Chapter Text
Applause rumbled through the room like thunder as Carol stepped out onto stage. There was an undeniable rush from the recognition, but it paled in comparison to the day she had spent roaming the city with Zosia. Carol didn’t pay much mind to the sights of the city. Helen had dragged her to all of the tourist traps ad nauseum, so there wasn’t much to look at. Not much aside from the beautiful brunette on her arm. And she really was captivating. That look of awe lighting up her features, the way she practically skipped down the street, the slurry of fun facts about the Statue of Liberty she recited with glee. She looked so much younger – so free.
The horde of adoring fans was nothing compared to Zosia’s warm presence. As Carol took her seat at the panel, the cheers tapering off and camera flashes diminishing, her eyes scanned the crowd. There was only ever one face she looked for. Zosia was front and center with Koumba at her side.
The moderator fielded some questions. Is Raban coming back? How will Lucasia defeat the incoming army of Time Marauders without Raban at her side? How many sex scenes are there? Carol gave short and vague answers. It would seem that all of the fans with brains had stayed at home. In fact, the more and more the superfans asked questions about Raban, the more Carol started to sweat. She already knew his transition was going to be controversial, but she hadn’t actually interacted with any fans since solidifying the decision. None of these man-hungry moms knew that their hunky dreamboat pirate was a woman now. The disappointment was sure to be immense. The hate mail and death threats even worse. Maybe she could broach the subject of fleeing the country again.
But there was one face out of the crowd that kept her from spiraling. Her constant – her rock. Koumba was nice, but Zosia was like the sun, radiant and warm. It was impossible to feel anxious in her presence, which was strange, considering how nervous Carol used to be around her when they first met. Funny how things change.
But there was one question that send a buzz though the audience. A planted question Carol had been anticipating about what the cover looks like.
“You know, it’s funny that you mention that. Because, my dear Wycarians, I have an exclusive sneak peek just for you.”
Naturally, an excited murmur swept across the crowd. Carol motioned to the staff, granting them permission to broadcast the much anticipated artwork for the whole room to see. The large screen flickered to life, and Carol held her breath.
There was a collective gasp riddled with confusion and awe. Because it wasn’t Raban’s chiseled abs gracing the screen. It was Zosia, mysterious and captivating, with Raban’s cloak hanging from her shoulders. She was gazing out across the sea of sand, the pipers right at her heel, and the Mercator far off in the distance. Carol was initially worried about including Zosia in such a bold way, but when the artist came back with this rendition, the choice was obvious.
There were heaps of questions pouring out of the audience. Who is this woman? Why does she have Raban’s coat? Is she the villain? All of the questions faded into the background, the faces a blur beneath the stage lights. There was only one face she could focus on. Only ever one.
Zosia looked at Carol like she had just proposed.
But this somehow felt deeper than a proposal. More intimate. Wycaro was something precious, something Carol had built her entire life on. Her life with Helen. Now, Carol’s entire universe orbited around Zosia, and without her, surely the final book would have never been written. Carol probably wouldn’t have even been breathing. There was no way she could ever thank Zosia enough, but putting the superfan on the cover of her favorite book series was a start.
Carol didn’t answer any more questions. Instead, she let the speculation hang in the air, and wrapped up the panel a few minutes early. She took to the microphone one last time with a practiced smile. “I know we’re all buzzing with questions, but let’s make sure to show that same enthusiasm for the next event. There’s a performance right after this that deserves just as much excitement, so I hope all you Wycarians stick around!”
Carol motioned off stage to the next act. Manousos shuffled out to the sound of applause, clutching his guitar closely. As Carol stepped off to the side of the stage, enjoying the performance, she glanced out at the crowd. Nearly everyone had stayed to hear Manousos’s ballad. But as she proudly scanned that sea of adoring faces, there was a pair of eyes staring back at her. Eyes that only seemed to search for her.
The performance was a big hit. Manousos was swarmed with lonely moms afterwards, more than even Carol usually was. She didn’t mind, though. The real object of her affection was quick to meet up with her once everything was said and done. Zosia stood there for a moment, entirely speechless. All she could do was look at Carol with those stars in her eyes.
