’m glad I could be a part of this one.”
They stood there for another quiet moment. Inches apart, eyes locked on each other. At one point, Beth thought Sarah was going to say more, the way she shifted her weight, opening and closing her mouth. But she must have decided whatever she had to say wasn’t worth it.
“Merry Christmas. See you around, Beth,” Sarah said thinly, turning, quickly slipping out into the hall.
The door to the studio swung shut in a woosh of vanilla-scented air, leaving Beth standing in her studio, wondering if she had just messed everything up.
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Orange and yellow flames licked up the large triangular stack of wood, crackling and popping, sending sparks shooting high into the cool, damp December evening air.
When Liv had called her a few days ago, extending the invitation to come spend New Year’s Eve with her to set intentions and “burn shit” on her property, Beth had expected they’d have a glass of wine and a small fire pit. But a six-foot-tall raging bonfire? That was unexpected.
Beth pulled her coat tighter, tugging her hat over her ears to shield herself from the cold as she stepped back toward the bonfire. She bent down, picking up the small cardboard box filled with scrap wood on which she had written her intentions for the year with a thick black marker.
“Are we doing this or what?” Liv asked, stepping up to the fire beside Beth, her own box of intentions in hand. At Beth’s nod, she went on. “Alright, now we burn all but one of them. The piece you have left is your intention for the year.” Liv grinned, the warm light from the fire making her auburn ponytail glow against the dark backdrop of the evening.
“Where did you come up with this?” Beth asked curiously, reaching into her box to throw her first piece of wood on the fire.
“My aunt Janet. She’s all about this stuff. It used to feel a little too out there for me, but I’ve been doing this for years now and I’ll be damned if that intention isn’t always exactly what I need it to be.”
One by one, Beth and Liv dropped pieces of scrap wood into the fire, leaning into the reflective spirit of the holiday as they shared what went well, what didn’t, and everything in between.
“You know,” Beth said, grabbing a small piece of wood and tossing it into the flames, “this year wasn’t a total wash. At least I got you out of it.” She wrapped her arm around Liv’s shoulders, leaning against her.
