It had been so easy to slip into anticipation. Into the systemization of their relationship: Want Beth happy? Do x, y, and z. Is Beth mad? Have you tried a, b, and c? Over time, she had built up a repository of solutions to lean on, but the one mistake, the one crucial mistake she had made was assuming her solutions for Beth had been correct.
Using the included compostable spoon, Beth carved out a bite, breaking through the chewy purple rice dough exterior to reveal the ice cream center. She brought the bite to her lips, savoring the taste of the dessert on her tongue. Beth slid the to-go container across the table towards her.
“Oh my god, you have to try this,” she said, offering Sarah the spoon.
She took it, their fingers brushing. Her eyes immediately snapped back to Beth, who was watching her with an expression Sarah couldn’t read, making her more nervous than she had ever been around her.
Sarah bit into the mochi, her senses delighting in the sweet, floral, nutty flavors swirling together. “Wow, that’s really good.” She handed the spoon back to Beth.
Together, they quietly ate the mochi, passing the spoon back and forth, taking turns until there was nothing left in the container. Beth gathered up their trash, disposing of it in a bin on the other side of the café area before sliding back into the seat across from Sarah.
Beth placed her elbows on the table, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them, tilting her head in a way that made her hair shimmer in the yellow-tinged interior cabin lighting. “So,” she said softly. “Let’s talk.”
Sarah’s heart thudded against her chest as Beth said those two words. “We’ve never been great at that.” She laughed, leaning back against the cool vinyl backing of the bench seat.
“Unfortunately for us, no. We haven’t. But I think it’s well within our ability to change that pattern, don’t you?”
The way Beth said that—so effortlessly, so cleanly, so openly—made Sarah’s thought process stutter, halting her in the track of her natural inclination to think five steps ahead to try and plan for every possible outcome of a conversation.
She drummed her fingers on the laminate table top as she thought about what she wanted—what she needed—to say. “How did we get back here?” Sarah asked, looking at Beth, wanting so badly to understand.
Their gazes locked. Beth dropped her hands to rest flat on the table mere inches from her own, so close that it would take barely any effort for Sarah to reach out and graze her hand. “I have my suspicions, but I would love to hear where your mind is at.”
Sarah inhaled slowly, the air smelling faintly of stale coffee and brackish water. The boat rocked slightly as it moved through the waves. She glanced out one of the windows, the dark of night pressing up against the water, making it feel like they were floating through time, which was always how time with Beth had felt—nonlinear, happening all at once. She let out a lengthy exhale, making up her mind that if things with them were ever going to evolve, she had to start facing things with Beth head-on.
“I wanted you to kiss me on Christmas,” Sarah admitted, feeling the weight of that secret lifting off her chest. Beth’s eyes widened slightly, understandable given how Sarah had rejected her that night, but she remained quiet, giving Sarah space to continue. “But in the moment…I got scared.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, unwavering, even as she worked through her honest thoughts about that night in Beth’s studio. “I just gotyou back in my life, and I couldn’t help but think about the ramifications of going back to that version of us when we’ve been in this exact place so many times before.”
Beth nodded, still not speaking, still giving her the space she needed to think.
“But,” Sarah continued, cautiously, “I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that something feels different—wefeel different this time. And I think you’ve been feeling that too.”
Her fingers twitched on the table top as she inched her hand closer to Beth’s. Pinky reaching out, barely grazing, feeling the electric heat surge between them—exhilarating and panic-inducing in all the best ways.
“What feels different?” Beth asked, her lips parted.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to pull the words forward to describe how, over the last two years, she had watched Beth change shape before her very eyes in a way that only heavy events had the power to do.
The hardest thing in the world for Sarah had been to keep her distance and maintain her own boundary after Jamie’s death—a time when all she wanted to do was swoop in to be there for Beth and help her wade through the grief. But that wasn’t her role in Beth’s life anymore; she had been clear in making that point. She needed to do her own growing.
Sarah had purposefully stayed an arm’s length away that first year, watching from a distance as Beth navigated life truly on her own for the first time. It had been an uncomfortable exercise in restraint, to say the least, but she knew she needed to do it. She watched from afar as all the parts of Beth that had felt so unbalanced, so on edge, so all over the place finally shifted into alignment.
“We finally unpacked our baggage,” she said quietly.
Beth eyed her thoughtfully. An unexpected grin tugged at the corner of her mouth as she shook her head, chuckling softly. “Took us long enough.”
A weightless feeling thrummed through Sarah’s veins at the sound of Beth’s laughter, making her feel like she was floating. Laughter was a good sign.
Beth’s laughter faded. “These feelings”—she tilted her head, looking at Sarah with earnest eyes—“how I feel about you...”
Beth reached her hand across the table, taking Sarah’s hand in hers, the heat from her palm exquisite as she squeezed gently.
“I don’t know if I can trust myself around you… Christmas proved that… I...” Beth tried, pausing between each thought. Sarah recognized the pattern immediately. Beth was trying to find the right words to articulate where her mind was. “I think what I’m trying to say is I’m not proud of how I’ve handled your heart in the past…To be given such a special gift and mess it up like I did…more than once…” Beth gulped, blinking back tears.
Sarah reached out, bringing her hand to gently cradle Beth’s cheek, the pad of her thumb catching the first tear in a way she had done so many times before. Beth leaned into the gesture.
“I know.” Sarah’s voice was soft. Sincere. Wanting to make sure Beth knew that she was heard. “It’s okay,” she reassured, silent tears falling from Beth’s eyes as she held her gaze. “The recognition helps.” She dropped her hand to the cool surface of the table. “But we don’t have to unpack every little thing right now. We have time for that.”
Beth muttered something about needing a napkin and her mascara running as she popped up, returning a moment later with a stack of paper napkins in hand as she blotted beneath her red-rimmed eyes.