“What can I say.” Carol shrugged. “I’m obsessed with you.”
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“You should have told me about your music sooner,” Koumba huffed as they weaved through the foot traffic of the convention hall. “We could have recorded something together for my mixtape! The two of us, frères en chanson, brothers united in music!”
“Hermanos?” Manousos questioned with a frown.
“Si.” Koumba threw his arm around him, pulling him closer. “Hermanos.”
Manousos’s shoulders slumped, and his chin fell to his chest. Still, he didn’t dare throw Koumba’s arm off of him like he normally would have. He just succumbed to a silent surrender. Carol couldn’t stand to see him like that. He was glowing up on that stage, soaking in the thunderous applause from the Wycaro fanbase. Now he was nothing but a kicked puppy.
Carol linked arms with Zosia, holding her chin high. “If you two are brothers, then Zosia and I are sisters.”
Koumba was revolted by the notion, but Zosia fed right into it. She interlaced their fingers, then gave Carol a kiss right on top of her head.
“Love you, sis.”
“So you’re both being gross,” Koumba scoffed. “Sisters don’t do the things you two have done.”
“I could say the same thing about you two being brothers,” Carol quipped.
He glanced between Manousos and the pseudo-sisters, his words coming out in a stutter. “Manny and I haven’t – we’re not – we…”
Manousos seemed to hold his breath as he watched the man come to his own revelation. It was like a lightbulb turned on, only this time, Koumba wasn’t holding a ladder. He was holding the man he had been spending all of his time with, spilling his secrets to, and he would be sharing a bed with tonight. His face turned a little pale, and he became very, very quiet.
The hall became congested with convention attendees, bringing their stroll to a halt. Someone had been caught by a gaggle of fan girls, quickly signing their works as she tried to scurry off. Unfortunately for both parties, as she started to leave, she bumped directly into Carol. Before any apologies could be said, both authors locked eyes and filled with immediate distain. It was Colette Heuber, a New York Times bestseller and Carol’s rival. No matter how well Wycaro did, Colette’s vapid and flat interpretations of love always seemed to beat her. Carol was never on top.
The awkward collision and subsequent stare down was enough to scare off the hermanos. Koumba pantomimed guzzling a beverage to signal they were going to the bar, and they slipped through the crowd, his arm now wrapped around Manousos’s waist.
Colette pulled her cardigan tighter as she looked Carol up and down. “Sturka.”
“Heuber.”
Carol herself was ready to run out of there, but much to her horror, Zosia’s eyes went wide, and her face lit up.
“Colette Heuber? I’m a big fan of your work!”
Jealousy flashed across Carol so hot and bright, her nails dug into the back of Zosia’s hand. She squeezed with such force that Zosia’s attention snapped to Carol in an instant. She quickly scanned her face for an indication of what had triggered such a reaction, but no such discovery could be made.
“Thank you, darling,” Colette cooed. “While my novels may seem ordinary compared to the vast and wordy world of Wycaro, I know they appeal to a wide variety of people from all walks of life.” She looked Zosia up and down a moment, then hummed. “You strike me as a ‘Real People Faces’ fan. Am I right?”
Zosia gave the award-winning title some thought. “RPF is fine, but – ”
Colette seemed to expect that answer. “But it’s too literal for someone like you. I can tell, you have that wanderlust in your eyes, darling. Your favorite must be ‘It Concludes With Us’.”
“You’re right!” Zosia was all giddy with excitement, and it made Carol want to puke. “I read that book when I was doing an internship in France, and I was completely astounded by – ”
“Colette, don’t you have a dead horse to go beat?” Carol snipped.
The insult didn’t seem to faze her. She let it roll right off, like water on a duck’s back. “It’s called a formula, darling, and it works.” She gestured to Zosia. “Even your new manager can attest to that.”
Carol was too shocked at the assumption to properly dispute it, and Colette carried on in Carol’s speechlessness.
“I’m sorry, I heard about what happened to your former manager. Helen, was it? It’s tragic, really. I know I’d be lost without Jess handling things for me. I sent you a card, did you get it?”
