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The thing is— the thing has always been— that Karen and Hen take care of one another. Hen, obviously, came into the relationship with practice as the savior, Eva teaching her how to give and give and give and get nothing in return. Karen, on the other hand, had only ever experienced girlfriends with whom she was like two ships passing in the night. If you love me, you don’t love me in a way I can understand. She remembers, pre-Hen, wishing she and her exes could find the missing puzzle pieces that allowed them to understand each other without it requiring so much damn work. And that’s the thing she’s learned being with Hen— it’s still work, it’s always going to be work, going to be the decision to keep loving and learning and growing— but it’s not nearly as impossible as Karen’s younger, more cynical self assumed.
And really, what it comes down to is that they pay attention to one another. Attention has always been the foundation on which love is built, but it wasn’t until being with Hen that Karen experienced that in a real, honest way. It doesn’t always mean they get it right— sometimes, they’re both too bull-headed to get out of their own way, Karen’s fear of never being enough and Hen’s overabundance of forgiveness for those who have harmed her— but it means they try, and for the first time in a long time, that’s enough.
It’s the littlest things that have warmth curling around Karen’s bones, proof of love in the attempt. It’s the way her wife relents when they bicker about which TV show to binge, how she tries to remember to bring Karen home a coffee anytime she swings by the cafe on her errands, her fingers swirling aimless patterns on Karen’s thigh while they sit beside one another because she knows how much Karen appreciates the touch. Even when they’re parallel lines, angry or grieving or just missing each other by nature of the calendar, they’re still trying.
It’s how they get into the habit of chatting at bedtime. Sometimes, it’s the first conversation they get all day— Hen’s shift and Karen’s commute and driving Denny to school and every other necessary draw on their time fighting for attention so that it’s suddenly nine pm and Karen realizes she’s barely seen her wife since she kissed her goodbye. As a result, Karen values those precious minutes between the sheets, voices low and bodies pressed together, more than gold.
“We’ve got to get pancake batter for this weekend,” Hen is saying as she slips into bed beside Karen, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she scoots closer. “I promised the kids we’d make them for breakfast after Mara sleeps over.”
Karen grins. “Soft touch,” she teases, thrilled when Hen scoffs lightly in response.
“I don’t wanna hear it, Miss They’re Getting Along, We Shouldn’t Interrupt, ” Hen says, propping a pillow behind her back. “You try saying no to those faces.”
“And was I right?” Karen asks, raising an imperious eyebrow. Hen waffles for a half-second and Karen knows she’s got her. “Uh huh,” she says, grinning when Hen rolls her eyes, “that’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hen groans, but her smile betrays her, “soak it in. It only happens so often,” she jokes.
Karen, whose favorite activities include being a brat and winning, lifts herself into Hen’s lap, the smirk already plastered across her face. “What was that, baby?” She asks, curling a purposeful hand around the place where Hen’s neck meets her shoulder.
“Uh, you’re the smartest woman in the world and you’re always right?” Hen replies, flashing Karen a quick smile before she leans closer in an attempt to catch Karen in a kiss. Karen ducks out of the way, tsking lightly. It’s a safe game to play because Karen already knows Hen thinks she’s a genius and vice versa— they can tease and bicker and in the end, no one gets hurt.
“I don’t know,” Karen hums anyway, leaning into the role as Hen’s fingers flex against her back, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what you said. And you know I hate to reward bad behavior.”
“God,” Hen murmurs, the facade broken, as she drops her head against Karen’s chest, “it’s unfair that that’s hot.”
Karen shakes with laughter, unabashed and unconcerned about the end of their little act. She brushes her thumb in broad, slow strokes against the nape of Hen’s neck, bared to her while her wife hides in her tits. She thinks Hen might be halfway to purring.
Hen looks up, her eyes deep and warm from under her lashes. “I love you,” she says, low and steady, the way that always settles Karen’s heart. And then, like she’s triple-checking, “It’s probably okay if we’re both soft touches, right? As long as we sometimes remember to lay down the law?”
Karen makes a show of considering it. “That’s how they become horrible teenagers, probably, but that’s a few years off.”
Hen laughs, loud and bright. Karen falls in love with her a little bit more.
“They really are good kids,” Hen says, her pride tucking itself into her smile lines, and Karen has to lean down and kiss her, quick and easy, for that. “We got lucky.”
“Hell no,” Karen says, “luck had nothing to do with it. We’re damn good parents, Henrietta.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Hen replies, and then, kissing the hinge of Karen’s jaw, she adds, “as always,” coy and sweet and silly all at once. Karen laughs, indulges them both in another kiss, this one longer and gentler.
“I love you too, by the way,” Karen adds, looping back around. Neither of them like to leave a declaration of love, however casual, unfulfilled. Hen’s face softens, the way it always does when Karen says the words, even now, years down the line. “But you’re gonna be the one who explains why we didn’t get the funfetti pancakes like Chim does.”
“It’s sacrilegious, babe,” Hen says, the familiar beats of an argument she and Chim have had over and over again, “who makes that processed, fake crap? Crazy people, that’s who.”
“Uh huh,” Karen says, biting down on her smirk, “so you can practice that whole laying down the law thing with your healthy breakfast options.”
Hen scrunches her nose, like she’s imagining staring down both kids again. Something about there being two seems to renew everything’s difficulty, even things they’ve had practice in with Denny. “Maybe we get chocolate chips,” she reasons, and Karen laughs.
“Great job sticking to your guns, baby,” she says, kissing the groan off Hen’s lips, “they’ll never see you coming.”
And if they high-five after a successful pancake negotiation on Saturday, that’s no one’s business but their own.