Despite the genuine sympathy in her voice, Carol took it all as one big slap in the face. How dare she speak about Helen so flippantly. How dare she speak about Helen at all.
“Helen wasn’t just my manager. She was my wife.”
She seemed to regurgitate the words against her own will, but much to her surprise, she didn’t regret them, or feel any sort of shame. Helen was her wife. It was a fact. There was nothing to feel guilty about. Zosia squeezed back into that iron grip as best she could, offering some silent reassurance.
“Oh,” Colette cleared her throat. For once, she found it difficult to come up with a witty retort. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she muttered.
Carol’s heart was still racing from the admission and the jealously swirling inside of her. She couldn’t quite help the next words that tumbled out of her mouth. “And Zosia isn’t my manager, she’s my girlfriend. Mine.”
Colette held up her hands, uncertain of where this little spitfire had been hiding beneath Carol’s cold and calloused exterior. She shuffled backwards awkwardly. “Right, well, my mistake. Enjoy the conference, Carol. I’ll be first in your autograph line tomorrow.”
Even as she paced away, Carol’s grip didn’t lessen. She dragged Zosia along, pulling her towards a perpendicular service hall. It was away from the crowd, away from the fans, away from that heated rivalry that pissed her off to no end.
The moment they were out of view, Carol shoved Zosia up against the wall and crashed their lips together in a kiss of fiery passion. Teeth clacked, noses smashed, and fingers dug into supple flesh with pure possession. When Carol pulled back, Zosia’s face was an undefinable mixture of surprise, love, and lust.
“Wow…” she uttered breathlessly. “That was unexpected…”
Carol shrugged, her chest heaving. “What? Can’t we both be crazy, obsessive bitches?”
Zosia’s expression hardened to something resolute. “I’ll burn all of her books when we get back.”
“Good.”
Zosia gave her a quick once over with those wild eyes of hers before taking her hand and leading her back towards the convention. Admittedly, it would be challenging for Carol to focus on any of the remaining panels for the day. Adrenaline was surging through her veins, and the urge to make Zosia forget all about Colette fucking Heuber was all she could focus on. They weaved through the crowd wordlessly. Zosia’s long, hurried strides were difficult to keep pace with, and Carol was all but jogging to keep up.
The approached the bar where Koumba and Manousos were having a rather serious conversation over their empty glasses. Carol had expected Koumba to be distracted by all of the single women mingling about. The convention itself was a buffet of lonely ladies with low self-esteem. Koumba was a handsome man with a love for literature, although, he could be a little crass at times. Surely the French professor could have found love in the bar that night, but his eyes never wandered from his cohort. In fact, his eyes seemed to sparkle as the they spoke in hushed voices only the bedfellows could hear. Funny how things change.
Carol didn’t get the opportunity to pester either of them. Zosia cruised right past the bar, not even stopping to say hello. She tugged Carol along, forcing her to keep pace as they made their way towards the hotel lobby, far from the action of the convention. The only thing that ceased Zosia’s forward momentum was the elevator, and she rapidly pushed the button to call it.
“Where are we going?” Carol hadn’t even thought to question it until right then.
The doors opened, and thankfully, there were no passengers to hear Zosia’s plan as she stepped inside.
“We’re going back to our room and getting a noise complaint.”
Carol froze in place for a beat. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. Zosia didn’t have the patience for it. That practiced restraint rose to the surface in the form of her enigmatic expression. The façade of reserve would only last until they reached their room. Until she had Carol all alone. Until she could prove just how much of an obsessive crazy bitch she was.
Carol ran into the elevator.
--------------------
She should have applied more makeup before going to the studio. It wasn’t noticeable from afar, but under the studio lights, there was the faintest hint of discoloration beneath her foundation. But the single blemish on her collar was nothing compared to the trail she had left on Zosia. It was stupid, childish, and purely done to prove a point, but Carol couldn’t deny the gratification that came with seeing her all marked up. And Zosia didn’t seem to mind it either. She was practically glowing all morning.
There was a lull in the conversation, and Carol quickly came to realize she hadn’t been paying attention. Which normally would have been easily amended, but alas, she was on live television. Carol glanced between the two TV personalities with plastic smiles, completely clueless.
“Could you repeat the question?”
The female broadcaster let out an airy laugh, more to sooth the audience than her guest. “I was asking if there were any teasers you can give us. You left us on quite the cliffhanger!”
There was murmured agreement from the audience, all eyes on Carol.
She leaned back in her seat, adjusting her blazer. “I can’t say much… but I can tell you this.” A hush riddled with anticipation fell over the audience. “No one will see Raban the same.”
The female host clutched her co-host’s arm dramatically. “What’s that mean? You can’t just say that!”
Carol knew it was all for show, but she fed into it anyway. Why not? After the final novel release, Carol was free from the burden of Wycaro. At one point, it had been her passion project, and now, it was nothing more than a chore. Wycaro didn’t seem to drain her like this before Helen died. She tried not to focus on the correlation, but the seed had already been planted.
“That’s all I can say.” Carol held up her hands. “People have waited long enough for this, I don’t want to spoil the ending.”
“That’s right,” the male news anchor finally piped up. “You had to push your release date back. I can only assume it’s because you were crafting a masterpiece. This is your Magnum Opus, is it not?”
The comment gave her pause. Carol always thought Wycaro defined her, but as much as she loved the project, it wasn’t her. “No, actually. I hope I can write something better in the future. Something I’m really passionate about.”
“So you fell out of love with Wycaro,” The anchor concluded. “A bit of writer’s block delayed the release then?”
“No,” Carol didn’t give her next words much thought, aside from the fact that they stilled that nervous tension in her body as they left her mouth. “The release was delayed because my wife died.”
The studio fell silent. So quiet, Carol could make out the faint buzzing of the studio lights she hadn’t noticed before. It was the female anchor who hat the courage to finally break it.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Carol. I’m sure I speak for all Wycaro fans when I say we express our deepest condolences.”
“Thank you.” She took a steadying breath and finally said what she should have admitted years ago. “Helen was my biggest fan. Not just of my work, but in life. We were together for 27 years, and she was there for all of the ugly parts, loving me in spite of them.” A faint smile found its way to Carol’s lips, but it was washed out under the bright lights. “We never had any kids, but this series was like our baby. For that reason, this final installment of Wycaro is dedicated to her. I wanted to finish it off in a way that made her proud of me. And even though the love of my life is gone, I’m not going to let it end my life. Helen would want me to keep writing, so that’s what I plan to do.”
The room was just as quiet before, and it made Carol start to sweat. Had she said too much? Rambled too long? The anchors looked like they were on the verge of tears. Carol held her breath, waiting for the worst. It wasn’t a voice that broke the silence that time. It was a single pair of hands offstage, clapping with vigor. Carol knew the smack of Zosia’s hand anywhere. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, her love of this new life was applauding her bravery.
The clapping didn’t stop with Zosia. One by one, the audience joined in. The most unexpected shower of applause rained down on Carol, drenching her in approval she once thought impossible. She hadn’t prepped for a positive reaction, much less a standing ovation from the studio audience. Their recognition was both rewarding and heartbreaking. On one hand, her queerness was something to be applauded. On the other, she could have loved Helen so much louder.
Carol swallowed back all of those strong emotions, her hands trembling in her lap. Her body reacted to coming out the same it would to being chased by a pack of wolves. But over her shoulder, there was safety. Carol looked to Zosia, who was beaming with nothing but pride. In that moment, she didn’t care about the broadcasters, the studio audience, or the hundreds of thousands of people watching from home. All she cared about was making Zosia smile. At the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever mattered.
--------------------------------
Carol paced about like a caged animal, both eager and terrified to look at the screen. She had been purposefully avoiding the reviews of her book, not even allowing Zosia to mention anything she had heard in passing or read on the internet. Carol’s plan was just to never read them for the rest of her life, but Zosia protested. As if things weren’t stressful enough with finals going on, Zosia forced Carol to read some reviews. Koumba just so happened to be loitering around the classroom, so Carol forced him to come to her office for the reading, and ensure Zosia wasn’t sugarcoating things.
Zosia scrolled slowly as she scrutinized all of the reviews, and Koumba watched over her shoulder, just as engrossed. Neither had said anything for what felt like an hour, but was most likely only a few minutes. Carol was about to pull out her hair as she paced.
“Fuck, I can’t take it,” Carol huffed and stamped her foot. “Just tell me how bad it is already.”
“It’s not bad, Carol,” Zosia assured.
She swallowed hard. “Koumba, how bad is it?”
He stood up straighter and crossed his arms. “Surprisingly positive…”
Carol’s heart did a somersault. She pushed him to the side to get a look for herself. There was a plethora of four and five star reviews, praising not only the ending with the Mercator sinking into a time vortex, but also with Raban’s transition. Carol was overwhelmed, as Zosia took the liberty of reading one out loud.
“From HoustonMom78, ‘best Wycaro ever! Spoiler alert, Raban is back and even yummier as a woman! You better belief she’s got permission to swab my –’ ok, this one isn’t the best example…” She scrolled back up to something far more highbrow. “Here we go, ‘I can safely say this is by far my favorite series I have ever read. I don’t think anyone was expecting that twist. I went back and reread the entire series and I was shocked at the amount of foreshadowing I missed. Carol Sturka is a master of storytelling, and I can’t wait to see what she writes next. I’ll be first in line, and hopefully she writes even more LGBT stories in the future.’”
Several things stood out to her. Firstly, the fact that this fan found her unplanned foreshadowing genius. Secondly, they loved it and were eager for more. And finally, most shocking of all, they wanted more queer stories in the future. Carol tried not to get her hopes up as she swallowed back the overwhelming emotions and tried to keep her head out of the clouds.
“That’s just one person though.”
“Carol, that’s the top review.”
Zosia pointed to the number in the corner. It had over twenty thousand likes.
Carol took the mouse out of her hand, frantically scrolling the thread. “What else are they saying?"
“The highest praises,” Koumba said with a sigh as he paced around, touching Carol’s things. “Although, some thought the sex scenes to be a little… extreme.”
A flush rose in her cheeks. All of her evenings with Zosia had influenced her tastes, and she couldn’t help the way it bled into her writing.
“I think it was perfect,” Zosia hummed.
As Carol scrolled through the reviews, the majority shared the same sentiment. That Raban becoming a woman was not only obvious from the foreshadowing, but a welcomed twist that made them love her even more. That this was the perfect conclusion, and they wouldn’t have the ending any other way. That they wanted more from Carol besides straight love stories. That it was a beautiful way to honor her late wife.
“Is this a prank?” Carol laughed incredulously. There were tears stinging her eyes.
Zosia rubbed reassuring circles on her back. “No, this is the recognition you deserve.”
---------------------------------
With everything going on in her life, finals were the last thing on Carol’s mind. She muddled through grading with a light hand, surely passing some students that didn’t quite deserve it. Students like Jane who missed more lectures than they made.
Carol’s integrity aside, she was over the moon to have Zosia moving in with her. For the last week of school, they had been spending their free time packing. Aside from her wardrobe and a handful of mementos, there wasn’t much that Zosia planned to bring with her. She donated all of her furniture to a local shelter with the help of Koumba, Manousos, and Carol’s overstuffed SUV. After all was said and done, she could fit the remaining boxes in her little blue car, and she was elated to be able to finally drive again.
But while Zosia was eagerly tossing her nonessentials, Carol found herself struggling to let go.
The guest bedroom had become a catchall. Christmas decorations, boxed up documents that no longer held any importance, a broken printer Carol swore she was going to fix, the list went on. She had cleared out most of the junk, but some of the items held far more emotional weight. One box that gave her pause was full of memories from college. Matching caps, a napkin with a phone number, and a band t-shirt cut into a crop top. The more she sifted through all of the junk, the less disposable it felt. It had been over an hour and she had barely made any progress. Carol sat the box aside in hopes of finding something less weighty below it. Boy, was she wrong.
Beneath was the crumpled frame of a bassinet that was never fully assembled, and covering its body was an old handmade quilt.
The unearthed remains were a heavy blow. A reminder of her shortcomings. A bruise on that old heart of hers. She didn’t realize it could still ache after all these years. She picked up the old piece of patchwork, running her fingers over the well-loved fabric. It was threadbare in places, and there were still faint stains from the many picnics it had held. Helen had done her best to wash it clean, but much like that ache in Carol’s heart, some marks were permanent.
A gentle rapping upon the door made Carol jump and drop the blanket. Zosia appeared like an apparition in the doorway. Her attire was athletic, and her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Ready for move-in day. Carol should have expected her overenthusiastic girlfriend to show up early.
“Jesus…” Carol clutched her chest. “When did you get here?”
“Just now.” Her eyes wandered around the clutter. “Koumba and Manousos said they would stay and help.”
Carol’s mild heart attack subsided, and she trekked over the boxes. She’d have to unpack all of that baggage another day.
“Did you paint this?” Zosia asked, examining the mural on the wall.
Carol spared the nautical painting nothing more than a glance. “Yeah, I did. Where are they putting those boxes? The entryway?”
“The sitting room.” Zosia didn’t take the bait to change the subject, and she continued her prodding. “You’ve never shown me this room before. I thought perhaps it was a closet when I walked by.”
Carol let out a heavy sigh. “It’s a guest room. I meant to clean it out before you moved in, but… I’ve just been busy with finals.”
There was a moment of silence as Zosia came to a realization. “Were these Helen’s things?”
Carol almost withheld the truth out of shame, but she had been tackling all of that shame and guilt in therapy. Withholding the truth only made it harder to say later.
“Yes, they were.”
She waited for Zosia to move on, but instead, she passed the threshold and began poking around. Carol froze as she watched her take in all of the old memories. The box of college memorabilia seemed to call to her, and she picked up the faded shirt, examining the poor screen printing.
“The Beaver Bumpers?” Zosia snorted. That angelic laugh of hers sure did lighten the mood. “That’s quite the band name…”
Carol couldn’t help but smile. The name was just as ridiculous now as it was in the 90s. “Yeah, that was Helen’s band. We actually met at one of her gigs. They were handing out free tickets, and I didn’t have anything better to do, so I went.”
Zosia’s eyes widened in surprise. “And how was it?”
Carol clicked her tongue. “They didn’t get to finish their set before some drunk guy belly flopped on the drum set. But the music was… it was music.” She chuckled. “I was waiting for my ride when Helen came out to have a smoke, and the rest was history.”
There was a little more to the story, but Carol elected to keep it brief at risk of grief digging its claws in. Today was supposed to be a happy day. Zosia was finally moving in with her.
“I think that’s really sweet.” Zosia gingerly folded the shirt and put it right back where she found it. “I think all of this is really sweet. All of these memories that you’ve managed to collect over the years.”
Carol trilled her lips. “Yeah, but I wanted to free up some space, you know, so you’ve got plenty of room. It’s your house too.”
“It was Helen’s house long before it was mine.”
Her sentiment hung in the air between them. Neither could refute that.
“Leave it,” Zosia said. “Don’t move anything.”
Carol opened her mouth to speak, but Zosia cut her off before she could even start.
“I don’t want you forsaking all of this for my comfort. In fact, I’m more comfortable knowing that, in some small way, she’s still with you. I felt it when I walked in.” Zosia spread out her long fingers, feeling something impalpable in the air. “There’s an energy in this room. Something… benevolent.”
Carol glanced all around, but was at a loss. The only positive energy in the room, and in her life, was Zosia. But in that small moment of stillness, there was a nearly imperceptible sound. One so insignificant to Zosia, she didn’t even register it. But Carol recognized that lonely song immediately.
She used to love the sound of train horns.
Maybe she could love them again.
There was a crash downstairs and a slurry of Spanish swears. Zosia waved her hands, dismissing her spiritual rambling as she moved back towards the door. “Or maybe I’m actually crazy this time.” She laughed. “I should make sure they haven’t killed each other, but if you could,” she gave Carol a squeeze of the shoulder, “leave it. For me. For Helen.”
Zosia slipped out the door, and the train horn was nothing more than an echo. And while Carol could have stayed among the piles of boxes, mourning and reliving old memories, she didn’t feel the urge. Those boxes would be there whenever she was ready to unpack them.
Carol stepped down the stairs, feeling lighter than she did before. The house was full of voices, and someone – presumably Zosia – had taken the liberty of opening all of the shutters and curtains that had been closed for months. Everything felt alive. The boys had made quick work of Zosia’s possessions, with only a few boxes remaining in her trunk. Carol had offered to compensate them initially, but a housewarming party with Zosia’s cooking was all either of them requested.
Carol stood in the doorway a moment, soaking it in before she joined them. “You’re supposed to lift with your legs.”
Koumba sat a box down on the tile floor, standing with a grunt. “How about you move some boxes and I’ll watch.”
“I’ll pass.”
Manousos squeezed past Carol, toting a box full of shoes. “¿Cuántos zapatos necesita una mujer...?”
“A hundred more,” Koumba assured. “Be grateful I only have a modest shoe collection to bring with us.”
Carol perked up at the odd comment. “Bring with you where?”
The two men exchanged a glance heavy with apprehension. Koumba ran a hand through his curls and leaned against the back of an armchair. “Carol, you know I have aspirations that far exceed the reaches of Albuquerque. Dreams that can’t be caged. Can’t be thwarted.”
Carol blinked a couple of times, then looked to Manousos for clarity.
“We are moving to Los Angeles,” he said flatly.
“Los Angeles?” Carol’s shoulders sagged. “What? Why?”
Koumba was the most eager to explain between the two of them. He threw an arm around his dear friend, hugging him closely. “Because Manny is a superstar! His performance at the conference won him many admirers, one of them being none other than award winning author Colette Heuber!”
Carol swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “So what?”
“So she scouted him!” Koumba gave Manousos a shake. “She is making a movie adaptation of one of her books and thinks Manny here could fit the part of a guitar playing hunk.” He pinched Manousos’s cheek, earning him a swat of the hand.
Manousos rolled his eyes, but a faint blush crept along his cheeks. “It’s not certain,” he mumbled, sitting the box of shoes on a pile. “She just wants me to audition. There’s no guarantee I’ll get the role.”
Koumba waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense! This is your moment, amigo! We can’t let opportunity slip by while we’re stuck in New Mexico!”
“You keep saying we.” Carol glanced between them suspiciously. “I’m confused as to how Koumba fits into this equation.”
Manousos shrugged, feigning aloofness. “Rent is expensive.”
The two men both had a sweat on their brow from more than just the physical exertion of moving. Ever since the trip to New York, they seemed closer than before. They must have really bonded with each other, drunk in that shared bed.
“You can’t leave,” Carol said, looking to Koumba. “If you leave, who am I going to make fun of?” She turned to Manousos. “And who’s going to help me make fun of him?”
“Oh Carol.” Koumba released Manousos and instead wrapped her up in his arms. “I promise you, we’ll visit. And we can meet up in Vegas every year for winter break.”
A laugh leapt from her throat. She allowed the sweaty embrace for just a little longer. Long enough for Koumba to beckon Manousos over and force him to join. It was awkward for everyone.
“What did I miss?” Zosia puffed as she staggered up to the doorway, toting particularly heavy box.
Everyone offered a hand, but it was Koumba who was able to catch the box first. Despite the fact she was clearly struggling, she was very hesitant to let go. Still, with a little insistence, Koumba managed to free it from her grasp. He let out a grunt as it settled in his arms.
“What on Earth – is this full of rocks?”
He sat the box with the others, and it landed with a rattling thud. Curiosity piloted his hand as he reached for the flap. Before he could even see the contents, Zosia lurched forward and slammed the flap shut. She threw on a smile, but the blush creeping up her neck was undeniable.
“Family heirlooms,” she said.
Carol was more than happy to separate from the group hug and distract from the suspicious cargo. “Zosia, you’ll never guess what happened. Heuber stole my man, and now these two are moving to LA.”
Zosia didn’t seem all that surprised. She simply furrowed her brow, keeping her hand firmly planted on the box. “You guys told her?”
“You knew?” Carol scoffed. She crossed her arms defiantly. “Why the hell am I the last to know?”
Both Zosia and Koumba stammered through some kind of excuse. It was Manousos who laid it out plain and simple.
“They didn’t want you to relapse.”
Carol drew a breath, then let it out nice and slow. She wanted to feel betrayed, but given her track record, she could at least understand their apprehension. A relapse was the last thing Carol wanted. The last thing any of them wanted. Still, it hurt to know they were keeping something so big from her.
“I understand your concern. But I’m not fragile,” Carol uttered. “I can handle change.” There was a myriad of apologies, but she refused to dwell on it. “The only thing you need to apologize for is letting Colette Heuber steal you right out from under me. I mean, seriously? That pretentious asshole…”
And just like that, the explosion everyone was anticipating was nullified with a round of laughter. The Carol from the beginning of the semester would have gone off like a firework. A snap judgment, a harsh insult, and a lingering shame from lashing out. Booze to fall asleep, and curtains drawn tight so she wouldn’t mistake shadows dancing in the streetlights for her late wife.
Carol was unrecognizable now.
She couldn’t be happier.
Koumba and Manousos bid farewell, bickering about where they would get dinner, and fighting over who got to drive. Carol watched them pull out of the driveway, the realization sinking in that soon, she wouldn’t see their smiling – and not smiling – faces every day. Through funruns, rats, and trips to Vegas, Carol had grown really found of their little friend group. She loved those two idiots.
A gentle hand rubbed her shoulder as she stood in the doorway, gazing out across the empty cul-de-sac. Zosia was never far.
“They don’t leave for another month,” she said reassuringly. “We’ll see them plenty before they go.”
Carol melted under her touch, but there was still a pang in her heart. “I… I didn’t realize we were living in ‘the good old days’. And now… now it’s over.”
Zosia wrapped her arms around Carol’s waist and rested her head upon her shoulder. “I think all of the best days are ahead of us.”
“Always the optimist.”
“For you, I would be anything.”
That much she knew was true. Zosia was ready to settle down wherever Carol hung her hat. She was in it for the long-haul. Forever. They stood there enjoying the cool breeze off the darkened desert horizon for a long while.
Carol finally started to stir. “How’s Rudy settling in?”
Zosia was very slow to release her. “He’s like me – he loves to explore new places. Although… I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“You head in and sort out the things you need for the night. I’ll find the little guy.”
With a yawn and a stretch they both retreated inside. Zosia took to her things, unpacking the bare essentials. They could deal with the rest in the morning, or really, whenever they felt like it. There was no rush. She sang to herself as she worked, some foreign tune that had become familiar. It had been a long time since anyone sang in Carol’s house.
Carol waltzed around halls, poking her head in various nooks and crannies. He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the living room. She padded up the stairs, clicking her tongue as she went. She peeked in her bedroom, the duvet still cradling the impression of Zosia’s figure. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but Carol refused to make the bed in the mornings. Something anxious in the pit of her stomach was scared of losing the shape of her love all over again. The bed stayed unmade, and Carol’s mind at ease.
But the cat wasn’t in there. So, Carol checked her office on a whim, and low and behold, he was sprawled out on her desk. The silly creature brought a smile to her lips. No matter the mixture of emotions that she had faced that day, she knew she would go to bed happy. She walked up and gave his chin a scratch. He relished in the attention and wriggled all around until he accidentally knocked something off the desk.
Carol walked around to the other side to investigate. It was her outline for the Bitter Chrysalis sequel. Her long abandoned passion project. Helen was always supportive, despite how poorly the first book did. But with Wycaro being the best-seller, Bitter Chrysalis was put on the backburner.
But now, Carol had a whole summer to herself with no plans. With how well the twist in Wycaro was received, maybe she could give her queer story another chance. And even if no one bought a copy, Zosia would love it, and that was motivation enough. Carol picked up the binder, dusted it off, and flipped it open. But what greeted her wasn’t the rambling notes she had left before abandoning the project.
It was a note addressed to her.
In Helen’s handwriting.